Foreword: The following is a Marvel's Daredevil/The Punisher AU piece. It is the sequel, the 'second season' to the prior 'season' of this AU, so it goes without saying that the 'first season' should be read, first. I do feel it should be noted, this project as a whole was created to be a sort of joint project between myself, Jael Randell (who the readership will likely know as the cowriter for Chronicles of the Fallen's second installment, Layers), and HaloRecoil. There will likely feel like there are… not necessarily huge missing parts, but like there are skips ahead to different parts of the overarching plot, as I will only be posting the pieces I myself have written. Familiarity with the storylines of Daredevil is, therefore, highly recommended. That said, there are going to be some deviations from said plot, and the overall world of this AU was constructed prior to the premiere of The Punisher, so it will likely not follow the exact story arcs that show will employ. It feels moreso like a situation where one must know the rules before breaking them.
Also, while this has its roots as an Angel Sanctuary gone Daredevil/The Punisher AU, this piece features Nemaelle Mudou, OC for my CotF series, Azreal, HaloRecoil's OC for her Coming of the Seraph series, and Zephyrel, OC for Jael Randell's Eve of the Earth series. It should be noted, however, that these characters (and all characters, really), have been 'normalized' in their features – no otherworldly colors, bringing everyone down to earth, so to speak. For example, Nema's trademark white-haired, red-eyed look has been toned down to a pale blonde, chocolate brown-eyed look.
The War for Hell's Kitchen
Tired
By: Brenli
This was embarrassing.
Somewhere inside the wreckage of his brain, Michael could rationalize that there wasn't necessarily anything to be embarrassed about. Those Irish mobsters did an indisputable number on him. Hit him in the damn face so many times it was a wonder he was even conscious, right now. Drilled through his damn foot. Shot him. He was allowed to stumble, he was allowed to find difficulty in simply breathing.
But the soldier in him – and honestly, was he anything but a soldier, really? - wouldn't accept it. Wouldn't take excuses for doing anything less than his best, and still striving to be better. He might not be in Iraq, or Afghanistan; he was still at war. He was always going to be at war.
And being practically tucked under the arm of the red-clad Devil of Hell's Kitchen made him feel too much like he'd lost.
"Come on," Daredevil said, and propped him up against something cold and smooth. His head was so beat, it took longer than it should have for him to realize he was leaning against a gravestone.
"This is fucking poetic." Speaking hurt. Everything hurt.
Daredevil ignored his comment. It wasn't his fault the cemetery was the closest quiet place he could get the man to. "Hey," he said instead, "Not bad back there."
Michael snorted, and it felt like there was blood building in his sinuses. "Please."
"No, you did good. Knocked a good few out."
"Would've killed 'em if you didn't keep disarming me. What the fuck, Red? It's like you don't think weapons cost money!"
"Weapons weren't necessary. You can't see that? We could've gotten out with zero deaths if you hadn't gone berserk again."
Shit. Shit shit shit. His head bashed lightly against the headstone as he groaned. "I know I said I'd argue with you about this to the death; doesn't mean I actually wanted it."
The more merciful of the two vigilantes was insistent. "You're not dying tonight. Help is on the way."
Michael's brows pinched together. He could feel his whole face protesting against it. "So I get to have another morality argument with you, and then die handcuffed to a gurney. Get out of here, Red. I'm tired." So tired...
"Then maybe you'll finally listen."
"Just 'cause I don't agree with you doesn't mean I'm not listening."
"My way works, Michael. It works if you have faith in it."
Michael made an attempt to shake his head. It felt more like his head was rolling side to side across his damn shoulders. "Fuck. Fuck, don't do this to me. Don't fucking do this to me, Altar Boy. You really wanna tell me your way works? What do you do, huh? You act like it's a playground. Beat up bullies with your fists. Put 'em in time out."
"In jail. It's justice."
"It's a slap on the wrist...!" Michael yelled, felt dizzy. Yelled more because of that dizziness. "A month, a week, a day later, they're out there doing the same terrible shit. You get to be called a hero for that! It's fucking twisted!"
"No, you know what's twisted?" The Devil of Hell's Kitchen said back, firm and stubborn. "What's twisted is that you'd rather send them six feet under. In the dirt you're sitting on."
He scoffed. "If I had my way they wouldn't even get that. What, prayers and... and fucking flowers on their stone tablets? They don't deserve it!"
"They were people, Michael. They were human!"
"Were they? I don't think so. You got these... these things, selling crack to kids, gunning down men for their wallets, selling fucking... fucking little girls, raising them to get used to being raped, but these people are human to you, Red? Really?"
"That's an extremely broad brush you're painting with." He clearly wasn't impressed. Good thing Michael wasn't trying to impress him. "What about Voice?"
"Christ's sake... the guy who plugged the old lady? You mean taping a gun to your hand and beating the truth out of him didn't teach you anything?"
"Why didn't it teach you anything? You couldn't tell how scared he was?"
"Good! He should've been scared! He should've been shitting himself!"
Daredevil's jaw clenched in frustration, and damn it all, Michael felt glad to aggravate him. "He was remorseful. He felt the guilt already, because he was a good person at heart. Just dragged into bad circles. And you snuffed out any chance for him to redeem himself."
"Listen to you. Redeem himself!" Michael coughed. "There's nothing to redeem!"
The red-clad man snapped over all of his rough grumbling. "How do you know that?"
"I just do!" This was more than embarrassing. It was outright exhausting. "You wanna treat me like I'm a judgy fuck; well look at you. You condemn people, too. Left and right you do it. But you won't finish the job and it's the most enraging fucking thing I've ever...!"
"There's no job to finish, Michael!"
"Yes there is!" Yelling made it feel like his guts might try to pop out of him. "You do this shit, you go out at night and take the law into your hands; that's a job, Red. That's a job. And you keep skipping the fuck out an hour before your shift ends, leaving the dirt to me!"
"Hey!" The word was a loud rumble that felt like it might've shook the ground. Or maybe Michael was just that out of it. "If I ever catch you picking off people I've already taken care of-"
"You'll what, Red?" Michael seethed. "Kill me?"
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen said nothing.
"I gave you the chance, even. You think I'm so terrible? Then you should've aimed and pulled the fucking trigger! But you didn't." His breath was more like a wheeze through his nose. "No, you roughed me up a little bit, and let me off the hook. That's the difference between you and me. You hit 'em and they get back up." He leaned forward. "I hit 'em and they stay down!"
"Yes! Yes, you do!" Daredevil yelled at him, and his voice was clear and sharp and not the train wreck that Michael's rage-filled growling was. "And then they can never get a second chance. They can never start over, or try again, or make amends. They can't do their penance, Michael. You rob them of that."
"Watch out, Altar Boy. Your Catholic is showing."
"It's true. And everyone deserves that chance, Michael. Even you do."
"Holy shit." Michael sighed out in annoyance, and it felt almost like the final breath, the dying breath. "I'm tired, Red. I'm fucking tired. Can't you just get the fuck out of here and let me bleed out in peace?"
But of course, the man in red didn't leave. Of course he wouldn't. Why would Michael ever have that kind of luck on his side? At least he was quiet, allowing him to shut his eyes and pretend he was alone. A dying man surrounded by those already dead.
"One batch, two batch. Penny and dime."
The little melodic lines sounded so, so strange coming from the mouth of anyone else other than his own. "Here I come. Here I come." He opened his eyes and turned them skyward, but Michael could hardly see anything. His face, no doubt, must have looked puffy and blue and black and terrible...
"That the last part of it?" Daredevil settled down beside him.
That was better. Then Michael didn't have to look up at his half-covered face. "The next part of it."
"A song?"
"A book. Her favorite book." He cleared his throat. "You got kids, Red?"
The Devil's laugh was a bit surprised and flustered. "No, no, not me."
"That's a shock." Michael smiled, even though it made the flesh of his lips feel like they were cracking apart. "Figured under that ridiculous suit of yours, you must be a regular Leave it to Beaver type. Married your highschool sweetheart, made the poor woman pop out like, ten kids."
"Never really had a highschool sweetheart, to be honest."
"College sweetheart is just as good."
That seemed to give the Devil of Hell's Kitchen pause, and Michael let him have it.
"Kids are... holy shit. You wanna sit here talking to me about... hope and miracles and shit. Nothing more miraculous than a kid." That was when he felt his throat choke up. He was too beat down, too exhausted to care. "I don't know how the guys before our time did it. I mean yeah they had letters and pictures, but you have to wait for it. You have to wait for it to fly across the damn ocean and then it's gotta go by vehicle. Shit... you're not gonna hear from 'em for months at a time. I don't know... I don't know. These days we got our fucking... cell phones and Skype and shit." Another smile cracked painfully across his beaten face. "Jenny's face always filling up the entire screen; didn't have the heart to tell her to scoot back a little. She kept me together better than stitches and staples."
"Jenny, huh?" Daredevil said quietly.
"Jenebel. Yeah... Bal wanted an A name for a boy and a J name for a girl. I was leanin' more toward Nathan for a boy, wasn't sure for a girl honestly. Of course, gotta let the Missus have final say in these things. I mean, she's the one carrying for fucking 9 months. Figure she's earned the naming rights." The jokes were like serrated edges on his skin. "Two tours, fuck. Going to bed in war zones but I had my baby girl with me. I don't know. Does that make sense to you? What I'm saying..."
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen didn't want to act as though he understood fully. The last time they'd fought, the Punisher had made it clear that the war being fought here wasn't the same as the war being fought elsewhere. Even if it was still a kind of war. "Keep your head on your shoulders?"
"No... No, I don't know. Maybe." His head tilted, like he was only just now weighing the idea. "Two tours, and all that dust in my mouth and friends' blood in my face... It's just life. It's just the nature of things. You know? Couldn't be helped. I never broke out there, never got scared. Maybe it was Jenny, but I don't know. If it was Jenny then why wasn't..." He broke his train of thought, eyes searching the sky for nothing. "Everybody thinks the leaving is hard; I don't think it ever was. Coming home is hard."
"People cruel about it?"
Michael scoffed. "I got people on the news calling me crazy as shit for what I do; you think I care about what people think of me? No... No, that's not what I'm talking about. It's... being tired. The kinda tired... it sits in your marrow, you know? It's fucking pervasive; you can't make it leave. You ever been tired like that, Red?"
He nodded. "Yeah... Yeah, I have."
"Yeah..." Michael nodded, too. "I got really tired, fuck. Staring out the window, the plane hits the tarmac. Kinda jolts you, it was the first time I jumped in fucking ages. Get out of the plane, there's the wife. She's so... holy shit, Red. Gold hair and eyes like blue skies. A real American dream, you know? And I'm so... I'm fucking floored and I got her in my arms; I'm hugging her so tight. But I'm tired, you know? I'm happy but I'm so fucking tired." He shook his head. "Couldn't even drive; had her do it. I'm lookin' out the window, we're passing fuckin'... doughnut shops and burger joints and all that greasy shit. The shit I fought to protect. And we get to Jenny's school and they're havin' some... I don't know, some kinda arts and crafts time. Of course, Jenny's making finger paint One Batch, Two Batch..." He laughed and it sounded almost... waterlogged, like he was full to bursting with sadness, like the tiredness had leaked out of his bones. "Penny and dime..." Michael cleared his throat. "She's painting a big red container for the batches and she looks up and sees me, it's fucking... kids going nuts all around us, she springs over her desk like a damn jack rabbit and runs for me. I'm holding her so tight and she's getting all this red all over my uniform; I don't give a shit. Everybody's crying. Bal's all going to pieces, the kids are screaming, teacher's filming it. Pretty sure it's up on YouTube; I don't know if it's any good but it's what it is. Everybody's crying... not my Jenny." Michael made an attempt to laugh, but this time it devolved into a broken weep. "Not my baby girl... I'm a fucking mess and she practically turned herself into a peacock, she's telling everyone, she's telling me, 'I knew it, I knew it.' She's so strong, that way. Stronger than I've ever been." He sighed in aggravation over how he just... couldn't quit crying, now. "We get home and Bal's got this big dinner made and I'm... I'm happy. I'm home and I'm happy but I'm so... so tired. I can hardly eat, can't even drink a damn beer. Couldn't take my wife to bed. Couldn't... Damn..." He took in a breath and it made his entire torso ache and sting. "She had that book out. One Batch, Two Batch... because that was how it always was. Every night. Reading it to her... But I was so tired, Red..."
Daredevil made out the faint sounds of police sirens, but knew that it wasn't strong enough to reach Michael's ears. If it even mattered at all.
"Poor girl... she's as stubborn as her father. She begged. And begged. And begged... but I said 'no.' I was tired, you see? I was too tired. But I'll..." He paused around the sound of his voice cracking apart. "'I'll read it to you tomorrow night.'" He was too tired to hold anything in anymore... Speaking around tears and the blood leaking from his nose. "But there's no tomorrow, Red... Like... Like war fuckin' followed me home. Bullets spraying all across the carousel... I'm holding her so tight... she's getting all this red all over my clothes... I'm a fucking mess, and she... Meat spilling out of her, Red... where her face used to be." At last the sirens reached his own ears, and he could to little more than turn his head toward the flashing lights, red and blue, red and blue. "I'm tired, Red... I'm tired."
The Devil of Hell's Kitchen stood, hands behind his head, ready to be detained. "Rest now, Michael." Though he hoped, with the right convincing, the police would release him and take the credit. Credit he didn't want... There was no pride to be had in bringing in a broken lion of a man, whose roars sounded like anger but were more like pain.
