Author's Note: I skipped over "Day 7: Scarlet Sky" because it's more of a visual prompt and I'm not an artist. I only bang out words as best as I can with my fists and hope it ends up okay.

This is yet ANOTHER Marvel crossover. I can't explain why I like these so much because my brain doesn't always tell me why I like things. It's usually just me sobbing over midnight cheese I know will make me sick all as I internally scream at myself WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?

Anyway! I've done a Daredevil thing. The Netflix version. I don't actually care for Daredevil as the domestic violence scenes pretty much pushed me over the edge of NOPE. Before we watched Fisk beat the shit out of his dad for beating the shit out of his mom, though, there was that lovely interaction between a very-much-done-with-Matt's-shit Claire, and a sarcastic-and-injured Matt. Jellal was blind for about five minutes in the manga so when I saw the couch scene my shipper heart was screaming JERZA JERZA JERZA (and also CHEESE GIMME CHEESE even though both my heart and brain know I'm sketchy with lactose. Sigh.)

That's what we have here and nothing more.

Day 8: Alternate Universe

Erza swung the garbage bag up and into dumpster. She didn't notice the spatters of blood on the lip of the bin until she stepped back to leave. The sallow pool of street light made the droplets sparkle. Against her better judgement she leaned in for a closer look. It could've been anything, really, and even if it was blood she didn't need to nose her way into something that clearly wasn't her business at all... no. Nope. It was blood. Definitely blood. Her curiosity would be the death of her one day.

She peered into the bin and the obvious form of a man lay amongst the bags and other rubbish. Erza groaned with frustration and took a moment to berate herself for looking at all before balancing on a stack of crates to fish the man out.

He was heavy but lucky for her the bin was almost full and she didn't have to do much more than hoist him over the bloodied lip.

"God you smell awful," she murmured. Her sweater now had blood on it too and with a frustrated grunt she heaved the man on to her back. The hour was late and even in a crowded building like hers, Erza didn't see another soul on the trek back to her apartment.

The man fell into a heap on the floor when she released her hold. After a quick glance down the hallway, Erza shut and bolted her front door. The last thing she needed were witnesses. It was entirely possible that dragging a bloody man from the dumpster bin and into her home was against building regulations.

She re-situated his body on the floor and began to evaluate his injuries. Thinking better of exposing herself to anything communicable – years in a hospital had taught her to always be cautious when it came to fluids – Erza grabbed her medical bag and yanked on a set of latex gloves. There was an abundance of bruises and cuts that concerned her, including a seeping gash on his torso. Erza removed the... mask? that covered most of his face. He had a prominent tattoo around his right eye. The logic of covering a tattoo on one's face with a black mask seemed ridiculous. She couldn't figure out which would attract more attention – the tattoo or the mask?

Cuts and bruises she could handle but a gash? Nothing spelled out deadly infection like a shoddy stitch job on the living room floor. She wasn't equipped to handle stitches. Erza pulled her phone from her back pocket with the intention of dialing for emergency services. She yelped when a hand shot up and grasped her wrist.

"No calls!" he wheezed and released her arm. "No calls. Please."

"It's okay," Erza said still clutching her phone. "I'm just trying to help. We have to get you to the hospital."

The man winced and grit his teeth in obvious pain. "They'll kill everyone," he said.

"What? Who?"

"The men who did this." he groaned and attempted to roll over. "They'll kill everyone in the hospital to get to me."

Erza watched with mounting disbelief as he rolled over to lean on one elbow. "Okay... you can't..." She grasped at his arm in an attempt to hold him still. "Don't! You've lost a lot of blood and I think you might have been stabbed."

The man ignored her fawning.

"I know." He struggled to his feet with one hand pressed to the gash in his torso and the other bracing himself against the wall. Erza folded her arms across her chest in irritation.

"If you want to leave the door's the other way."

He paused and slowly turned back around. His balance was short lived, though, and he fell back to the floor and slipped into unconsciousness.

"Perfect," Erza mumbled and knelt down to pull him back up. This time she settled him on the couch instead of the floor.

When he woke again he seemed less agitated.

"Are you going to listen to me this time?" she asked with a patronizing tone.

"Where am I?" he asked quickly.

Erza pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder. "You're in my apartment."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the garbage," she offered with a smirk. His hands flew to his face as if just noticing the absence of his mask.

"You've seen my face," he said with urgency.

"Yeah."

"Great."

"Your outfit kind of sucks, by the way," she said dryly.

"Yeah, it's a work in progress –" he attempted to sit up and growled in pain before falling back into the sofa.

"I really wouldn't try and move too much. You've got some broken ribs, probably a concussion, some kind of puncture wound... and that's just the stuff I know about." She sighed again and sat back on the edge of the coffee table. "And your eyes? They're non-responsive to light and it isn't freaking you the hell out. So either you're blind or in way worse shape than I thought."

"Do I have to pick one?" His attempt at humor would've made her laugh in any other situation.

"Would you mind telling me how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in my dumpster?"

He shook his head as much as he could. "The less you know about me the better."

Erza scowled and threw her hands up in resignation. "The wound on your side –" She peeked through the shreds of his shirt. "Was that a knife?"

"Probably," he bit out.

"I think I stopped the bleeding but I can't tell how bad it is without a full series of x-rays."

"No. No hospitals."

Erza's last thread of patience snapped. "Listen, this is my night off. I'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch."

"Are you a doctor?"

Erza rolled her eyes. "Something like that."

"Most people who find a masked man bleeding in the garbage... they call the police."

"You got a lot of experience in this area?" she shot back.

"Why are you helping me?"

"The less you know about me the better." It felt good to toss his words back at him.

He chuckled then winced in pain again. "Ow," he groaned still trying to swallow his laughter. For the second time that evening Erza went against her better judgement and thought him far too attractive. "You got a name at least?" he asked.

She bit her lip and stared down at him. "Erza." When he didn't respond she blurted, "I don't suppose I get to know yours?"

He hesitated before shaking his head slightly.

"Alright," she sighed and pulled off the latex gloves. "I'll call you Jake."

"Jake?" he asked with the ghost of a grin.

"Yeah. He was a guy I used to date. Turns out he was very good at keeping secrets, too." Erza tossed aside the bloody gloves and startled when he took her hand – more gentle this time and not at all the wild grab from before.

"Thank you, Erza."

She felt her heart skip a beat and wanted to slap herself. Why was she like this?

"Just rest. We'll figure everything out later."

When the man's eyes slid closed, Erza exhaled heavily and gathered the discarded gloves and bandages with a frustrated force.