Summary: As a child, Matt always heard "Be careful of the Murdock boys—they got the devil in 'em!" Matt finds out just how wrong they were…

Warnings: If your delicate sensibilities can't handle a few naughty words…

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Bragging Rights was originally meant to be a one-and-done sort of fic, but I've had more ideas run through my head since then, and I'm slowly putting them in a more reader friendly format (vs doing something more productive, like doing my geophysics homework…), so now Bragging Rights will end up being a collection of various drabbles and ficlets, most of which won't be interconnected. (Although I am bouncing around ideas for a follow-up for Chapter 1…). More a/n at the bottom.
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Intervention

Matt isn't entirely sure what has just happened. He can recall fighting alongside the Black Widow, taking on a swarm of HYDRA agents, the two of them running, and then...and then…something. Maybe. He's not sure, but he knows he's missing something. What he definitely can't recall is how he got back to New York, back to a small Hell's Kitchen park he can remember from his childhood, before everything went dark. He can't recall changing into a pair of his favorite jeans and one of his more comfortable shirts, or why he is completely barefoot. And Matt definitely can't recall why all of his senses feel like they've been numbed and why he can fucking see.

"I figured it was time we met."

Matt jumps at the new voice behind him, and spins on his heels and starts to go down into a defensive crouch, only to freeze when he lays eyes on what is probably one of the most painfully beautiful beings he's ever encountered, and his mind simply can't truly comprehend what he's seeing, but he's quite sure people aren't supposed to glow.

"Who the hell are you?" he snaps. Matt knows he's being rude, and he really can't make himself care—there's some weird shit going on and he wants to know why. "And why am I here?"

"I have many names, but you can call me Askrasiel." And there's that strange voice again. It has an other-worldly quality to it, as if multiple individuals, both male and female, are speaking in unison.

"That doesn't really help me."

Askrasiel gives a weary sigh. "Oh, to be a foot note in those ancient history texts of yours…" The glowing being backs up a few steps and lowers itself onto a swing. "But, who am I? I've been with you since the accident. I'm that fire that curls in your belly when you sense somebody is getting screwed over. I'm the fury that burns through you when you hunt down the cruel and unjust. I'm that simmering satisfaction once justice has been meted out." During Askrasiel's little speech, Matt can feel his heart constricting tighter and tighter, until it hurts to breathe. Oh, god, no… Is this— Before Matt can voice his fears, Askrasiel's head cocks, "No, Matthew. I'm not that inner demon you've been so afraid of. And if you're looking for a pronoun, 'he' will do just fine… Though I don't know why it should matter, angels don't exactly follow the gender system you mortals have insisted on setting up…"

"Angels? You're- You're an angel?!" Matt needs to sit, now, before he crashes, and he ends up dropping onto the swing next to Askrasiel. To keep from tipping over, his hands tighten painfully around the chains. "But, I was always told—"

"Your grandmother always had some interesting ideas, but I have no idea where she got that one," the angel happily interrupts. "No devil in this particular Murdock boy—quite the opposite really! But think about it, Matthew: if you truly had a devil residing inside of you, you'd take pleasure in sowing chaos and witnessing injustice."

Matt's tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, and the chains creak slightly as he flexes his grip on them. "…But I hurt people. Granted, they're not good people, but I still hurt them, badly. And I shouldn't take pleasure in that!"

The angel fixes Matt with a dry look. "Do you seriously think the heavenly host takes on the forces of hell with nothing more than a few verses of Kumbaya, a couple handfuls of glitter, and maybe a few unicorns? Not all angels are those harmless looking cherubs that Raphael doodled all over that little chapel of his—think about the archangel Michael. And while those billy clubs of yours don't quite measure up to a flaming sword, I can definitely appreciate it when you make sure a criminal can't eat solid food for a few months, or prevent them from holding another gun, or make them think twice before they consider hurting another person."

Matt can think of nothing to say to that, so he just nods. "You said you've been with me since the accident… Does that make you my guardian angel? Are you the reason my senses are the way they are? And why haven't we met before now?"

"Your senses? No. That's all on whatever those chemicals were, though the amount you were exposed to should have killed you, or at the very least, left you brain-damaged. I was passing through, and I didn't find it very fair that a child who'd just performed a rather selfless act could possibly have his life cut short, so I…sort of…intervened… The Boss," Askrasiel's long-fingered hand motions sky-ward, "insisted that since I acted a bit outside my job description, I was to stay with you for the remainder of your life." The guilt must be obvious on Matt's face, because the angel reaches out and lays a gentle hand on the young man's hunched shoulder—the thrill that contact brings to Matt's body is indescribable—and gives him a reassuring smile. "Don't feel bad about it. What's a human lifespan to something that's been around since even before the existence of time itself? And I rather enjoy being back in the trenches, so to speak-I suspect Michael is a bit jealous. And the irony of how you dress up is also quite delightful.

"As for our lack of contact? You come close when you meditate. Why do you think you're able to heal so much quicker than other mortals? But, I'm afraid that's as close you'll get, unless there are some special circumstances…"

Matt perked at this—if he could figure out how, maybe he could—

"I'll be rather disappointed if you put yourself into situations that would lead to us having another chat, Matthew" the angel chastised, leading to Matt to duck his head. "I'd be happy if we never speak again for another 5 decades or so. Just know that you do not have to be afraid of that righteous fury that simmers inside of you. Take a moment, collect your thoughts, and weigh your options—I will not steer you wrong."

The pair fall silent for a few minutes, the only noise a rhythmic metallic squeaking as Askrasiel gently rocks himself back and forth on his swing. Matt's mind is oddly blank, despite the revelation of having his own personal guardian angel—he's going to need time to process this. In the meantime, he takes advantage of his fully functional eyes and slowly scans his surroundings. He spends a large amount of time just staring at the grass—he's forgotten green and he wants to sear the image into his brain before everything is sure to turn back to flame again. Other colors get committed to memory: the bright orange of a traffic cone, the white of a near-by pick-nick table, the deep purple of an iris. Then he sends his eyes up, towards something he's wanted to see for almost 20 years, and his vision starts to go blurry. Matt forces himself to look away from the sky and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, forcing the tears away. Once he feels like he's back under control, Matt turns back to face Askrasiel, wanting to know what exactly he's missing.

"You still haven't told me what I'm doing here."

The shining figure next to Matt tilts its head, and a fine eyebrow arcs up. "Because, Matthew, you have a choice to make."

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"—pulse! We got a pulse!"

Foggy can hear Dr. Cho's voice cut across the chaos in the OR beyond the swinging doors, and all strength bleeds out of his legs. He manages to catch himself on an adjacent wall and sinks to the floor, not even thinking of holding back the tears of relief running down his face. Matt's alive. Matt is alive.

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A/N:

In case you haven't figured it out, Matt was roped into some Avengers mission, bad shit went down, and he flat lined on the operating table in the Avenger's Tower. (That so goes beyond me making Matt a butt monkey…I firmly booted him into butt gorilla territory… Sorry Foggy.)

Askrasiel is another name for Raguel, who, according to Judaic traditions, is the archangel of justice, vengeance, fairness, and harmony. Raguel isn't as well-known in Christian lore as other archangels, like Michael, Raphael, or Gabriel, which is why Matt doesn't really recognize the name (Though Google or Father Lantom will that clear that up. Cue Murdock BSOD.) Askrasiel is supposed to help people overcome mistreatment, bring order out of chaos, and help bring an end to the injustices of neglected and oppressed people. He is most often shown holding a judge's gavel. What better angel for Matt to cohabit with? (While writing Askrasiel, I kept picturing Metatron from "Dogma", but I doubt I could ever bring the same dry wit and sarcasm Alan Rickman brought to that role, nevermind I left Askrasiel's appearance deliberately vague—angels don't exactly have a set form.)

Just another random idea that needed to let out, but feedback is welcome!