Chapter Text
Murdock was used to flare ups in his various psychological issues. Sometimes things just got fuzzier for no real reason, more visitors from cartoons to spend the day with or the voices got to talking louder and he just had to push through it till it died down. It had never been a real issue or hindrance in his duties… though it had caused Bosco to veto ever sharing a room with him again after the 'Incident' in which an opera was performed quite well in Murdock's opinion and Bosco just about smothered him with a pillow. So flareups, while they made the voices a bit pushier, were usually nothing too different from his version of normal.
But when he discovered that the serial killer mob hitman they were bringing down was Face's father…. Well that gave the voices something to talk about. They chattered nonstop while he finished his job, information gathering on A.J. Bancroft aka Face's very own criminal daddy, and they didn't stop as he deleted the internet history on the library computer, covered his tracks and left. They were still blabbing on and on about how Bancroft was wanted for the murder of at least five men and how he'd probably assaulted and abandoned Face's mom (pure speculation, but after reading this guy's rap sheet, it seemed pretty on brand for him).
By the time he got back to their base at the ratty motel, Murdock could feel his tics acting up, pushing nervous energy into his hands and making him feel jittery and over-alert. As long as he didn't mention anything about what he'd found, the guys would write it off as a flare up and not question him about it. And he did not want to be questioned about this. What was he supposed to do? Tell Face that the man they were planning on putting on death row was his long lost father? He couldn't do that to his best friend.
Face thought his parents were dead, had been told they were dead by the nuns who'd raised him! How could Murdock go and say they'd all lied, that everyone had lied to him and that his father had not only never come back for him but had been spending the time torturing and killing his way up the mercenary food chain! Face might play the cool, unflappable con man, but deep down he was an emotionally driven person… this would hurt him… badly.
Tell him!
Stay quiet!
He deserves to know!
Shut up, he'll be better off not knowing!
Who are you to decide that?
The voices went on and on.
Before he knew it, they were on the mission, sneaking into the big house Bancroft was staying in (a reward for a job well done from a wealthy 'client' of his) and Face was talking in his ear, voice low and urgent through the headpiece.
"Where the hell is he?"
"He's here, kid. Just stick to the plan," came Hannibal's voice. They were supposed to be able to just go in, grab him, and leave. It was after midnight and the place didn't exactly have the most effective of security measures. The guards had been taken down by Bosco easily and Face had disabled the alarms with expert speed. It was just Bancroft in there now, but the place was huge and although they knew the layout from the blueprints Hannibal had dug up, the target was not snug as a bug in his rug like he was supposed to be. Bancroft was somewhere in the building still… Hannibal hadn't seen him leave, but he had the upper hand here.
"First floor's clear." Murdock spoke into his mic, keeping his voice low as he moved down the stairs toward the main entry. "I'm headin' for the-"
He never got to finish.
No sooner had his foot reached the polished hardwood floor, a fist rammed into his gut. Seconds later, something struck his ankles, knocking him flat on his back, gun skittering across the floor like a coward as a pair of massive hands fastened around his neck. Murdock choked, clawing at the hands as a knee pressed hard on his chest, pushing the air from his lungs in a strangled grunt. He struggled as the fingers tightened, slowly cutting off his oxygen and making sparks fly in his vision. A voice chuckled darkly above him, leaning in to hiss in his ear.
"Surprise, Captain…. Yeah, I know who you are. You think A.J. Bancroft doesn’t do some research of his own from time to time?"
Face's voice was shouting something across the earpiece but Murdock couldn't make it out over the pounding rush of blood in his ears.
"Ah, ah! Let's not alert the others." Bancroft moved one hand from Murdock's neck, snatching away the mic and tossing it aside. The pilot took advantage of the momentary lessening of pressure on his neck to gasp in a harsh breath that was cut off again seconds later. "I'll get to them soon enough. Can't wait to take out your boss. He's got quite the bounty on his head after all the trouble he's caused."
The voices were garbled in his mind now, some shouting the obvious like "Danger! Danger!" and others snapping curses at Bancroft but still he heard the man's next words loud and clear, even missing Face and Hannibal calling him over the earpiece in favor of catching those terrible words.
"And that Templeton Peck…" Bancroft scoffed. "Wasn't even supposed to be born let alone make it this far. 'Templeton,'" the name was sneered, followed by another humorless laugh. "Named the kid after her own daddy 'stead of getting rid of it like I told her to." It was dark, but Bancroft must've seen his shock in the wane light offered by the moon through the massive front windows because he chuckled again. "Yeah, I know he's mine. Worthless little scrap was all he ever was and all he ever will be. Kinda like you…" Bancroft's voice became slower, pondering, the pressure around Murdock's neck easing off just enough to keep him conscious and listening, but not enough for him to take in a full breath, not enough to remind his panicked body how to fight back.
"That Smith seems to like picking up worthless nobodies." That awful voice ducked close again, the satisfaction in his expression lost as he spoke a darker voice in Murdock's ear than any his mind had ever thrown at him. "Do you ever wonder why? Why would he pick a freak like you to be on that team? Do you think he likes it? Likes making himself look like a genius by keeping feeble-minded nothings around him? Or maybe it's just pity…."
Bancroft leaned back again, still driving most of his weight down on Murdock's chest even as he kept talking… kept digging up a fear the pilot had thought he'd grown past. But that fear being spoken aloud… which such certainty and conviction…? It gave the thought a fragile foothold in his mind again and a swell of fearful hurt spiked in his chest as the evil man continued.
"Yeah… It's gotta be pity…. 'Cause I can guarantee you they don't want someone like you tagging along. Who would want an idiot who can't even think straight in his own head hanging around?" Murdock's vision was tunneling, growing darker than the shadows lurking around the room, and while he still clawed at those iron fists, the bucking and struggling that hadn't gotten him any closer to freedom began to fall still. Chest spasming, Murdock somehow still caught the vicious growl of the voice above him, delighting in the pain he was causing. "Nobody wants you, freak. So you could say… I’m doing them all a favor by putting you down. Don't worry… 'Templeton' will be right behind you… with a bullet in his head."
For a terrible moment, Murdock was sure this was how it would all end. Sure that he was going to die before he got a chance to warn Face, to save him from this remorseless murderer who should never have been allowed to have a child, let alone a great guy like Face. His vision was dark, ears ringing, struggles fading…. But then a blur came out of nowhere, shoving Bancroft off his chest and leaving him gasping, coughing and dragging in deep, painful breaths. His vision spun and his chest and throat were on fire, but he could hear Face, rage shaking in his voice somewhere beyond him.
"Drop the weapon, Bancroft, and put your hands up before I blow you away!"
Murdock blinked, shaking his head to try and steady his blurred vision. Then he grimaced as the bright glare of the van's headlights pierced the darkness, aiming through the wide front windows to illuminate Face's back where he stood protectively between Bancroft and Murdock, gun aimed at the killer's chest. Despite the threat, the broad-shouldered hitman only looked furious to have been interrupted. Before Murdock could choke out a warning, Bancroft had pulled his gun and fired a round that struck Face's arm, dropping the conman's gun to the floor and leaving him defenseless as Bancroft advanced, a dark glare forming on his brow.
Murdock could see Hannibal rushing from the van to the mansion doors but he couldn't make it through in time. Bancroft was pointing his gun right at Face's head and the voices were all shouting one thing that for once, Murdock really listened to.
Get the gun!
He lurched forward, snatching up Face's weapon as Bancroft took another step, ignoring Face's breathless curses, blood painting lines across his fingers where he clutched his arm.
Murdock looked up, aimed and fired.
Bang
….
Thud
….
The voices were dead silent as Bancroft's gun fell from his lifeless hand. Murdock stared, watching blood pool beneath the man's back and spread across his chest from a hole that must've struck his heart. He hadn't meant to kill him… just stop him. The guy was about to kill Face! What else could he have done? The voices didn't answer that. Murdock just watched that blood spread, sending chills through the pilot's body. What had he done? Oh, no no no no…. What should he do now?
"Murdock!" Face's voice finally penetrated his scattered thoughts and Murdock jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, feeling suddenly painfully guilty. But Face just looked at him, worry bright in his eyes and one hand still applying pressure to his upper arm. Arm not heart. Arm not heart. Face was okay… and clearly waiting for a response.
"Wh-What?" he rasped.
"Are you okay, man?" Face asked again, earnestly, and Murdock nodded automatically.
"Yeah. Yeah I think so." He glanced again at the body lying in the shadows a few feet away.
Liar, the voices whispered. Not okay.
What do we do now?
I don't know.
"Let's get out of here."
Murdock rose and shakily followed Face's lead out to the van. They spent the ride in silence, stopping at the motel for their stuff before heading out again to avoid running into police. Murdock felt everything go by in a blur, too much in shock and wrapped up in his own thoughts to banter with the others like normal. Things were skittering on the edges of his vision, something that only happened when he was really, really stressed. The voices were back too, but this time they were soft and fearful.
What have you done?
Killed him. Shot him. Killed Face's dad.
Saved his life?
No, killed his family.
What have you done? What have you done?