Chapter Text
When the man at the doorstep of death arrived at the church, Father Jud was intrigued. The hushed silence from the nuns, how they pushed away Father Lantom despite his concern and willingness to help, and how the man’s groans echoed from the infirmary through the halls of the orphanage. Jud told the Sisters he could help. He knew how to stitch up a cut or two, and he knew when an injury was in need of serious medical attention. But Sister Maggie shooed him away, her hands still with precision and her eyes wild with fear.
Still, Jud waited at the interior window, watching the women fuss over the bloodied man. Until they glared at him, asked him to be useful, and sent him to keep the worried—or curious—children away from the hall.
The women entered with ivory towels and gauze and left with ones dripping with crimson. The groans settled into whimpers and eventually gasping snores. An eerie silence settled over the hall.
Returning from evening mass, Father Jud entered the once-bustling wing. He hoped to finally meet this man, to at least provide him with guidance or to pray over him. But he did not dare to disrupt the peace that now hung over his cot. He would be sleeping for a while now. It was best not to bother him, or face scrutiny from Sister Maggie. Although, he could not help his bubbling curiosity, which he forced to simmer.
Father Lantom exited the office across the infirmary and approached Jud with his hands clasped behind his back.
“That poor boy,” he muttered, sighing.
Jud had only been at Clinton Church for a few months. With the way Father Lantom and some of the nuns were reacting to this man, he figured he was an active member of the parish.
Jud’s eyebrows creased. “Why didn’t they bring him to a hospital?”
The old man shook his head.
“I saw his bruises briefly. It’s really bad,” Jud continued.
“I know,” he finally replied. “It’s just that he’s one of ours.”
“What, at Saint Agnes?”
They turned to face each other, close enough as if they worried the sleeping man could hear through glass.
“Yes. Long ago. But listen, Father Jud. There’s something else.”
The young man crossed his arms, leaning even closer.
“We could not call anyone, or bring him in, because he’s a vigilante.”
Jud’s eyes widened. “No shit, is he…?”
Father Lantom cleared his throat at him, and he murmured an apology. But, he continued. “Yes. He’s Daredevil. But we know him as Matthew, and our parish is dedicated to protect him, as long as he needs.”
Jud nodded, glancing at the still form beneath white sheets. “Sure, but are we certain he won’t bring trouble? I’ve read about who he’s messed with…”
“The world is convinced he’s dead. Daredevil has disappeared, and as long as he’s not out fighting on the streets, we’re all safe here.”
“And there’s no one who’d be looking for him? That cares about him?”
Lantom sighed. “For now, we’ll wait until he wakes up to see if there’s anyone he wants to contact. He at least has Maggie.”
“She’s been very helpful. Almost as if he were her own.”
Lantom faced away from the infirmary. “That’s because he is. But Jud, he cannot know that. Do you understand?”
Jud’s brows were lifted and his mouth open. He swallowed, nodding. “Of course. I understand.”
Lantom patted his back and began to walk down the hall.
“Don’t worry about him too much, son. The Sisters will take care of him. He’s a fighter.”
Jud watched him walk away, his footsteps echoing into the dark evening. Glancing at Matthew through the warbled glass, he made a silent prayer that the man would persevere and be guided by God. He prayed he was the fighter Lantom called him, as this healing and his life as the Devil was surely no easy feat.
...
It had been almost a week since Matthew arrived at the church. He refused to be seen by the priests, and Lantom specifically asked that Jud not visit him. Lantom knew Matthew. He had offered him guidance and conversation before, and had known him since he was a boy. Maggie knew him well also, Jud had decided. They just did not want any more attention brought to him, and he also was not looking for companionship. Apparently, he wanted to be alone, and consequently miserable.
Jud wanted to help. He thought he could. But he knew he couldn’t help someone not looking for it.
After morning mass and a few confessions, Jud began to ready the nave and altar for the evening congregation. Early afternoon light poured through stained glass and settled in rainbow pools across the aisles. Dust danced in the sunbeams. Candles still flickered on every wall in front of draped fabric and floral arrangements. Working quietly, he surveyed the pews for forgotten items or cough drop wrappers. His hands followed the wooden benches, feeling the grooves of aged oak. His cracked knuckles ached from dry air and from colliding with his punching bag. Gathering scarves across his arm and other small items in his pocket as he went, he placed lonely missalettes back into the shelves in the pews. Hymns from the service hummed through his mind. While he loved the church being occupied by parishioners, he found solace in it being empty. The world raged on outside, sirens wailing and horns blaring, but inside was still. Besides occasional echoes, the church had the perfect tranquility needed for reflection. Jud felt safe. He felt a holy presence, and he felt love. He adored preaching and helping his community. It was his calling, his truth, and what he was brought into this world to do. But the silence that remained after a mass was unlike anything one could find in a home, or out in nature.
The silence Jud admired was interrupted by two pairs of footsteps. Fixing the papers on the lectern, he looked up and witnessed Father Lantom and Sister Maggie walking quite briskly towards him. He stepped down from the podium and smiled.
“Good afternoon,” he greeted them.
“Good afternoon, Father,” they replied.
There was a pause as the two glanced at each other, exchanging looks Jud couldn’t figure out. But, he waited patiently and clasped his hands together.
Finally, Lantom spoke. “Jud, you were a boxer.”
“Yes, Paul, I was. But those days are behind me.”
Maggie stared at his hands. “You still practice.”
Jud chuckled and folded his arms, hiding his knuckles. “I do.” She had seen his punching bag. It wasn’t entirely a secret, but he couldn’t help feeling like it was something he wasn’t allowed to do.
The old man sighed, smiling awkwardly. “Matthew wants to get back on his feet, fighting again.”
“Already?”
Maggie nodded, her lips pulled into a thin line.
“Is he not still injured? He could seriously hurt himself,” Jud warned. He recalled the time he fought with a concussion, passing out and returning to the hospital with a worse head injury.
“He’s persistent. He’s losing his mind down there.” Lantom shifted his weight.
Down there. The basement, or the laundry room. Jud would have felt the same, not going out into the sunlight or even just walking the busy city streets. Matthew could at least try that first. But from what he had heard of him, this man was dedicated, and obsessed.
“So. What are you implying?” He peered at the pair.
“He wants to fight someone,” Maggie answered. “We thought about grabbing a boxer from Fogwell’s, but then there was the whole question of secrecy. It wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but if you’re already here, and willing…?”
Jud glanced upward at the arched ceiling, shaking his head. He didn’t fight anyone anymore, if he could help it. It was a sport, a hobby, and a stress reliever, if nothing else worked. He especially did not want to fight the man who had hardly recovered from his brush with death. But he also did not want anyone else involved in this secret. He agreed, it should be kept within the church.
“Alright. When?”
Lantom shrugged. “As soon as possible?”
“Now is fine. I’m free for a few hours, I just finished up in here.”
“Get changed, and then Paul can bring you down there. I’ll go see him.” Maggie nodded and hurried away.
Just the two priests remaining, Lantom smiled at Jud. “Thank you. And you heard her, go ahead. I’ll meet you at the basement stairs.”
...
Jud made it to his room, laughing at himself for what he had gotten into. He wanted to be involved. He wanted to help, but not in this way. Father Lantom didn’t want him to interfere, or anyone else for that matter, but he wanted him to do this. He couldn’t imagine this helping Matthew in any way. His guidance came from private, meaningful conversations and preaching, not boxing. But he really did not want anyone from the outside to know about this, even if they would keep their mouth shut.
He removed his black shirt and collar—glimpsing his tattooed arms and chest in the mirror—replacing it with a worn gray t-shirt. The same with his black pants, he slipped on a pair of light sweats and pulled on his sneakers. He hadn’t worn exercise clothes in a while. He used to go to the gym more often, but his duties took up most of his time now. He was only able to take a few swings every other night on the bag that hung from his ceiling. Startled by his own tattoo on his neck, he fixed his static-filled hair and grabbed his tattered hand wraps and gloves.
Jud met Lantom at the top of the stairs, blushing from his unprofessional and uncommon appearance. But the man just smiled with approval and guided him down the stairs with a hand on his back.
The basement was dim, and strangely ornate. Adorning the structural pillars were statues of angels. Along the walls were other carved stones and crosses. Across from the stairs was the makeshift bedroom, complete with a sink and sectioned-off sleeping area. Standing in front of the room and near the first set of angels were Maggie and Matthew. Matthew pulled his shirt over his head, revealing faded bruises and fresh scars, along with other healed pink lines. Jud examined his fit form, despite the restful week he had had. Jud was nowhere near as fit as he was, anymore. Matthew’s muscles tensed, and Jud looked at his hands as he wrapped his wrists and knuckles.
After sliding his gloves on, he slapped them together and stepped forward cautiously. Regulating his breathing, he again surveyed Matthew’s form, watching how he stood. But something was off, besides the fact that he could barely stand up. Jud peered at him, his forehead wrinkling, until he saw it.
“Paul, you didn’t tell me he was blind,” he whispered, hands at his sides in defeat.
“Does it matter?” Matthew answered, smirking.
Jud turned to look at him.
Matthew angled himself briefly towards Maggie. “You didn’t tell me he was a priest.”
“Well…” she muttered.
“Ready?” Matthew asked, hands in front of his face and one leg planted behind him.
Jud mirrored his stance, looking less eager but all the more capable. “Ready.”
“Take it easy, boys,” Lantom called from the bottom of the stairs.
Breathing hard, the world slowed down around Jud, as it did when he boxed with an opponent. He hadn’t for years, but he quickly settled into the routine as muscle memory took over. Matthew swung first. Jud blocked it. Jud went for a hit, but was also blocked. They were testing the water. Matthew swung again, grazing Jud’s forehead but still leaving an impact. Jud stepped back, shocked at his strength. He must have been training, the way his arms were defined and shining with sweat. Jud shook his head and sunk deeper into his stance.
A double swing by Jud collided with Matthew’s face and he stumbled backward. Quickly recovering, he took another blocked shot. But this time, he sped up and rarely stopped. Jud made a few hits in between, but with his guard down in an attempt to make another swing, Matthew’s glove crashed into his chin and Jud backed away, doubled over.
Lantom rushed to his side, but Jud waved him away. Standing back up, he wiped his mouth on his shoulder and spit blood onto the ground out of habit. Matthew, bouncing his shoulders up and down, was smiling slightly, although he tried to hide it. Jud was surprised the bruised man was still standing.
“Do you two need a minute?” Maggie asked, wringing her hands.
“No, I’m good. Go again?” Matthew adjusted his gloves.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
The two fell into a fighting stance again. Feeling warmed up, Jud took an early swing that Matthew barely blocked. He grunted and swung back. He couldn’t get through Jud’s gloves and forearms. Jud hit his gloves with one hand and smacked the side of Matthew’s head with the other. Matthew’s face contorted and his mouth opened, suddenly unaware of his surroundings. He dropped his guard slightly, as did Jud, as he stretched his arm out and found an angel. Jud tapped his glove and Matthew moved forward, uncertain but swinging. Jud dodged, then hit back. Matthew quickly returned, but with fewer swings. He landed one good hit across Jud’s cheek he wasn’t expecting, but was quickly taken down by a succession of hits. A final blow landed across his face, turning it to the side as he stumbled to the ground.
Maggie kneeled by his side and Jud threw off his gloves. Matthew blinked rapidly. Blood streaked across his face from the corner of his mouth, gaping as he gasped. Jud watched his scarred chest rise sporadically and fall with a thud.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine, Jud,” Maggie interrupted. “He learned his lesson. You’re free to go.”
Father Lantom handed him his gloves as Maggie helped Matthew stand.
Jud watched Maggie walk Matthew back to the bedroom. He couldn’t take his eyes away. He had to fix this, this whole situation. Or at least help, at least the damage he had just caused.
“Sister, I can help him this time. Please, it’s the least I can do. You’ve helped so much already, you deserve a break tonight.”
Maggie glanced at him over her shoulder. Matthew dropped his head and grabbed the wall. She looked back at Matthew and sighed.
“That would be very kind of you, Father.” Walking past, she murmured, “If he gives you any trouble, just let me know,” and winked.
He nodded deeply. “Of course. Besides, I’ve been meaning to talk with him,” he whispered, and she shrugged, walking up the stairs with an equally concerned Father Lantom.
Calling down the light-draped steps, Lantom quipped, “Looks like you won’t be holding mass for a while.”
Jud chuckled, but winced at his sore cheek.
Matthew, leaned against a flimsy wall with his arms crossed, glared towards him. “Are you trying to lecture me, too?”
Jud smiled warmly and walked to the bed. “Not at all, Matthew. Come sit.”
Matthew stood for a while at the entrance to the small bedroom, frowning.
Sensing his hesitancy, Jud massaged his swollen jaw. “I’d like to soothe the bruises I gave you. You have enough already.”
He didn’t think his wording would make Matthew more comfortable, but he valued honesty.
Eventually, Matthew sat down on the side of the bed, his shoulders pulled forward.
Jud carefully moved hair from his eyes and lifted his chin, inspecting his face. He couldn’t really tell which were fresh, with all the other healing cuts on his face, but with an uncomfortable amount of time staring at him, he pointed them out.
“You put up a good fight,” he remarked, grabbing gauze and tape from a table near the sink.
“So do you. I don’t think I’ve ever met a priest that could fight.” His voice was dark and his tone straight, even through giving a compliment. Exhaustion wore on him, even if he tried to fight through it.
“I was a boxer in high school, before I was called to the church.” He wet some stained towels. “I don’t think I’ve seen a blind fighter before. What’s your history?”
“My dad was a boxer.”
“Oh yeah?” He walked back over with his supplies and set them down on the bedside table. “From around here?”
“Yeah. Battlin’ Jack Murdock. He was good.” Matthew leaned away slightly as Jud brought a damp towel to his face, but sat still.
“Good? I heard he was great! Always got back up, right? A local legend.” He wiped away blood from Matthew’s cheek. “I always like to learn about the boxing scene wherever I’m living. Can’t really get away from it, you know?”
“Sure,” Matthew mumbled against the towel wiping across his mouth.
Once his face was clean, Jud set the now pink towel down and reached for the gauze. He sat in the silence for a moment, but did not wait much longer. He knew Matthew was uninterested in the conversation, but he wanted to break down these walls he was constantly building around himself. He was too close to Father Lantom and Sister Maggie. He needed someone to talk to, to vent to, that was removed from the situation. Maggie was good at being hard on him, and Paul was good at letting him question his beliefs and think inward on himself. But he needed a blank slate, a new face.
Jud tried not to think of him as someone to save. That would just cause problems. But Matthew Murdock was in trouble, especially spiritually, and Jud was intrigued with his position as a vigilante. And, they seemed to have a bit in common. He just wanted to get to know him.
“So, I’m a bit confused,” Jud began, placing gauze over a fresh cut and taping it. “You’re blind, but you can fight?”
Matthew sighed, still sitting still against Jud’s work. “I’m guessing they told you about what I do?”
“What, that you’re a lawyer?”
Matthew raised an eyebrow at him.
“Oh, you mean Daredevil,” he chuckled. “Yes, I heard.” He lifted Matthew’s chin again, finding another cut at his jaw. “But not to worry, it’s staying within a small circle.”
Matthew smiled at his levity, the first smile to grace him in weeks, since he had last seen Elektra. His chest ached at the loss.
He brushed it aside to answer Father Jud’s question. “When I lost my sight, my other senses were… enhanced. I learned how to control them, and use them to my advantage. I can sense things much better than many people can see.”
Jud patched up the final cut. “That must have been hard to get used to, and still deal with now.”
“I got used to it.”
“How’d you end up a vigilante?”
Matthew hummed, his fingertips grazing the bandages on his face. “That’s a more difficult one to answer. It started a little while after college. I’ll just say it’s painful being able to hear everything that happens in the city at night. I think it would turn even a pacifist vengeful.”
Jud leaned against the table. “Shit, yeah. I can’t imagine. Why do you do it, though?”
“The laws and institutions in this city have failed people. I want to make sure they get the help they need. And if that means taking down those that take advantage of or harm others, then I’ll do what it takes.”
Jud hummed, nodding and taking his statement in.
“What called you to priesthood?”
The priest sighed, looking at the floor. “Well, when I was seventeen I killed my opponent in the ring. And that was a big awakening for me. I found Christ soon after, and realized the church was where I was supposed to be. Helping people, bringing them together.”
“Good for you,” Matthew remarked. “Sounds like we’re quite the opposite.”
Jud smiled, standing. “Hmm, I think we’re more similar than you think, Matthew.”
“You can call me Matt, Father.”
“Matt, you can call me Jud. Outside of official business, of course.”
Matt exhaled and settled upright in bed. Jud gathered the dirty towels and leftover gauze, turning to head out of the bedroom.
Matt called out to him. “Thank you, for patching me up. And for fighting with me. I needed to know I could do it.”
“You’re welcome. I’m happy to help. I’ll be upstairs, if you ever need me.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Jud nodded.
“And you might want to patch yourself up too, Jud. Father Lantom is right. I think you’ll be stuck behind the scenes and in the confessional for a few days.”
Jud gasped dramatically. “Is it really that bad?” He laughed. “Goodnight, Matt.”
“Goodnight.”
Jud passed the angels as he made his way upstairs. He felt their stone stares and rubbed his eyes, looking forward to a night of rest as he hauled his aching body towards his room. He hadn’t broken down Matt Murdock’s walls just yet, but he knew that, with time, cracks would begin to show.