Marvel Imagines

017 - Matt Murdock imagine - Running to the devil

Mild language warning

It was mid-July, a warm night with a decent breeze snaking through the streets of Hell's Kitchen. It was calm and almost peaceful; a rare occurrence for that part of the city. There was hardly anyone on the streets even though it was only 10 pm - casting a heavy, eerie feeling over everything.

You walked silently towards the place you knew you'd find him - to the place you knew he'd be.

It had been days since you'd last seen him. Almost a week had passed since he'd last made contact, making you question if he'd lost his phone or if he'd been hurt. You'd checked all the hospitals nearby during the day and roamed the streets the night before. There was no trace of Daredevil anywhere.

When you got to the front door of his apartment it was unlocked. You gave it a tentative push and it swung open, revealing Matt's sitting room, which was bathed in light from the LED advertising board outside the large factory windows.

You shut the door behind you as you walked inside and took a look around. He wasn't on his couch, in the kitchen, the bathroom or lying on his bed. He wasn't there.

You exhaled a defeated sigh and stepped into his kitchen, pulling open his fridge as you started to cry. He was your last hope. Tears slipped from your eyes and spilt onto your cheeks, weaving narrow, salty trails down to your jaw. You didn't understand; he was always there when you needed him. There was another thing that you didn't understand too; there were fresh groceries in the fridge.

Come on, Matt, where the hell are you?

"What's wrong?"

It was Matt. His voice startled you to the extent that you screamed and jumped, resulting in you bashing your head off the fridge door and falling over onto the tiled floor. A sharp pain laced through your skull with such intensity that it made your whole head hurt like it was going through a migraine on steroids. You instinctively pulled your legs up to your chest and put both hands up to your head, cradling it. When you moved a hand away, it was slick with blood.

"Jesus Christ," he gasped, moving closer to you and kneeling beside you on the floor. "What was that?" His hand moved to your forehead. "Is that - blood?"

"Don't touch me," you replied angrily, scooting away from him and putting your legs down between you both to create a divide.

"Princess..."

"Don't call me 'princess' either, asshole".

Matt looked upset and hurt at your words. He couldn't fathom what he'd done wrong, he'd just taken your advice and gone on a break for a while. "What did I do?"

You choked out a laugh which only served to confuse him even more. "Where were you? I've been calling for days. I needed you".

"Well, I'm here now".

You rose to your feet at the same time he did and turned around to shut the fridge door. Quietly, you opened one of the drawers and found a dishcloth to press to the cut on your forehead. It still burned and you could barely think straight but you weren't about to let Matt know that. You knew that you were hovering dangerously close to passing out but you still wanted to get your feelings out - to make him know the anger and hurt you were feeling.

"You always told me that you'd be here whenever I needed you - even before I knew that you were Daredevil. I was here with you through all the injuries, the concussions, the broken bones and the late nights. I've fallen asleep next to you so many nights when I've stayed over, scared stiff that you were going to die. I always thought that one day I would get a call telling me that you were dead. Do you know how that feels? That panic that one day I might not be able to talk to you or hold you or fall asleep in your arms..."

Matt moved closer to you, closing the gap between you and pushing your hands away from your face. You dropped the cloth that was now covered in your blood and stared deeply into his unseeing eyes. He smiled sadly. "It's okay, I'm here. You're not alone, you never were - you never will be". He pulled you into a hug, his mouth just centimetres from your ear. "We're not just friends. You know that, right?"

You stood, unmoving and unspeaking, wondering if he'd actually just said that or if it was just your head injury. Only when he stood back and tilted your head up to look at him, did you realise that he had actually spoken. He moved his hand to your neck and held it there for a moment before placing a kiss onto your cheek. Instantly, he realised that not only had the noise earlier been you hitting your head but that you'd been crying too. "I'm sorry," he murmured against your soft skin. "You were crying?"

"That doesn't matter now," you replied, gently guiding his lips down to meet yours.