picture prompt

[socketeer]

the integrated picture prompt meme for all your GEN, AU, AND SHIPPY pic prompt needs I — Comment with your character and include possible preferences. II — Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...) III — Reply to them with a setting based on the picture. IV — Link to any pictures that are NSFW. V — NO SMUT. Save the smut for the smutty picture prompt, please. VI — Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy. Link to an image: <a href=IMAGEURL>TEXT</a> Embed image in your reply: <img src=IMAGEURL> Image width and height: <img src=IMAGEURL width=500> OR <img src=IMAGEURL height=INSERT>

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[thegoodbad]

[Frank returns with pain killers, a glass of water, and some ice packs. He's learned to keep an endless supply of those.]

Yeah. He found me again after.

[Which Frank is grateful for. If he hadn't been able to protect even a goddamn dog he'd have felt like failure in his own right.

Popping out a couple pills he takes Matt's hand and puts them in his palm.]

Take these. You'll thank me tomorrow.

[extrajudicially]

[Matt feels Frank's fingers around his hand, can just make out the clatter of pills through his glove-- but can't tell what they are. He tips his head back, aimlessly looking for a face he can't see.]

Aspirin?

[He won't take anything else, doesn't like the way stronger painkillers deaden everything.]

[thegoodbad]

Yeah. I'm not trying to kill you. I could have done that six months ago.

[Reassuring as always.

He leaves again to go get his handy first-aid kit usually saved for himself. It's been a long time since Frank's patched someone else up, let alone someone he's usually trading punches with. Maybe not as much these days, but once.

His footsteps are heavy but confident as he walks back and forth in and out of the room to gather the necessary items, and when he finally comes back it's to pull the coffee table littered with boxes of ammunition and other daily necessities closer to the couch, sitting on the edge of it. He opens the kit with a sharp click.]

Your head's pretty fucked up. Bleeding all over. Probably need stitches.

[It's his way of explaining what he's going to do for Matt's sake, and a moment later he'll feel a lukewarm, wet cloth dabbing at blood both dried and fresh on his forehead and hairline.]

[extrajudicially]

I know.

[He does know. The shot to the head. Chained on the rooftop. The boat at the docks. Frank's had a dozen chances to end him, or worse. He's seen Matt's face, could have sold him out to the police, get the Devil out of his hair. But he hasn't. Won't, if Matt's as good a judge of character as he likes to think he is.

It's that trust - in Frank, in Frank's own fucked up code - that keeps Matt still and compliant on the couch. He tips his head back and dry-swallows the pills, and doesn't protest at the sudden touch of wetness on his face.]

Concussion. Fell off a roof.

[thegoodbad]

Of course you did. [He mutters more to himself but loud enough for Matt to hear. The wound there is pretty bad but he's seen worse. It's the concussion that Frank can't do much about, unfortunately.]

You're gonna seriously get yourself killed one day. I can't always follow your ass around the city.

[He's not one to talk, he knows.]

[extrajudicially]

[Do you hear that scoff, Frank? It's the sound of a man who doesn't buy into that particular line of bullshit at all. He tips his head back, unfocused gaze settling somewhere in the general direction of Frank's face.]

Could say the same for you.

[It's not that he's ungrateful, but he's about as amenable to a lecture right now as Frank ever is.]

[thegoodbad]

[Can't blame a guy for giving him a taste of his own medicine. Regardless, he does actually mean it. He's never seen Matt this bad.

Frank digs through the kit for the necessary suture tools with the warning of what he's about to do. He's stitched himself up dozens of times but it's entirely different doing it for someone else. The area is cleaned to the best of his ability before he disinfects the needle and the area around the wound, actually having the time to do this properly for once. He's surprisingly gentle and thorough throughout, not tugging too hard or quick on the thread.]

So... wanna tell me who or what exactly did this to you?

[extrajudicially]

[It's bad, but not the worst beating Matt's had - he could be half-dead on his couch, desperately explaining everything to Foggy. He could be suffocating. He could be dealing with the utter, paralyzing terror that came with losing his hearing, however temporarily. (Thanks, Frank.)

By comparison, a concussion, broken ribs, banged-up head and slashed-up leg is another day at the office. He'll count his blessings.]

Ninjas. [He closes his eyes, letting Frank work with a minimum of flinching. Not his first rodeo. There's no point, either, to withholding the information - the Hand has its own ways of vanishing. That Matt encountered them at all, so soon after Nobu is... something. Maybe.]

They had a... [He struggles for the word.] Flashbang? Stun grenade.

[The light obviously doesn't affect him, but the sound... That's enough to drop him. Right off a roof.]

[thegoodbad]

Ninjas. [He repeats with a soft scoff of understanding, pausing in the suture enough to snip off the end. It's not the cleanest or prettiest stitching job compared to a professional like Claire but it gets the job done.] Those assholes have been cropping up all over the place. Even I run into them sometimes.

[Though he has a feeling it's because they want to be found and not the other way around.]

Hm. They knew what they were doing then. Must've gotten a read on you already. [He chimes in with his two cents, moving on to check out the mess on Matt's leg. The costume is torn through. That's one nasty blade.]