Work Text:
When Murdock visited Dex in prison, Dex felt like he was at a breaking point. His life was on the line here, his past coming back to haunt him after he tried so desperately to escape it, and Murdock came to mind as his only way out. He’d suspected, since he killed the lawyer, Nelson, that Murdock was Daredevil. Right place, right time, same righteous sense of justice that Dex couldn't find it in himself to understand.
He called Murdock, asked him to save him, in the hopes that his sense of justice would work to his benefit, and he could get out. He felt numb, staring at the same walls every day, and he knew there was something more he could be doing. So he needed an out.
And then Murdock made him feel alive again. The unrestrained violence of him slamming Dex’s head into the table, as painful as it was, made him feel alive. He felt adrenaline, not from fear, fear of death, but excitement. Vindication. Only the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had ever thrown him around like that, and here was evidence practically dropped into Dex’s lap that the lawyer and the devil were one in the same. How Matt Murdock did it, he didn't know. Whether Murdock had purposefully given him an out from the prison, he also didn't know.
He hoped that Matt wanted him out. He hoped that this was the sign from one of God’s angels - because the Devil was really an angel in disguise, sent to deliver justice - that he needed to kill Fisk, to make the world right again, to balance the scales. And if Matt just wanted to punish him for killing his friend, then that was okay too. At least it was the Devil dealing punishment for his sins, and not the Kingpin and his wife, who were convicted of more evils than him.
He thought that by taking the shot at Fisk, that he’d be doing Murdock a favour.
Needless to say, Hell’s Kitchen lived up to its name after Matt Murdock got shot. It was as if that moment was the straw that broke the camel’s back, starting the chaos within the city, the epicentre in Hell’s Kitchen. And it was all Dex’s fault.
Sure, Matt was the one who threw himself in front of the bullet, playing the Saint for some unknown reason, but Dex was the one who fired the bullet, Dex was the one who created the spark that lit the chaos ablaze.
All he wanted to do in that moment was shake Murdock by his bloody shoulders and ask why, why throw himself in front of evil like that, but there was a crowd of guns forming around him, and uniforms approaching Dex’s position, and if he wanted to do something with his newfound freedom, he had to leave. After one last look at Matt’s bloody chest and the red colouring his once-pristine white shirt, he ran. Ran up the steps of the building, ran out of the door leading to the roof, ran across the asphalt roof, and jumped to the next building across from it.
And he kept running.
It didn’t take long for the AVTF to stop looking for him. He killed two of them, silently, with keys he found in the pockets of the prison guard he killed. They were getting too close to his hiding place, and he didn't think they would be missed, so he took the risk, and in doing so, he found out that Murdock had been transferred to hospital.
In his desperation, he found his feet moving before his brain did, and he arrived at the hospital to see a pale-looking Matt Murdock running through the pitch black streets of New York, and to a fancy apartment building. Blind Matt Murdock, the lawyer, running through New York, navigating the streets like the devil might, sneaking away from suspicion and anger.
He kept watch outside the apartment for a while, uncomfortable in the prison guard’s stiff uniform, but too focused on the task at hand to actually do anything about it. He was used to this. This was his job, back when he was sticking to schedules and North Stars and the law. He could be patient, he knew he could, but he felt restless, not knowing what was going on, closeted from the outside world after time in prison
If Matt was well enough to run through New York City, then maybe Dex could leave, find a real place to shelter and lay low, stop the buzzing in his head, and figure out how to commune with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Right?
Between the racing of his thoughts, each trying to catch up with the next, he caught a glimpse of Daredevil and the Punisher crash through the window of Murdock’s apartment and soar through the air, before crashing into a car in the middle of the street. Then Murdock’s apartment was engulfed in an explosion.
So now, both of Murdock’s identities were on the run. Just like Dex.
At least Matt had company and a getaway driver, in the form of Frank Castle and Karen Page - Frank Castle, the Punisher, and Karen Page, the journalist.
Dex didn’t have that. He was alone.
And he didn't have the power to outrun a car, or the money to send men to find the car, or even the freedom to walk the streets, especially as an escaped convict.
Surprisingly, not much of that matters to the average New York citizen. It only took Dex 20 hours after his escape from prison to find an apartment, in Hell’s Kitchen nonetheless, with a sweet enough old woman named Smithers, whose life revolved around her cat, crochet and game shows. Dex paid rent to her in cash, found in the pockets of those whose hearts weren't beating to use it anymore, and she didn't care for his lack of paperwork or structured isolation. He went by the name Tony, like that famous billionaire, and fried eggs for her cat, and she didn't look into his past.
He didn’t decorate much, lack of money more pressing to him than making the place look nice. It was a small place, but just the right size for him, and he ended up staying for longer than he expected. He still kept it obsessively clean, a habit he couldn't seem to grow out of, but it being smaller and more empty meant he could dedicate more of his time to maintaining his ever-growing collection of equipment that he had looted off the unfortunate people who had decided to commit some form of sin in front of him.
He had a role model in the form of Daredevil now, who had been more active than ever following the explosion of Matt Murdock’s apartment. Dex followed him around as best he could, usually observing his actions through the scope of a sniper, taking note of places he frequented, how he patrolled the streets of New York.
It was on one of these patrols that Dex saw Daredevil without the mask for the first time.
He was coming to the end of his patrol, and he was exhausted. Dex had been following him from a distance for about an hour or two now, seeing him become more and more exhausted as he stopped petty thieves, attempted killers, snuck around buildings he was surely trespassing around and spied on the AVTF, who were congregating around Red Hook more and more. Dex assumed he was coming to the end of his patrol when he ducked into a small and cramped alley, vaulting over some crates that had been abandoned in it and leaning against the wall, chest heaving.
Hunkering down on the roof of the building opposite the alley, Dex looked through the scope of his sniper, almost holding his breath as he saw Daredevil cock his head, listening for any sound or people, then take off his horned mask, throwing it on the floor, separating himself from it. Dex caught a glimpse of short brown hair as Daredevil hid his face with his hands. He might have been overwhelmed, or maybe tired, Dex wasn’t sure.
Then, the Devil’s hands moved, and sure enough, it was the lawyer Matt Murdock who was looking around the alley. His eyes were vacant, lacking the fury that Dex usually saw restrained by the red lenses in his glasses, and the devil’s suit, dyed black and emblazoned with a red DD, was a far cry from the two-piece suit and tie that Murdock wore, but even despite that, it was definitely the same man, no mistaking it.
It was only a brief moment of respite that Matt took, before picking up the discarded helmet in his hands and cradling it, running his thumb over the grooves in it, donning it again and running off into the night.
Dex remembered how it felt to wear the suit. He felt like a completely different person then, but to become a symbol of fear, one that people regarded as a saviour or a sinner or a vindicator, it was freeing to him. To see Matt carry the weight like it was a burden was something he couldn’t understand. He clearly had the rage the city needed to be Daredevil, and a self-imposed ruleset that put the NYPD to shame - maybe he thought he wasn’t doing enough. Maybe he thought the city needed someone more brutal, someone who sees the black and white amongst the grey smog of the city, but he knew he didn’t have the will or the strength.
So, Dex helped him, and shouldered the dirty work.
Daredevil worked to restore justice to the broken city, while Bullseye - that's what the AVTF had dubbed him; he embraced the new identity with a grin - worked to prevent the injustice before it even happened.
Mostly, he took down the AVTF. They were cruel and violent, and were walking talking reminders of Fisk’s will in the city. However, he also planned to do something good, really good, and that was to stab the beast in the heart - he was going to kill the Fisks. He had to be quiet about it, but he watched them, on the news, happy with their work in the city, and it filled him with rage. He wanted to strike at them, take them out, and while he wasn’t making the streets cleaner by baptising them with the AVTF’s blood, he was planning ways to take down the Fisks in a way that couldn’t be ignored.
If Daredevil noticed his good deeds at all, he made no effort to contact Dex about them, or communicate in any way. Not that Dex was doing it for attention. Even still, in his spare time, Dex carved messages into his throwing knives, partly out of fun and boredom, partly in the hope that he would be able to use them.
He did end up using them to taunt people on the streets, most notably throwing a knife through the head of an AVTF soldier that said ‘Look up,’ which invited the rest of the group to panic, look up at Dex, who had a vantage point on one of the buildings, and fumble for the triggers of their guns, falling before they managed to land a shot at Dex. It was a small joy, but it was often Dex could go days without talking to people, and sometimes he needed a laugh.
However, there was one day he got to use the knives for their intended purpose.
He was tracking down Daredevil, as usual. The man had gone off routine ever since the incident on The Northern Star, especially considering Fisk’s insistence on the witch hunt for his head, and had started to periodically check up on his civilian persona’s friends and allies. Tonight was one such night, and Dex followed him from Detective Kim’s apartment, to the offices of Murdock and McDuffie, then to the ex-Detective, Cherry, and his apartment.
It was all going relatively peaceful - as peaceful as it could be in Fisk’s New York - until they both arrived at Cherry’s residence. Daredevil paused, tilted his head in the direction of Cherry’s floor of the building, before immediately using his billy clubs to launch himself up to the detective’s open window. Dex didn’t need to have super senses to understand why. Muffled music failed in covering up the sounds of fists hitting skin and pained grunts, and, after climbing up the fire escape of the building across the street from Cherry’s home, he could see inside.
He saw Daredevil help Cherry, bleeding and beaten, to stand, then watched him almost collapse again. Daredevil rushed to presumably hide from the incoming AVTF, and what Dex saw was a rush of gunshots, men hitting the floor, and billy clubs colliding with guns to disarm and dissuade. Meanwhile, the music played, uncaring to the accompanying screams and gunfire.
Watching on, Dex was overcome with admiration. The way Matt fought to protect those he loved - he wore the suit of Daredevil to protect the innocent, those in need, like a shield, not a sword. His guard was impenetrable: almost.
Because for a moment, Matt faltered. Fist in the air, poised to strike, leaving himself open, he stopped, looking around frantically, wildly, taking the following barrage of punches and shoves like a punishment, falling to the floor.
Quickly, Dex formed a plan in his head to intervene. If he didn’t, Matt would be killed or jailed, a martyr for the rebellion, and Dex would be lost, again, without a figure of goodness in this world to guide him. He calculated angles and distances to be most effective in taking down Matt’s opposition, watching the scene of Matt being unmasked and jeered at by the AVTF. That was something Dex couldn’t stand for.
None of the knives he threw missed, of course they didn’t, and each man fell to the ground like a ragdoll as Dex’s knives took them out. He paid them no heed, focusing on Matt and his ally, throwing two knives in their direction, the one that landed next to Matt’s face with a carved ‘You’re Welcome’ on it.
Finally, a moment of communication between them, even if it was silent. Finally, Bullseye would be able to work with the Man Without Fear to take down the Fisks, be the sword to his shield. Maybe this deed would redeem him, and his original sins would be forgiven, it would tip the scales in favour of all the good in the world, instead of all the bad. Dex wouldn’t be used by the likes of Fisk’s evil again.