Chapter Text
Foggy is locking up the office, it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night, and he’s debating with Karen on whether they should head to the bar first or pick up a pizza beforehand. His phone rings, he sees that it’s Claire, and the bottom of his stomach drops like he just hit the brakes on a fast-moving car.
“Hello?” He answers, “Is he okay?” He doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation with Claire that didn’t have to do with Matt’s… hobby.
“He…” Claire pauses, and Foggy hears a thumping, then a crash. She inhales, sharply, and Foggy’s already out the door of the building, booking it down the street. “He’s in rut.”
Foggy stops, cold. “ How ?” Matt was an alpha, sure, but a modern one. He went to his yearly checkups, he took his suppressants, he wasn’t due for a rut for another two years . Not even Karen’s last scheduled heat had seemed to phase him. Karen stops beside him, clearly catching her breath, a concerned look on her face.
“I wasn’t able to get much out of him, but from what he said, I’m pretty sure he was drugged somehow,” Claire says. Foggy looks up at the sky, the tops of the buildings overhead, and says,
“ Fuck .” Everyone knew there were drugs out there that could counteract suppressants for alphas and omegas, and hell, even increase the odds of conception for betas. But the majority of them were illegal, for a reason. Even when used in controlled, clinical environments, they tended to come with a truckload of side-effects, which could be fatal if untreated.
That never stopped the criminal underbelly of course. A couple times a year you’d see news stories where an alpha or an omega got dosed at a party or a bar, the results of which made any decent person sick. People thought it was fun to bullshit about how going off of suppressants gave alphas and omegas twice the stamina and made them twice as hot for you, but Foggy had seen too many pictures in newspapers and on TV of bruised and broken faces, eyes glassy and dull.
Whoever had dosed the Daredevil, they didn’t just want to scare him away. They wanted him hurt and totally humiliated. Foggy takes a deep breath and keeps walking, grateful when Karen keeps pace with him.
“Is it Matt?” She asks, a line drawn between her eyebrows, “Is he okay?”
“Yes,” Foggy says, “I don’t know. He’s in rut. We’re on our way over, Claire, do you need anything?” They’re walking faster again, practically running. Both Matt’s and Foggy’s apartments aren’t all that far from the office, not worth calling a cab or taking the subway over.
There’s a sound on the other end of the phone, like a door opening, then an inhuman sounding snarl. The front of Foggy’s brain freezes, but his body keeps moving. A shuffling sound, more growling, a distant,
‘...not yours …’
And then sweet baby jesus it’s Matt sounding completely alive and pissed off, hallelujah.
“Foggy,” Matt says. His voice sounds a little off, more like the Daredevil, but somehow even more raw and uncontrolled.
“It’s me, Matt, Karen and I are on our way buddy,” he says, skidding around a corner and nearly sliding into a trash can. Karen manages a little more gracefully behind him, no less determined.
“Come home now ,” Matt says. Then, a little softer but no less growly, “You need to be at home.” Then there’s a thunk right in his ear and another shuffling sound, then more faint snarling from Matt, and even a little from Claire.
Foggy almost rolls his eyes. Stupid alpha instincts. He hears a different cadence of breathing, then it’s Claire speaking again.
“He’s locked me out of the apartment again. He shoved me out the front door about five minutes ago, and won’t let me treat any of his wounds,” Claire says, sounding worried. Foggy swallows. Wounds . She continues, a little drier, “He called me ‘poaching alpha scum.’”
Foggy huffs, half a laugh. He’s starting to get a stitch in his side, but he can finally see Matt’s building down the street. Karen has her heels in one hand, and looks to be frantically googling on her phone with the other.
“I think the only reason he’s not out searching for you guys is that I’m sitting right outside his territory,” she says, and then there’s an ominous silence, Foggy had barely realized that background sound had been Matt’s growling. “Not that I need another shitty one-bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen!” She shouts, presumably through the door.
“Well you’re a very attractive and strong young alpha yourself, Claire, you can’t blame him for being cautious,” Foggy jokes, on autopilot as he’s digging through his pockets for his keys, still trying to half-run at the same time. More ominous silence, this time Claire included. Then,
“Jesus, Foggy, don’t say shit like that right now, you know he can hear you.” The sound is a little muffled - Foggy would bet that Claire’s facepalming right now, because that’s what Karen’s doing.
“Sorry,” Foggy says, wincing. It’s not that he’s ever forgotten what Matt can do, in the last few months since he found out, it just… it honestly hasn’t come up that often. And when it does, it somehow seems natural, just part of Matt, who was a quirky enough guy to start out with. His favorite Star Wars character is Chewbacca , for christs-sake. Foggy’s always made allowances for Matt being a little weird.
They’re finally at the front door of Matt’s building, thank god, and Foggy can take a second to actually find his keys. He’s had copies of Matt’s keys since he moved into this place, and vice versa. Foggy is violently grateful that he has them right now, because waiting to be buzzed up would probably give him a heart attack. He finally fumbles it unlocked, and lets himself and Karen in.
They book it up the stairs, Foggy gasping out, “Matt, we’re coming,” into the phone. Matt can probably hear him anyway, could probably hear them coming a couple blocks away. Maybe that will keep Matt calm until they get there. They finally make it up to Matt’s floor, Karen only panting a bit less than Foggy.
Matt is backing Claire down the hallway in the opposite direction, snarling, prowling in his bare feet and uniform pants. His back is presented to them, and as always Foggy swallows to see the old scars and new bruises, blood drying in flaky patches over scratches and deeper cuts. Blood is dripping down one pant leg, but Foggy can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Matt tilts his head and stops moving, the snarls dying back down into that low-grade constant growl. It would almost sound like a purr if Foggy didn’t know any better.
“Get in,” Matt says. He’s still facing away from them, body entirely trained on Claire, who has her hands open and to the sides, looking relatively calm. Foggy looks at Karen, still clutching her bright red heels to her chest, but with that stubborn set to her jaw and that same line between her brows. He touches her elbow and they start sidling along the wall, letting Matt stay between them and Claire as they make their way to the door.
As soon as they’re at the doorway, Matt starts sliding back towards them, stance still leonine and predatory. Claire lets him get to the door before she starts inching her way forwards. Matt snarls and freeze again, locked and battle-ready. He’s trembling just a little bit all over, and Foggy can only imagine what the stress and hormones are doing to him, his brain and body and instincts fighting each other.
Foggy takes a deep breath and risks reaching forward, barely grazing the skin of Matt’s back with his fingertips. Matt goes still, Foggy can’t even tell if he’s breathing.
“Matt,” he whispers, “Matt, you’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do to help you. Please let her in?” Matt doesn’t move. “Matt, I’m worried. I might even start crying any second now, just wait, it’ll be embarrassing for everyone. Please, Matt. For… for me?”
Matt shudders, and his shoulders slump. He huffs, then he finally turns around. Foggy winces. There’s a huge oblong bruise starting at the edge of his left cheekbone and going down to outline the curve of his jaw. There’s another, lighter one over his right eyebrow. There are little scratches on his lower cheeks and jaw, wherever the mask wouldn’t cover, and his bottom lip is busted again.
Foggy’s almost afraid to look any lower, but Karen’s low gasp makes him glance down, to where he can see more bruises blooming along his ribs, and one short, nasty cut up and down his side where the more rigid armoring ends on his uniform. It’s slowly oozing blood, outlining the top line of his pants, dripping down and merging with the red fabric, reappearing as steady drips from his cuff.
Matt still looks like he’s desperately paying attention to the alpha behind him, but also more and more like he’s about to fall over. Foggy takes a step, arms slightly open, and Matt falls forward into him. Foggy catches him around the waist with one arm, other shoulder shoved into Matt’s armpit. He wobbles just a little under the sudden weight, but Karen’s right there to shove herself under Matt’s other armpit.
“To the couch,” Foggy says, he and Karen dragging and Matt stumbling between them. He won’t let them lay him down completely, and in fact he has his face buried in the crook of Foggy’s neck, inhaling and nuzzling. He turns and breathes in the top of Karen’s head, then nips the top of her ear and growls. Karen jumps just a little, eyes wide, looking to Foggy.
Foggy hasn’t the faintest clue. Claire is standing at the threshold, hand still held open, non-threatening. She edges one foot onto the entry’s faded linoleum, and Matt’s head snaps up. His lips peel back from his teeth, and suddenly he’s vibrating with growls, standing up. He starts pacing back and forth in front of the couch, between Foggy and Karen and the alpha at the front door.
Foggy was roommates with Matt for years of hormonal upheaval, he’s worked with him every day since, he’s familiar with Matt’s scent, okay. He doesn’t have Matt’s super-senses or even the heightened sense of smell that alphas and omegas do, but he caught a whiff of sharp-spicy-musk when he and Karen dragged him over here. And right now, with Matt facing down another alpha in his own territory, Foggy can taste the acrid overlayer of adrenaline and aggression in the flood of pheromones Matt’s putting off. Matt couldn’t be any more clear than if he’d put up a flashing sign with lights and sirens.
Foggy clears his throat, tries to swallow the taste of Matt’s fury off of the back of his tongue. The worst part is that with that taste in his mouth, with Matt so close, here with his pack , he has a brief second of wondering why the fuck the alpha at the door hasn’t left already. Then he closes his eyes and shakes his head, because part of that taste had been Matt’s blood.
“Matt,” he says, “Matt, you have to let her in.”
“No,” Matt snarls.
“Matt, Karen and I can’t do anything, we don’t even have the right supplies for this. You’re bleeding all over the fucking place, you lunatic,” Foggy says, trying to regain his stride. Matt doesn’t even look back, just kicks something on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a duffel bag, already open, full of sealed packs of gauze, other medical supplies Foggy can’t even identify.
“That’s great buddy, but I don’t know what to even do with all that,” Foggy says.
“You’ve done it before,” Matt growls.
“Yeah, because I had no choice and you were about to die ,” Foggy snaps. “Right now we have a real medical professional willing to help you, if you can just sit the fuck down .”
Matt pauses, then turns his head to look at Foggy. He’s got that look on his face, like he’s about to -
“I’m sorry, Foggy, I shouldn’t have brought you into this,” he says, raspy and soft.
- apologize. For fuck’s sake.
“For fuck’s sake,” Foggy says, rubbing his hand over his face. “Well at least we know your stupid Catholic guilt is enough to get through to you.”
Matt’s eyes never really focus due to his blindness, but his expression looks just the tiniest bit clearer, and he’s actually angled his body a bit more towards the couch, away from Claire.
“Are you and Karen okay,” he says, still too raspy and low for Foggy’s comfort. It’s not really a question.
“Can’t you tell,” Foggy snorts.
“We’re fine, Matt,” Karen says, soft and soothing. Matt nods, a little jerky.
“Good.”
“Great! Now can we let the trained medical professional come and look at you?” Foggy says. He hopes Matt can’t tell that his hands are shaking. Matt sways towards them, but then he stiffens.
“I… can’t. I really can’t,” he says. He rolls his shoulders, then starts pacing again.
“Well then what are we supposed to do!” Foggy shouts. (Pleads.)
“Foggy,” Claire starts, but Matt stops right in front of Foggy and snarls.
“ Do not talk to him. ”
“Matt,” Claire says instead, not even thrown off. “Would it be alright if I give Foggy and Karen instructions? If I tell them how to help you? I won’t come in any further than the doorway, but I think we need to get it closed. I’ll stay right here though.”
Matt just growls and continues pacing, like he hasn’t heard her.
“What would we need to do?” Foggy asks. Matt snarls again, still pacing. Foggy ignores him. Foggy can see Karen surreptitiously googling again out of the corner of his eye. Claire doesn’t look at Foggy or Karen, eyes focused on Matt.
“Matt, they’ll need to clean the deep cut on your side and stitch it. They’ll need to clean all the minor wounds on your torso and face, and might need to apply bandages. If they don’t at least close the cut on your side, it’s likely that you’ll bleed out enough to pass out, and then you won’t be able to protect them.”
Matt’s growls get louder, but he’s still just pacing, and he doesn’t interrupt. Foggy takes another deep breath, then slaps his knees.
“Alright. Let’s do it.” He goes to stand up, but Matt does an about face and comes to push his shoulder down. Gently, but irresistible. He goes back to guarding.
“Matt, come on,” Foggy says. Matt’s hands are clenched, and Foggy knows this stubborn piece of crap well enough to know that Matt’s pretty much decided that he’s not going to relax until the other alpha leaves, and that there’s no way he could possibly pass out before that because he’s too stubborn. Determined. Whatever.
“Matt? Please?” Karen tries, looking up at him. Matt just shakes his head and keeps pacing. Is he slowing down? Has he lost too much blood already? Alright, bringing out the big guns.
“Matty? You’re scaring me. You’re hurt, and I’m scared. Can we just let her close the door and tell us what to do?” Foggy pleads. His voice cracks, he hadn’t meant to, but he can’t take this, can’t watch the trail of blood that’s building in Matt’s footsteps.
Matt turns back to Foggy, eyes wide, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Foggy’s hands are reaching toward Matt, he hadn’t realized.
“Please, Matty. Please.”
Matt turns back to the front door, hands flex, then clench again.
“Fine,” he growls. Then, fast, he reaches under the coffee table and grabs one of his batons. He holds it out. Then, “Karen. Guard.”
Karen's head jerks up, she looks to Foggy. Alright, just a little bit unexpected. Personally he’d expect any red-blooded alpha to want the attractive young omega to nurse their pains away, but he can deal. Matt’s never been the person to let anyone into his personal bubble, Foggy can get why he’d want his best bud to be the one poking him with a sharp needle. And he has technically done this before.
Foggy nods his head at Karen. She places her heels on the ground beside her, then stands and accepts the baton. Matt jerks his head towards the front door, and Karen takes a few steps towards it, in front of them both. She takes up a ready stance, doesn’t look back.
Matt backs himself slowly to the couch, then sits down hard beside Foggy. He’s still completely tensed, but Foggy will take what he can get. Matt drags the bag of supplies to them with one foot.
“Okay. Where do I start,” Foggy says.