It's hard. It's hard trying to juggle raising a kid and having a boxing career. Though, describing it as a career might be an overstatement. Wasn't much of a career when you tended to end up flat on your back with your face re-arranged more times than one could count on both hands.
There were some days when Jack Murdock was sorely tempted to call it quits on boxing. It was a painful profession where one had to risk health and brain damage every time a match started.
And then Murdock would remember his son. Boxing paid the bills, and since Murdock had never gone to school (heck, had never properly learned to read!) boxing was the only feasible way to make enough cash to properly live on.
Matt was Jack's pride and joy. He was always insistent that his son attend school, so as to not grow up to be a bum. Jack's worst nightmare was Matt following the same profession.
"Trust me, son, the last thing you want to be is a boxer. If you get an education, you can be whatever you put your mind to," he would always tell his son. Matt would sometimes whine that he wanted to watch his dad train, but Jack wouldn't hear it. It was worth the arguments, though; Matt had a pretty good track record in terms of grades.
If Jack was proud of one thing, it was making sure that his son had the chance to grow up to be somebody, and not just a punching bag made out of flesh. His son wouldn't live a life where he came home almost every night needing stitches on his face.
"My ugly mug would probably make any proper lady faint," Jack once joked to his son as Matt stitched up a rather nasty cut on his chin. Matt stifled a giggle, trying to keep his hands steady. The first time Matt had used the needle, he had been shaking so bad that he had somehow made the wound worse.
"Well dad, I suppose that wild ladies are more fun than proper ones anyway," Matt had replied, and Jack had laughed hard enough that Matt's hands slipped anyway. It had taken a few swigs of wine to help them finish up the job half an hour later.
Jack wished he had more things to leave to his son; money, or a legacy, or even a safe environment. Hell's Kitchen was no place for a kid. The rent was cheap, though. He supposed he had to be thankful for the small things in life.
After the accident, Jack was faced with the moral dilemma of spending more time with his son, or having his managers set up more boxing matches than usual. Against every fatherly molecule in his body, he went with the latter; he would need the money to purchase Braille learning books and a cane for his son.
He wanted to be there for his son, to hold him and reassure him when things got rough. Fate was never so kind.
Still, like always, his son was a fast learner. The kid managed to learn most of his Braille in just a few months. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope that the accident hadn't taken away Matt's future.
Matt even joked that he could already read in Braille faster than his old man could read normal English. Jack had laughed, part proud of his son for the perseverance he showed, and part relieved that his son could still make jokes. He had always taught his son that the most important thing about falling down was getting back up; his son had certainly kept that lesson to heart.
Jack liked to think that, despite everything else, he at least had dignity. But money spoke, so whenever he was asked to throw a match, he would. His son would hate that, if he ever found out. But sometimes in life, you had to do what you had to do.
When his managers told him that they had scheduled a bout with Creel, Jack had been excited. Creel was one of the most popular boxers around. Fighting him guaranteed a boost in popularity.
All the giddiness drained away when the managers added a catch: Jack had to throw the match. For the first time, Jack turned down the offer…only to be reminded that he needed the money. Shame racing through him, he accepted; it seemed like the only option at the time.
The night of the match, Jack found himself staring into a mirror in the locker room. He wasn't sure who was looking back at him. Was it a person his son could be proud of?
"Just once, I want my son to hear everyone cheering for me." Squaring his shoulder, Jack made up his mind. He knew that these were people that you didn't refuse, that bad things happened to the fools who betrayed them – but he intended to defeat Creel. He wanted his son to see him win.
The match wasn't easy. Creel was younger and faster, and had more stamina. But Jack had more experience, and knew just where to aim his punches. He bled hard during that match, and his heart felt like it would burst through his chest, but by the end, it was all worth the excruciating effort.
He almost couldn't believe it when he found himself standing over Creel, his arm being held up by a referee. His face hurt, not just from the punches, but because of the largest grin on his face. He looked straight into the camera and let out a wild whoop; even if his boy couldn't see him, he could darn well hear him.
He didn't bother looking out into the stands, though; he knew there would be some particular people giving him nasty looks, murder possibly in their minds. But even if his time was up, Jack was satisfied; he would go out on his terms.
He was only a few blocks away from the apartment when he was cornered and shot by someone who most likely worked for his manager. Jack didn't have time to call out or even grunt in pain before he collapsed to the ground. His final thoughts were about his son.
Author's Notes:
Admittedly, this story was a bit rushed; I wanted to post this just so the Daredevil section could be put up. The Netflix show is really good (I haven't finished yet, though). Matt's father had to make some sacrifices for his son; it's really sad stuff. Anyway, hope you enjoyed.