#wcrldonfire

@wcrldonfire​

Wade would say there’s an art to stalking a good buddy of yours. You know the places they like to go, know when they like to go there, but there’s always the chance that they just...might not be there. And Wade is pretty good at reading people. Knows when said good buddy, Daredevil, needs a drink. Knows when he’s tired and exhausted and goes home to that big apartment that Wade pretends he doesn’t know about and leaves with his pointy little horns and a need for vengeance the next night.

See, the thing about the art of stalking, is that it doesn’t really work when the guy you’re stalking can hear and smell and sniff and feel like some sort of dolphin walking around Hell’s Kitchen. With his angry little scowl and his love for crimson red. 

Wade sighs, dreamy and wondering, as he perches his head atop folded arms, waiting patiently on top of the rooftop Daredevil always comes home to. Wade never tries to look behind the mask - has no desire to ‘out’ someone who has no desire to be outed - so he always keeps his distance if he doesn’t know the Devil is out. 

And when he returns, he will, of course, know Wade is waiting for him. If his heartbeat hadn’t given it away (Daredevil mentioned once how disturbing it was to hear it cut off and restart again when he died and came back to life over and over), then the sounds coming from his GameBoy Color most definitely would. Wade sees the masked vigilante (Hero? Villain? How could he put a label on Daredevil when Wade had no clue what he was either) push himself up over the edge of the rooftop. Wade’s mask is up to his nose, tongue sticking out with his concentration. “I’m about to kick Mr. Kong’s ass, Devs – one sec!”

When he dies, he tries not to groan, falling back against the hard concrete with a cry of “No!” and a whimper. “Ugh. You know how it is,” he starts, remembering that Daredevil probably doesn’t play old school video games.  After his dramatics are over, he looks up to his buddy and grins. “You can’t see it, but boy am I happy to see you.”

@wcrldonfire 

Colleen could have used those words weeks ago when she could at least take some joy in them. When she could have turned to Matt, with her hands on her hips and told him that he could go fuck himself… but this wasn’t weeks ago. This was after she screwed up. After she had dragged a child into this based on information that had been false. This was after she had been nearly gutted by a man who was determined to protect those children --- this was after so many instances that…

“Don’t,” Colleen murmured, the usual fight in her voice was gone at the start of the conversation because she knew better. There was no reason to lie to Matt, and frankly, she didn’t have it in her to pretend anything but the truth was in play here. “You were right.” She hated the words as soon as she spoke them. Hating that he was right, hating that she even had to say them. Hating all of it.  “Maybe you do push too hard, maybe you do get ahead of yourself --- but not this time.” She scratched at her hairline before sitting in a chair. “And if you could spare me the I was right bullshit, I’d appreciate it.” 

They didn’t do this often. Patrolling was always safer with a partner, but when the partner was your big brother, things could get a little complicated really quickly. Patrols, for example, were meant to be quiet, and when she was with Matt? America had a hard time managing that. There was always quiet bickering, little arguments that weren’t really arguments, empty conversation to fill the silence, not so empty conversation to distract from the mission at hand. Pretty much every time they tried this, it was a disaster... but they kept doing it anyway. There was something to be said about repetition and insanity, probably.

Tonight, the patrol had been pretty boring. They were sitting on a rooftop now, feet hanging off over the edge as they watched (or listened to, in Matt’s case) the streets below them. The flash of light in the alley beneath them had been brief but, with boredom gnawing at her gut, it was enough to get America to her feet. “Come on,” she whined, trying to pull Matt up by his arm. “What else are we gonna do, huh? Sit here all night in silence? Let’s just check it out. If it is nothing, I promise we can go back to dying of boredom up here. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal our spot.”

Keeping tabs on her exes wasn’t something Sharon did but the ones that died and suddenly were back? That was enough to catch Sharon’s attention. She wasn’t even sure what Matt was doing anymore, but he had been in the same apartment for years before he had died – so that was the first place she checked. She knocked on his door and when he finally opened it, Sharon wasn’t sure what she felt. Relieved that he wasn’t dead? Scared that he might be a Skrull? And then there was a quiet thought that if Matt was still alive (or back from the dead) that Trip might have a chance too.

(That was what really got her. The hope that Trip might have a second chance too.)

“Tell me you’re not a robot,” Sharon demanded. Not that him being really him would help his case any. That meant he had faked his death – and that pissed her off more than the thought of someone trying to wear his face like a mask.

There was a buzzing in the back of his head. Robbie didn’t know what it was, but it had been with him since Hell. It was a constant presence, a familiar one that seemed to echo back from the same place as the Rider, that corner of his mind that was not his own. He wondered absently if it was the Rider punishing him somehow, a form of protest that he had left Hell again when the Devil wanted to stay. Right now, he was doing his best to ignore it, focusing on other things. On Daisy, on her situation. Mostly on the fact that she hadn’t exactly grabbed a go bag during the whole ‘escape from the Raft through Hell’ shitshow, the fact that this left her wearing his clothes more often than not. 

That was what brought him to her old apartment, key in hand. Her going herself was too dangerous, even with the freaky mask shit she had going on. But Robbie? Robbie was a dead man, and he doubted anyone was keeping their eyes peeled for a ghost. Robbie slipped the key into the lock, stepping inside the apartment... and stopping in his tracks. There was a man there, sunglasses resting on his face. “If you’re one of those enforcer types,” Robbie said, “I’m just a concerned neighbor. Got the spare key, figured I’d come water the plants. Since you and your guys didn’t exactly give anybody time to plan before dragging people off to jail.”

Since joining SHIELD, Daisy hadn’t had a chance to stay in one place for more than a few days. They were always flying from one location to another -- or they were in space or some other dimension or on another planet -- but now she was assigned here. Her home had always been on wheels, and before that, it had been a bed in an orphanage. That home she shared with Matt Murdock. The first person she had ever considered family. He was going to be her first stop after she got settled. But settling never happened when she went to look him up and found his obituary. He had died. He had died and she didn’t know. 

This wasn’t her cross to bear -- this wasn’t her fault, but there was no cure for the grief and the regret that came from not being there in the last moments. For not making more time for Matt. For not calling him more often -- he was dead and she was falling in on herself. What she had learned while at SHIELD was that grief never made sense and took all forms. It was different with Trip and with Lincoln. They all hit her in different ways. But Matt’s death? She couldn’t understand it. That question everyone asked when they lost someone they loved was screaming in the back of her head. 

Why? 

Daisy went to the only place that made sense. Clinton Church. But stepping inside the familiar building only brought out more confusion in her heart. Everyone was welcome here, this church was a foundation for so many people, but as she looked at the pews while she walked towards the candles that were lined up, she felt uneasy. She hadn’t been inside a church in years -- she hadn’t prayed in longer. But she didn’t know what to do with the pain in her chest, and Matt... he prayed. She couldn’t be there for him at the end, but this? This she could do for him. Even if it was small, even if it was just a gesture. 

Even without the Iron Fist, Colleen had obligations. By day, she helped at the community center, and at night? She worked as an enforcer for the Accords -- paid for by SHIELD. She could do more good on the other side of things and there wasn’t much she could do to get out of this arrangement now, even if she didn’t have the Iron Fist anymore, she couldn’t exactly tell that to people without raising questions. Like, if she didn’t have it, then where did it go? Admitting she wasn’t powered opened the door to a thousand other problems -- so now she had a secret from SHIELD... and one from Danny. 

And today was one of those days where Colleen wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Danny and tell him everything -- but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. They had spent so much time rebuilding the trust between them and still she couldn't say it out loud. Where did Danny think she was? At the community center, staying a few hours extra to help Sam set up a fundraiser. But where was she really?

Josie’s bar.