Archive of Our Own

It should be noted that Matt Murdock hated sports. Bore something of a great aversion for such violent, barbaric pastimes. It wasn’t like it was anything personal—okay, actually, that was a lie: it had all to do with it being personal.

Matt could fault his father for his main reason for hating sports.

Seeing as how the man always forced him to value studying and other academic virtues that would inspire him to be a lawyer or something along that kind of career path. His dad might have been aiming for doctor, but that must have been ex ante him becoming blind.

That wasn’t the main reason even. There was more to it all than just a strong disliking of sports. 

Jack Murdock had also— hypocritically Matt might add—-been a sports-boxer himself (a self-imposed hustler is what he would call him).

It surely was a big benefactor for what stemmed into his hatred for fighting and sports, or sports with fighting or really any combination of that included the two.

Matt remembers his dad drilling the idea to not take his mantle as a boxer, forbade him in participating in anything violent or do anything as such. Jack’s insecurities went so deep that in the end he never let Matt participate in sports of any kind—not even something safe like bocce ball or curling.

But his father's obsession for him to stay away from competitive physical activity was not completely unfounded or truly unreasonable.

His dad’s concern bled from his past, from his naive mistakes, to having a kid so young that he was prepared to make sacrifices that just were unfair.

Jack Murdock grew up focused on sports and other teenage trivialities that he never set himself up to go to college or to be able to finish high school for that matter. He projected so much of his past mistakes into Matt that he himself barely even had room to breathe with how much entitlement and aspiration his dad was shoving down his throat.

And Jack Murdock may have hated fighting— but it was all he was good for, it was all he could do to get money on the table for them. To provide for a kid when nothing else did. But sometimes it wasn’t enough, sometimes there were expenses like surprise hospital appointments, insurance or rent racking up. Of water main leaks or mold collecting somewhere it should be—something where a simple trip to Home Depot couldn't fix without a heavy price. Things just got more expensive as time went on because that’s just life. 

His father ended up working two jobs once Matt was old enough to be left alone. One legal day job and one legal-adjacent job at night that was barely worth getting dragged through the mud with its many convoluted activities such as dealing with an underground boxing tourney and smuggling drugs. His day job was much less grim since it was working in produce—with the local grocer in their plaza who had an employee quit all of sudden on them—and Jack was there to help them in a pinch one morning. They had hired him on the spot after that, since they’d known him for as long as Matt was a baby, and usually gave them discounts for food that was expiring soon. They were thankful for it. It was a blessing to even have the fridge half way full. It was a strain on his dad working every hour of the day as much as he could. Sleep was the only solace he got from his crazy schedule. It was awful having to burden his dad with so much responsibility and the wracking guilt that Matt developed was something he’d always keep to himself. 

But worst thing for Matt was, he absolutely hated—when he could sneak off—seeing his dad fighting, holding back his punches and blows, accepting hard hits and slams, so he could intentionally lose to pay off their rent by hustling bets with shady business men.  

But still, even then they barely scraped by so they didn’t have to struggle so much. Living was an expense Matt was beginning to understand in this city. 

And then all too soon the accident had happened and Matt was deemed legally blind with uncanny like hearing as a trade off. His father ended up spending every night watching over him as he recovered, and then promptly getting fired from his grocer job for taking an unannounced 3 weeks off.

They struggled even more because of that. Jack Murdock had to do a lot more than lose a match just so they could make ends meet from then on.

It broke Matt’s heart to know how much his dad was giving up just to get him through high school as a blind student. His dad had to pay for new braille books, walkers, therapy, and a multitude of other things that he needed to make daily life just easier to transition towards. 

Life for Murdock boys was always tough—his father had told him that, but he also said right after that they were hardy and stubborn enough to take whatever life would throw at them. They survived on guts and smarts he’d proudly tell Matt. 

Matt once tried to reason with him that he could try getting a job at the bakery or dollar store. He was blind, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t incapable of handling a job like that with some patience and diligence. 

But his father—in the beginning—was quite vehement on Matt working or helping in any way, and had reasoned with sad platitudes: “You gotta make something of yourself, Matty. You can’t become an uneducated pug like me, huh, right? So focus on school first, okay? Leave it just to me to support us.”

Matt nodded mutely. He asked often enough but always got the same reply. It was hard to argue with someone who had the higher ground like that. Which was difficult for someone like him, having learned from his father the value of helping someone out. 

But he swore then and there that he’d never partake in violent sports or anything related to them— it all became tainted with him and his father’s struggles and torments of criminal abuse and control. It might have been going too far, but it eased the need to want to actually play sports, or be a part of a team or to be a kid. 

He grew up fast because of it. And beside they could never afford it anyways.

So it was easier to say he hated it— which it was partly for hate. It was very easy to hate and dislike rather than wallow in poverty and misfortune. 

And that continued on for a few more years. His dad struggled, but he coped with alcohol and excessive exercise. 

Matt struggled, but he coped by studying and reading and doing the best he was told to do. 

It got worse as time went on. Coping got harder. 

But they were Murdock men after all. They struggle but relented nonetheless. 

And then Matt was stunned into a stupor when he went down to mail room of their building—going to fetch todays coupons and deals—where his fingers brushed against the familiar crest he had roved his fingers over obsessively since his teachers told him to do an early application with some scholarship programs. 

He hastily opened the letter, not believing his minds eye, ripping it apart as gently as he could as he climbed the steps two at time, and then letting his trembling fingers glide back and forth, and then stopping abruptly, his thumb finally reading the words ACCEPTED in giant braille writing. Matt bolted into their apartment, yelling his dad’s name, nearly tripping into the coffee table from his excitement and catching his Dad's attention, waking him up from where he was resting on the armchair after a long shift cleaning the gym. 

Matt immediately showed his father right away what he had in his hands, shoving the letter into his father’s hands for him to read it, and proclaimed emphatically that he didn’t have to work with Fixer or any shady guys anymore.

Matt was in for real and he’d be living on campus for basically free.  

"Dad," Matt said with such earnestness that it made his dad start tearing up. 

A million thoughts buzzed through Matt’s head in that moment. They could move out, his dad finding a smaller place for himself, with Matt old enough and capable to find a job now, he could help. It felt like finally they could really be okay for the first time in a long while.

His father rejected the idea at first, always cynical at the first of a reproach, but he soon came around the idea that they could leave behind his shifty past and finally move on. Jack Murdock also hid his preening pride well, his heart was beating fast, something Matt was still trying to get adjusted to the noise and commotion of his powered senses, and he looked at Matt like he was an angel sent above.

His father was finally able to be free from life’s bad hand. 

Jack Murdock from then on outright rejected all of his deliveries, lost contact with all of his dealers, and stopped losing his final games as a nearly retired boxer. His dad started to really believe it in himself that they could do this. They could finally be free of the city’s corruption, away from the Mafia and corrupt drug lords that swarmed this side of the city. 

It was a close call in the end, with Jack Murdock still owing money and loyalties to Fixer, who was the Mafia boss his dad used to work for, but that ended quickly as it became a problem when police officers and undercover associates took down the Mafia’s enterprise with justified finality. It had also helped that Jack had been giving tips from telephone booths in the area for the police to easily procure such justice. 

It became even more apparent when the lawyer that represented Jack for the drug war case and was able to get him full immunity on the grounds of justified coercion by the prosecutors.

It was a niggling feeling in the back of his head, something that had worried Matt ever since he had given them hope for a future, that if they did this, his dad might have to go to jail for the things he’s done. But Mr. Lantom had saved them from all of those problems, having used his father to attest as a witness and negotiated a protection deal. His father was a well and truly free man when he walked out of that courtroom with the stride of someone whose shackles had been unshackled.  

Matt Murdock, from then on there made a vow that he would strive to become a lawyer. He thrived on and loved the idea of bringing down bad guys with nothing but one’s words and convictions. 

So Columbia was where he would be heading in September, and when the time finally came, when the early hits of autumn started tinging the leaves from solid greens to mellow reds, Matt Murdock left his dad to himself in a semi-crummy but still decent new apartment in lower east side, saying goodbye with a crushing heartfelt hug. Jack Murdock rarely cried, but in that moment it was alright for him to cry proudly for his son. Matt hugged him harder, thanking his father with tears welled in his eyes for all the things he had done for Matt. They spent nearly ten minutes trying to collect each other—to feel like they wouldn’t start crying all over again and for Matt to close the door to the apartment to start his academic life. 

Matt had been worried about his dad, wondering if he’d be okay. Thankfully the police had helped Jack get back on their feet as well, out of sheer generosity and helpfulness of course for allowing them to take down one of the largest Mafia bosses in New York. They were also training Jack and giving Jack a temporary job at the station as a civilian administrator and part of a youth advocacy that helped struggling youth find a place for an outlet to their problems. 

The Murdock boys were happy. It struck them both suddenly when Matt took his first steps outside, cane stretched out, that him and his dad finally were happy. No more fist fights, no more doing drug runs, no more worrying about each other.

Jack Murdock was turning his life around for the better now. For once in his life, Matt didn’t worry about if his father was ever going to be okay. He knew he would be. Jack Murdock was a free and good man after all. He was proud of everything his dad had done and then some. 

He feels like life is setting into place, a new chapter unfolding itself to him. 

In his first semester he ends up befriending a beanie obsessed hippie-dude that smells way too often like doughnuts at his work-place, that he found on a whim when he stopped by a local book shop that coincidentally needed a braille interpreter. He says he isn’t a hippie, but Matt can’t help make assumptions with a nickname like Foggy and the strange stoner vibes he gets from him.

But in the end he ends up being a really cool guy, and thankfully doesn’t smoke weed (too much). He also plans to be a lawyer someday too, although he isn’t so certain, since his parents had told him to apply for Health Sciences as a way to test the waters for medical school instead.

And his new roommate at the apartment dorms is a woman named Jessica who likes wine and cheese crackers way too much that she leaves wine-coolers and wrappers all over the apartment. She’s also quick on her feet, and quicker with a sharp reply if you ever cross her— and thankfully for Matt, he’s never been on the receiving end of one of her truly scornful remarks.

She’s also abnormally strong for someone her size. And Matt’s pretty sure she’s 5’9 and weighs under a hundred pounds, and never gone to the gym ever. Like ever. It’s like being ridiculously strong is just one of her ingrained traits like lying or being sarcastic.

But he doesn’t question it that much really. He will not admit out loud how handy it was when they were lifting their oversized new couch to their apartment floor, which came courtesy of one very generous Mr. Jones, and Matt was trying not to pretend he wasn’t dying from exhaustion as they climbed 5 flights of stairs. Matt’s pretty sure she was lifting like 90% of the weight, but she never voiced that out loud and his manhood is thankful for that. 

So with two new friends, a new amazing apartment he can call home, and a new job at a bookstore he’s come to love and enjoy, it’s all coming together just fine.

Life’s pretty great right now even with an inexhaustible and never-ending supply of home work that suddenly finds itself stacking up to the high heavens, working really late night shifts where he’s so exhausted he sleeps for odd hours in the morning, or panicking and chugging coffee at 4:30 AM because midterms and exams are closing in on him because he decided that listening to a new series was worth the binge. 

Matt loves it all though. He wouldn’t have it any other way because as problems go they weren’t anything abnormal for someone his age. 

That’s pretty much how his first semester goes down. Quick and stressful. It was awesome— total hell— but it was still awesome because his future is now a novelty adventure that’s brimming with potential and opportunities yet to be taken advantage of fully. It’s a first taste in a happy existence, and he wants to drown in it all.

Matt’s barely even scratched at all the opportunities he’s been given and it’s been almost 6 months into his enrollment in the school. He’s applied to a lot of outwork programs and extracurricular activities he finds some interests in. 

So with his second semester, he’s expecting even more friends and opportunities like before. Expecting new adventures and tales he’ll be able to recall when he’s older and mature, aged and wise. Matt can’t even wait to think about finishing his second semester because he gets giddy with excitement on what summer will bring for him, too.

There are so many things Matt’s stoked to partake in his new life at University.

So the one thing he didn’t expect for any of his ‘adventures’ was to be taken to the cold, cavernous depths of Columbia's ice rink.

“Why am I being forced to go here?” Matt petulantly sighed.

Foggy clicked his tongue to chide him. “Because you’ve literally spent a whole semester never partaking in a team sport event—that’s a cardinal sin by the way, Matt. So we're here to devirginalize you of that quandary,” Foggy divulges as Matt’s ass starts to instantly freeze. Matt feels Jessica’s arm push him down when he tries to stand up and make a run to the nearest exit. 

Matt slumped as he sneered at Foggy. “Foggy, one, that’s not a word. And two, gross.” 

There's a soft clap to the back of his head, like a scolding a mother would use. “Suck it up, Murdock. You’re going to enjoy your first hockey game and that’s that,” Jessica bossed.

“But why does it have to be hockey?” Matt whined. “I can’t even see the game.”

“But you can hear the sportscasters, and we all know by now you can see ' way more than you let on. So cut the baby tone and listen to the magic of the game you downer.”

Matt scowled at her as best he could with his ruby rimmed glasses that she dutifully ignored. 

Hockey was probably one of the top 3 sports he abhorred the most. It was violence and foulness all rolled into one terrible game of sticks and pucks…on ice. He hated how violent they could be, how everyone could be more entrapped by team players fighting against the enemy team players than actually focusing on the game and team value of the sport. Matt didn’t care about sports all that much, but at least some sports had the decency to be some semblance of sportsmanlike.

Like seriously, what kind of sport allows for shoving to turn into fist fights? Or for allowing full out brawls to actually be part of its tradition? It’s ridiculous to even consider that fighting is inherent to the sport. It didn’t make sense to Matt. He held extra revolution for sports like these.

He also heard a lot about how explicitly violent the Columbia Men’s Hockey Team was, something even Matt knew from the stories his classmates shared with him.  

And apparently watching one of their games is a rite of passage for every Columbia student. It’s one of the most important game nights for the school, Matt can figure that much out with how many people are here. All of their voices and breaths mingling together that it disorients him just a bit with the cacophony of sounds. 

Matt’s finally found the one thing he hates about this school.

All their stupid ceremonies and rites of passages that seem to stretch the length of this hockey rink.

He silently curses Jessica and Foggy for forcing him to go just as the announcer starts the roll call. 

Matt’s brows knit together, in absurd bemusement, his mouth curling slightly as he hears the announcer calling off the hockey teams names one by one. “Are these actually their names?”

Jessica chuckled at the countenance of his face. “No, you dolt. They’re nicknames.”

“Why don’t they call them by their actual names?” Matt asked, unimpressed as he heard more and more nicknames being called out.

“Our defensive duo – Irooooon Steeeeeel! The strongest metal in the world!” the announcer called with the loud thrum of his nasally voice.

This time Matt’s face curled in further confusion. “What the hell does that even mean?” 

“It’s Steely and Iron respectively, and careful, Steely’s my boyfriend,” Jessica said with a lethal yet dopey lilt in her voice ( Matt's not even sure how she gets that combination down to an art, but she does) 

She must be waving to said boyfriend on ice right now since she relaxes ever so easily and there’s movement in the air near her. “The defensive line is both Steely, real name Luke Cage, and Iron, whose actual name is Danny Rand.”

“Yeah, and apparently one of the hockey members made this terrible joke at one of their infamous parties about them combining to make Iron Steel, the strongest metal in the world and all that jazz... and now it’s kind of stuck. There was also drugs present during this. Lots of mind altering drugs.”

"And alcohol. Don’t forget lots of alcohol at the Kegsters," Jessica chimed in. 

“That, that doesn’t make sense but also makes a lot of sense with the mind altering drugs in place,” Matt said still somewhat befuddled. “But still... Iron and Steel are - ”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it big brain,” Jessica chided. “It’s an alloy, but whatever, they don’t seem to care that much. I told you it stuck as a nickname from a party that happened way back when they were yuppies. We cant entertain trying to explain it further so just enjoy the game outside of the questionable nicknames, Matt.”

Matt shook his head. He didn’t even want to know what Kegsters and yuppies were. Instead, he focused his attention to listening to the litany of nicknames being listed off. They were getting ridiculous as they kept getting called one by one.

“Avocado?” Matt spouted, truly baffled when he heard the announcer say it. He almost thought he suffered some sort of brain relapse because no way was that a name that someone walked around just having. But his brain repeated the name, saying “yes, that's what I heard. I’m not lying. Don’t question it.”

“Their offensive line has a teammate named... Avocado?” Matt still questioned, disbelieving. 

Jessica snorted. “That’s Wade’s nickname. You know Wade…Wade Wilson, I'm pretty sure he’s in your Criminal Law class this semester."

“Wait, you mean that Wade?” Matt asked, shocked. He honestly should have expected a delinquent like him would be associated with this kind of hockey team. The goddamn slacker student that always mouthed off and still ended up beating Matt out for the highest percentile on the last test by two points. Matt was not jealous at all for that. He was perplexed if anything. 

While also being a slacker model student, that man was frightfully known to be the only student in existence to be expelled but not really expelled out of Columbia University for allegedly burning down one of the dorm buildings. Wade did have to take a year off though for personal reasons and was a year behind from the rest of his peers that he started his freshman year. In a surprising turn of events, though, it was actually beneficial the school building burnt down as it was badly ridden of centuries of asbestos and mold, and they’d had to take it down one way or another in the end, but because of the fire the school was able to tap into insurance funds and charity donations for a full scale renovation.

Matt’s sure that doesn’t really make it any better because of that fact. Not really. And the students who were expunged from the camp grounds would later on be moved to a new, better camp building.

Which still doesn't make it right at all. But still it’s nice to know some bad things can still turn out to be good. 

Then his thoughts are suddenly swept away by the pounding sound of hands beating down on the bleachers. The vibrations knock his senses askew and he barely can tell where anyone is outside of his close range. “What’s happening?” Matt asked them promptly. He was very glad Jessica was holding on to his shoulders, grounding him down a bit so he could focus on her and wouldn’t overload his senses from the loud vibrations.

“Just wait,” they both said in unison, leaning close to him as they said it. 

The pounding got louder and it reminded him of one of those cage match games he saw when he was little, at his dad’s old gym that had a flair for theatrics. How the wrestlers amped the crowd enough with entertaining fireworks and hand gestures so that they’d all start pounding and screaming their names on the stands. Matt was almost tempted to make an aptly well timed joke about how this sport was just another tactless wrestling tourney just on ice when the announcer voice over powered his own.

 “BRING YOUR HANDS DOWN FOR THE PUNISHER OF THE ICE!”

If Matt could roll his eyes farther, he probably would have at that very moment. This was ridiculous. Punisher?  Now this sport was even more insane than it already was.

“That’s Frank Castle,” Jessica voiced out through the crowd's roar. “He’s the captain of the Hockey team.”

Matt nodded, thankful that he didn’t have to ask for himself on the clarification of the nickname. 

Foggy’s head leaned close towards them, like he was going to tell a secret. “And he’s the one person you never want to cross at school. I mean Wade Wilson is bad. Like, Wade’s crazy and erratic at the very worst, but this guy? This guy is stone cold and a monster on and off ice. I mean this guy could go pro, seriously. What with his skill and prowess on the field, but he is also the main reason the team is infamously for starting fights and brawls. I’m pretty sure his enemies blood have stained the ice more than their own sweat.”

Matt’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Spare me the bloody details, Fog. The dude sounds like an asshole, though.”

“Oh, yeah, he definitely is,” Jessica answered for him. “But Luke says he’s one of the best players he’s ever known. Train’s em to be the best, too.”

He can hear Foggy’s head sway back and forth, agreeing. “The Hockey team wouldn’t be the best in the state if it wasn’t for him that’s for sure.”

“Okay so he’s a talented asshole. Whatever,” Matt grunted in reply. He leaned back on the bleachers and sighed. After a while he rested his elbows on his knees as he listened closely to the other team’s introductions for the Boston’s Hockey team. It was a pretty formal roll call and Matt was very thankful for that change.

Then it was only a couple of minutes later that the game finally commenced. Matt heard the strange sound of the puck hit the ice, it echoed throughout the rink as the final cue to the start of the game. 

Matt heard the sounds of grunts and heavy breathes of hockey members, they’re sticks and skates sliding on the ice to make bizarre susurrations, confusing him and making him lose focus on who was who, and who was the enemy team and our team. The unique scratch and skid of every skate told him there were at least 12 skaters on the ice, but nothing to help differentiate them if he couldn’t pinpoint a voice right away. The puck was probably the only thing easy to find, to hear and listen to its rubbery gliding on the ice.

Matt focused on the foreign hockey terms being said back and forth with the team players. The baritone voice of one of them was viciously commanding, idly yelling player’s nicknames to change positions from time to time, or pick up the pace, or even to give a curt thank you. Matt assumed that was the captain's voice. That was probably the only voice he could differentiate well enough with how it dominated.

Barely 30 minutes into the game and Matt heard the scuffle of pads hitting the ice, like they were being thrown down in haste.

“Listen here you asshole, you check my teammate like that again for no reason and you’re gonna fucking-”

That’s all Matt heard before the crowds cheering got intense and louder, blasting out any sounds from the rink for him to hear. Everyone was chanting on the fighting—egging the bloodlust with vigour. There were a few ooh’s and aww’s said throughout the crowd, tiny clusters being more rowdier than others. It must have been a big fight because people were standing up now, enraptured at the view of violence right in front of them. 

“Yowch!” Foggy says.

“Oh, damn, that must have hurt like a bitch.”

“What’s going on?” Matt questioned desperately as the crowd roared and he could barely register anything. 

There was a smirk on Jessica’s face when she spoke, she was biting back a smile as he cupped her hands to his ears, and said simply, “Frank’s having it out with one of the Boston bitches.”

“Is he winning?” Matt found himself oddly asking back.

Thankfully the crowd silences, like they’re all simultaneously gauging for a reaction of some kind—their voices held in their throats as they wait. Then all of them ‘oohed in tandem to the sound of a hard smack and a thump. Matt bit his lip worryingly. 

Foggy’s voice pipes up in a whoop, loud and obnoxious what with a mouth nearly full from a hot dog he bought at the concession stands. “He’s definitely winning. I’m pretty sure that guy’s knocked out cold. He’s not even whimpering from the hit.”

“Nah, the other guy is totally faking it. Frank didn’t even hit that hard. But Penalty box this fast? New record for him,” Jessica whispers back, some tone of prideful in it.

“Yeah,” Foggy nods along. “That his quickest fight though?” 

“Somewhere along. Think the guy from Minnesota was the worst one. He spun out three times I’m pretty sure.” 

Matt was a bit disappointed to know how quickly this game turned to violence. Frank Castle already sounded like the type to start fights for no reason other than it was fun to do so. 

“Try not too look so judgy, Matt. It’s strategy.”

“Strategy?” Matt asked Foggy, likely for more of an explanation. 

“It’s part of the game plan to fuck with them while there gaurds down. Frank won’t be twiddling around while he’s off the ice. There’s nothing about good-natured rough housing that's not totally against the rules, either. That’s part of the unspoken yet spoken code of college Hockey.”

“Besides, it’s Frank’s few minutes of peace before he tears the enemy team apart once he’s back on the ice. He likes to give the other team a chance,” Jessica says suddenly, explaining when he casted a confused look at her.

“Nothing about this sport is peaceful,” Matt says glumly.

The game continues on and true to Jessica’s words, Frank gets back on the ice with vengeance at his heels, or well in this instance, skates. Matt doesn’t really understand how he kept up with the game to know that. Foggy and Jessica did their best to keep him on tab, but eventually they quieted as they watched the game, respectfully giving it all their attention. So in the end Matt was left to his own wits to figure out how the game progressed, the sportscasters nasally voice an annoying scratch to his ears that had him better off ignoring his words.

But listening to the game, like really paying attention, was easy enough after a while, since he mostly focused on the captain's voice, finding it the strongest and easiest guide to follow on the progress of the game. If he sounded angry, that meant the enemy team had the puck, if he didn’t, then they did. A goal was easy to hear both from the buzzer alerting him. But Matt found the happy yelp of Frank’s voice a better indication that their team scored.

Matt didn’t really pay attention to how rapt he was with interest to listening to the captain that he barely registers the fact that he’s mimicking along with Foggy and Jessica as their team scores another goal.

“I see someone’s finally paying attention now," teased Jessica as she watched him rise up in excitement. 

“Shut up,” Matt clipped back, embarrassed enough that he sat down immediately on his seat.

4 goals happen all throughout the end of the first and second period.

The final period approaches and the Boston Terriers fight back by getting another goal in.

It’s a stand still after that, both teams scuffling and being more aggressive as the timer ticks on to the end of the game, which leads to another fight out of desperation, but this time more contained since the crowd doesn’t uproar too much. Matt can hear the sounds of all the team swearing, their voices tight and tense as the timer alerts them they don't have much time left.

Matt hears Frank’s voice easily though, it’s the loudest and least tense of them all. His voice isn’t less tense because it’s lax, there is a strain to it of course, it’s a tight game, but mostly part of it is trying to keep strong, trying to be leading, to be reassuring but also firm in his tone to his teammates as he gives commands and orders. Frank’s leading the team as a real bona fide Captain by being cool headed and decisive.  

In the last few minutes of the game, he hears Frank whisper something to one of his teammates when they pass by each other, and then only a few minutes later, the buzzer rings, and Frank’s whooping out happily as he lifts his stick and raises his hands in triumphant two handed fist pumps. One of them had scored at apparently one minute to spare.

The final goal ends the game at 4-3.

Then the game ends once all the athletes line up to shake hands, and Matt and the rest of the crowd are already standing up to leave and meander out. Matt feels Jessica herd him with a strong grapple on his shoulder, forcing him away from the exit doors. Matt creases his brows in a silent question to her.

“Just come with me. Foggy, you heading out now?” Jessica questions him.

“Ugh, yeah, I promised to meet up with Karen at the library after the game.”

“Alright, see you. I’m off to introduce Matt to the team.”

He hears Foggy chucle as he walks past them. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Wait, what?”  Matt mumbles just as Foggy disappears with the rest of the crowd like the traitor he is. “I don’t think I ever agreed to that.” 

“C’mon, you finally get to meet some real athletes. Soon enough you’ll thank me for introducing you to some future hockey stars.” 

“Oh since I’ve been devirginalized I have to meet the team now?” Matt repeated Foggy’s strange words. 

“Ew. Yes. But he's an idiot and still right—you have to now. Its tradition after all. Plus, you’re not actually meeting them all, just a few of them really—the cool ones at least.”

Matt really hated traditions. It felt too convenient an excuse most of the time to do something pointless with his so called friends.

But Matt conceded to her wishes. It wouldn’t do good to break them after all. Mostly because he was afraid of what saying no to one of Jessica' Jone's was like. 

They stay back near a wall, away from the bleachers, somewhere that’s near the locker rooms judging by the smell of putrid sweat masked over by heavy sprays of deodorant.

“So, how’d you like the game?” Jessica asks suddenly as they wait around for the team to finish cleaning up. They’re leaning with their back against the concrete walls as Matt rubs his hands to feel warm from the cold wafting in from the ice.

Matt shrugs as he leans his head back. “To be honest, it wasn’t what I was expecting…it was interesting at the very least.”

Jessica slides her hands against the walls of the rink, her manicured nails making a sharp tap against it.

“You seemed more interested than I thought you’d be.”  

Matt feels something akin to blushing, not nearly enough to be noticeable, but the embarrassment is still there when he speaks again, “I-I never really got into sports all that much when I was young, especially sports like these. I guess, I dunno,” Matt says trying to grasp at straws not there. “It was just something new to figure out. It was different and kind of neat to know more about at the moment. Like a game was happening in front of me, so the least I could do was at least pay attention to the game, you know?” 

She nods. “Think you’ll ever become a fan?”

“Oh, god, no. I still think the sports too overtly violent for my taste.”

“It’ll grow on you, it’s a surprise to everyone, but it does.” She goes to say more before she stands up straight suddenly, pushing away from the wall, where she’s moving towards the entrance of the locker rooms. Matt follows suit, his feet hesitating just the tiniest bit as he hears people exit the locker rooms.

“There you are.” Matt hears the new voice say, this one deeper and masculine. There are more people milling around them now, almost surrounding them, but they pass by except for a few who stick around near the outer rim of the rink.

“Here I am,” Jessica pipes back, a smile obviously clear on her face from the way her words sound. It’s quiet for a while and Matt almost tries to speak before a strangers rough hands grab his shoulder.

“Might wanna turn around and let the lovebird’s make out for a while. Steely’s been hard up ever since the start of the game, the dude could use more than a pass right about now.”

“Yeah,” another voice states, this one with that familiar deep rumble. “He could use a bit of lovin right now.”

“Dude, you need to chill,” the deep voice rumbles, which he assumes is Jessica’s boyfriend, Steely.

“You’re both so disgusting. Also, never say ‘need some lovin’ in a sentence, Frank,” he hears Jessica gripe toward where Matt is. Hopefully she means the person behind him. But that would also mean that Frank Castle is right behind him. And that’s not quite right to have him so close. Matt tries his best to squash the need to move five feet away from his touch. He doesn't do that of course because one: that would be rude, two: that would make him look like an idiot, and three: he does not want to know what Frank Castle is like when he's been offended by someone he's never met. 

“What?” the voice sounds indignant. “Wade always worse than I am,” he says with an accent Matt hadn’t been able to decipher when he was far away. Matt notices the strangest way his voice gets gravelly at the end of each word, like he’s enunciating them in his own personal lilt. It reminds him of home, back in the city where people talked and not just we’re trying to fake an accent like some New York wannabe that wanted to go to school in Columbia. 

“Yeah, but you always start shit,” Steely says back.

“Yeah, yeah whatever big guy. Nice pass by the way,” Frank says as he pats another person near Matt’s vicinity. Matt doesn’t really understand how quickly they changed the subject to that, but he’s thankful they don’t talk about Jessica and Luke making out anymore…or well, lovin, as Frank eloquently put it.

“Nah. It was your good call, Captain. Scored us another win by telling Danny and I to focus on #15. You were right that they relied on him too much for passes to score.”

“The other guys couldn’t even try getting near the goal when that happened, it was fucking awesome,” he heard a new voice say. It must be the other defenseman.

“Team effort that helped,” Frank says cheerily. He sounds proud and ecstatic, like his body is thrumming with a content energy that makes Matt want to smile too. And he does, just a bit, because the way he’s talking is just making it infectious.

“Oi, who’s the douche with the glasses?” Wade questions with a snap to his fingers, like he needs an explanation to the apparent new guy in their space. He finds the man waving a face in front of him, something that Matt’s begrudgingly used to. “Who wears sunglasses inside anyways?” 

“He’s blind,” Jessica harshly whispers.

Matt’s mouth smirks up at Wade’s actions. This is probably isn’t the worst insinuation he’s been given. It's typical that most people dance around a subject like this, trying to not step on boundaries they think are there, but people like to test them or attempt to. It makes him really chuckle when he actually thinks about it.

“Are you trying to be funny, Wade?” Matt asks, innocently enough.

“He’s being a jackass. Wade, knock it off,” he hears Frank say. 

“You don’t look blind.” 

“Sorry I don’t look the part. I’ll try better next time.” 

“How’d you know who I was then?” Wade accused.

Matt controls his features, only letting a smirk and a slight chuckle come out even knowing how straightforward Wade could be this borders on being a little insensitive. 

“We’ve actually met before. I remember your voice. We have Criminal Law together.”

Wade snaps his fingers again. “Ooooh, yeah, now I remember. Yeah, yeah, you are in my Crim class.”

“Hey, is this the newbie you’re rooming with, Jess?” the other defenseman voice pipes in from somewhere near Wade, trying to change the subject. The voice has a slight tenor spring to it, like his voice is nearly matured; but still got much growing left. 

“Yep, thought I’d finally introduce you to him. This is Matt Murdock,” she tells them as she stands right next to him, “and he’s a new friend of mine. So be nice. Especially you, Frank.”

“What makes you think I can’t be nice? Wade’s the one being a prick,” Frank said indignantly. “Don’t believe a word she’s said about me,” Frank said, leaning just a bit more to Matt's ears when he spoke. Matt did not blush to hear how deeply resonating that voice sounded.

“I can make my own assumptions on people." He says, as cool as possible.

“That’s good. You can think for yourself, yuppie.”

Matt blinked at him, his brows knitting together to glare lightly at him. “Aren’t you a sophomore? You’re older by a year.”

“Yeah, so? I’m still older, so show some damn respect.” Matt rolled his eyes as he shrugged his shoulder, pushing Frank away, which caused Matt to find out soon enough how relentlessly horrible of a person Frank Castle was. He blushed a rosy red as Frank casually threw his arms over his shoulders, perching himself on Matt like it was normal as they walked out the rink together. Matt was suddenly bombarded with his scent, the potent smell of his anti-perspirant entering his senses and something akin to cheap whiskey from how pungent it was. Matt would have gagged if he wasn’t around so many new people.

“C’mon, let’s head out to the bar. First rounds on me.”

Belatedly it struck Matt about what exactly Frank was saying, because he was being led along with him and the rest of his gang somewhere. 

Somewhere outside of the campus ring, somewhere outside of his comfort zone. 

Outside of the campus boundaries. With new people. With company he wasn’t all too comfortable sharing. 

But didn’t he say he wanted to do this? So why was his heart pounding so fast and his feet felt like they wanted to plant themselves down in an attempt to stop all of this from happening. 

Matt wouldn’t say he was the type of person to be a recluse. No, he was active… just active at school, and work, and all that other proper stuff that you’re supposed to be doing in your post-secondary life.

Alcoholic pastimes were not something he had in mind. Alcohol always made his senses blurry, it always felt like a full body hangover even if he had a little sip of it. 

Okay, so maybe he overcompensated on his need to be ‘venturing.’ He was still a goddamn kid for Christ sakes! That, for the first time, was out of his dad’s grasp and guidance, so, really, he totally doesn’t mean half the things he’s saying or doing when it doesn’t involve his academia. That’s part of growing up. Half truths and half measures. So maybe he doesn’t want to drown in all the opportunities given to him.

He’s just as happy to wade out in the shallows. The academic shallows to be precise.

But then he thinks about his dad. His old man had told him to make the best of it. Not in so many words, but he said it through his tears of joy, in his tight hug, in the way his heart seemed to swell and jump as he saw Matt leave and close the door behind him to go on to better and bigger things he never got to do. 

Oh god.

Maybe he should try dipping a foot in the deep end at the very least. To appease some idea of pleasing his dad. 

“Where is this bar?” Matt asked suddenly as they walked together, his words weak, but now out there in the open testing the waters. Frank turned them a bit to the left and his feet suddenly hit concrete instead of gravel road. They were heading to the parking lots now he thought to himself absently.

“It’s on the outskirts of town.” Matt gulped. Outskirts. Oh god. “The only place that’ll let minors drink if we pay well enough.” His heart was pounding from nerves as they walked towards the cars parked out all the way in the back row.

“I don’t drink,” Matt said it like it was an excuse to not go.

Frank hummed a response, under his breath, ‘course he's a goody two shoes.’

“We’ll get you a sprite then. Christ, live it up spoil-sport,” Matt heard Wade say somewhere in front of him. “Daddy needs to get sloshed after a victory like that.”

“Ew. Ew, ” Jessica griped out loud. 

Wade mocked her words and then swiftly replied: “Daddy says no.”

There were put upon sighs by everyone around him except for Wade who cackled silently to himself. Matt half imagined the clap that just happened was Wade high fiving himself. 

“Just come on, Matt, you’ll have fun regardless. These idiots can keep you entertained when they’re all drunk and stumbling. It’s funny as hell too.”

Matt was stopped suddenly when they walked a few more steps, where Jessica pulled him towards a bit closer to one side where he assumed was the direction her car was parked at, and then Frank let him go then. Matt was finding it in himself not to complain too much about the loss of his touch and scent so close and the fact that he’d kept in contact the whole walk.  

But soon he was herded inside the back seat and the familiar scent of her lavender car-freshener rewashed his senses. Jessica seemed to like that scent the most, invigorating herself with it as much as possible.

Matt heard the passenger side open just as Jessica turned on her engine. Matt guessed easily that it was Luke. It was obvious that both of them would go with Jessica and why he was put in the back seat. It seemed the other guys had another car they were taking to the bar. 

“So, Matt,” he heard Luke say from the passenger seat as they rounded their way to the exit and on the road. “What are you studying?” It seemed easy enough for an icebreaker and he was glad that Luke was the one who asked.

“Uhh, I’m an English major.”  

“Ouch,” he hears Luke say with a hiss as he hears the sound of him turning in his seat to look at him. Jessica coughed suddenly and he heard the loud smack of someone being hit, hard. “I mean, like, cool, dude. English, fucking A one dude.”

Matt rolled his eyes unconsciously. He didn’t really understand the social construct for people to abhor English as an impractical major. Why anyone had to abhor or give commiserations to people in different majors than their own was beyond Matt.

“Mind his idiocy. He’s hopeless, Matt, I couldn’t even get him to read Hamlet with me in High school. And that’s a simple classic everyone should know by now.”

“Hey,” Luke said defensively. “I told you before English is a no go for me. I hated writing those dumb essays with those books.”

“You write essays constantly even if you’re in Kinesiology, Luke. Writing and reading is in everything.”

“Yeah, but that makes sense to me. All that other literature stuff doesn’t. I mean, I don’t about you but I don’t want to write a 20 page essay about why Hamlet had latent incestuous urges about his mom. That’s sick and disturbing, Jess.”

Jessica laughed. Matt laughed as well. He did have a point in that sense, he was okay with that kind of reasoning. People did tend to write way off in context, especially professors, who’s main reason they were English professors was because they read context above and beyond.

The car went back and forth on conversations about their majors. Matt already knew at length that Jessica was studying along Humanities, specifically focusing on child development and care. But Matt knew nothing about Luke’s major, kinesiology. He knew the basic stuff about it, the skimmed definition really.

“Well it’s kinda like understanding movement, more of how that applies or effects within and outside of the human body, the physiology of it, the biomechanical and psychological mechanisms at work in relation to it all.”

“And it’s just been recently integrated in the US?” Matt said, impressed by the study.

“Yeah, it was licensed in Canada first— here in New York a few years from suggestions by the education committee.”

“That’s awesome. So what do you plan to do with it?”

“With what I’m learning I’m gonna decide to be an occupational therapist and trainer when I finish my BA and start specializing the next few years.” 

“Enough talk about Kinesiology. He’s gonna go off on another tangent about how it was a godsend that Kinesiology was finally inaugurated.”

“No fun,” Luke said pettily.

“So you and Luke have been dating since High school?” Matt asked instead of asking another question on his field of study. It was the only thing he could think to ask that he could grasp at the moment. 

Luke groaned. He must have chosen right though since Jessica laughed. It’s usually always the good choice when she does it.

“Oh, god, no. He was seeing someone else at the time in his Junior and first semester Senior year,” Jessica said. “Luke broke up with her when they decided that they didn’t want to go to the same University. She went to Yale for Business, he went to Colombia for Kinesiology. It was a very grown up break-up, or so I hear through the grapevine… but really it was a-” Jessica whispers the last part before Luke scoffs the rest of her sentence.

“It was very grown up, Jess. We hugged it out.”

“If you call hugging it out throwing warm coffee in eachother’s faces, then to each their own, Lukey poo.”

“And now,” Luke said, a little bit pointedly, “Here we are, a month away from our first anniversary.”

“Oh, good that you remember. I was gonna kick your ass if you forgot.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Luke retorts, his voice lilting a bit.

“I think I might just keep you around for another year now.”

“More than another year?” Luke said a bit suspiciously. “The lack of love is just appalling here.” 

“Oh shut up, keep that up and it might be less.”

Then there are sounds that are too close to pecks on skin, and from there Matt can only assume so much about what’s happening in the front seat. He hopes Luke is just kissing her cheek. He hopes.

Jessica giggles, and then Matt finally understands really what Wade means about the ‘lovin’ part. They are too gushy that he can barely stifle the need to gag.

They settle into a silence after that, with random bursts of conversations from here or there: talk about the new menu at Bit’s, the workload of their courses, then they talk about the game, which leads to a quick run-down on the whole team roster that picks up the conversation for the rest of the ride.

“But really the only important people are us four," Luke explains. "Iron, Steely, Punisher and Avocado all make the best of the best of the Columbia men's hockey team.”

Matt’s head tilts in question to the strange nickname. “I really want to ask where the nickname comes from.” Matt didn’t even need to specify the name before Luke already gave a chuckle and response.

Luke has to think for a moment before he understands what Matt meant. “Have you seen the guy's face…” Luke’s words patter off as he realizes his faux pas. “Uh, just, trust us, Matt. It fits the description quite well.”

“It really does,” Jessica jibes in as she makes a sharp left turn that has Matt gripping his seatbelt. “Anyways, we’re here!”

Matt feels for the door locks and carefully opens it all the way before sliding out. The air around him is filled with pine needles and wafting smells of fermentation. And puke. Lots of puke. 

The bar itself held an old wood smell, like that of a log cabin or something similar, the cedar smell of it subtle and nuanced with the other more acrid scents he smelt beforehand.  

“This seems like a respectable establishment,” Matt says sarcastically as Jessica leads him in.

“This place sells alcohol to minors with really shitty fake ID’s. You think they’d be anything liking towards respectable?”

“Good point.”

“It’s not so bad when you get inside. It’s really nice, actually.”

“Beers not so bad, too, home brew,” Frank says once he walks along with them. Wade and the other person that has to be Iron not too far behind his tail. “Of course that’s really all that’s good about them.”

“There’s a pool table, too, Matt” Iron/Danny said.  

Another silence. It was kind of the not-so-direct slip up that most people didn’t think through when they said it. It was fine though, Matt was used to peoples careless words because they never usually thought about others not having the same advantages as them. No hard feelings about it. But that didn't stop the mischievous glint to Matt's smile. 

“Really think I can play with these eyes?” Matt said matter of fact. He meant it as a joke, a play on words, something to ease their discomfort. He could actually play the game pretty well if he wanted to, but that’s if he wanted to. “Think I’d have a pretty good advantage if I got anything to say.” 

There was a surprised laugh from almost everyone around him. Matt rolled his eyes but was glad the awkwardness had subsided and moved on. 

But Frank stayed quiet. He seemed in thought mostly, walking with all of them until they entered the bar. Matt was trying his hardest not to gag on the smell of alcohol and smoke that was acrid on his senses, apparently it got even better as he entered the premises and was welcomed to another wave of mild nausea he was trying to stave off. 

There was a small commotion as they all tried to find a place where they could all sit down. Luke and Jessica had found a small clearing, it was a round table that sat snugly in the middle of the bar. It must be their usual spot because each of them sat in specific seats, passing by on close chairs to sit next to certain ones.

Matt realized a bit later that there wasn’t a seat for him.

“Oh, dude, you can rest in my seat while Luke and I chat over to grab some beers,” Frank said as he passed Matt and manhandled him into the chair he was sitting not too long ago.

“Get to know the rest of the gang while we order. You sure you don’t want a drink? I Won't judge yah if you get a fruity one.” Luke said as he patted Matt’s shoulder to join Frank at the tap.

Matt shook his head. “Thanks. A coke is just fine, really.”

Squirming a bit in his seat, Matt felt eyes bore into him as he tried to get comfortable as possible on the rickety chair, hating how off kilter it was. How did Frank sit in a chair like this? Matt hated the feeling of it, the constant balance an annoyance just as much as being blatantly looked at. 

“Do you need something?” Matt asked when the staring felt like it was burning a hole into his forehead.

“Interesting,” Wade said as Matt heard him scratch his scarce stubble like he was contemplating. “Veeerrryy interesting.”

“Um…okay.”

“Leave him alone, Wade. He doesn’t need your weird attempts at interrogation. Matt’s cool. Cool enough to be my roommate even though he’s a year younger than all of us.”

“How’d that happen?” Danny says as he leans back on his chair. “I thought you were going to room with Karen in the first place?” 

Jessica makes a long suffering sigh. “Long story short: 

 to room together, but, belatedly, she told me very last minute that she was going to live off campus because she found a cute place with a good deal. So the landlord dude was gonna have me room with some bullshit british dweeb.”

“Oh, yeah, heard it was with that British guy with the fucked up name. Killrave or something?”

Jessica nods.“Yeah, fuck that guy, gave me bad vibes and he was creepy. I was seriously desperate to find someone else on a pinch and just happened to come by his bookshop after I stepped on his cane by accident. So to repay for it I asked him to be my roommate for a good rate.” 

“Huh,” Danny said chuckling. “I can understand, yeah.”

“Oh, sure, candid moments where we meet our roommates. A truly worthwhile tale.”

“Oh, yeah, like you don’t regard your Pup initiation as a worthwhile tale too?” Jessica sneered back. Wade made a mumbled noise that sounded like ‘that’s different.’

“Econ,” Danny said thoughtfully as he snapped his finger, stopping Matt from asking what exactly a PuP initiation was. “Do we have that together, Matt?” he said across from him. “It’s the 11’clock class with Fisk.”

“Um, yeah, I think so,” Matt recalled that class suddenly because Mr. Fisk was the same Econ professor they ran away from. He seemed to have a personal vendetta what with how manic his tone was whenever he forced Matt to answer a question about the micro or macro effects of economics.

Jessica coughed out her drink. “You took Econ with that psycho?”  

Matt shrugged nonchalantly. He didn’t have to like the teacher to find the subject interesting. “I had a lot to choose from for courses. Plus I wanted to open myself up a bit to other fields of law, see what I like or don’t.”

“Ugh, fine, just don’t turn into a goddamn shark then. I have faith you’ll choose something respectable," Jessica so earnestly. 

“What was your main field though? From the way you talk in Criminal Law that seems more up your alley,” Wade said thoughtfully.

“It is. I’m slowly becoming more interested in it, it’s kind of the main reason why I changed a majority of my courses to fit its schedule.”

“Yeah, right?” Wade says emphatically. “I mean we’re not even on the serial killer part yet—” Wade said when his mouth was covered with a slap.

“And you stop right there Wade Winston Wilson. I’m not in the mood to hear about how Jeffrey Dahmer served human flesh to his victims or what exactly Ed Kemper did to his mother's dead body.” 

Wade stuck out his tongue childishly. “No fun.” 

“None of it,” Jessica threatens with the wiggle of her finger. With a comical grunt, Wade concedes as Danny laughs at their interaction.

“None of what?” Luke says as he comes back with the smell of beer on his person. He sets them all down with a thud, maneuvering each pint glass in front of everyone but Matt.

“Nothing,” Jessica replies quickly as she takes a gulp of her beer. 

“And a coke for the good little choir boy,” Frank says as he brings a glass cup towards Matt’s hands resting on the table.

“Haven’t been a choir boy in years,” Matt replies snarkily. 

“Whatever you say, choirboy,” Frank says sarcastically as he drinks his pint in a quick gulp. The sound of it his throat gulping down should not have been something Matt found attractive. It was strange to say that someone—anyone—sounded attractive when they were downing a beer. Instead of focusing on that, Matt takes furtive sips of his coke, and tries not to feel awkward as Frank rests one hand on his shoulder as he makes quick conversation with everyone on the table. The touch from it is warm and comfortable like always, with the same rough calloused hands from before. It almost feels like he’s squeezing Matt’s shoulder carefully and Matt doesn’t try to push into it in the slightest.

He doesn't. 

Matt blink’s quickly when he hears snapping in front of him.

“What?” Matt asked, annoyed again.

“I’ve been calling your goddamn name for the past few seconds. You didn’t hear me?” Frank asked as he leaned closer to talk.

“No—I just, ugh,” Matt stifled a bit.

“Yes or no?”

“What?” Matt said again, this time with more confused.

“Pool? You wanna play Murdock?”

“I…ugh,” Matt said a bit stunned. “With my eyes?” Matt said, gesturing to his glasses.

“I thought you were joking when you said that,” Frank said casually.

“Um…yeah, I was,” Matt said a bit awkwardly, but a smile tinging his features.

“Good. C’mon, let’s go,” Frank said as he patted his shoulder.

The invitation to play idly made him remember the strange days when he’d play 9 ball at the pool tables to make a bit of cash for himself in his senior year. How he didn’t really want to play but was silently acquiesced into it because the money was decent and they just kept goading him to play, forcing him to accept it in a strange way of back and forth payment. The money racked up with each new dumb patron thinking he was just some blind nobody kid who thought he was lost and incapable. He won sometimes and lost sometimes, but that was rare of him to lose as time progressed and he played it more often, getting better, learning the trajectory, the exact pressure needed to push a ball in, the amount of resistance it would face. All of his heightened senses allowed him to become incredible tactile in the game.

So there is that.

And it was really for the benefit for his dad. Mostly. Alright, the money was splurged sometimes, Matt won’t lie.

But not having to ask his dad for new supplies or trip money—because the rule of thumb was that they never had the money for it—was kind of a relief. So making money from bets was just a big benefit alongside his side job at the grocers. Enough of it eventually accumulated that he used that money to pay off the rest of his textbooks and afforded comfortable bedding for his sensitive skin in his new apartment. 

His father didn’t know too much about it, too preoccupied with paying rent and doing under-the-table business deals. Besides, he didn’t do it often, it was just a quick after school thing he did whenever he had enough time to sneak his way to downtown and then come back before his dad ever got home and noticed anything. The bar old patrons all knew him pretty regularly now, but not knowing who he really was, personally. Matt’s pretty sure the whole lot of them assumed he was some kind of enigma that they didn’t want to try beating anymore since he finally got the hang of the game with his senses. They mostly just enjoyed watching Matt outplay dimwits and deplete them of their cash.

But Matt felt like he shouldn’t really do that in front of here. He came close to getting in fights with angry new patrons that were dumb enough to play pool against a blind kid for money. Matt knew he wasn’t likely going to get into a fight with Wade or Frank, (not with Jessica in the vicinity at the very least) but he did feel like he shouldn’t try to out shine them early on.

Maybe he’d just play a nice game of pool with new people.

“Hey? You passing out or something. Wake up sunshine and stand up.”

Matt was supposed to be experiencing new things. He should. No. Maybe. His brain couldn't decide for him then. He wasn't sure what the right decision for his kinda situation was. 

“What, too scared, Murdock?” he heard Frank tease suddenly when he hadn’t spoken for a while now. He sounded exactly like the same patrons that challenged him that didn’t know better.

“I could always try,” Matt said a little too sweetly as he finally stood up, facing Frank with his patented Murdock smirk. Frank led him with a hand on his shoulder, where Matt slowly picked up the sounds of pool balls bouncing against each other and the sounds of other patrons whoops and praises for having scored a nice shot. Wade came by promptly to play, saying Danny, Jessica and Luke were all trying to get tipsy before they’d even consider playing. 

“Just so you know I won’t be going easy on you…even if it is your first time playing with us. We’re considered the reigning kings of this joint,” Wade said beside him as they picked a table to use.

“We’re not the kings of anything, Wade,” Frank said with a sigh. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just being his weird self.”

“It’s not written in the books yet, but the fact that we haven’t loss is proof. I mean we’ve got our names on the board for a reason Frank.”

“You scratched that in yourself.”

“So? That doesn’t invalidate it.”

“Whatever. I’m starting a set,” Frank grouched as he started taking the balls out of the pockets. “What do you play?” Frank asked him as he bent down to grab the rack frame from underside of the table.

“Ugh, all I ever really played was 9 ball. Quick games were easier for me.”

“Wanna try straight pool then?”

“Or…,” Wade said suggestively, “We could play Deadpool, the greatest game of pool ever,” Wade preached ominously.

Matt’s browse raised in question. “Deadpool?”

“No. We’re not playing that. We broke like 3 fucking lightbulbs and hit a guy in the mouth last time we played.”

“Yeah, you’re right, plus… I don’t think Matt could get trick shots that well.”

Frank told him to hush quietly as they looked at Matt to see if he heard what he said.

Matt canted his head as he rubbed his temple. He had enough of this walking-on-glass kind of talk or tiny microaggressions from these people. He knew he had to put them in their place sooner or later if he was going to be hanging out with them for this amount of time. 

Screw playing the passive role.

“Let’s play,” Matt chimed as he dragged a hand down to touch the old poplar wood frame, touched the railing of the table, feeling the wood and baize over the slate, knowing it resonated well with his senses. “Teach me how to play Deadpool.”

Frank gave a sigh as Wade cheered happily. “Just so you know, Deadpool is a betting game.”

“That’s fine,” Matt said even more cheerily. He played it down though quickly, trying to fake it as nervousness. “We go 100, each?” Matt asked dumbly to see if they would take the bait.

“That’s, that’s, yeah sure if you want—ow!” Matt winced as he heard Wade curse as he was punched in the shoulder by Frank. “What was that for?” the sound a hard thump. He swore he heard the sounds of bone crushing as well, but Wade seemed to brush it off like he was fine, no further sign he was injured or in pain. Frank pulled Wade away from the table, leading him to a far corner that he thought Matt wouldn’t be able to hear. But he was. He honed in closely to their words.

“We are not playing for 100 on the table, this is ridiculous,” whispered Frank in an angry tone.

“Hey the guy offered, Frank.”

“No—that—that doesn’t mean we take it, Wade!”

“Look what if we do 2 vs 1. You team up with your catholic boy, then we still end up cashing up money for it.”

“Fuck that. We’re not cashing anything. We’re just playing pool.”

Matt bit his lip. Frank Castle was being too damn nice and he needed him to stop. “Um… guys? I thought we were gonna play? Is 100 too low? How about 200? Or are you too afraid you’d lose?” Matt innocently mocked Frank’s word from where he was standing.

Winning this would make them second guess all their second guessing about Matt. So it was worth playing it up like this. 

Wade made another pained noise, this one though, Matt was certain came from the joy at knowing he was thinking he was going to cash in.

Let’s see about that, Matt thought idly.

Wade finally freed himself from Frank’s manhandling and gleefully sauntered back towards where Matt was at the pool table. Frank followed suit, but he hesitated in his steps before cursing and joining them.

“So, Deadpool,” Wade said very slowly for some reason, “You get only ten balls out, but they have to be followed by strict numerical order. You get penalized for early number goals or for normal shots.”

“What do you mean by normal shots?”

“It’s a superfluous game,” Frank complained. “Pockets only really count if they’re part of trick shots and all that crap. And there’s another stupid point system dependent on how ridiculous the shot is,” Frank begrudgingly says lastly.

“And trick shots include, in order of how cool they are: from bounce shots, multi-ricochets, jump shots, spin balls, or multi-shots. Basically, the crazier you get on the hierarchy—the more points you get. And there’s also the End ball trick ball, which is like using the ten ball to finish the game, but you basically, once you get all the other balls in, have to throw it over your shoulder and score it in, which automatically lets you win the game even if you didn’t have the most points or pockets. Oh! And also there’s—”

“—basically by doing stupid shit, and pocket more than five balls with trick shots, you’re more than likely going to win the game,” Frank finished for him when Wade started going off course on a non sequitur. In the short time he met him, Matt knew that was most likely Wade’s personality. A blabbermouth that went off to high heavens explaining the nonsensical like it mattered. 

“So it’s just, like, what? 10 ball with gimmicks?” Matt said with a smirk.

Wade made a sound that was similar to that of a posh upperclassman member’s scoff. “If you want to be so gauche about it.”

“Trust me, when Wade plays, it’s more than likely not going to be a simple game. Remember when I said we broke 3 light bulbs?” Matt nodded, remembering. “Well the worst that we ever did was fly a cue ball into the bar shelf and break a couple hundred dollars’ worth of booze.”

“And they let you back into the place?” Matt said a bit incredulously. How the hell did they get away with damaging property constantly?

“It helped that Danny paid off an over abundant amount of the fees. Now I think they let us play it so that we break more stuff for us to pay. I think they even make wagers on who breaks what now.”

Matt chuckles a bit, amused and wary at the idea the bar allows misfits to intentionally damage the place to pay off outstanding debt. What a ridiculous pact these people have with this bar. In the few crazy hours he's spent with these people, what has Matt Murdock gotten himself into? With these people especially? All of it seems ludicrous and he’s barely even known them for that long. Matt’s only been with them for a few hours since game night ended. He’s finding it hard to believe that it’s only been that long.

“So," Wade said suddenly. "Frank and you against me?” 

Matt rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “One for all. But if you want, you guys can team up and share pockets or until one of you gets the trick ball,” he explained carefully, and just as a scathing benefit, “What? Are you scared to get beaten by a blind man, Puny Punisher?”

Matt pictured vividly of Frank slyly cupping his mouth as he tried to hide a smirk and scowl, like he was being cool about how grating the new nickname was. There was a click of a tongue then, the sound of it invoking an amusement that bordered on aggressive or feverish and he smiled to himself. “So what happens when someone wins?” Frank urged, finally interested to take a challenge when he heard one, no longer under a guise of being treading to be nice. 

Matt smirked as he leaned on the rail. “Like I said 200. If you guys win that is.”

“Oh man this is like taking money from a blind man,” Wade drawled sarcastically as he sauntered closer, and patted his shoulder, “And thank you, Matt, for letting me make a joke like that.”

“Oh, no problem,” Matt said, amusing him again.

Matt this time tentatively searched around the table, feeling the woven baize. Hands finally finding the set frame, where all the pool balls were held in. He thinned his lips, realizing he wouldn’t be able to tell the numbers from touch like the other pools table had. These ones had a clearer varnish finish at the end. Frank was then by his side, nearly shocking Matt, but he chuckled and held Matt’s hands in his own, letting them one by one rove over each sphere, naming the numbers on each one.

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

“Ten ball in the center of course,” Frank finishes as he lets go of his hands. Matt does not miss the feel of his warmth. He doesn’t.

“Um—thank you, Frank,” Matt mumbled, a little shaky, then focused heavily on memorizing where he could shoot. From the positioning, the break would let him score

“Least I could do after I cash in that 100.” Matt noted quickly that there wasn’t an acerbic bite to his tone, he seemed playful, not pitying in the slightest. It was refreshing to be considered like that. Like someone to fight or worthy of a match. 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Puny Punisher,” Matt said, grinning, the nickname easy to make fun of, but, still nice to say.

Frank repeated the new nick name with the shake of his head. “Just take your shot choir boy.”

“You should take first shot, Matt, least I can do for you as well,” Wade said a little too sweetly himself. He must be enjoying this moment more than Matt was.

Won’t be long before the smug look is wiped off his face, Matt thought to himself. 

“You’re sure?” Matt said with the fakest bid of nervousness he could muster as he walked to the racks of pool sticks. He weighed them each in his hands, deciding on one with good weight and height. 

“Here,” Frank said, leaning closely again and guiding Matt’s arms with his hands, leading one of them fully to slowly find the center of the table, and then gliding their hands together on the slate till Matt’s fingers found the cue ball he needed to hit. He was helping him visualize where everything was. Matt didn’t need help, (he would have done it by himself thank you very much) but he wasn’t going to oppose to the touch. He liked Frank’s warmth as much as he didn’t want to admit it. It was reassuring and comfortable. 

With everything visualized in his head, and knowing where each ball was, he knew the trajectory path wouldn’t allow him a one shot win. At most he’d get 2 or 4 goals in.

Matt moved his pool stick slightly to the left, he lightly tapped on the wood of the table, analyzing the exact location again from the sound. The 1 ball was primed for his shot when he finally pulled back. It was a quick jerking motion, but Matt heard the resounding sound of the cue ball smacking against the other balls. It didn’t take long before the sounds of 4 balls going in unison happened. 1.3. 2. 4, in that order, as Matt remembered precisely, the information easily relayed in his mind with how fast they all bounced away. All in one shot too if that wasn’t obvious.

Frank whistled lowly, then his gravelly chuckle gave way to a boisterous laughter, keeping himself up with his stick and Wade’s shoulder.

Wade kept quiet, his mouth most likely open in shock.

The other bar patrons whooped and howled at Matt’s shot. Some of them familiar.

Matt then heard Jessica and Luke were giggling madly, impressed by Matt’s skills as well since they seemed to be the loudest patrons. Danny seemed flabbergasted as well because he just silently kept saying ‘what’ like it was a mantra. All of them must have herded by once they heard the commotion. Or they were just drunk enough to go exploring around now.

“I believe I get another shot in, right?” Matt said wryly as he gently brought his hand on the slate. The image from the contact showed him 3 possible ways he could shoot. He could spin the ball in or throw it over the 7 ball and kick in the 5

 ball that would have pocketed in if he put a little more force in the first break.

This would be the winning shot if he let them have it.

And he wasn’t going to.

“No fucking way,” Frank said as he thumped Wade’s chest. “That—that was fucking insane.”

“This table is rigged,” Wade harped insistently as he stomped forward. “This table is rigged and I’m going to prove it.” Wade came towards the table and he stepped back away from him as Wade violently set up the table.

“How would Matt have rigged it?” Jessica retorted with a slur to her words. It seemed in the small time frame they’d been playing the game, she’d had enough to start slurring. Luke and Danny seemed to be close to because their easy laughs seemed less restrained and hearty. The kind of laughs you just have when you feel good and well. 

“I don’t know—magnets?” Wade suggested.

Likely idea, Matt thought facetiously.

“Matt made a seal with the devil to be good at pool?” Wade continued as he readied his stick.

Improbable. Also, blaspheme. Matt heard the rolling sounds of the balls being carded and picked out of pockets, obviously telling him the game was over and that Wade proving a point was for more important than finishing Matt’s turn.

“Super human senses that let him use radar sense to let him have pinpoint accuracy?” Wade finished as moved his stick back and forth, not breaking the set yet, just testing.  

Matt blinked under his lenses. Unnervingly accurate.

Frank shook, totally displeased and unimpressed at Wade's thoughtless attempt at figuring Matt Murdock's uncanny powers. “Cut the crap, Wade, just shoot.”

The sound of the ball hitting the cue stick was resounding as the lack of goals being pocketed, with all of them just skidding on the rails back and forth. “Okay, no, let me redo that, bad shot,” Wade mumbled as he reset the table. “I need to prove this. You’re not taking my money until all possibilities have been accounted for.”

Matt rolled his eyes under his glasses and the wave of his eyebrows. “Keep it, Wade.” He already made his point, he didn’t actually want to take the money seeing as it was more of a bartering tactic, something to get them riled up enough to actually play with him anyways. “I didn’t actually want to bet on money, legitimately of course.”

“How about another drink then?” Frank said as he amiably patted Matt’s back. “Or food? You deserve that much for kicking our asses like that.”

“A plate of fries will do it then,” Matt nodded, taking the offer with no protest.

So they all sat back on the tables again while Wade continued to disprove Matt’s win well into the rest of the night. Frank and Danny sat in-between Matt, him taking Wade’s seat and all, as they both decided to drink in and take in the social atmosphere that was developing. Matt found himself more comfortable with the hockey team members around him, no longer seeing them as rough, tough thoughtless jocks.

Jessica and Luke seemed more enraptured with themselves, telling inside jokes and sharing gross comments with each other. Matt decided it was better to converse more with Frank and Danny instead of trying to bother them.

So Frank, Danny and he all immersed themselves in small chatter about school, work, and, after a while, regretfully, hockey came to be a subject that was talked about—lengthily, although that was bound to happen with all these hockey players around him.

“I just love the feel of it, you know? The ice gliding down my feet, the camaraderie of a unified team, the glory of getting a goal in, it’s a rush, that feeling, addictive and incomparable to anything else.”

“Bodily harming everyone around you?” Matt says, droll, still vehement on being wary of the sport. He just couldn’t remove the violence and make room for the camaraderie and friendship that sport brought out of people, which was a point Frank and Danny seemed intent to convince Matt of.

“It’s more than that, Matt. I mean, off course it’s necessary to dominate on the ice, and you can’t be a wimp when it comes to checking or fighting. You have to own it or you get crushed by others, can’t let people boss you around and tell you off. I mean they make fun of me? I don’t give a shit. My teammates? My friends? No fucking way am I letting that slide, it’s bad for morale and teamwork.

“Yeah, Frank and me? Will give the enemy a good right hook for saying stupid shit to our teammates.”

“Violence doesn’t solve everything.”

“Sometimes it does,” Frank spits out with a little too much venom. 

But it’s enough to tell Matt that the conviction in their voice—it’s personal—the matter of it being more than just teasing or senseless mockery from athletic anonymity. “They make fun of Wade’s face,” he concluded solemnly, remembering Luke’s words. The quiet that followed was enough of an answer from both of them. 

He didn’t have to know what Wade looked like. Didn’t need to since he already understood how people would judge you for your looks or your disability without the blink of an eye.

People were cruel for no reason sometimes.

And maybe Matt was too much of a bleeding pacifist to really see eye to eye with that ideology, but he could understand that sometimes you needed to knock some sense into those too ignorant to understand. 

And he knew how much Frank and Danny cared for their strange friend. How they bonded in the 2 years they met, bonded the moment they went through PuP initiation (which he found out was some weird hazing ritual that had been tradition for the hockey team for decades) together, bonded so much that they rented out a house for their second year, somewhere where all of them could find comfort and home with each other.

Frank stooped low on his chair, letting his elbows rest on the edge of the table. “The terriers are entitled trust fund pricks, no offense, Danny.”

“None taken. But, yeah, Matt that team in particular has it out for Wade. We don’t take their shit.”  

“Hurting them is just as good as winning then?”

“It’s just a bonus,” Frank confesses. “A couple bruises to remind them why they lost so badly.”

Matt sighs a little, his shoulders sagging in surrender as he shakes his head. These people have their reasons, Matt can’t deny that, can’t deny that sometimes you do have to tell people off in the only way you know how. He doesn’t have to like it, but he can respect it. “Hopefully you made them regret being so crass,” Matt says as good naturedly as he can.

“I’ll drink to that,” Danny said, trying to lighten the mood. It worked somewhat because Frank did raise his glass. Matt, having already finished his coke, had just nodded and smiled tersely at them.

Unconsciously everyone turned to where Wade was still grappling with the reality of losing or being outshined. It seemed he didn’t like having someone achieve better than him or not being his equal in a game. He seemed frustrated, but entertained with how he kept playing pool by himself and shifting his gaze towards Matt sometimes. Matt oddly decided to wave back at him and smiled innocently. Matt couldn’t tell what Wade’s reaction was when he did that but he was certain he must have been developing a tic of some sorts.

After a while, Wade, having forgone anything remotely related to actually playing the game, started hogging the table protectively until he was very publicly ‘escorted’ out of the bar for his childish misdemeanor. The rest of the group would begrudgingly follow as a promise once they finished the last of their drinks and paid their tabs. Wade knew that was a lie just as soon as Matt could when he heard their heartbeats skip. Wade told them all to fuck themselves as he more than threatened to key their cars if they didn’t come outside soon. Matt had seemed worried until the rest of the people around him started to laugh at his words.

Frank and Danny went back to their conversation on new hockey plays. Matt ignored it in turn of just enjoying his fries.

Jessica and Luke got even handsier as time went on with them being buzzed, decided to take a cab back home together, already having it cleared it with the owner of the bar, a woman named Josie, that they’d come back for it later.

“You’re the best, Josie!” Luke chimed noisily as he swaggered her way out with Jessica at his tow. "We're both gonna crash at the House, guys. See you later Matt." 

“See you tomorrow, Matt! Oh, and take care of Matt for me you fucks!” she said the last line loudly as she walked out the door with Luke. 

Matt shook his head at her scolding’s towards the boys, finding it endearing. Jessica always was a good 10 decibels louder whenever alcohol was involved.

“We should probably check on the idiot before he starts gallivanting out in the woods or who knows what other stupid he could do,” Frank said a bit tiredly. Matt sipped at his coke as he stood up along with Danny and Frank.

The crisp cold air was nice on Matt’s skin. Staying in a crowded place like that for too long had left him sweaty and dirty with all the moisture and dust and fried food sticking to his skin.

Frank cracked his knuckles as he surveyed the parking lot for Wade.

“Where did that idiot run off to?”

Matt brought his cane out, letting it tap on the hard wood floors and then the gravel driveway. The radar leading him safely to the ground.

“He’s pissing by the woods in the back,” Matt announced, grossed out by the pristine smell of urea and chloride wafting behind the bar. Matt assumed quickly enough as he said it that both Danny and Frank had raised their eyebrows at him.  “He was kicked out of a bar and probably had to pee since he couldn’t go inside. He’s most likely at the back of the bar to relieve himself,” he explained to them.

“Well then, c’mon, let’s find him and get him in a cab,” Frank said. They all walked out towards the back, all of them splitting up to find him, calling out his name to see if he’d respond.

Matt had easily found him, the general direction of him that is, towards where the quietness of the fields were interrupted by snoring and murmurings of crazy.

Matt tapped the ground on a grassy clearing, had jumped over a fence that blocked his path to find Wade’s body on the other side on the grass. He ended up tapping his cane on Wade just to make sure. He could find the exact location because of the absent susurrations of grass, where no rustling was made by the outline of a body lying flat on the ground.

Matt stood nearby, the temptation to poke Wade some more there, but not acted on. On second thought, he just tapped his cane gently on the ground near his head, letting it reverberate to his ears.

Matt turned his head around and called out, “I found him!—what the—” Matt said as he was jerked down.

“Snake!” Wade hissed suddenly as he grabbed at Matt’s cane, jerking him with it because he had his harness on. Matt fell forward, his hands and face finding refuge in the ground. Wade tugged tighter and Matt was jerked again, his arm was flying out and body sliding against the ground and grass.

“Wade—Wade, it’s not a snake! Let go of my goddamn cane!” Matt helplessly tried to get control as he explained hurriedly to the rabid hockey player.

“I’ll save you, Jane!” Wade yelled as he grappled the white stick with both hands and flailed violently back and forth. Matt’s arm followed his ministrations, trying to stand up while being pulled and pushed. Suddenly his harness broke loose and his cane flew out of his grip, letting him be free from Wade’s violent dream state heroism.

Now with the cane no longer secured with Matt’s wrist, Wade flung it over his head with both hands, a mighty roar coming out of his throat as some sort of show of masculine domination, before bringing it down and breaking it in two with a resounding thud.

“The beast is dead,” Wade said ominously, right before he puked all over the ground, right onto his broken cane, too, and then firmly nodded. “The beast had been dealt with.”

Matt stood stunned, a stupor, his mind going blank for a second before it rebooted and registered what exactly just fucking happened.

“That-that wasn’t a snake, Wade. That was my walking stick!” Matt said more than a little angry. “Are you out your mind?!”

“I’m in my mind right now, Matt, that’s why I can think. Cuz I’m in my mind, bitch.”

“Are you…are you drunk?” Matt asked, confused now. He certainly slurred enough to be drunk. Matt leaned closer, smelling Wade’s scent and being bombarded with the heavy note of alcohol on him.

Matt shook his head, bewildered, with every emotion of ‘what the fuck’ running through his head. How the hell did he get drunk outside of the bar? Matt was definitely sure Wade only had the one drink from the beginning.

There was the faint sounds of footsteps behind Matt—two in fact—and he was thankful that they’d be here to explain the bizarre situation.

Or at least take Wade away. Far, far away.

“Oh, there you are Wade,” Danny said next to Matt, patting his shoulder appreciatively, “Good job, Matt.”

“He broke my cane,” Matt said, a little forlorn. “And puked on it. Asshole,” Matt cussed out for good measure.

Blustering, Wade made an affronted noise at Matt’s feet. “You’re rude—like what? That’s the kind of thanks I get for saving your life from a snake? God, Tarzan didn’t get this kind of bullshit.”

“What?” Matt said, exasperated. What the hell was he talking about? Frank stood by him on the other side, all 3 of them watching Wade blunder about on the ground, which was when Matt finally noticed a canteen thrown haphazardly a few feet away.

Danny clicked his tongue, reproving. “The snake was from Jungle Book, Wade, you’re getting your stories mixed.”

‘And exactly what the hell did that mean? Why the hell is he making obscure references to jungle themed movies?’

In reply to that Wade just made a noncommittal shrug. “Right, right. So all you gotta do is look for the…bare necessities! The simple bare necessities!” Wade mumbled first, then screamed out as he jumped and hooked his arms around Matt and Franks shoulders, shimmying them in a strange can-can maneuver. “Forget about your worries and your stress!” he screeched out loud enough that Matt wished he was deaf too.

“Oh god, please tell me you didn’t start drinking with the geezers in the parking lot again, did you Wade?”

Wade lifted his hand, pointing it at Danny’s figure. “Hey,” he grouched out, and then hiccupped the words, “the—the munchkins… said they had a new potion to give me… it was very, ugh, very…” His breath was unbearable to smell right now so close to Matt’s person. He nearly gagged. “I-it-it…was…quite exquisite, my friend...s ,” Wade finished lastly, taking a considerable amount of time to conclude his sentence.

“Munchkins?” Matt asked as he tried to move away from his grasp. Matt tried to imagine what exactly a couple of munchkins would be doing at a bar and his mind came up with nothing conclusive. 

“Yeah sorry about your stick Matt. Wade kind of gets lucid when he drinks moonshine, like, thinks-he’s-in-a-movie weird.”

”Fucking Geezers,” Frank says.

“So these geezers provide him with this shit? Is anything legal in this place?”

“Yeah, well, they’re more like biker gang members, they don’t really care about upholding laws,” Danny explained as he walked besides them. “They come here a lot because this bar is so secluded and a shit hole no one would ever think of second guessing. It’s easier for them to have plans and deals here, but only outside, since Josie has to keep her establishment somewhat clean on the inside.”

“And they sell moonshine? To minors? To Wade especially?” That had bad written all over it even as a fleeting concept.

“Big ol’ Bobby a good ol’ friend o mine,” Wade slurred out.

“They like Wade because he’s crazy enough to even talk to them in the first place,” Frank explained as he—instead of trying to shake Wade off him at all, lifted him up to make his way towards the parking lot area with Matt begrudgingly in tow since Wade wouldn’t loosen his hold on him. “Matt, pull him up a bit more for me, I ain’t doing all the work carrying this asshat.”

“It also does help that he’s got an in—a friend, from his old High School is one of the leaders for the gang—they’re pretty tight with each other.”

“Of course Wade would be in the clear with gang members,” Matt grunted out as he rolled his eyes and pulled Wade up.

“Not the craziest thing he’s ever done,” Danny said as he pocketed his phone out.

“That doesn’t—never mind,” Matt said, resigned. It was too each their own all that jazz Matt repeated in his head.

In fact Wade was literally jazzing it out with spirit fingers and jazz hands while he butchered out the tune to Bare Necessities again.

“Okay, the Uber pickup will be here in 8 minutes," Danny said as they rounded near the parking lot.

“I’m dropping him on the floor then,” Frank announced, and Matt didn’t put up any argument as he slipped out of Wades weakened grasp. “I’m gonna go tell Josie I’m leaving my truck here as well.”

Wade made an ‘oof’ sound as he fell, then promptly curled into a tight ball as he began singing or murmuring things that Matt wish he didn’t actually have to hear so well. He rubbed against his temple as Wade began singing Living on a Prayer all the way to Let it Go before Danny informed him that the car’s ETA was one minute. When Matt heard the car pickup, and after Frank went back to tell Josie he’d be leaving his car behind, then they all herded Wade in the back seat of a Sedan.

The car ride was mostly silent, with Wade going back and forth being uncoherent to singing songs. But Matt droned out his words, his voice just became a background music as he conversed properly with Frank and Danny, where they idly asking how he liked the bar, or about how he could play pool like that, and even continuing the conversation about hockey (sans talking about Frank defending his friends) and anything in between. Wade didn’t seem to take it lightly about being ignored and decided to start shuffling around until his head rested on Matt’s lap and his feet were resting on Frank’s.

“What the hell are you doing?” Matt asked because he really just had to.

“Getting comfy. Daddy, mommy, read me a bed time story?”

Frank groaned and Danny just snickered from his place at the front seat. Lucky bastard. Matt had half the mind of shoving Wade out of the car, hurdling his body into traffic.

But he counted to ten quickly and said nothing. Then Frank had to open his mouth.

“Wait, whose mommy?” Frank asked, looking at Wade with concern.

And really Frank? He had to humor him on this specific topic? What the fuck? Don’t answer that. For the love of god, don’t answer that Wade. Matt clamped his hand on Wade’s mouth shut, just in case—and…that, that must have been what everyone was talking about with Wade’s face. There were grooves and divots in his skin that scarred all over his face.

Was this from the fire? It seemed old, like battered scar tissue.

“I’m not mommy, right?” Frank asked again and that snapped Matt’s attention back.

“Shuttup. For the love of god, do not answer that.” Wade still talked over his mouth (thankfully he didn’t try to lick his hand off), muted and untranslatable. Perfect. “You’re an asshole,” he turned to look at Frank with a glare.

Frank just laughed loudly as he leaned back on his seat. “Take a joke would yah, choir boy.”

“We’re here,” the Uber driver announced in a thick accent before Matt could make a comment.

“Thankyou Dopinder. 5 stars yet again for you my friend!” Wade yelped loudly, sliding past Matt and Frank and diving out of the car in an impressive back flip when Frank opened his door. Danny cursed and went to chase off after him before stopping to look at Matt and Frank stepping out of the car.

“I’ll take Wade back home. You go take Matt back, Frank.”

“I can walk by myself just fine,” Matt argued. “I’ll ask for help when I want to,” Matt groused out just as a reminder.

Danny made a long suffering sigh. “Matt, he broke your cane. Without that you’d pretty much be a fish out of water, no offense, but just fucking let Frank take you home man,” Danny said, pleading almost.

Matt wanted to roll his eyes, put off by everyone’s unneeded concern for his disability. He’s memorized the school grounds incredibly well. All he needed in fact was a simple start of where he was in the first place by the cab driver and he’d be able to carefully make his way home with or without his cane.

But their concern was genuine, he knew that much with how Danny and Frank seemed tense and worrisome. They understood he was capable, but that didn’t mean they had to let him walk by himself just so. It was very much likely that they wanted him home safe and nothing else more. So he conceded silently as he bumped his shoulder against Franks.  

“Take me home,” Matt ordered, making it seem like it was his idea to feel the least bit in control. Matt heard the heavy footfalls of Danny running out to catch up with Wade, with him saying a quick goodbye as he made his way through the other end of the street where Wade had ran off to. Matt hoped they got home safe.  

“I don’t like that tone you’re using,” Frank said suddenly as he bumped Matt’s shoulder back.

“Please take me home Frank,” Matt ordered again, this time, feigning a sickly sweet tone.

“Well, when you say it like that, I can’t really say no, can I?” Frank said as he slid his arm around Matt’s elbow.

“You know where Jessica’s dorm is right?” Matt said as they both started walking towards where Matt remembered where the park path opened. 

“Nope.”

Matt canted his head to the side. “It’s over by Millcreek and Jane Street after we pass the park pathway. I hear it’s the big orange building that no one can miss, even in the dark.”

Frank puffed out a surprised breath. “That— you do know that’s like a 20 minute walk from here. You were going to take a 20 minute walk by yourself? Why the hell didn’t you ask the uber guy to drop you off, too?” Frank asked a bit incredulous, the concern emboldening itself in his words.

“I have a brain, Frank, also, it’s not that as far as you think. And I am fully capable of remembering my way back to my own place. It’s something that I myself have been practicing for this specific situation.”.

“What if someone mugged you?” Their footsteps start padding together on the sidewalk. “What’s your plan then, choir boy?”

Matt scoffed loudly as both of them walked together in the park. “Everyone has a chance of getting mugged, not just blind people,” Matt reminded Frank. “Don’t show concern when it’s not needed.”

“Yeah, but they always go for easy targets,” Frank said, the words slipping out as soon as he clamped his mouth shut.

Matt stopped walking. “Are you saying I’m an easy target?”

“Well—no, but…you know what I’m saying, Matt, don’t make me sound like a shitty person.”

“Like you weren’t already,” Matt said, trying to be an instigator, but it was ruined by the smile that played on his lips when he said it.

“I’m not that kind of shitty, yah know—those that put down others and shit—I’m just a shit disturber.”

“That you definitely are.” Agreeing with him on that was a no brainer. He knew Frank less than a day and that already seemed to be very clear.

But there was more to him that Matt knew now as the day progressed. Frank Castle wasn’t just some crazy, dangerous hockey player like he initially thought.

He was caring with his violent actions on the ice, as strange and hyperbolic that sounded; it was true though, he really was protective of his friends. He was also smart and cunning with how he bantered and talked with Matt and his friends, droll in his humor and take on life, and, really, that said a lot about how Matt was as a person. Frank Castle was also warm and comfortable—

Matt stopped his thought midway, from going farther than it should. No. Don’t think about the hard muscle of his biceps against his own. Don’t wonder any further. Don’t think about the strong scent of his musk, of the sweat that tinges his clothes in the slightest, intoxicating way. It’s hard to find such a scent of his masked in all that allspice and alcohol smell.

But there’s another scent in the myriad of smells of Frank Castle. It’s sweet, but earthy, like a cherry cedar. It’s nearly as intoxicating as the musk was. The smell strong, so uniquely his, so dominating now that he’s focused on it. Is everything about him so dominating?

Frank Castle seemed to be like a pillar or support, a paragon of some sorts. All parts of him seemed to be strong, powerful, and unrelenting.

The arm that was looped around his was jerked forward. Matt blinked.

“Do you like spacing out or something?” Frank asked, his voice fuzzy.

“I was thinking about how you really are a shit disturber,” Matt snapped, finding his blush easier to hide with a snide remark. “What did you say?”

“Well I was asking you a question before you decided you wanted to reflect about my temperament instead.”

“I wasn’t reflecting,” Matt said as they walked past under the warm glow of the street light

“You should come with me to the Pond after you’re done your classes,” Frank asked suddenly. “You have early class tomorrow, right? I know Wade has that class for tomorrow in the morning.”

“What?” Matt said, blinking. “Ugh, yeah, I do.”

“You’ll be done at 11 then. Cool, you and I can meetup after I pick up my truck and head to the pond. The ice gets thick enough to skate on in the winter.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need me to explain? Go out skating? At the pond? Near the lake?” Frank explained slowly, with an acerbic twist to his words.

Matt bit his lip, a consternation brewing in his stomach. “You can’t force me to do that.”

“Am I forcing you?” Frank asked benignly as they took a sharp turn to the right.

“Yes, yes you are.”

“I said you should, not you have to,” Frank laughed out. “And here I thought wording arrangement and listening was a skill you needed to be as an English major. I think you might need to refine those skills a bit, Matt.”

“There was context to the words, Frank. You wanted me to come, why else would you ask in the first place?”

Frank shrugged. “Don’t friends ask their friends to hang out?”

Matt’s next argument died out. Where they friends? They just met so suddenly. “Are we friends?”

Frank chuckled lightly. “Aren’t we?”

“I’ve met you for barely half a day, Frank.”

“And yet I know your name, your major, and the fact that you’re such a dork that you can’t even bother to say yes to a simple question.”

“Yes,” Matt said with the roll of his eyes, “Are you happy now?”

“Oh, yeah, the enthusiasm was palpable in that,” he said, in that same acerbic accent that Matt still finds so intriguing. “Naw, forget I even said anything.”

Matt shook his head. “Wait, wait, you can’t retract an offer like that.”

“That was a onetime thing and you blew it, choir boy.”

“I’ve never even skated before in my life,” Matt admitted quietly, out in the open because he needed to explain.

Frank stopped in his tracks. “What?” he asked, shocked to hear such a thing.

Matt bit his lip as he turned his head to look away from Frank’s voice. “My dad… he didn’t like me enrolling in sports or activities outside of academia when I was young. I never even learned or had the chance to back then.”

“Wait, that’s ridiculous. You’ve lived in New York your whole life and you don’t even know how to skate? That’s a blasphemous, especially to a hockey player.”

“Like I give a damn about your Hockey Bible bull crap,” Matt said archly.

Frank grabbed his chest tightly, made a low moaning noise like he was in pain, “You hurt me with those words.”

Matt laughed, pushing playfully against Frank’s unneeded antic. “Good.”

“So, what, you were sheltered from it or something?”

“Something like that,” Matt provided. “But it’s not my dad’s fault really. We never had much money back then, and when we did it was for new clothes or new shoes, not enough for skates or lessons. And after my incident,” Matt says pointing to his eyes, “everyone just assumed I wouldn’t or couldn’t skate and I just left it at that.”

“Man that sucks. And he and everyone else never let you play any sports? At all?" 

Matt shrugged carelessly. “Nope.”

Frank grunted. “You, my friend, had a very sad childhood.”

Matt wouldn’t say that exactly. There was up and downs to it, but overall he thinks he did have a nice one. “It had its moments. I mean, I’ve always wanted to partake in a sport or something of sorts... but being in the debate team, or working on the science fair, or even just being part of the school committee was enough for me. I mean, they were pretty great times that I'll cherish just as much.”

“I can’t believe you actually said that. You actually liked being in the debate team?”

Matt licked his lips as he laughed. “Yes, Frank, I did, that’s why I was in it in the first place.”

“Oh boy, you are definitely something, Murdock.”

“We’re close,” Matt sprung up as soon as he smelt cumin and spices that always wafted in from his window at the apartment. “The Tandoori place is close by to the apartment.”

Frank turned his head around, scoping for the restaurant until he found it. “Someday, you’re gonna have to explain to me how you can do whatever the fuck that is,” Frank said in that same smooth drawl as he pointed at Matt’s face.

Matt hid a small smile to himself at Frank’s eloquent wording. “It’s a well-kept Murdock secret.”

“Murdock men always full of surprises then?”

“Sturdy and tough as nails too, least that’s what my dad says," Matt adds thoughtfully. Frank just nods, lingering a look at Matt longer than it should before facing the front. 

"Huh." 

They turn around the corner of the sidewalk. The passing of the buzzing street lights wove into regular intervals as they continued walking, where it basked them in warmth each time they stepped under it.

"What about you?" Matt asks suddenly, feeling bold and determined to start a conversation once. It seemed, more often than not, that Danny or Frank led the conversation.  

"What about me?" grunted Frank. 

"What did you do in high school, other than obsess about hockey?" Matt adds as a clincher. 

He shrugs. "I dunno... I was part of the year book club for a while. Had to participate in at least one more thing to make my application look good. Hockey took up most of my time though."

"Always back to hockey," Matt added dryly. 

Frank laughs as he shoves Matt. "I mean there is the obvious stuff like doing good in school and going to prom and shit. I even have a few good stories and memories about my time there, but it wasn't like I missed out on much. I had practice games to work on every day, exercise regimes, planning out my career path and where I want to be drafted. I had to be serious about this in highschool so I wouldn't make a mistake." 

Matt shakes his head. "You think you'd make it out there, in the NHL?" 

Frank scoffs. "What, you think it's ridiculous that I want to go professional?" 

"That's not what I was saying," Matt says tightly. 

"It's what you're implying." 

Matt shakes his head, confused and perturbed at the same time. "So, what, hockey is all you want to do? You don't even want to try anything else?" 

"I'll tell you what, Matt, hockey is it for me. Just cause I ain't aspiring to be a lawyer doesn't mean I got no future for myself," Frank says a little too coldly. 

Matt flinches at his words. "Then why come to Columbia? Hockey hasn't even been something they've had for a while now." 

"I got in the school to please my dad, to make him think whatever he wants to about me, make him live out his own stupid fantasy about my life." There's a bitter laugh as Frank speaks again. "My old man thinks I'm gonna be a senator by the time I'm thirty or some other bull crap government job. He want's me here because it'll teach me to forget about hockey, about this idiotic pipe-dream he think's I'm being delusional about. It's not. Hockey is all I got going for me, it's what I want more than anything, to make it out their and make my legacy. If you can't see that," Frank says as he steps back, "then you're just like every asshole who I'll  prove wrong when I'm on the ice." 

Matt hadn't even realized they stopped walking, their interlinked arms breaking away as Frank stepped away and sighed. 

“Oh.” Matt said dumbly.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to blab out like an idiot." 

Matt gulps. "No. No it's my fault. I pushed when I didn't know better." Matt doesn't flinch at the fact that Frank doesn't try to correct him. 

The silence between them didn't seem awkward at all, but their was a subdued feel to it. 

It seemed to be an interim for Frank to think with how he twiddled with his free arm, how each breath he exhaled seemed like he was going to say something but didn't. Matt didn't really understand his hesitation, and he had half the thought to ask him outright what was wrong when Frank cleared his throat. 

"You said the orange building, right?" 

Matt blinked. He didn't even realize they slowly started walking back to his place. Frank hadn't reached back to lead him back that he just unconsciously walked along with him.

Was this it? Would they leave it on such a sour note. Matt didn't understand why that bothered him so much. Frank Castle was just a guy he met today. He didn't have to—didn't need to worry about someone who barely even knew Matt just the same as he barely knew him. They were strangers in every technical sense. 

But Frank called him his friend. Or he thinks they are. 

"Bring a puck and hockey stick," Matt said so out of the blue he thought he turned bright red. 

It was quiet for a long time that Matt wondered if Frank had slowly wandered away from him and he just didn't hear it. "What?" came a gruff reply. 

Matt looked away when he began talking. “I have 18 years lacking of sports to makeup for you," Matt said, boldly crossing a line he didn't even know was there. This wasn't something he was used to with people, he always circled around them, not trying or wanting to continue a friendship unless someone else made the commitment to stay around and befriend him first. Matt was out in the open by doing this. 

"I already said that was a one time offer."

"Now—now I'm offering back. I...I want you to teach me the game, make me understand why you like it so damn much. I just," Matt cut off his words to think it through. "I was told to dislike sports for a very long time, told they were barbaric and didn't offer much to my life other than simple entertainment... and it might be a while for me to even get around the idea of liking it, but I do respect what you do, Frank, please believe that." 

Frank stood there with his arms cross, his body stoic and face looking directly at Matt's. Matt couldn't predict what he looked like, whether he was mad, surprised, insulted or any other emotion that could be construed negatively. 

Frank grunted. "I'm not going easy on you just cause you're a newbie," his words accented and difficult to say with what Matt could only assume was caused by the crescent smile growing on his face. 

Matt laughed as he looked back at Frank, trying his best to seem unimpressed and failing by quite a lot. "Are you serious? I can't even skate properly," Matt argued back in a cry. 

"Fine. Baby steps. Your next lessons we can work on your maneuvering with a puck. " 

"Lessons? No way. I'm gonna try it once and that's it." 

"Might be fun to take shots on you," Frank continued, not listening to Matt. 

"No way are you taking aim at me with a puck," Matt squeaked out. 

“Oh no, you're not getting off that easy. You’re gonna learn how to skate and play decently whether it kills me, choir boy.”

Matt conceded to his warning and gave him an open smile at the idea of spending more time with him. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, at 11 or 12, whichever,” Matt stated as he looked for his keys to open the door. "I'll look forward to it." 

“You mean that?” Frank said as his voice lilted low as he stood at the bottom of the steps. "You actually want to do this?" 

Matt nodded down at him as he found his keys. “Pick me up at my house at 12 actually. And don’t be late,” Matt scolded last minute as he opened the main foyer door. "I'll see you then, Frank," Matt said one last time as he closed the door behind him. He didn't hear footsteps happen for quite a while, not even when Matt had reached to his doorway, but he assumed he was too far away and the walls too dense to really hear it. 

Then he heard an excited whooping sound that was undoubtedly Frank's voice when Matt finally walked through his roommateless apartment. Matt smiled to himself knowing he probably was the only one to hear such an embarrassing noise come out of the hockey players mouth. He passed by through the small living room, towards the window that he promptly opened. He could only hear the sounds of Frank's boots scuffing the sidewalk. 

"I heard that!" he called out in a yell. 

Maybe sports weren’t that bad after all, Matt thought as he started laughing when he heard Frank skip a step. 

And maybe hockey could be an exception after all.