it's just blood under the bridge.
Summary: As Matt escapes the tunnels with a half-dead Vladimir on his back, the two reach an understanding of sorts.
Notes: Look, I'm super late to this fandom, but after watching season one, I am a Vladimir simp, okay? I couldn't just sit there and let him die in canon, not if I could fix it!
Also, I wrote this as Gen, but it could absolutely be seen as pre-Mattimir if you so choose to see that. :)
Vladimir's really hurt.
That's definitely pointing out the obvious, but Matt can't help the thought from screaming its way through him, a constant reminder of the time he doesn't have to waste, of Fisk's ruthlessness, of how goddamn fragile humans really are underneath it all. A tough guy like Vladimir - all that intimidating presence and powerful constitution, and he's as weak as anyone would be after… all that. Getting shot, dying, being brought back, falling through two floors… fuck, he really had a number done on him, didn't he?
Well, all the more reason to hustle, Matt reasons with himself; his grip on the Russian tightens, hoisting up the body hanging off his back just a little more, making his way through the tunnels. Vladimir is dead weight - has been since he was shot - but somehow, somehow his pulse indicates he's awake. Or, more like half-awake; he's not completely out of it, at the very least.
Matt isn't sure if it's all for spite or sheer Russian mafioso determination, but color him impressed.
As he navigates, the vigilante makes sure to listen carefully. There are more forks in these tunnels than a formal table setting, and one wrong turn would almost certainly mean death. They can't afford to turn back - they'll be running right into the barrels of those cops' guns. Matt perks all his senses for any signs of an exit - yelling from corrupt cops on the streets, gunfire, a breeze from the cold autumn night… anything.
Unfortunately, nothing just yet points to a clear way outside, but at least he's able to tell which paths lead to dead ends from a lack of airflow.
There's also the sound and feel of the weak, fluttering heartbeat that keeps threatening to stop (again) - it's worrisome, but it keeps Matt focused. It's important not to lose Vladimir (again), as he can be a valuable asset later down the line.
Plus, it just doesn't sit right with Matt; he couldn't, in all his good Catholic conscience, leave someone to die when he had the opportunity to save them. Vladimir wouldn't have bought much time, anyway; after a few moments of quick gunfire, the Russian would've been no more, allowing the five officers to continue their pursuit.
The intent had been there, though. Vladimir intended to sacrifice himself. And that means something to Matt - he doesn't know what it means, exactly, but it had been enough of a sentiment to make him turn back for the mobster.
"Anyone ever tell you you're like a cockroach?" Matt huffs, successfully avoiding another dead end path.
Vladimir's voice is a whisper, hoarse and strained as the smell of copper stains his words. "And you are deaf ублюдок. I say I stay." He's obviously too weak to fight it, though; tremors are wracking through the man, and the way his hands can't even manage a secure grip on Matt's body holding him up proves how helpless he is. His head is rested on Matt's shoulder, arms stretching over and dangling limply while Matt's hands are hooked under his legs for support.
"Yeah, well, leaving people to die isn't really my style," Matt quips.
"I forget. You prefer pushing them off buildings." Vladimir starts to shake his head, but seems to think better of it and just groans in pain. "Это больно…"
Matt bites his lip. "Hold on, okay? I know you wanted to go out in a blaze of glory and all that, but there's only room for one self-sacrificing idiot in these tunnels, and it sure as hell isn't you." He thinks of Claire's reaction when he was ready to mindlessly throw himself at Vladimir, at the entire Russian mafia itself, just to keep following the trail to Fisk.
Seeing that same kind of martyrdom echoed in Vladimir back there was… startling. At least Matt now knows how irritating it can be when someone actively steps into the line of fire for some purpose they deemed worthy.
"Not as if there's choice," the half-dead Russian mumbles. "You made clear that you won't let me die."
"Yep. So don't make me a liar. Would hate to sully my squeaky-clean reputation." Matt directs his focus to yet another fork in the tunnels, once again selecting the correct path and getting closer to the exit. He can hear it much more clearly now; the skittering of rats just above the surface, the patter of drizzling rain, thunder rumbling in the sky. A few more turns and they'd be around his apartment's location - though, the jury's still out on what to do once they get up there.
Matt tries to ignore how weak the Russian's chuckle is in response. The man still sounds horrible, reminding Matt that he honestly has no idea how to help with serious life-threatening injuries. For God's sake, Vladimir already died once - what's stopping him from doing it again, and staying dead this time?
The thought makes Matt's blood freeze. Would that make him responsible, if Vladimir dies? There is a way to save him, just a phone call away… she'll definitely hate Matt, though. And, well, maybe the life of a Russian mobster isn't worth that hate, but…
He shakes his head; this whole thing is spiraling out of control, and all he can do at this point is carry on with his values. And Matt's no killer - that's been non-negotiable since the beginning. They'll just have to take their chances with Claire. He doesn't regret meeting her, but he regrets asking her for so much; there's a reason the two of them will never work out, and they both know it. It's just how things have to be.
At any rate, Matt trudges onward, pushing any lingering regrets from his mind. Vladimir continues to mutter in what sounds like a broken mixture of Russian and English, his exposed skin radiating more heat than normal. He's almost definitely rocking a fever on top of all his bodily injuries, which is just something Matt will have to note for later.
He attempts a quick reassessment of the criminal's injuries: the bullet wound is still closed thanks to that road flare, there's too many bruises and cuts to count, a few cracked ribs making his breathing labored, a deep gash atop his scalp. Not too well, all things considered.
"Hey, Vladimir," Matt whispers, attempting a distraction from the pain. "Tell me about Anatoly."
The name sparks a bit of uneasiness in Vladimir's pulse; the man's breath seems to catch in his throat and, for once, he seems too stunned to speak. Eventually, though, he gets his tongue working and rasps, "Why you want to know?"
Matt shrugs, regretting the movement as Vladimir gives a quiet groan of protest at the strain it puts on his arms. "You burned all your bridges trying to avenge him. You must've been close."
The Russian huffs half-heartedly, too weak to really laugh. "Understatement. We… always together. Always. Like I said, we were… going to rule this city, just me and him."
"Just you two? Any lovers to sit with you? Kids?" The questions are mostly to distract Vladimir, but a part of Matt is curious about the man's family (or lack thereof).
Vladimir sneers. "No. Maybe Tolya would have one day, but I… never interested."
Huh. Well that doesn't fit the mental profile Matt had crafted on Vladimir.
"What about your parents?" he presses. "Surely even you two didn't spawn out of thin air." There's got to be a story there; it's hard to imagine two fearsome crime lords raised on a diet of any degree of love and support.
"Yes, we had parents, I assume. They did not want us."
"Really?" Matt replies, almost amused. "That's a bit cliche, don't you think? Evil Russian mobster brothers with a tragic orphan backstory?"
Vladimir hisses, either from pain or anger (or both). "Not sure why I am even telling you all this-"
"Blood loss, most likely - lowers your inhibitions faster than alcohol."
"...even so," Vladimir grumbles, "I tell you personal thing, and you laugh. You are real мудак."
Matt shakes his head with a tsk. "That doesn't sound like a very nice thing to call the guy saving your life right now."
"мне насрать на твоё мнение."
"Once again, I don't speak asshole." Matt sighs, adjusting his grip on the burden on his back, and realizes they're almost to the ladder out of here. He listens carefully for any pursuers behind them, and breathes a sigh of relief when he senses none. His mind stops racing, the adrenaline propelling him forward filtering back just a bit - enough to breathe a sigh of relief and pause for a minute. Matt comes to a stop at the last fork before their exit, resting his legs briefly.
"We're almost there," he informs Vladimir, not being indicative of where 'there' is, exactly. Hell, aside from his couch for the time being, Matt has no idea where the two of them can even go at this point. "Still with me?"
"к несчастью," Vladimir mumbles. He gives a violent cough, and Matt feels the smell of copper splash against the back of his neck.
"Ugh, really?" Matt grimaces.
Just to be more of a shithead, Vladimir makes a point to budge his head back a little and spits another glob of blood into Matt's shirt. With an indignant hiss, Matt shivers at the slimy feeling traveling down his spine, and he makes a point to jostle the man around just a tad in retaliation. The Russian's muscles tense as pain surely washes over him, but Matt can't feel too much sympathy.
"Oops," the vigilante jeers.
Vladimir's teeth audibly gnash together, but he has no smartass reply to make.
With whatever counted as a conversation between them fizzling out, Matt propels forward once again. He's mindful not to shake Vladimir too much again if he can help it; sure, it was fun for a moment, but there's a real possibility of making his injuries worse, and Matt would rather not chance it for a little schadenfreude.
They're coming up to the exit; a lone ladder is placed in the middle of the pathway, leading up to the sewer hole outside Matt's apartment. He knows he's taking a huge risk, bringing the Russian to his own home, but… there isn't much choice here. With the police - and potentially hospitals - in Fisk's pocket, there's no way they can take a chance with any sort of authorities.
Claire really is Vladimir's only hope - and Matt can only hope the asshole realizes just how deeply he is at the mercy of someone he directly harmed.
After carefully letting go of his charge's legs, Matt places his hands on the ladder rungs. "I need you to move your arms to wrap around my neck, get a better grip," he instructs, "but don't, y'know, strangle me. As tempting as I'm sure it is."
"Ты понятия не имеешь…" The Russian sneers, translating to make the jab land: "Have no idea." But still, he sucks in air through his teeth and forces his limbs to move, wounded muscles twitching in protest as he crosses his arms over one another near Matt's clavicle, right hand gripping the left wrist tightly.
Matt takes a deep breath. "Alright," he warns, "this won't be fun."
With no further ceremony, the vigilante hoists himself up onto the ladder; Vladimir cries out involuntarily as the movement stretches his wounds. In all honesty, the strain hurts like a bitch for Matt, too - he hadn't been any more prepared than the Russians when those bombs went off - but he knows he has no room to complain here. His injuries are scratches compared to what Vladimir's been through tonight.
"Don't scream," he snaps to the other man, not wanting to knock out anymore cops tonight. "I know it hurts - trust me, I get it - but once we're above ground, we can get to a safe place, and then I'll call someone to help."
"Safe place," Vladimir echoes with a snort. "Nowhere is safe. We are cornered like rats - in sewers, too. Fitting. Squeak, squeak."
Matt frowns, continuing to slowly pull them upwards, rung by rung. It's clear delirium is sinking into Vladimir quickly, or at least it's increasing tenfold the more he bleeds out onto Matt's clothes. But as annoying as his voice can be, it's still good that he keeps talking; not screaming - not loud enough to alert anyone to their position - but the quiet conversations will keep him awake. And he can't die if he's awake and (somewhat) alert, right? As weak as the man's heartbeat is, Matt still prefers that to it stopping completely again.
He's out of personal questions to keep Vladimir mumbling through consciousness, so he tries to appeal to the man's innate hatred of a certain crime lord, and the natural appetite for revenge that comes with it: "Don't give up so easily. This gives you a one-up on Fisk, you know: he won't expect you alive. And if he ever finds out, I'd bet that pisses him off to no end."
"All more reason for you to leave me back there," Vladimir rasps. "Could have saved your life. If I'm alive, can cause problems."
The Russian's pulse doesn't change at that, indicating his honesty. He isn't trying to trick Matt, or lure him into a false alliance; he genuinely believes that being left behind in those tunnels would have helped Matt out in the end. Maybe he's right, maybe it would have been safer to just let Vladimir die, but…
"I didn't want to leave you like that," Matt says, his voice firm.
Despite it all, Vladimir chuckles under his breath; it comes out as little more than a wheeze, but he tries to convey his bitterness all the same. "It does not matter. Loose end, he will tie. He will not stop until I am dead like my empire - until you are dead, too."
"Vladimir-"
"I just do not know why you would risk it for- for me. For my information. I not that important." Vladimir tries to shake his head, quietly sighing in frustration. "You mention my burning bridges earlier - but… in truth, Fisk burnt them for me. All I am left with now is ashes. Tolya… is ashes."
There's a soft pang of regret to Vladimir's tone, and it's a bit too humanizing for Matt's comfort. Then again, all Matt's learned about the man's life since he saved it has been new information, and not entirely unwanted. It's good to learn what he can about enemies, sure, but… it feels different here. Like he's just getting to know someone, rather than just their weaknesses.
And- speaking of bridges, maybe the grief Vladimir's going through can, for once, build one rather than burn. It's worth a try, isn't it?
"Look, to be frank with you-" Matt begins, only to be cut off by the confused semi-bilingual bastard.
"...Frank? Is this your name?"
"No, it's a figure of speech- never mind. To be clear," Matt explains, "I don't like you. I don't condone anything you've done." He pauses, chewing on his lip in thought as he contemplates the best words to get his point across. "But I am sorry about what happened to your brother - it's not right, and I can't stand that Fisk thinks he can get away with murdering and exploiting whoever he wants. He can't. I'm going to stop him."
It's enough of a reminder to keep going, that they can't afford to die here in these God-forsaken tunnels. It's enough to lend Matt strength as he pushes the manhole open with a grunt, the surrounding wet asphalt eerily absent of vibrations. No one is around, aside from a car that's far off in the distance by now. The street must be closed because of the bombings; Matt's never been so grateful for interruptions to traffic.
"Okay, the coast is clear," he murmurs, hobbling up the rest of the ladder and finally emerging above ground. The smell of rain still lingers in the cool night air, mixing unpleasantly with the blood caked into their clothes.
Matt wastes no more time; with the deadweight on his back, it's a slow trek up to his apartment, and a miracle no one else happened to be outside their own rooms as he all but dragged them both up the stairs. Once they get inside, Matt immediately deposits Vladimir onto the couch.
Vladimir is quiet, and at this point, he's fighting to stay awake - but he had been listening to Matt before, at least. "How?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "Just tell me - how you intend to stop Fisk?"
"Any way I can. I won't stop until he's paid for all he's done." His fists tighten at his sides, knuckles itching to crack across Fisk's bones.
"But you won't kill," Vladimir says, like Matt needs to be reminded.
"Yeah, I won't kill anyone, but I'll…"
"Do not say cliche like 'make them wish they were dead'," Vladimir sneers. "Makes you look like bigger мудак."
Matt shrugs. "Alright, I'll give you that. But, as far as Fisk goes, I think taking down the rest of his connections seems as good a place to start as any." He listens to the continuous flutter of Vladimir's heart, feels the feverish heat still seeping off the man, and pulls out his phone to call Claire. "Still with me, Vladimir?"
"Да, Да," Vladimir huffs, his breaths ragged. "Guess back there really wasn't how I die."
"You had any doubts?" Matt snorts, because it sure didn't sound like it. The Russian had been completely confident in his words at the warehouse, and only tried to give up when there'd been no other choice.
Vladimir just chuckles softly to himself. As Matt begins to dial up Claire, he catches the ghost of a smirk tugging at his own lips.
Back in the tunnels, Vladimir had compared the two of them, saying they're not all that different; while Matt disagrees, because he is certainly not the same as a Russian human trafficker, he can acknowledge one thing shared: they both must look downright awful right about now. They're battered, bloody, beaten… but despite it all, still breathing.
And at the end of the day, they'll keep each other alive - because, really, they're both just pests who don't know any better.
