#aren't super tipped off by his apparent lack of cane using

[deniigi]

i was reading "it's fine, we're fine" again because i am a big softy and i love jack with my whole damn heart and i was wondering if rudy ever surfaces in matt's life again?

he does!!!

All of the boxers stay in Matt’s life for as long as they can! In another fic which I never published, Rudy explains that he tried to adopt Matt after Jack died, since they were best friends and Matt was already really close to Rudy’s girls, but social services wasn’t down to let that happen.

That said!!

I also wrote a piece a while back that didn’t quite make it into the Sprawl but which shows Matt’s relationships with Jack’s old friends from the gym. I’m putting it here under the cut (sorry mobile users, it’s pretty long)

Written from Jack’s pov

—-

Prelim title: put em up

He hadn’t seen the guys since he died, and honestly he’d avoided heading in the direction of Fogwell’s out of both fear and a strong self-preservation instinct. He only had a year. And Matt was hellbent on getting himself murdered during it, so Jack had to keep himself together to arrange their double funeral.

He finally sucked it up watching Matt mope in multiple different shapes and forms all over the furniture in his living room. The last straw was him cuddling up to Tuesday to inform her of how unfair Jack was being.

Not letting him out face-smashing with two fractured ribs.

Oh, the humanity.

What a shit father he was.

Tuesday sneezed on Matt and then stood up to leave him to suffer and to sniff at Jack’s ankles. Abandoned, Matt moved on to making loud, drawn-out noises about how everyone in his life betrayed him.

“Alright, fine. Get your gloves,” Jack sighed.

Matt was gone from the living room before he’d even finished the sentence.

It was one thing to like, know that your kid was a superhuman. But it was a whole other thing to live with it. He would never get used to the silent sneaking. Or the ‘I can heart your heart beat’ thing. Or the determination to be gutted. That one, even the afterlife wouldn’t help him with.

He’d just barely stood up from giving Tuesday the requisite pets when Matt was back in his face with gloves, rattling. Just a teeny bit little excited.

“Hurry up.”

Wo-ho. Not with that attitude.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.”

Wow, look. Another dish to clean.

“DAD.”

Alright, alright. Take a chill pill, kid.

 Fridays were usually slow days at the gym since most guys had dates to be on and family nights to have and so Jack thought that he might escape this interaction mostly unscathed and unnoticed. He was just there to help the blind guy, he’d say if anyone asked. He looked far too young to be Matt’s father at this point, they looked more like brothers. With the exception of Matt looking painfully like his mama to Jack. He’d never not see Grace in this boy. It was all in that slim jaw. He grabbed it and shook it every now and then to piss Matt off and it did the trick on a dime.

Matt was a regular at Fogwell’s. Jack wasn’t surprised. It had always been his second home. He was known by most of the guys there as the blind guy who apparently crammed in his headphones and punched a bag ‘til he couldn’t anymore. Fogwell let him use the place when he wasn’t there. Under the ruse of Matt feeling self-conscious about boxing in front of sighted-people.

Really, he just wanted to throw ridiculous moves at the bag.

This time, there would be no ridiculous moves. There were ribs to consider. Matt practically hung off his elbow in disappointment.

This fuckin’ kid. Ain’t got the sense god gave a goat.

They walked in the door and Jack never stood a chance.

  Folks had heard about the incident, it had been on the news, it turned out. Load of highly suspicious graves dug up in cemeteries all over the damn city. Fischer hadn’t exactly been subtle. What wasn’t quite clear to people was who these zombies were until anyone who happened to recognize those particular graves saw them.

Obviously half the gym had remembered Jack’s fucked up, now cracked headstone.

(It was nice. Grace had taken him to see it so that he could have a say in the next one. She waved at it in many different kinds of ways and called him a basic bitch without using either of those words.)

Jack couldn’t help but wonder now if Matt had texted someone to let them know they were coming.

Because he couldn’t breathe.

Rudy smelled like ass.

“Twenty fuckin’ years, man, and you still ain’t seen a shower?” he creaked out against his pal’s sweaty shoulder.

Rudy yanked him back by the shoulders to get a good look at him, blinking tears out of his eyes. He was so bald. He’d never had much hair to begin with, Rudy. But now, he was like one of them fortune-tellers’ glass balls.

“Jackie, we missed you so much,” the guy said like he was garbling glass.

“Good to—”

Well, that was him done. He didn’t need shoulders.

“Bert, you maniac, lay off,” Rudy snarled, as hot-tempered as ever.

Bert? This motherfucker was Bert?

Jack ducked out of the arms and recoiled back to get a good look at the moron and sure enough. Man.

“You finally shaved that thing off your face,” he said.

Bert was huge. Moustache was gone, though. That was literally all the mattered. Bert would never be pretty, but the pornstache had been a lot, even for them.

Bert cackled in delight.

“Look at you, Jack, ain’t a day over—uh. How old’re you again?”

God, who were these old guys? And where the hell did—wait a second.

“Matthew, nice try, you get back here,” he barked. Matt froze from where he was trying to sneak away to go finish the job on his ribs. He squinted and scowled in Jack’s direction and then made a break for it before Jack could get past Bert’s huge mass.

He didn’t get too far. They were on Jack’s turf now.

“Nooooo.”

Rudy covered the bottom of his face, but Jack could see his huge grin under it.

“Sorry fellas,” he said, “We’re having a father-son night out.”

“Get off, old man. Get off.”

The second he let go, Matt would throw himself out a window and vanish into the night. Jack had no fancy degrees but he was not stupid. He’d learned after the first two times.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Rudy said through the deep laugh lines in his cheeks. “Can’t fuckin’ believe it, Jackie. God, you look so good.”

Did he? That scar on his temple wasn’t doing him no favors, that was for sure.

“Matty, you look just like your dad. God, the two of you together. Hold on, just one sec. I want a picture.”

Jack had plenty of pictures of the two of them together. Foggy and Karen were ace at taking secret, sneaky pictures that no one asked them to. He hiked Matt up from his ragdoll and shoved his bag in his arms.

“Pick one and then sit,” he ordered.

Matt glared at him and then made a show of storming away and feeling for an adequate bag.

Jack huffed and then redirected his stare to Bert’s creepy gaze.

“What?” he asked.

“Just amazed you’re here is all, man,” Bert said. Man, had everyone gone bald or what? “Fogwell’s gonna be so happy to see you.”

Ah, right. The person he was most determined to avoid.

“He don’t gotta come out,” Jack said, “Guy’s probably ancient at this point. Don’t want him to—”

“JOHNATHAN MURDOCK.”

No voice would strike fear into his heart like that one.

“Nice of you to finally show up, boy.”

How was this man not dead? How had he not aged? He’d only gotten marginally whiter and slightly more forehead wrinkles since Jack had last seen him.

“He doesn’t let me out of the house,” Matt popped back up to inform the old man. Fogwell saw him and gentle as sin, put a hand on his shoulder and snapped a look Jack’s way that Jack felt in his gut.

“Boy’s not glass, Jackie. You keeping him locked up now?”

Oooooh, kiddo. You’re gonna get it now.

Matt hid behind Fogwell before Jack could take a step forward. Smart fucking boy. Jack would have his own when they got back home. Tattle-telling was worth a whole afternoon of enforced R&R.

“Just ‘cause he’s a bigshot lawyer now, don’t make him smart,” Jack shot at the shoulder Matt was hiding behind.

Fogwell laughed, loud. Like a cracking whip. The sound was always heart-attack inducing and always comforting once you got past it.

“Matty’s doing just fine. He ain’t need brains to punch a bag, and all things considered, he’s still got twice as much fluff in that melon of his than the rest of us combined, don’t you, kiddo?” Matt said nothing because he was already aware of the impending consequences of his actions. Fogwell grinned down at him anyways. “We gotta call Kenny and Raph to come get a load of you two,” he decided. “They’ve been asking all over if you’d come back yet.”

Ugh.

Where exactly was his opinion in this whole thing, huh?

“Ain’t got one, short-stack. Lost all your seniority when you hit the dirt, son,” Fogwell said cheerfully, or what passed as cheerfully for him.

Ugh.

Well, it didn’t matter much anyways. He’d always been the second-youngest in the group.

“Right, well. You call the idiots, I gotta deal with my pride and joy,” Jack said, reaching around the old man to grab Matt by the scruff of the neck and to forcibly guide him towards the back center left bag. The other guys laughed and Rudy slapped his shoulder and said when he was done with that, they should have a go in the ring.

Mm. They’d see. Jack wasn’t trying to do anything to fuck with his head right then. It was kind of fragile.

Matt said that he’d fight in his place and the other guys started laughing and slapping up a storm.

Oh, honey.

No, but it was a sweet thought.

  “Why’re they laughin’ at me?” Matt asked him once gloves were on. Jack patted at his side as a reminder to keep them ribs steady.

“’Cause you’re two and half to them, baby. Always will be.”

“I could probably fight the Hulk.”

“I don’t doubt it. Let’s not.”

“Definitely Winter in hand to hand.”

Yes, and that would never not be terrifying. Let’s just be normal for an hour, what do you say, huh?

  Matt favored his right, and not just because of the ribs. He was a lefty, always had been. Had come home complaining about how the school scissors hurt his hands. He explained to Jack that his sensei (who Jack was going to maim very quietly and then suffocate when Matt wasn’t paying attention) had taught him to lead with his right so that folks thought he was a righty. From there, he could knock ‘em off guard.

It worked, he said. He did it a lot.

Still, Jack found that his right hits were just a little harder than the lefts and pointed out that scare tactics were fine, but Lefty needed to be at the same firing capacity as Righty as much as possible.

Matt told him to stop fucking moving the bag then.

Adorable. Really.

Until Kenny got there. Man screamed like a girl seeing her long-lost bestie after 20 years. Announced to the whole damn gym that ‘Jackie Murdock was back, looking like the coroner’s worst nightmare.’

Fuck Kenny. He’d always been a dick. And he was an oversized dick now, with stupid big, stupid useless muscles.

“You body-building, man? What’s up with this?” he gasped out under Kenny’s grip next.

“Hell yeah I am, here, get a load of this.”

No, no, he really didn’t—alright, he was doing it anyways, great. Yes. Very impressive. Anyone worth their salt could knock him out in one punch.

“Oh, yeah? You wanna give it a go, then Battlin’ Jack?”

People were fucking looking at him now, thanks pal. You’re doing great.

“I got a head injury,” he said flatly, which made Matty laugh at least.

“No shit. Look at that bad boy,” Kenny said. “We were fuckin’ devastated when we heard man, everyone was. You should have said something, we could have helped you out. Like—”

“How about we don’t go there?” Jack interrupted. He hadn’t come here for pity. He just wanted to wear his kid out so he didn’t go wear himself out on someone less gentle’s fists.

Kenny feel back and dropped his eyes.

“Sure. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I ain’t here for too long anyways. You got plenty of time to go back to missing me and calling me a dumbass.”

“Not really funny, Jack.”

It wasn’t meant to be.

  Raph stumbled in about half an hour later for a repeat of this conversation with greater enthusiasm. He’d stopped boxing, actually. To Jack’s surprise. Then to his enormous guilt.

“After what happened to you, big guy, I said to myself, this shit ain’t worth it. My baby girl was on the way, you remember? So I says, nah. We’re gonna do this right. We’re gonna go to college.”

“No shit, you went to college?” Jack asked him.

“Damn skippy—got me a degree and everything. Graphic Design.”

“The hell does that even mean?”

“Means, I’m an artist, dipshit. Here, lookit these things. I been doing websites for ages now.”

Aw, Raph. You did so good! Jack was so proud.

“Me too, man. Didn’t mean to uh, use you like that but.”

“No, no. I’m glad something good came out of it, don’t even trip.”

“Aw, whatchu talkin’ about, Jackie? Look at your baby. Heya, Matty. Haven’t seen you in years, baby boy, how’s it hanging?”

Matt blinked in Raph’s direction a few times and then deferred to Rudy in a whisper.

Raph laughed.

“It’s alright, honey, you don’t remember me, it’s alright,” he laughed.

Raph had been what, twenty-two when Jack had died? He’d joined up right before Matt had gone blind. It only made sense that Matty couldn’t remember him.

“Man, you jumping into the ring?” Raph asked him, with a few gentle pops in the shoulder.

“Nah. Trying not to re-crack this melon,” Jack said, tapping the bullet scar.

“Holy shit, lookit that thing. Hey, be honest. Did it hurt?”

What kind of dumbass question was that?

Yeah, it hurt.

Worse than anything had ever hurt in his life.

That’s kind of why they call it a death blow.

He stopped talking about it though because it was making Matt uncomfortable. Instead, he made a crack about Matt being able to take Raph one-handed and everyone on their side of the gym oh’ed at the challenge.

“Do it, Matty,” Rudy said, “Show ‘im what you got.”

It wouldn’t be a fair fight by a long shot.

And it wasn’t. Matt just tripped the guy right there on the mat and the whole gym went into uproar. Raph gave it a few swings, but they were just plain bad so all Matt had to do was step back out of range.

“You even trying?” he goaded Raph, and then when that worked, he got a good one in the guy’s solar plexus.

Jack winced and hoped it was only at half-strength. Given that Raph recovered and called it a wrap, it probably was.

  Matt was much, much happier on the way home, trying to goad Jack into swinging at him.

Nah.

Never.

He didn’t care how strong or big or tall Matt got. He’d never lay his knuckles on him. No, not in a million years. Not even if it was for his own good.

His knuckles were tainted with the blood of the devil. Matt’s devil was younger and more spry and its heat burned bright at the surface of his skin.

Jack’s devil had always been a deep roil, way down in the center of his chest. That bastard was horrible and didn’t know when to stay down. That bastard was the guy who’d left Matty in foster care to begin with. Jack was keeping him well out of the picture. He didn’t want to do anything which might transfer any of his dark, bubbling fury to Matt’s skin.

“C’mere,” he said, catching Matt in a headlock instead.

You, son, get kisses. That’s all you get.

Matt made disgusted noises and ducked out.

“The old guys miss you,” he said, finally evening out and walking next to Jack like a normal person. He didn’t pretend like he needed a guide since it was so late and not many folks were bopping around outdoors. It was kind of.

Kind of wild.

To be walking next to him just like he had before the accident. No hand-holding, shoulder-holding, elbow-holding necessary. No canes or dogs.

If Jack hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have thought there was a damn thing wrong with him, except his apparent need to wear sunglasses in the dark.

“I miss ‘em, too. Glad they’ve been there for you,” he said thickly.

Matt said nothing, then took his elbow in a loose grip.

“I don’t blame you,” he repeated. He said it a lot. He always seemed to know when Jack was thinking about that shit.

“I know, honey. I just wish—I dunno. Raph got out of it. Maybe I shoulda—”

Matt clutched at him and stopped walking. He was stronger than he let on, Matty. In so many ways.

“I don’t blame you,” he said firmly. “And we can’t move forward if all we do is run in circles on the coulda, shoulda, wouldas. Stop thinking about it, Dad.”

Right.

Right, no, that was true.

He just.

He just wished he’d been better. They wouldn’t be stuck on this timeline if he’d just been better.

“You don’t need to be better, you’ve always been enough.”

This kid. This fucking kid. Knew exactly what to say.

“Come here, gimme a kiss.”

“UGH. No.”

“Matty, lemme have one, yeah?”

“UGH.”

He relented and let Jack lay one on the side of his forehead. He snuck another in his hair before he jerked away.

It made him smile.

“I love you, Matt, you know that?”

“Course I know. I always known. I love you, too. Now stop being weird. I want Chinese.”

Jack laughed.

Sure, whatever he wanted. Anything.

 —

Hope this gives you some hope, anon!!

#fic #daredevil #jack murdock #I have an even longer fic that I worked on which played with these characters too but it's so off the wall that I kind of decided to leave #it be #just fyi matt's super comfortable moving around the gym and the guys are used to him moving around it more comfortably than usual so they #aren't super tipped off by his apparent lack of cane using #They chock it up to matt having known the place since he was literally an infant #ficlet