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ittybluebell · 2 months

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Roommate | Daredevil G/T | Chapter 2

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Finch didn't consider how they survived ‘stealing’. It was borrowing - they only took what they needed; what wouldn't be missed. Finch didn't borrow with malevolence. Well, not much, anyway - it was easy to resent the humans that had so much while borrowers struggled. And there were definitely things a borrower didn't need to survive, per se, but dammit, couldn't a person want nice things? The beans wouldn't miss a strip of fabric or the odd bauble. It would go to good use, anyway!

It was laughably easy to borrow from this bean. Finch was reasonably cautious in the beginning, but they quickly learned that they could get away with a lot. Borrowing food in the same room? Easy squeezy, done and did. The only threat was making too much noise, but Finch padded the soles of their boots so that was a great big non-issue.

Was Finch balancing too close to the proverbial ledge? Oh, yeah.

Were they gonna keep doing it? Oh, yeah. The adrenaline rush was crazy.

What reason had they to stop? The bean wasn't aware of them and got rid of the traps - Finch must've been doing something right. They were on the hottest borrowing streak in their life. Now, obviously, they didn't take too much, but Finch wasn't worried about their next meal and that was every borrower's goal. An honest-to-dirt stock of food. Finch got so lucky with this place.

The tell-tale guilt came back. Faces flooded their mind: faces they were supposed to protect and cowardly abandoned. The grating snarl of grinding metal, of brick and wood falling and the screams-

Finch snatched up their thimble bucket. Shower, they decided. It was time for a shower.

Later when Finch went out, there were strawberries on the counter. Fucking strawberries. How could they resist? Sure, the human was right there, but when would Finch get another opportunity like this?

The human's name was Matt. Finch overheard it from a phone call with another man. 'Froggy', they believed that one was called. A bean with a proper name.

Finch crept into the open, not bothering with that time-consuming ducking and hiding nonsense. His back was turned. Voices from the radio filled the apartment. Finch had the advantage. It was fine. It was fine. Hairs on the back of their neck stood on end and their nape vaguely prickled. A borrower's warning system, triggered by a bean's proximity, and just another sense to bombard their brain with information.

Was the man's head twitching their imagination?

Finch reached the countertop and grabbed a strawberry. They backpedaled. For such a large being, he moved with such ease and speed. It was easy to forget how big a human was till they were in the same room. Finch stuffed the strawberry in their bag and climbed down. They took a final peek at the bean before slipping into the crack behind the fridge.

Finch was learning how much they could get away with. They were testing the waters. Taking food right out from under his nose? Oh-ho, no other borrower would dare. But Finch did. They froze, statuesque, when he moved around the apartment. A dangerous but thrilling game of lights on-lights out. He lumbered and stomped like one of those gigantic movie monsters that terrorized cities. His steps shook the floor, even when Finch was safe in their shack under it. And when Finch was above... they could feel their bones rattle with each thundering impact. The random smirks he sometimes wore were unsettling. Like he was sharing a private joke with himself. Finch tried not to think about it.

Matt was making tea.

Matt. It felt odd not referring to him as simply 'the bean'. A name was personal; it was a connection. It was unsettling.

Matt was making tea. Finch wanted one of those sugar cubes, normally sealed in a jar with a lid too heavy to even consider lifting. They peeked out from behind the fridge. The bea- Ma- he was standing there with a kettle, pouring water into a tall mug. Finch swallowed. If they were human, he would be one of those skyscrapers that reached for the clouds.

He turned around. Finch jogged to the discrete handholds they'd made in the side of the counter. Even a sighted bean wouldn't notice the indents - they made sure of that. Finch had yet to make the same accessibility for the island, but it was top of the to-do list. They climbed, unable to see the bean. They heard crinkling.

When Finch peeked over the countertop, a sleeve of cookies was in the bean's grasp. Finch's vision tunneled. Damn. Fresh cookies…

No, stop, bad! Get the cube, get out. You have food at home.

Finch pulled themself up and over the edge. They watched the bean closely, looking out for sudden movements or changes on his face. The open jar stood between themself and Matt.

Easy. No problem. Just don't make a sound and everything will be fine.

The bean in question was fighting to contain his astonishment.

Matt's intrigue piqued. Tiny was getting braver. With every moment spent in his presence, they grew more confident. It nearly drew a chuckle out of him. Tiny was cocky - cocky that they were getting away with all this, and that he remained ignorant during their escapades. That's why he could only sense a bare trace of fear on them: they were underestimating him. They were assuming a blind man couldn't possibly know when someone was stealing food and office supplies right under his nose, even making a ladder in his furniture. That was vandalism. Matt tracked Tiny's soft steps on the countertop, closer and closer, as he placed a few cookies on a plate. Did they think he was that oblivious? Matt was honestly a little offended.

He wondered how far they would go if he kept up the act.

He walked away - suddenly, he needed something from the fridge - and they took the opportunity to scale the jar and snatch a sugar cube. He heard shuffling fabric as they stored it somewhere - it seemed to be a mini duffel bag. They paused next to the plate of cookies and walked away with a sharp exhale. Tempted, but deciding they didn't want to risk it. Priorities.

Matt returned to fish out the teabag. Tiny froze. A fawn response. Matt was familiar with it. It never worked. This time, though… he let it slide. He felt bad scaring the little guy. Then again, they had the audacity to steal right in his face. A little surprise would be good for that ego they were sporting.

Tiny snuck away, down their makeshift ladder and into the floor once more. He heard the release of breath followed by a relieved giggle. Alright, it was kind of endearing, letting them get away with shit. Matt would never deny his soft spot for those in need. Matt allowed himself a secret smile. He broke a piece off a cookie and dropped it next to the fridge. He didn't know there were so many weak points in his apartment. He should probably get that checked out.

Despite cleaning up the glue traps, there was one the bean forgot about. Maybe there were others. Maybe it was intentional - awfully convenient that it was in a spot Finch rarely traveled by, and also very conveniently below a drop with poor visibility.

How did Finch know this?

They were stuck in the damn thing, that's how.

"No, no, fuck," they hissed, lifting either leg. The glue was unfairly strong and the edge too far. They didn't have any rope to throw. The nails that Finch climbed with were useless, and the rubber bands tied around those too pliant for any length.

Regardless, Finch detached the rubber bands from their belt. Clutching them tight, Finch threw a bent nail at the edge of the trap. The metal recoiled and dragged straight into the glue. Finch swore a vehement streak. They tugged, but the elastic had zero resistance. It was stuck just the same as Finch. Their single remaining nail burned like a rod of fire in their clammy palm. They desperately searched for some kind of ledge. Furious tears shone in their eyes.

When they'd dropped down and felt the floor squish under their feet, they were merely annoyed. Then they heaved and pried and pulled till sweat coated their face and the severity of the situation dawned on them. They were stuck. They hadn't felt so helpless since that building came down. That fucking building. Anger rolled in their gut for being so careless and stupid and not trying hard enough.

The glue was like one of those tar pits they'd heard about: the ones that trapped mammoths and dinosaurs and preserved their remains. Finch had never seen a fossil. To humans, dinosaurs were the titans that walked the earth. Finch would've liked to see a skeleton of a creature to earn that title.

Finch was going to die here. The human had doomed them. Really, how long would it be until he remembered the trap existed? If he remembered it existed. Finch always pictured a brave or exciting end: eaten by a bird, in battle against a rat or spider, run over by a car. Here, slowly wasting away... hm. Acceptance washed over them.

Time passed. Not once did their grip on that nail loosen. They could do nothing but think and wait and wait and think. Every choice and regret hit them in succession. Was their life flashing before their eyes? It felt far longer than a flash.

Finch was replaying their biggest regret on loop when the front door shutting knocked them out of it. Oh, goodie, the orchestrator of their demise was home from work. Abruptly, Finch realized they never got to try one of those cookies.

Something was different when Matt got home.

He couldn't put his finger on it. He put his cane away and shrugged off his jacket. There had been a tangible shift in the atmosphere. Wary, Matt walked around and scanned his apartment. No new scents - nobody had broken in. Matt tried to ignore it and spread out the papers from their case on the table. He was trying to take his dedication to his job seriously this time - letting Karen and Foggy down again wasn't something he could stomach. Foggy, especially, had hurt too much to bear.

Matt was too distracted. Finally, he realized what was wrong.

Tiny was silent.

It wasn't uncommon - there was the odd time they went down to another apartment, a result of Matt lacking in the goods department. Nothing worrying.

Suspicious, Matt did another sweep. No, he found. Tiny was still here. They were... quiet. Not moving. Somewhere under the stairs to the roof. Their heartrate was elevated. Their breaths were quick, stuttering, with an undercurrent of sniffles. They sounded all too much like someone Matt wouldn't second guess saving out on the street.

Tiny grunted under strain. There was a strange noise under their feet, like mud.

Matt jolted as if electrocuted. He forgot a trap.

What followed was Matt lunging for the loose floorboard. He tried to estimate how long they'd been stuck. Since he left this morning? The pungent scent of glue wisped into the air and guilt twisted inside him. How could he forget? Were there others? How long had Tiny been there?

There was still food in their stomach. The smell of strawberry and wheat cracker was fresh on their breath. Matt felt a tinge of relief, replaced by guilt again - not nearly as long as he'd feared, but any length of time was too long.

Tiny's reaction was one of their squeak-yelps and a subsequent stabbing.

Matt hissed, "Ow," and flinched back when something sharp stung his finger. Tiny made another motion to defend themself and Matt withdrew his arm. "You know, most people don't attack the person trying to save them," he said, mildly put out. He understood he was an actual, literal giant here, but give him some credit.

Alright, so he should have announced his intentions first - that was on him.

Matt said, "I don't want to hurt you. I'm trying to help."

"The hell you are!" Tiny bellowed with all the ferocity contained in their little body. It was an unexpectedly Herculean amount. "Who set the traps in the first place, huh? Then you come in tryin' to snatch me up like a damn claw machine. 'Help' my ass!"

"I'm trying to help. I'm sorry about the traps - really, I am. I thought I got all of them out. I'm truly sorry. Will you let me fix this? Without stabbing me again? Please?"

A contemplative silence fell over the two. It was only respectful to ask: as someone who'd been stabbed and shot and hit more times than he could remember, Matt could handle a poke or two. But he didn't like being grabbed without his consent - why would someone who's just a few inches tall?

What even was that weapon, a nail?

...He should update his vaccines.

"You don't plan to lock me up and reveal me to the world for fame and wealth or ship me off to scientists that'll experiment on me?" Tiny asked suspiciously.

That was... shockingly specific. And all completely valid concerns. "No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. In God's name, I swear I'm not lying. Would I be trying to gain your trust if that was my goal? Why would I bother?"

"I guess... you just don't want me to stab you again."

"Oh, for- I owe Foggy several apologies if this is what he deals with."

Tiny agreed to let him help after admitting they were prepared to die anyway - ouch - and that being captured by a 'bean' - what? - really couldn't be worse. A win was a win and Matt didn't argue, reaching under the floorboards to rescue them.

It was a surreal experience for both parties. Feeling a tiny, human body fit in his hand, and for Finch, a massive hand wrapping around them. They were stiff as a board, bracing against fingers as wide as their torso. For every borrower, this was the worst case. This was the nightmare that made children hide under the covers. A human had discovered them - was holding them. Finch resisted the urge to bite and scrap and do anything in their limited power to free themself. A second hand pressed down on the edges of the trap and then Finch was being pried off. The glue was reluctant to let them go and threatened to claim their boots as a prize. Finch squawked and fought to keep them.

"Shit," they blurted. "Oh, sewers. Fuck me running. Mother of termites. Pissberry."

The glue released. Matt lifted both borrower and trap out of the floor and got up from his prone position.

He was holding a tiny person. He could hardly believe it, but feeling was believing. All of his focus lasered in on the small being. How their chest rapidly expanded and fell, the thrum of their terrified heart against his thumb and ears. How delicate their bones were as his fingers closed around them, thin as a bird's. A bag was slung diagonally across their back, the items inside pressing into his palm. Their clothes were handmade, stitched together with large thread - thankfully with textures that didn't make him gag. Were those overalls? Or maybe a jumpsuit. Buttons on their flat front dug into his thumb - small, yet still bigger than their hands. And their hands... they were miniscule. Teeny fingers pushed at his own, digging into the creases of his skin and their prints indecipherable. Shoes scraped the underside of Matt's fist, sharp points on the toe of each boot threatening to scrape him up like the furniture they were fashioned to dig into.

Everything about them was fascinating. But he couldn't help noticing how pronounced their ribs were.

Finch remained tense as Matt carried them to the kitchen. Trapped in his clutches, they could do nothing but let him. What happened now? The cautionary tales never got this far. Being caught was the ultimate end for all those stories, with the killing and torture reserved for the footnotes and overactive imaginations of listeners. Finch weakly struggled, knowing they couldn't possibly escape but not wanting to just sit and take it.

"Here. I'm putting you down," Matt said. He lowered his hand and released Finch before walking away. "Just a second."

Finch tried to book it. Their shoes peeled off the countertop like prickly burs and they cringed at the sound and sensation. Taking a single step was a harsh, sticky ordeal. "Damn," they muttered under their breath.

"Going somewhere?" asked Matt, more lighthearted than he had any right to be.

Finch shot a glare at him over their shoulder. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it. All the better, actually: they could show as much vitriol as they liked without repercussion. "Yeah, chuckle it up, twelve stories. I wouldn't be here if you didn't set that shit up."

Matt disposed of the trap and sought out a roll of paper towel, which he ripped and ran under the tap. "You're right. I'm sorry." He placed the damp paper towel near them. "For the glue."

Finch accepted it and glowered the whole time. The warm water rubbed the glue off their soles. A train of curses filled their brain that were one lapse in self-control away from becoming external. One thing had been itching at them; they decided to voice that instead.

"How'd you know where I was? How did you even know I was stuck?" Realization struck. "Or how I even exist. I didn't think of that. Fuck."

Finch watched his features wrinkle and strain before relaxing. Matt said, "That's on you for assuming a blind man won't notice someone stealing right in front of him. Really, it's insulting."

"Stealing? Heh, no, no, it's called borrowing. We borrow things. There's a clear distinction. Beans steal, borrowers borrow." Their eyes widened.We. I just revealed our name. They played up the aggression, rising to their full, diminutive height. "So I got a little carried away. And what about it? You gonna put me in a jar, huh? Oh, no, I borrowed some food. You got plenty! You gonna miss some crumbs? Some string? A bottle cap here or there?" They scoffed and planted their hands on their hips. "You try to survive and suddenly you're stealing. Yeah, lemme go get a human job real quick in your human economy to pay my human bills for my human house. I'll get right on that."

Matt, who was prepared to argue the definition of stealing vs borrowing, was left sufficiently gobsmacked. The lawyer in him wanted to correct their language; the empathy in him knew that they were right. He'd concluded on his own that Tiny had no other options. Many people rarely did. Hearing it made the legal voice pipe down, and also make the connection that Tiny wasn't the same species as him. Which... yeah, should have been obvious. Were they a fairy?

"I'm not mad about the stealing," he said. "Sorry, 'borrowing'. Which isn't the right- anyway. I'm annoyed about the sock but- but that's it. I even left some crumbs around for you. Once I figured out you weren't a mouse. I really don't have a problem with you living here. Well, there's- no, nevermind. You probably don't care about that." He frowned in thought. Would a tiny person living in the walls even know about Daredevil?

Finch's whole face furrowed. "Oh... kaay. That's- wait, actually? Like, actually? You're not lying?"

Matt huffed. "Again, why would I be lying?"

Finch threw their hands in the air, giving them a frustrated shake and gesturing wildly. "I don't know! You could still switch up on me! I can't trust you. Avoiding beans is how I made it this far. I'd be dead or imprisoned or dead if I didn't. I can't trust you. How am I supposed to believe you?" They ruffled their hair and growled. They pulled their bandana down around their neck and played with the smooth fabric, pacing. "I thought I'd be some kind of pet or- or- or experiment. Or dead. I'm so confused. I'm so confused. It's all so confusing."

Matt didn't respond at first. He let their confession sit in the air, giving it the room it deserved as he thought it over. A pet. Something distinctly sub-human; lower than personhood, undeserving of self-determination. Or an experiment - even lower. That was how the world perceived Tiny. That was how Tiny believed he perceived them.

Matt loved nothing more than proving expectations wrong.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Finch scowled up at him, then exhaled harshly. "Goldfinch. I go by Finch."

"Hello, Finch. I'm Matt. Would you like something to drink?"

"...what do you have?"

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#matt and finch separately directing the convo away from their secrets and thinking they're the smoothest mfer on the planet: “nice”#g/t #giant/tiny #daredevil g/t #goldfinch (oc)#matt murdock #borrowers #g/t community #g/t writing #daredevil #marvel #marvel g/t #daredevil fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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