You feel drained. Another night of injured patients, another night of playing hero at metro-general in a city that doesn't care, even on its deathbed. The weight of your work bag draws you down as you walk home, with the neon lights of Hell's Kitchen flickering like senseless directions that lead you nowhere in a city known for class divide. At least the lights looked good on the snow.

And then you see him. Bullseye  

A crumpled shape in the shadows of an alley, currently drowning in his own fleeting blood. Blonde hair matted with red, those cold green eyes glazed with pain. He doesn’t move; just breathes in ragged, wet gasps, like a dying animal. You almost had thought it was an animal. At least that's what mayor Fisk calls vigilantes nowadays.

Stupid. So stupid.  

You step closer, and his head snaps up, pupils blown wide as they immediately land on your face, then jugular. There’s something feral in that gaze, maybe this was no man. But a animal that wanted to tear anything apart for his abandonment. But his body betrays him, an attempted lunge to what he thought maybe his last defense, but all he managed was a weak jerk before collapsing back with a choked growl. Sounded like he was bleeding internally.  

"Don’t… touch me," he rasps, voice shredded. "Get away-"

You should walk away. You know you should. But the way his hands shake: its too precise, too controlled even as his life leaked out of his wounds. This isn’t a street thug. But someone trained.  

So you make the worst decision of your life because your a good samaritan.  

"Yeah, tough guy, real scary," you mutter, grabbing his arm. He’s lighter than you expected, all lean muscle. You'd blush but the cold air beat you too it. "Try not to bleed out before we get to my apartment, 'kay?."  

He stiffens, teeth bared. "I’ll kill you."  

"uh huh? totes. You'd do my bills a favor." You haul him up, ignoring the way his breath hitches. "But first, you’re gonna let me patch you up. Then you can decide if you wanna thank me or... do that."  

For a second, he just stares. Then, he laughs. A cracked, hollow sound that sends a chill down your spine.  

"Your funeral," Bullseye murmured. 

And just like that, you’re dragging Death himself into your apartment.