[ Days seem longer now that he doesn't have anyone to answer to. No driving purpose. Serve life itself. He knows what the Hand did now is wrong. It doesn't affect him the way it would have before. He knows that as well.
His memories are muddled and disjointed. He doesn't have anything to really gauge off of. He left the safety of Frank Castle's small apartment to try and find his brother. Half a day and nothing. A full day and still nothing. Then he catches something at the river.
When he thinks of where his brother might go, or ask to go in a vulnerable state, he only thinks of one place. Even the place that was their home for so many years has little affect on his memory. Bits and pieces, jumbled conversations like they are underwater. Nightmares. Stick. Stick earns a spike of anger in his heart.
He's not sure that he's glad he's dead or not. It's complicated. He feels very close to the same about Alexandra and he's the one who took her life.
It's too easy to steal away into the church. To find the room where they have his brother. Pain is palpable in the air. Tension as well. He can smell old blood and bandages. Once the sister checking on him leaves, he slides into the room under the cover of night still, and kneels next to the bed.
His instincts brought him here. Now what? ]
Matty?
[ Still unused to so much conversation, his voice is rough at times. The Hand had little use for talk when it came to their weapon. The fact that he lost so much coming back was incredibly fortunate for them. It made him dependent. Needy. Easy to manipulate. Alexandra took advantage of it. ]
( i want to tell you this story without having to confess anything. )
His memories are muddled and disjointed. He doesn't have anything to really gauge off of. He left the safety of Frank Castle's small apartment to try and find his brother. Half a day and nothing. A full day and still nothing. Then he catches something at the river.
When he thinks of where his brother might go, or ask to go in a vulnerable state, he only thinks of one place. Even the place that was their home for so many years has little affect on his memory. Bits and pieces, jumbled conversations like they are underwater. Nightmares. Stick. Stick earns a spike of anger in his heart.
He's not sure that he's glad he's dead or not. It's complicated. He feels very close to the same about Alexandra and he's the one who took her life.
It's too easy to steal away into the church. To find the room where they have his brother. Pain is palpable in the air. Tension as well. He can smell old blood and bandages. Once the sister checking on him leaves, he slides into the room under the cover of night still, and kneels next to the bed.
His instincts brought him here. Now what? ]
Matty?
[ Still unused to so much conversation, his voice is rough at times. The Hand had little use for talk when it came to their weapon. The fact that he lost so much coming back was incredibly fortunate for them. It made him dependent. Needy. Easy to manipulate. Alexandra took advantage of it. ]