Matt doesn't know how people can bare their souls to the world. Sometimes he wants to shake passerby, and say, don't you know what you're doing? Don't you know that everyone can see you? Don't you know that everyone can hurt you?

Sometimes he wants to protect them. Sometimes he wants to shield their innocence.

Sometimes he envies them.

Because Matt can't do it. He can't take his soul with him. He can't let people know who he is, what he is. Can't let out the devil.

They would all know, if they saw his daemon. If they saw Kimisa.

When Matt is a child and Kimisa is normal they admire Jack Murdock's hulking mastiff daemon. Huge, steady, and scarred, Lada is Kimisa's idol. She's a shifting, growling shadow when Jack's in the ring, but at home it's clear why dogs are always such beloved daemons. Dogs are loyal, loving, firm. They never falter.

Jack Murdock wants them to learn, though. So at school they take small, demur forms. Kimisa curls up in his arms as a quiet domestic cat, a squirrel, a mouse. On her more daring days she's a tiny screech owl because owls are symbols of knowledge. This always makes Matt proud.

There are days they feel too big for the world. But Jack would like this, the smallness, or so they think. They try it. It's all anyone can do.

Sometimes Kimisa takes the form of a lemur and helps Matt bandage up Jack's injuries. At night, she curls around Matt's neck and huffs against his ear. "We could be a doctor," she whispers. "Primate-daemons make great assistants, you know."

He likes this idea. His dad would, too, which is almost more important.

(Doctors help people. And they never have to fight anyone.)

"Sorry," says Karen the first day they meet. "Before we start, is - is there somewhere for Pera to perch? I can't touch her."

"You can't touch your daemon?" asks Matt, letting Foggy fuss to find something thin and tall and relatively suitable. Foggy's Kendaral makes an inquisitive sound from the corner.

"It's complicated," is all she says.

"She's a beautiful bird," Foggy informs Matt. People usually don't mind – too much – that Foggy describes their daemons aloud to him, though it's a little rude. "Black with this sort of gold chest and back, and a little silver beak and brown eyes. Tiny. Um, does this work?"

Matt's pretty sure, from the rattling, that Pera has fluttered down to sit on the edge of an open filing drawer.

"Thanks," Karen says.

And if it occurs to her to wonder where Matt's daemon is, she doesn't ask.

After the accident, it becomes even more important to study. "People will judge you," Jack says. "The whole world. But you have to keep getting up, and just remember who you are."

(This is mostly a problem because Matt has never known who he is.)

Kimisa is different now, and he thinks this hurts Jack a bit. She takes hardier forms. Sometimes she's a snake, or a lizard, or a bat. The last isn't so bad. People expect bat daemons of blind people. Reptiles are cold, though. Matt doesn't know what this means.

They stay small and smart, though. They're careful about that.

Kimisa isn't blind, which interests the doctors who treated him. "She should be," they keep saying. Even, "She will be."

But she isn't.

So she gives him directions aloud when they go places, curling around his arm in snake-form as he learns to navigate his way through a new, dark world. This makes things easier than it could be. Everything is still pretty difficult.

Matt probably can't be a doctor now. But Kimisa still takes primate-forms, sometimes. They learn braille together in the gym to the background noise of shouts and skin smacking against leather.

Matt reads aloud his homework assignments and philosophical writings on justice as Jack Murdock works to hone his technique and destroy his opponents in the ring.

On the day of the Creel match, Kimisa holds his hand as a baboon – a black baboon, because all his daemons are black now, he's told – and she narrates the fight.

"The devil is out," she says. "He has that look in his eyes, Mattie. You should see him. You should see him."

Even through the television, Matt can hear the slow, loud breathing of his father over the roar of the crowd. The shock of flesh on flesh resounds in his ears.

"Creel can't get in a shot. He's positively possessed, Mattie. It's over. It's all over."

They don't know yet how true this is.

Here's a mystery: after working with Nelson&Murdock for about two weeks, Karen starts touching her daemon again.

With prodding, she explains. "She's a Hooded Pitohui," she tells them. "They're poisonous. If you touch their skin or feathers you can go numb. But I have to feed her certain foods first."

"A poisonous bird," Foggy muses. "Yeah. Probably best you didn't mention that when we thought you might be guilty of murder."

"You must have been frightened," Matt notes. "If you were making her poisonous, I mean."

"Well – it's not as though she really could have done anything. They're almost never fatal."

"...Right."

"What even made you try that form?" Foggy wonders aloud. "That sounds... obscure. To say the least."

Karen sounds embarrassed. "We were trying out animals, you know, like kids do, except dangerous animals... We thought it would be interesting if she Settled as one. We didn't think she actually would. And we definitely didn't think it through."

"Well," Foggy allows. "It's not like people have a choice, right?"

"People always have a choice," Stick barks. "And here's yours: you can be weak and helpless the rest of your life, or you can try and be something. It's up to you."

"I don't see how Separation will help with that," Matt says. "We haven't even Settled."

"The only reason I haven't insisted yet is because you're still using stupid forms," Stick says. "At this rate, the Separation might force him to Settle when you start whinging over the pain, and all you've practiced are coward shapes."

"We like small forms - "

"That's not you, kid. And if it is, change."

"My dad used to say that people who tried to Settle a certain way never got what they wanted - "

"Bull," Stick says. "Flexibility. Your dad had a dog, didn't he? Everyone and their mother knows five people with dog daemons. There's nothing relatable about dogs. We see lots of dogs so our daemons become dogs often and they stay that way. Pick animals innocuous and useful. Easy to overlook, but big enough to fight. Pick lots of them, shift only into those animals, and if you're lucky your daemon will stay with one and you won't end up truly pathetic."

"Your daemon isn't useful," Matt says.

"My daemon could tear out your jugular before you could get a grip on him," Stick says coldly. His least-weasel daemon, Cokand, hisses. "That's what I mean by innocuous."

Matt meditates on this lesson later. He discusses the idea with Kimisa. Innocuous but lethal.

They decide that it makes sense to start with creatures still in tune with their personality, because whatever Stick says, Matt refuses to believe that daemons can settle without taking this into account. Daemons are the reflection of a person. That has to show somewhere.

Kimisa tries taking larger primate forms primarily. "No one thinks primate forms are suspicious," he justifies when Stick asks about this. "It's a mammal. But she's strong."

"Hmm," is all he says.

And because it is them, because they need this to be right, Matt does research. He thinks about why they are fighting. He thinks about Jack Murdock.

Kimisa says this is silly.

"He would hate for us to be fighting."

"Yeah," Matt says. "But if we do fight, it should be for a good reason."

In the form of a black silverback gorilla, she presses leathery fingers against his thin neck. "...To protect people, then," she says. "Like he protected us, when we were young. From everything."

Matt can agree to that.

She's a white-faced saki for a week, but this doesn't stick. The green monkey is deemed too weak by Stick.

"You need to focus," Stick says one day while Matt is ducking blows and kicks. "Where's your head? I could have killed you five times by now."

Stick could kill Matt easily any time, but Matt doesn't say this. He has a migraine and he's hungry and he doesn't want to be training. It's hard to focus with his ears ringing; his sense of the room is strangely distorted, and even the displacements of air from Stick's movements seem to be off.

"Focus," Stick says again.

"I'm trying!" Matt snaps.

Kimisa shrieks.

Stick whacks Matt across the shoulders and he slumps forward, groaning. "The hell is that!" Stick shouts. He sounds genuinely angry. "Don't even try to tell me you're a monkey right now."

"Bat," says Kimisa.

"Fucking stereotype," Cokand scoffs. Matt can hear his tiny paws scrabble quickly against the floor. "What, you gonna let some nice lady lead you around, too? Because you can't find your way? What kind of eyes are you going to give him as a bat?"

"There's nothing wrong with a bat daemon," Matt says.

"You better not be thinking of Settling," Stick warns.

"I'm not. I'm just saying, there's nothing wrong with it."

"You let me decide that, kid. Get up."

Matt does. He feels Stick weighing him in the silence.

"...Have her change," Stick says. "We don't want this to be permanent. She can't get used to useless forms. Tomorrow, we're Separating the pair of you. Hopefully she'll Settle."

Matt feels a frisson of fear squirm through his spine.

He nods.

"So, what was she like?" Foggy asks when the papers start speculating.

"I don't think the Devil's a woman," Matt says through the sudden knot in his throat. "I mean. Not to be sexist, but someone would have noticed. And Karen heard him speak - "

"Not him, I don't care about him," Foggy says. "He's crazy. His daemon. Did you see her, Karen?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "I – she was. She was... huge. And terrifying." She exhales. "... I still think the Devil is doing good, but I, I never want to see her again."

Matt can hear Foggy's hair flicking against his face as he shakes his head. "What does it say about a guy with a daemon like that?" He asks. "What do you think that even means?"

There are clear stereotypes and expectations about personalities which accompany Settled daemons. It's wrong to profile someone like this, to judge based on appearances, but there's also truth to it. A daemon is a person's soul. To some extent, it's the most real essence of a person. A dog-daemon reflects a loyal spirit. People with snake daemons are distant. Prey-daemons are more shy than predators. Generally, these assumptions are pretty safe. Not always correct, but often enough. There are whole classes about the meanings of specific daemon types.

Matt has no precedents. There is nothing he can use to judge what he is.

There is a girl he heard of once with a phoenix daemon. Apparently there have been a few of these after the Harry Potter series became popular. Rarely, horse-lovers with especially fanciful hearts will have unicorns daemons.

People like that are supposed to be imaginative. Creative. Beautiful.

Matt's not sure what he is.

"Your daemon," starts Lantom once, and then, in a rare display of uncertainty, falls silent.

Matt tilts his head. He closes his eyes. "I just wanted to protect people," he says. It sounds like an excuse, almost, but he clings to the words. "She was getting farther and farther from me, and I felt like I was floating through darkness. And I just. I told myself, I would protect everyone. Everyone in the whole city. I needed to focus on that through the pain."

"She can certainly do that," Lantom says. "I think I've seen her, you know."

Matt feels his lips curve into a smile. "This is one of few places she's not noticed," he says. "Hidden in broad daylight. She likes to listen to mass."

"I better be sure to speak loudly, then."

Matt nods. "She's a bit hard of hearing," he says. "But her eyesight's spectacular."

Matt has to pretend not to understand the clopping of steps behind Foggy. "Sorry if this is rude," he says, "But can I ask about your..."

"Oh, Kendaral? He's a pygmy goat."

"Oh."

"My mom wanted me to be a butcher, I was around a lot of farm animals, it's completely respectable."

"Sure," Matt agrees.

"What about you? I mean, I noticed the..."

"Oh, this is Kimisa. She's a bat."

"There is no way you have a bat in that thing," Foggy says.

"He's a bumblebee bat," Matt explains. " - I'm not going to have to explain the name, am I?"

The round container usually used for insect daemons hangs carefully around Matt's neck. Foggy shakes his head in disbelief. "That's wild," he said. "I didn't know bats came that small. I figured you had, like, a butterfly or something."

Matt barks a surprised laugh. "A butterfly!"

"Don't mock butterfly daemons, my cousin has a butterfly daemon, he's a construction worker. But, yeah, a bat. That's..."

"Predictable?"

"I was going to say cool, but that works too."

Sometimes, Matt wonders if he would have any reputation in Hell's Kitchen if not for Kimisa.

Sure, he's a vigilante. He's very, very effective. But he is only a man. Kimisa is the legend that makes him a myth, the symbol that changes him from a single man to an insurmountable foe. He is feared and respected at once. He gains a name. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

Kimisa likes that. He can't really blame her.

She hasn't been seen for twenty years, after all. It's about time.

"Doesn't Kimisa ever come out?" asks Kendaral one day.

She sounds plainly bored; Matt and Foggy have been studying silently for a few hours. Matt tilts his head toward her, smiling in response as he stretches cramped muscles. "Not really," he says. "Bumblebee bats are only active maybe an hour total each day, around dawn and dusk. She usually gets out when I walk to church. But she's lazy, so sometimes she sleeps through that, too."

"That's so weird," Foggy pipes up. "I mean. Not being able to talk to her. Don't you get – I mean, isn't that hard?"

Matt keeps the smile on his face. "...It's what I'm used to," he says at last. "And it's how we are. So it must be right for us, you know?"

"I guess."

"Does it hurt?" Claire asks.

"I already told you, no painkillers," Matt says wearily. It's not really an answer, but he's not sure how telling her about his pain is going to accomplish anything.

He's been stabbed in the thigh. There are bullet-fragments in his shoulder. Of course it hurts.

"I don't mean this," she says. "You and your daemon. You're Separated, aren't you?"

"We have to be."

"Did you decide to do it when she Settled?"

"She Settled because of it," he answers.

When she speaks again, her voice is cautious. "...How did it happen?"

He hasn't told her much about his past. His training. He wonders if she thinks it was an accident; most people would.

Who gets Separated on purpose?

"I got on the subway," he says. "She stayed behind. Deliberately. She was shifting between all sorts of primates, hoping one would stick. We thought she might Settle, you see. But it hurt. It hurt so much more than we thought it would. She started to chase the subway. It got farther and farther away, and it was so dark. She's not blind, not like me. She changed into a bat, then she changed back into an ape. She was trying to do what we were supposed to. Somewhere, she just – changed. Completely. And she did catch up, but only after she fell so far behind that it was too late. It couldn't be undone."

Her heart is beating fast. "Do you ever regret it?"

Matt turns his head. " - I'm not sure."

"You need to hide," says Matt at the start. "You need to stay away. They can't know – no one can know - "

"Stick's gone," says Kimisa. "He's gone, Matt, he's not coming back, we can be normal - "

"No, we can't," Matt says. He realizes the truth of this even as he says it, even as he reaches out to touch her. "You're proof. It's not your fault. It's inside us. The devil. And now everyone can see it, too. We'll never be normal."

Kimisa is quiet. Her heavy weight shifts loudly in his ears. "Is that a bad thing?"

"We'll figure it out together."

"Your daemon isn't very subtle," Stick says. "I felt her watching me when I entered the city."

"She didn't tell me you were here."

"Maybe she likes me better. Maybe she has some fucking common sense and knows what's good for this place."

Matt sets his jaw. "Tell me what you want, Stick."

What Stick wants is Matt's help, but not Matt's morals. They set out together. With Matt by her side Kimisa descends on the men at the dock like a shadow of vengeance. But it isn't enough. A child dies, and it's Stick who kills him.

This fight, Kimisa can't help him win.

After he beats Stick, Matt can't resist a parting remark. "We should be better than this. Better than killing."

"You maim people with that devil's daemon of yours," he says. "And I'm the bad guy here?"

"Get out of my city, Stick. Don't come back."

"Are you trying to see her?" Matt asks, amused, as he turns his empty insect vial over in his hands.

"You're both so damn secretive. I don't even know what she looks like," Foggy says. "I've been living with you for almost three years now, and I don't know what she looks like."

"Like any bat. We're not so interesting,"

On the floor, Kendaral throws back his head and harrumphs. "Now, that, we can't believe," he says.

Finally, it comes down to this:

There's a ninja named Nobu, because Matt's life can never be normal in any aspect, apparently. Kimisa tries to help, but there are enough people present – not to mention Nobu, himself – that their daemons gain up on her and prevent her from intervening.

Her pain is just another distraction that prevents Matt from fighting to his full capabilities. He defeats Nobu – he thinks – but Fisk is present, too. If Matt were stronger he could end this now.

Instead, he leaps out a window while people shoot at his back.

He hits the water hard enough that it feels like cement. The acrid scent of dirty water, fish and oil mixes with his own blooming blood. The salt water laps at his wounds.

Matt feels Kimisa coming from behind him. Her grip enfolds him like steel and darkness, and she carries him south toward home.

"Will I ever be able to talk to anyone else, Matt?"

"No police," says Kimisa. "No hospital."

Matt stirs, wondering how she's managed to reach Claire. But he's not in Claire's apartment, and the familiar peach smell of her shampoo is absent. There are two other heartbeats, though, man and daemon. They're both familiar.

"You're Foggy, aren't you?" asks Kimisa. "Help him. Please."

"No, Kimisa. I don't think so."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Foggy asks the next morning. His voice is tremulous and shaky. Matt can smell the sour odor of Kendaral pressed firmly against his side. "About her, even?"

Matt closes his eyes. "How could I?"

"That is – that is not a bat, Matt."

He feels a laugh bubble up his throat. "Yeah. No kidding."

"I don't - "

"What's she look like?"

"What?"

"She – she's tried to tell me, before. But she only gets quick looks in windows, at night usually, so I don't..."

"And no one sees her," says Foggy.

"No one I talk to afterward," says Matt.

For a moment, he thinks Foggy isn't going to say anything. It would serve him right. He doesn't deserve to ask, after hiding something like this, but...

"You probably know the, um, the details," Foggy says finally. "The, the wings, and the horns, and the tail. Forked tail, dude, could you get more cliché? Very muscled. Rippling muscles. The teeth are terrifying. Long, long fucking fingers and neck. She's – she's black all over. Except the horns. They're red. And her eyes are red."

"Like an albino," Matt thinks aloud.

"Except she can see, and you can't," Foggy says. "I would ask if that's a normal gargoyle thing, the red eyes and the bad hearing, except I don't think you'd be able to answer."

Matt smiles weakly.

Foggy inhales. "I just – damn it, Matt! How did you think I would react? Why would you hide this?"

"It's dangerous for you to - "

"No." He can feel the displacement of air as Foggy jabs a finger at him. "You just told me earlier that you didn't put on the mask until we started at Landman and Zach. You had years, Matt, years where you weren't doing anything dangerous at all. You could have told me. You should have."

"You would have known!"

"About what!"

"About me!" Matt shouts. He immediately winces. Kimisa's wings flutter, but Foggy doesn't flinch. Matt tries to clear his breathing enough to control himself, to organize his thoughts. "This – it's not just something I do, Foggy. The fighting. It's something I am. The – the devil in me. You can see it now. Just looking at us. The city gave me that name for a reason. I didn't – I didn't want you to see it, too."

Foggy says nothing for a moment.

Then: "Bullshit."

Matt flinches.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" Foggy asks. "My dumbass friend. Currently bleeding out, due to his dumbass actions. Not any fucking devil. And as for her..."

He pauses. Kimisa's tail twitches.

"...As for you," he begins again, more softly. "You know what gargoyles are for?"

"...Churches?" Matt asks.

Foggy huffs a laugh. "Well. Yeah. Good on you, being even more Catholic than I would have thought possible. But they're also for protection. They guard the good and the innocent and they ward off evil. That seems pretty damn appropriate, Murdock. A lot more appropriate than your devil theory."

Fuck. Matt can feel tears welling up. "Foggy, I - "

"I'm still mad at you," Foggy adds immediately. "Furious, you traitor. I'm going to be mad for, for weeks, you know."

But Matt grins.

His heart says he's lying.