Chapter Text
It is dark. He doesn't like the darkness; no matter where he looks, he only finds the stifling darkness
"Matty?"
He freezes. He would recognize that voice anywhere. He turns slowly, immediately feeling a sting in his eyes alongside a painful pressure in his throat
"...Dad?" he asks, his voice trembling
And there he is, alive. He can see him. He shouldn't be able to see him, but he sees him anyway, as clear as if he had never disappeared. The tired smile that always appeared at the end of long days, the nose slightly crooked from years of boxing, the small scars Matt knew by heart after a lifetime of observing them. Everything is there, exactly as he remembers it, and for an instant, the relief is so intense it steals his breath away. Before realizing what he is doing, Matt is already running toward him
"Dad!"
But he barely takes a few steps when he feels something latch onto his ankles. The darkness covering the floor seems to come alive, spreading like a thick tide that coils around his legs and pulls him down with impossible force. Matt tries to keep moving forward, desperate to reach his father, but the grip grows tighter and tighter. He loses his balance, trips, and ends up falling to his knees as the shadows continue dragging him downward
"Wait!"
He tries to break free, but the more he fights, the tighter those shadows squeeze around his body, tangling like living chains that respond to every desperate movement. They already cover his legs and slowly move up his waist, dragging him down inch by inch. In front of him, Jack doesn't move or attempt to help him; he stays right where he is, watching him in silence with an expression impossible to decipher, and that stillness is far more terrifying than anything the shadows could do to him.
"Daddy!" His voice breaks "Please!"
The shadows keep rising, sliding over his body like cold hands dragging him deeper and deeper. In front of him, Jack looks down for an instant, as if he can't bear to watch him, before slowly shaking his head. He doesn't look angry or furious. He looks disappointed. And that expression, far more than the shadows imprisoning him, makes Matt feel as though something shatters inside of him
"No... no..."
Jack turns and begins to walk away
"No!" Matt tries to reach for him, but the darkness drags him deeper still "Wait! Please, don't leave me!"
His breathing becomes erratic. Tears blur his vision. His heart pounds so hard it seems to echo throughout the void
"It's your fault"
Matt stops fighting right then, freezing in his tracks. The voice seems to rise from everywhere at once, resonating in the void around him until it becomes impossible to identify a source. The sound slides through the darkness as if the darkness itself were speaking. Slowly, Matt lifts his head, his heart hammering against his chest as a cold sensation spreads through his entire body. He searches desperately for the figure that was standing before him just a moment ago, but Jack is gone. He has disappeared completely. Only the darkness remains, immense and endless, closing in around him
"No…" His lips tremble with every word he utters "It's not..."
"You heard him"
Matt feels a knot in his stomach
"You heard him say he was going to lose on purpose"
The shadows keep dragging him down. They already cover his chest, but he stopped fighting against them long ago
"I didn't want to…" Tears begin to fall "I didn't want to..."
"I won for you… and that's why I died"
Matt feels like he's going to throw up, because it's the truth
He wanted him to win. He had wanted to see him victorious. He had wanted everyone to see how incredible his dad was. He didn't want his father to humiliate himself to make money; he didn't want him to humiliate himself like that for him
If he hadn't wanted that victory so badly, if he hadn't been so proud, if he hadn't been so determined to see his dad prove he could win, maybe none of this would have happened. If Jack had lost, if he had accepted the deal, he would still be alive
The darkness finishes covering him until it stops feeling like darkness. It isn't black. It isn't a void. It's worse. It is the absence of everything. There is no ground beneath his feet, no air in his lungs, no sound, no distance, no time. It is an absolute and suffocating nothingness, as if the entire world had ceased to exist and he had been forgotten along with it
"It's all your fault"
.
.
.
"Own it"
A crash shakes everything around him
And right in front of him, Jack's body appears, his eyes open and still, completely devoid of life. When he looks down, he sees his hands—they are covered in blood
Matt wakes up with a start
He is drenched in sweat and crying. For a few seconds, he doesn't understand where he is. Then the sound hits him, forcing him back to reality—it was raining. Water pouring over the roof, over the windows, over the trees, and over the earth. Thousands and thousands of drops, each one seeming to explode inside his ears. The wind batters the branches and seems to howl, and the thunder exploding in the distance makes him tremble. It's too much.
Matt covers his ears tightly, but it's no use. He can't escape it, turn it off, or even breathe. His chest heaves desperately, but air won't fully fill his lungs; it's as if he has forgotten how to breathe, as if his lungs have broken. His head spins and aches. The damp sheets rub against his skin, and the sensation feels unbearably intense and unpleasant.
"Dad…" he begs silently
He curls into himself as the tears continue to fall. He can live without seeing. He can learn to use the cane and endure the headaches and the noises. He can bear it all, but he misses him. God. He misses him so much
"Daddy..."
Another clap of thunder exploded in the distance
Matt didn't know exactly how close it had struck, but to him, it sounded as loud as a gunshot right next to his ear. The crash pierced through his head and caused him to flinch. It hurt. It really hurt. Each thunderclap seemed to vibrate the air, the walls, the mattress, and even his own bones
But a part of him felt like he deserved it. It wasn't just a thought that appeared when he was sad or scared; it was a horrible certainty that settled into his chest every time he thought of his father. Perhaps this was the punishment. Perhaps this was how God punished sinners. Not with fire or demons, but by forcing them to live with what they had done, reminding them of it over and over until they couldn't escape it. After all, he had overheard the conversation. He had known what his father planned to do. And yet, he had wanted him to win.
Matt clenched his teeth tightly as a new wave of guilt churned his stomach. He didn't want to think that. He didn't want to believe it. But he couldn't push it out of his head either. If his father had lost that fight, he would still be alive. And the louder the thunder crashed around him, the more he felt that maybe he deserved every single second of it
Then he heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. Matt felt a new knot form in his throat and curled up even tighter beneath the blankets
He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He was already causing enough trouble; ever since he arrived, it felt like everything revolved around him and his limitations. He felt like a constant burden to everyone around him, and he hated that feeling. He didn't want to worry anyone else with his problems. He didn't want them to keep wasting time and energy because of him; he just wanted to disappear beneath the sheets and stop being a nuisance for a moment.
But he was too shaken to pretend everything was fine. Even so, he tried. He swallowed the knot in his throat, wiped his tears with the back of his hand, and pulled the sheets over his head, as if hiding could make him disappear or at least prevent anyone from seeing him in this state
When the door opened, Matt made a desperate effort to control his breathing and appear calm, but another clap of thunder struck, closer than the ones before. The crash was so violent it made him flinch completely and cover his ears tighter, ruining any attempt to look okay
"Master Matt? Are you in there?"
It was an absurd question. Of course he was there. It was his room, and he was fairly certain that hiding under the blankets wasn't fooling anyone
Even so, Alfred's voice was so calm, so soft and patient, that Matt felt a new burning behind his eyes. He felt ridiculous for wanting to cry even more, but he no longer had the strength to stop it
"It really is raining heavily tonight, isn't it?"
Matt listened as Alfred walked in without any rush. He didn't try to get too close right away. He didn't try to ask questions. He didn't try to force him to talk. He simply walked over to the bed and took a seat beside him. The mattress sank slightly under his weight
Matt didn't answer; he wanted to, he knew he should, but he could barely focus on breathing. The sound of the rain kept battering him from everywhere. Water falling over the trees. Over the roofs. Over the windows. Over the gravel of the paths outside
Thousands of different sounds blended together until they formed something impossible to separate. It was like being in the middle of a massive crowd where hundreds of people were shouting things at him at once, each in a different language. Some words he understood, others he didn't, and many he couldn't even identify, but all of them demanded his attention at the exact same time. The patter of the rain against the roof, the wind through the trees, the pipes vibrating inside the walls, the wood creaking, the distant roar of thunder; everything arrived at once, turned into an avalanche of information he didn't know how to organize or process.
He didn't know which sounds were important and which he should ignore. He didn't know how to turn it off or how to stop hearing it. He could only stay there, trapped beneath the blankets, trying to breathe while the entire world seemed to be screaming at him at the same time. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Only the rain could be heard
Until Alfred broke the silence
"I do not think I shall be able to sleep tonight" His voice maintained that calm, kind tone that seemed to fill the room without being invasive "Would you mind if I kept you company?"
Matt bit his lip and tried with all his might to breathe calmly and not cry too loudly. He didn't want Alfred to see him like this, he didn't want to worry him more than he already was, but he didn't think he could answer right away either, so he remained silent
"If I am making you uncomfortable, I can leave" Alfred continued after a few moments
Matt shook his head slightly before realizing the man probably couldn't see him through the blankets. He didn't want to kick Alfred out. He was the one who had just arrived. He was the new guy here. The one taking up space. The one causing problems
What was wrong with him?
He took one breath. Then another. He forced himself to swallow the knot in his throat
"No... stay, please"
The reply came out quieter than he would have liked, scratchy from holding back tears. For a few seconds, he got no response, but then he felt a gentle pressure on his back. Alfred's hand was moving slowly, calmly, without pressing too hard, as if simply reminding him that he wasn't alone
Matt focused on that. On the brush of the fabric and the slow movement of that hand, as well as on Alfred's steady breathing; Matt focused until, almost without realizing it, he began to mimic it. Inhale. Exhale. Then again. And again
The rain was still there. The thunder too. They were still annoying, it was still too many sounds at once, but little by little, they began to fade into the background. It was easier to ignore them when he focused on something concrete
As he focused on Alfred, exhaustion finally won over fear. His body relaxed; the pressure in his chest eased until he ended up falling asleep again. This time, he didn't dream of anything
The next morning, he did more or less the same thing he had been doing since he arrived at the mansion. He ate breakfast, walked through a few hallways to get more familiar with the place, and ended up settling in the library
Bruce had arrived a couple of days ago with more braille books, new clothes, and several other things, and though Matt still didn't feel entirely comfortable accepting so much, he also understood it would be strange for Bruce Wayne to adopt a child and then ignore him completely. So he said nothing; besides, the books were interesting—much more interesting than just wandering aimlessly through the hallways.
"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere" he read in a low voice, tracing the lines of dots with his fingertips
The phrase was still spinning in his mind when another sound caught his attention—a low, deep, resonant note that vibrated through the silence of the mansion and easily overrode the rest of the sounds. Matt raised his head
"A piano?" he murmured
It wasn't very far away. He heard it again, this time with several notes in a row; the sound felt interesting enough to make him lift his head. Matt stayed still for a moment, listening intently, and then set the book aside. He stood up and decided to go investigate
He got up from the armchair and began walking down the hallways. He carried his cane in one hand, though he had already become familiar enough with certain parts of the mansion to move with a fair amount of confidence
The piano played again, closer this time, until Matt ended up stopping in front of an open door, from where he could already hear Alfred. Did Alfred play the piano?
"Oh, young Master Matt, did I interrupt you?" the butler asked in his usual calm tone
Matt shook his head as he stepped inside. The room sounded different from the rest of the mansion. There was more of an echo, though not too much. The sounds seemed to expand in a pleasant way
"No, uh... do you play?" he asked, stepping a bit closer
"In my youth, I did so quite frequently" Alfred replied "Though I am afraid the years have considerably reduced my talent"
Matt smiled a little
"It didn't sound bad"
"You are very kind" There was a brief pause "Tell me, young Master Matt... would you like to learn?"
The question caught him completely by surprise. Learn? Him? For some reason, that felt strangely normal—and not in the uncomfortable sense of therapy or rehabilitation disguised as an activity, but like something simple, everyday, as if Alfred weren't treating him like someone "special" or sick. It was something that hadn't happened to him in a long time, and for some reason, he liked it more than he expected. Just learning something. Like anyone else.
"Me? How?" he asked, letting out a small laugh
"Well, we could start by identifying a few notes. For instance…" Alfred pressed a finger onto a key "This is a C"
The note resonated throughout the room, deep and steady, like a firm foundation on which everything else could rest. Then Alfred pressed another key, and a lighter D sounded, clear and a bit brighter, followed by a soft, clean E that seemed to float for just an instant before fading away. Matt tilted his head slightly as he listened, attentive to how each sound shifted in weight and color
"So, if I play this key…"
A D sounded. It was fairly easy to tell them apart; each note had its own sound, a distinct personality
"It's a D" Matt answered before Alfred could even ask him
"Very well, young master. And this one?" Another note resonated
"A"
Alfred smiled and clapped softly—just a couple of discreet pats
"Excellent. And what about this?" Two keys sounded at the same time. The notes blended, and Matt frowned slightly as he tilted his head. Separating them was trickier
He brought a hand to his chin and remained thoughtful for a few seconds
"Can you play it again?" Alfred complied without a word. The two notes filled the room once more "A... C and an E"
"Correct"
Matt's smile appeared almost without him realizing it
From then on, Alfred began to vary the combinations. First two notes, then another different two. Little by little, the challenge stopped feeling difficult and began to turn into a game. Matt discovered that if he paid enough attention, he could separate each sound as if they were different voices within a conversation.
When Alfred added a third key, the difficulty increased immediately. Matt closed his eyes by reflex, though that didn't change anything anymore. He focused solely on the sound, letting each note finish vibrating before searching for the next one
"Can you do it again? Please" The chord sounded again. Matt smiled "F... G... and C"
"Correct"
There was sincere satisfaction in Alfred's voice, one that didn't sound exaggerated or condescending
For several minutes, they continued the same way. Alfred changed the order of the notes, repeated some, added new ones, and every time Matt got one right, he turned the difficulty up a bit. Without realizing it, the boy had stopped thinking about anything else. There was no guilt, no nightmares, no rain, no memories of the alley. There were only the notes, separating from one another inside his head like pieces of a puzzle
"If you keep practicing..." Alfred remarked as he rested his hands on the keyboard "I believe that in time, you could come to recognize every note in a song just by listening to it"
Matt let out a small laugh. It didn't sound impossible. In fact, it sounded fun
He still struggled to separate three notes when they appeared too close together, and he was fairly certain that if someone played a whole piece, he would end up getting lost after a few seconds. But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to try. Not because he had to, or because it was part of some treatment, but simply because he wanted to
"Oh... look at the time" Alfred broke the moment with a kind smile "I have greatly enjoyed this time, young master, but I am afraid I must return to my duties"
He stepped closer and rested a hand on Matt's shoulder with his usual gentleness
"Should you need anything at all, do not hesitate to call me"
"Thanks, Alfred"
"It is always a pleasure"
The butler's footsteps began to move away slowly, muffled by the carpet, until they vanished down the hallway. The room fell silent once more
Matt stepped closer to the piano and carefully placed his fingertips on the keys. He pressed one at random
G
Then another
A
One more
C
Without realizing it, he began to trace the keyboard one key after another, smiling every time he managed to recognize one before the sound finished dying out. Little by little, he remembered the order in which they were arranged, and his hands began to move with a confidence he hadn't felt in weeks
But as quickly as the feeling arrived… it left
His fingers went still on the keys, feeling the cold, smooth synthetic ivory beneath his fingertips. The silence that followed felt strange after so many sounds. Just a few seconds ago, everything had seemed simple; the notes had an order, a logic, a place where they belonged
And then that feeling vanished
The smile dissolved little by little until nothing was left of it. A familiar pressure began to settle into his chest—slow, heavy, as if someone had left a stone on top of him. It was that same discomfort that appeared when, for a fleeting instant, he forgot everything and allowed himself to feel peaceful. It never lasted very long.
Because it always came back. Matt slowly lowered his hands from the keyboard and rested them on his lap. He felt a knot in his throat without knowing exactly how to undo it. It was as if a part of him were constantly whispering that something wasn't right, that he had forgotten something important, that letting his guard down was a mistake
He took a deep breath. The faint scent of the piano's polished wood filled the room. Outside, the wind made the tree branches creak ever so slightly, and in some distant corner of the mansion, a clock chimed another hour with a deep, slow sound
Everything was calm. And precisely because of that, Matt felt like he didn't fit in here. He didn't know how to explain why. It was just a persistent feeling, one that clung to him even in the quietest moments. As if there were something inside him that refused to let him rest
His fingers brushed another key without actually pressing it. He had enjoyed that. He had laughed a little. He had even felt curiosity, excitement… and now that very same thought made his stomach churn. He slowly closed his hand until pulling it away from the piano
He didn't want to ruin anything. He didn't want to become a problem for the people who had welcomed him with so much patience. So he stood up carefully and left the room in silence, guiding himself with his cane and the memory of the way back. Behind him, the piano remained motionless, waiting for someone to make it sound again
Matt kept walking through the mansion's long hallways, listening to the soft echo of his own footsteps fading between the walls, while that restlessness kept accompanying him without saying a single word