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Friendship is magic.

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Brett hated his life.
Ok, he didn’t hate it, not all the time. Sometimes.
Like when Fisk was captured, and Brett had to watch as so many of his colleagues got taken away by the FBI. People he used to share his everyday life with, people he used to take a coffe with and had a good laugh with during pauses, people that had shown him pictures of their families and loved ones.
People he used to trust, on that bastard’s paycheck.
That one was a bad time. This one? Not as bad at that one, but it still sucked plenty.

Problem was, Brett was not supposed to be on Daredevil’s side. He was a cop, for fuck’s sake. Making sure people respected laws was his job.
And if he had to list how many laws Daredevil had been breaking in the past months, it would take him a week.

But Brett was also a Hell’s Kitchen boy. And a black one, at that. The thing he had seen and had to endure, would’ve made better men than him weep. He had grown up in this shit hole, decided to become a cop hoping to make a difference. To do something good for the community.
But all he could do was watching as criminals got nice in cozy in his town while he had his hands tied by the same laws he had sworn to protect.
And then Daredevil came along.
Brett knew he wasn’t supposed to support the guy. But also, he couldn’t help cheer inside every time Daredevil left a package of tied up criminals on their doorstep. Couldn’t help stepping aside and looking the other way whenever he had even the slight chance of capturing him. They told all of them that he was a criminal, too, and that he was to be brought to justice.
And Brett knew that, technically, it was true.
But also Brett knew that if the two twins living across the road were still able to say good morning at him every day, was thanks to Daredevil. He knew that the only reason the bakery down the road hadn’t been crushed by debt, was because Daredevil took care of the men that were blackmailing them.
He knew that the count of people that Daredevil has helped was only growing bigger and bigger everyday.
So Brett cheered inside, rooting for Daredevil silently from the sidelines, and made sure to turn his eyes away whenever he spotted him parkouring around the city, not touching his radio.

But now, Daredevil was right in front of him, sprawled on his belly on the floor in a dark alley. Not moving.
Brett was buying time. Soon enough, his patrolling partner would wonder were he was. There was not much time, and there was only so much Brett could do without crossing that thin, thin line between faking ignorance and actually becoming an accomplice to the vigilante.
He took some steps toward him, heart beating in his throat. He registered with a thankful sigh the soft rise and fall of Daredevil’s chest, sign that he was breathing and not dying.

But what to do now? If someone had to see him, he could just say he hesitated on cuffing the guy after the previous experience he had with him. That was a good enough excuse. (Not to count, true. Not a single Hell’s Kitchen cop would try come closer the guy without an army on their back, by that point.).
But there was no excuses for him not asking help into his radio. Not a single one.

Brett had to take a decision, fast.

He shuffled a little bit closer and then, gently, nudged Daredevil’s shoulder with the tip of his shoe, jumping back immediately, just in case the guy was grumpy and would think that crushing Brett into a chokehold or something like that was a good idea.
But Daredevil didn’t do a triple backflip ready to step into combat. Instead, he let out a long, pitiful moan.

“Man.” Brett whispered. “Daredevil. You alright?”

He took a good look behind him. No one in sight. He took his flashlight and pointed it at the vigilante.
As far as he could discern from the dark red and black body armor Daredevil was wearing, there was no sign of blood or deep injuries. His chin was stained with blood, but it looked old and dried, and there was a deep cut on his lip.

There was no visible wound, but as far as Brett could tell, Daredevil could be having internal bleeding and be about to die on him at any moment.
“Ehy.” He said, softly, kneeling at his side. “C’mon, man, you gotta wake up and run, or I’ll have to arrest you.”

Daredevil moaned again, doing a small aborted motion as if trying to turn on his back before giving up and stand still right where he was.

“No… No arresting.” He murmured, hoarse, doing a small flail with his right hand.

“Yeah, I’m trying not to, but you ain’t making things easier on me, dude.” Brett replied, exasperated. “I like you more than I should, but I also really need this job, ya know? So, if you could get up and run away so I could write in my report that yet again you escaped from the hands of the law, I’d be most grateful.”

Daredevil stayed silent for some long seconds, and just as Brett was wondering if he passed out, he let out what could be only be described as a giggle.

“I can’t… I c-can’t escape from the hands of the law. That’d be impossible for me.” He said, drunken glee in his weak voice, before giggling again.

Brett suddenly found himself a ton less intimidated by the guy. He giggled.

“Whatever you say, just- Get up, please? Are you like, seriously hurt? Do I need to call a hospital? Because that would be a little less worse than arresting, but it’s not like you’re gonna go far if you get into a hospital-“

“No hospitals.” Daredevil replied in a monotone tone, like someone that had repeated the same words one time too many. “I’m fine. I think.” He added, gentler.

He tried again to get up, and he made it as far as standing on his four limbs before loudly retching on the concrete.

“Shit.” Brett breathed, jumping away just in time. He took another look towards the entrance of the alley, no one in sight yet. “Shit. Dude. Do you have a concussion?”

Daredevil, now panting heavily, slowly sat back. He cleaned his mouth on his forearm. Then looked up at Brett, swaying.

“I t-think…” He said slowly, then moaned. “Ugh. Spins.” He palmed at his helmet, as if trying to shoo the spins away. “I don’t remember what happened.” He said, sounding more than a little lost.

“Fuck.” Brett swore softly, eyeing the guy. He has stopped swaying, but he was still looking up at Brett like he was waiting for him to do something. “What am I supposed to do with you? I can’t call an hospital and it’s not like I can drag you somewhere safer. Shit.”

Daredevil let out a mournful little sigh. “Why can’t you-“ He loudly sniffed the air a couple of times. “Iron. Leather. You are a cop.” He said, softly. Then sniffed again, his lips pursed into a thin line. “Wait- Oh, right, didn’t recognize your after shave. My senses are a bit woozy now.” He added, smiling vaguely. Brett was about to say that, suuure, let’s get you to a hospital mister search and rescue dog, and we’ll figure the rest out from there , when Daredevil added one last thing that was enough to freeze Brett’s blood in his veins.

“Hi, Brett.”

Brett jumped and took a couple of steps back. What the heck?

“How do you know my name?” He asked, voice suddenly hard, but Daredevil answered with a small laugh.

“Do you think I would forget that just because I didn’t came to see you for a couple of weeks?” He said, slightly tilting his head on a side with a small smile. Smile that disappeared after some seconds of silence. “What? I thought you didn’t mind the jokes.”

Brett was opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish. “What are you talking about?!”

Daredevil’s mouth turned in what could only be described as a pout. “Alright, no joking around when I’m hurt. I got it. Geeze.” He sighed, sadly, then fumbled to fish something out one of the suit pockets. Turned out to be a phone, that he handed towards Brett. “Here, call Foggy. I’m pretty sure someone broke their wooden baseball bat on my head, but don’t tell him that. Tell him I fell down a building.” He hesitated. “No, wait, that’s actually worse.”

Brett’s mouth snapped shut as his eyes widen. Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces fell right into place, and he took a good long look at Daredevil’s masked face while he was still eagerly handing out the phone to him.

“…Matt?” He asked, slowly.

“Mh?” Daredevil answered, pleasantly.


Foggy was very rudely awaken from his sleep by the loud chiming of a phone.
Groggily, he looked around. He was sure he turned off his phone before going to bed-
That wasn’t his phone, though. It was the recently baptized “DD phone”.
Foggy jumped from his bed, suddenly very awake, the clock on the nightstand helpfully informing him of the fact that it was 4:32 in the morning. He fumbled for the burner phone he recently acquired in one of the drawers, answering the call as soon as his fingers tightened around it.

“Matt? What’s wrong?” He said, breathless, heart pounding somewhere in his esophagus. “Where are you? Are you hurt? Do you need pick up-“

“You-” Started the voice that was not Matt’s, low and menacing. “-Better have a damn good excuse for this, Nelson, because I’m so very tempted to close both you and Murdock into a cell and throw the key into the Hudson, right now.”


Foggy had never managed to reach Matt’s place quite that fast. He was sweating and huffing like a train by the time he got at the door, and before he could knock, Brett opened.

He looked as mad as he sounded on the phone.

Shrinking on himself, Foggy entered avoiding his eyes. Brett softly closed the door on his back, but he marched back into the living room radiating rage.
“I cannot fucking believe you two-“ He started, helpfully interrupted by Matt dry-heaving in a basin. Foggy immediately kneeled near the couch where Matt was laying, slightly registering into the back of his mind the Daredevil suit haphazardly thrown around the room.

“Matty?” He asked, softly, and Matt looked at some point over Foggy’s shoulder with eyes looking even more unfocused than usual.

“Ehy, F’ggy.” He babbled with a vague smile, a thin line of saliva dangling from is chin. Foggy grimaced, wiping it gently with the sleeve of his shirt. “I think Brett’s a little mad.” Matt added, slurring every word.

“No fucking shit.” Brett murmured behind Foggy. “He’s been like this for a while, now. Got hit hard. Don’t know how, he keeps changing version when I ask.” He added, sounding tired and done, but at least not as angry as he did a minute earlier.

“I don’t remember, Al’right.” Matt replied, managing to sound offended. “I was throwing some likely hypothesis around.”

“Matt, let me see.” Foggy sighed, and Matt dutifully put his head back on the pillow. Foggy tasted, gently, and found a big lump on the back of Matt’s head, when he hissed and unsuccessfully tried to swat his hand away.

“Sorry, buddy, I need to check if your skull it’s all in one piece, ok?” Foggy said, gently. “That, or we go to a hospital. Your choice.”

Matt moaned and squirmed but then stayed still while Foggy tried his best to check the way Claire taught him.
There was no blood and, while the lump was hot and swollen, the skull seemed to be intact.

“Alright.” Foggy said, feeling Brett’s eyes burning into his back. “Symptoms?”

“He puked a couple of times.” Brett answered, voice low. “He’s confused, I needed to drag him here by brute force.”

“My echolocation doesn’t work, Foggy.” Matt added in a mourning voice. “Everything’s a mess.”

“He’s clearly delirious because the only way he could’ve revealed in a worse way that he’s the fucking Daredevil would’ve been jumping in front of me fully suited and get the mask off with a ’TA-DAAA!’

“I didn’t tell him anything!” Matt snapped, scandalized. “I don’t know what you talkin’ bout, Brett. Tell him, Foggy.”

They both ignored him.

“Bleeding? Nose, ears?” Foggy asked, finally turning to look at his childhood friend.

“No and no.” Brett answered, with a sigh. “I guess we’ll keep watching him and hope he doesn’t need a hospital.”

“Fair enough.” Foggy scrubbed an hand on his face. He wasn’t ready for this kind of conversation. He would never be ready. “Alright, let’s address the elephant in the room.” He added, steeling himself. He got up, walking to Matt’s fridge to fish out a couple of beer.

“It’s five in the morning, Franklin.” Brett said, tilting an eyebrow. He sounded equal parts irritated and amused.

“Tell me you don’t need at least a modicum amount of alcohol in you to talk about this, and I won’t drink either.”

“… Gimme that thing.” Brett replied, closing his fingers around the nicely cold glass.

“You can’t offer people my beers, Foggy.” Matt said, muffled by the cushion he was pressing his face in. “I can make an exception for Brett, but that’s just rude.”

“Matty.” Foggy started, in his best I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up lawyer voice. “ Shush. Adults are talking. Concussed people stays still and silent and moan every now and then just to let us know they are still alive. Gotcha?”



“Fine.” Matt grumbled.

Foggy gestured at the two empty armchairs. Brett sat with a loud, exhausted sigh, and Foggy turned the other one to be able to sit right in front of him.

“Alright, let’s get over the yelling part.” He said, voice tired, opening his beer. “Maybe not too loud, just so Matt wont’ have a reason to complain.”

“I’m too tired to yell, now.” Brett answered, taking a sip. “Just… What the fuck, man?!”

“Yeah, welcome to the club.” Foggy replied with a dark chuckle. “Just so we can cut this short, yeah I know how fucked up all of this is, and how dangerous it is, and how it’s gonna ruin my life too if this idiot gets outed to the public. I heard all of that from myself over and over, and I guess I’m still stupid enough to stand by his side.“

Matt made a disgruntled sound, and they both ignored him.

“Brett, I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” Foggy sighed, sounding sincerely hurt, and it hit Brett hard, to realize how his friend looked as if he had aged ten years in the span of a couple of months. “I really wish no one else would get dragged into this. It’s bad enough that me and Karen are so deeply involved with him, and she doesn’t even know yet.”

Brett had been nursing a nice pep-talk for the good part of an hour, but he let Foggy talk, all the words he carefully prepared flying out his head. Foggy looked crushed and Matt- Well, now he was not a reliable source, but Brett was ready to bet Matt probably wallowed himself in guilt for what he’s been doing enough on his own.

“I think you understand why we are keeping this a secret. You more than anyone can imagine what they’ll do to him, if he gets caught.” Foggy murmured, hands dangling between his knees and shoulder slumped. “But man, you don’t have to take the fall too, ok?” Foggy added, soft but firm, looking up at him. “You don’t need to. You are a friend, but you are not a tight knit as I am- When things are gonna crush and burn, I want you to claim you didn’t know jack shit, ok?”

Brett found himself at a loss. Foggy was looking dead serious, jaw set, eyes burning.

“You think I could do that?” Brett replied, a little choked. “Let you and Matt alone swimming in shit? No way.”


“What would ‘ma think if I’ll do that to my oldest friend?” Brett said, a soft smile rising on his lips. “You’re a pain in my ass, always have been as far as I can remember. And you were also the only one that had always been there when I needed it and other people ran away.”

Foggy closed his mouth that had been hanging open with a snap.

“I’m into this, now, whenever you want me or not. You are my friend. And-“ He turned to look at Matt, still on his couch, face pressed against the pillow. “-So is the dumbass over there. Also, you know I’ve been rooting for him, anyway.”

“That, you did.” Foggy sighed, melting into the armchair. He scrubbed an hand on his face. “At least one of us is a fan, Matt. Amazing, huh?”

Matt didn’t answer. Foggy got up with a single motion, worry immediately rising on his face as he kneeled at the couch side yet again. “Matt?”

“I’m sorry I’m such a problem.” Matt sobbed, turning his face toward them slightly, just enough that Brett noticed the actual legit tears staining his cheeks.

Foggy groaned-sighed. “You’re not a problem, Matty, don’t cry.” He said, softly, patting his shoulder gently. Matt sniffed.

“You know, I’m ok with the blind lawyer going around into the red leather pajama and you being on board with that.” Brett said, putting his half drank beer on the coffee table with a soft clink. “But I actually draw the line at you tenderly petting the crying vigilante. Always told you Murdock was a terrible influence, Franklin.”

Foggy laughed, his hand still on Matt’s shoulder. “Your priorities need to get looked at, Brett.” He turned to look at him, thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, you’re gonna fit right in. It was destiny. Welcome. Welcome Brett into the DD club, too, Matt. Don’t be rude.”

“Welcome Brett where?” He asked, looking lost, eyes still wet. He looked like a sad puppy.

For fuck’s sake, Brett’s mental image of Daredevil, the badass vigilante, had been ruined forever.

“Ok, I need actual sleep before my morning shift.” Brett said, stressing the words as much as he could, stifling a yawn. “Fog, call me if you need anything. Seriously. And take the day off tomorrow, you both need the rest.”

“Alright.” Foggy got up, offering him his hand. “Thanks for being awesome, buddy. It means a lot.”

Matt made an agreeing noise as they shook hands.

“Don’t sweat it.” Brett replied, smiling sincerely. “That’s what friends are for.”