Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shouting. A man, strong but rapid heartbeat, rough voice- chain smoker, late forties. A woman screaming -no- sobbing. Crying as she shouts. 3 more heartbeats surround her. The familiar sound of a hand tightening its grip around an arm, like the sound of rubber. Certain clatters and bangs, a cat. Mice. Definitely in an Alley then, around three blocks over. His feet are moving before he even really considers it. Jumping from roof to roof, that’s when he hears it. A child. Crying. A child a block away. Kicking, scuffing. There’s a struggle. Stench and squeaking nearby. Also an alley then, closer than the woman. Maybe he has time. He doesn’t even think to count the heartbeats. He hears a child seemingly being abducted, he goes to save them. No hesitation. It was only once his feet had landed that he realised he’d made a mistake.
A loud clatter, metal against bone. He tries to focus his senses on the child. There’s a faint sound of child’s laughter, he realises he’s contorting his face in confusion. Why was his brain so confused? It had been fine two seconds before. There’s something cold and abrasive against his face. Was it raining? No? Oh. It was gravel. He was on the floor. This didn’t make sense. How was he on the floor? Why was he on the floor? Why couldn’t his mind focus on the heartbeats. What was happening to the boy?
An overwhelming scent of the same cheap cigarettes, Malbro if he had to guess. He shouldn’t be guessing. Why couldn’t his mind figure it out? How many were there? Was he still on the floor? Was he speaking aloud? Boots. Steel-capped. Cracking. Oh, now he gets it. It was an ambush. They were waiting for him to drop, not giving him a second to gather his bearings before a rusted metal pipe connected with his head sending him to the ground. Boots. Dirty. Cracking. They were kicking him. He still couldn’t figure out how many there were. He had to get himself up. The boy needed him. So did the woman. God, forgive him. He needed to get to them both.

His body was no longer registering the pain of each blow, he’s not sure if it did to begin with. There was something warm on his chin. He’d just spat out blood. Yes, that is what was happening. He was pushing himself off of the ground. He heard jeering, felt more kicks. But none of it registered. Not yet. Not when there were other lives on the line. He managed to get to his feet. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew why. He landed blow after blow, a cracked jaw, multiple cracked ribs. Was he somehow pulling this back to his side? He’d managed to take three of them down when the noise registered. A gunshot by his ear. Something warm. Was that blood? He didn’t know. He was even more disoriented than before. A touch to his ear. His hand. He brought it down before him, as if he could see what was on it. He rubbed his fingers. Copper. Blood. He touched it again, then more pain erupted. Then nothing.

*****

Ringing. Pain. He feels like he’s just been punched in the face. Maybe he has. He can’t tell amongst the rest of the pain his body feels having just been woken. Chains. Dense wood. Smoke. Heartbeats. He couldn’t make out how many. The ringing in his ears was too loud. He could smell them though. There was at least 6, no, 7 different scents. Three of them smelt like cheap cigarettes mixed with certain musks, two like whiskey, one like smoke- the fire not cigarettes kind, and one like... gas?
They were all adult males, late forties going by their heart rate. So the child wasn’t there. That was good, he hopes. Okay, time to figure out where he was. First, establish surroundings. The ringing was still too loud to pick out the particular sound waves, so he’d have to make a noise for it to work. Would it be worth alerting these people that he’s conscious? It’d have to be, there was more than himself on the line here. He had to think of the woman and child. Cough. It’s a small room. Blood went down his chin. Okay, so maybe he was punched? He faintly remembers the cold metal on his face. Wait, No, it’s a Big room, with metal shelves all around. He’s at the back nearby a wall. Storage warehouse then. It’s cold, but his body can’t decide between the shivers and the roaring heat the wounds are sending through his body. Laughing. Okay, so he did alert them. And he didn’t get as much information from the noise as he usually could have. But it’d do. He needed to get himself up. Feet. That’s what he needed to start with. Standing. His body was heavy, but he had to get himself up. Murdocks always got back up. He tried. That’s when he realised he’d been sat on a chair this whole time. Chained to it. Handcuffed? Okay, this could be easy enough. A blow came to his stomach, it felt like a baton? How in God’s good hell did these thugs get a hold of Batons of all things? Then the end of a metal baseball bat connected to his front, but he got up. He gritted his teeth, yelled, and the devil came through for him. He broke the handcuffs and was up. It’s then that he realised he’d been taped to the chair. Child’s play, even with the injuries still fresh from midlands circle. He back flipped onto the ground, breaking the chair and releasing himself. Everything was hazy. He could hear movement, voices, clattering, but he had to get free. He’d been here too long. What if it was too late for the woman? For the child? It was only then he’d thought about his mask. Had they seen his face? Was foggy and Karen in danger? He breathed heavily through his nose. Thick but soft material. He still had his mask on. Good. He wonders why they didn’t take it off, surely they must be curious. Maybe they think he’s an imposter, he is back to his black suit after all. Before his brain could answer him, more movement came. He was still on one knee and one foot on the floor after his landing. Quickly jumping to his feet, he swung a piece of broken wood from the chair, instantly incapacitating cheap cigarettes #1, and hitting whiskey #2. There was more sound from them, but all he could hear was the ringing in his ear. He’d forgotten about that. And the blood. He doesn’t even want to think about how he looked right now, Claire would be so mad.

He continued to fight, landing multiple hits, when another loud noise escaped by his ear, followed by another blow to his head, and once again, he was sent back down.

By the next time he’d woken, the heart rates of the men in the room were still foggy, but he could make them out. They were steady but racing with adrenaline. All conscious, and mad. Great. This time, he tried not to stir, to buy himself some more time. He needed to figure out his surroundings. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t hear a noise. Not a single damn noise. Panic. All his senses were jumbled, there was nothing put pain and a sharp ringing. More blows landed to him. He couldn’t even hyperventilate properly with all of the blows he was receiving. And he couldn’t escape. He wishes they’d just handcuffed him to the chair again, he could’ve easily broken them off, even in the state he was in now. But no, they’d used industrial steel chains and rope and duct tape. There was no way he was getting out of this. More blows. Only ringing. Was he crying? He couldn’t tell. The last thing he registered was the smell of gasoline close by before everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Today had started the same as every other day had for the past few months. Waking up, grabbing coffee, working back at the firm, distracting himself. Meeting up with Karen at Josie’s in the evening, drinking away the guilt. Losing Matt, losing him was one of the hardest things period. The guilt and the shame of being the one who took him his suit at midlands, knowing what he was walking himself into, but at the same time not knowing the full extent and letting him anyway. Karen keeps on saying that it’s not his fault, Matt would’ve gotten to the suit without him, nobody could stop a stubborn Matthew Murdock. And that’s what she clings on to. Too stubborn to die.

They both still pay his bills. Both meet up in his flat, check his mail. Foggy knows Matt is gone, he wants it to not be true, but he can’t deny what he saw. Midland circle collapsed, with him inside. According to Dany, he was in the basement. It all fell directly on top of him. “Protect my city”. That was as good as admitting his own death. But what if he could’ve stopped him? Was he alone? Did he feel pushed away? Could he have prevented all of this? Matt is gone. Neither he or Karen wants to believe it, but it’s true. He has to keep it together for Karen, and for his Family. God, (sorry matt), his family didn’t know. They knew Matt was missing, they didn’t know that he was dead or that he was Daredevil. He was basically part of the family, and he felt so guilty lying to his mom about it. It would break her to know the truth. So he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t bring himself to discuss it with Karen either. He wanted to talk to someone, but the person he usually would go to was gone. Matt wasn’t there.

*****

Later that week, Foggy continued his usual schedule. He got up, grabbed coffee and went to work. He met up with Karen in the evening, they went to Josie’s. They didn’t even talk about Matt much, somewhere in Foggy knew that Karen knew the truth, and she was only continuing her investigation so she didn’t have to admit that he was gone. But that’s when it happened.

“BREAKING NEWS. We are receiving a request to play live footage from an anonymous source, who claim to have unmasked Daredevil. The devil of Hell’s Kitchen was last seen some months ago, his whereabouts as since is still very unknown.”

Foggys eyes were as if he were a deer in the headlights. He had no idea what was going on. Daredevil unmasked? But Matt was dead. Had someone found his body? With his suit on? He knew he should’ve gone to look for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to see Matt in that way, his worst nightmare come to life. Was Matt’s body even recognisable? Or maybe it was a Hoax. Someone calling in pretending to be daredevil. Or someone who has plucked some poor schmuck off of the street. Before he knew what he was doing, Karen’s hand was grabbing his forearm that was laid on the table as his hand fisted his bottle of beer tightly and his voice was shouting for Josie to turn up the volume.

“Okay, we have just received the okay to play the live footage, but we have been sent a warning that viewer discretion is advised as there may be some scenes that could be found unsettling or disturbing.”

Foggy was worried. So was Karen going off of the grip on his arm and the watery eyed look they shared before turning intently to the screen.

Everything was black, before a red screen appeared with writing at the top ‘daredevilunmasked.com’, with a smaller window of all black in the middle filling up most of the space, the red acting as a sort of background or border. Then, the black changed. There was a man stepping back. A man in a balaclava. The warnings signs in Foggy’s head already going off. Karen shared a quick glance with him before gripping his arm tighter.

“Hello boys and girls”, seemed middle aged. As he stepped back, he revealed more of the scene.

“Now, This, well, you know who this guy is”, his hand gesturing behind him.

Foggy’s heart stopped.

As the man stepped back, he revealed another, fastened to a chair behind him. His brain immediately recognised it as Matt, in his old damn getup. That’s when his brain realised this must’ve been a copycat. The poor idiot obviously didn’t evaluate the risks before jumping into whatever this was. He wishes Matt would’ve too. Then maybe he’d still be here. Now, Foggy couldn’t read minds, but if he were to guess, going by the look on Karen’s face, he’d guess that she’s ecstatic but also scared right now, going from the look in her eye. She looks terrified, but there’s also a note of happiness. She really believes this is Matt. As if they both don’t remember the empty doorway as they waited for him to return alongside the rest of the team. The empty doorway that told them the idiot had gone and done it. And that he wouldn’t be coming back. He remembered the way both he and Karen sobbed and cried after that. He doesn’t blame her for wanting to be hopeful now. Even in the situation this person was in.

“And these, are my friends”, he gestured to more men, dressed in black, surrounding the figure in the chair.

“Come on in guys! Say hello! Yeah, yeah, there they are. Hello, Hello.” They all stepped closer so they could be seen by the camera. All in black and balaclavas, maybe eight of them in total? One holding a pipe, another a bat, another a gun. He couldn’t quite make the rest out from the video? Maybe a knuckle duster? He really wasn’t too sure, and he hated that he didn’t know.

“Now, Daredevil is gonna help us so we can show you why being a hero is a baaaad idea.”

Karen’s hand was still tight on his arm. He had a very bad feeling about all this. But they couldn’t stop watching.

“-Do you know what a Silent K is? That’s when K is at the beginning of a word, but you don’t pronounce it. Like in the word... Knuckle Duster. Show ’em what a knuckle duster can do guy.” The first blow connects to his face, yet he is not jolted awake. Instead, he coughs, and blood can be seen going down his chin.

Laughing.

“OH! That must’ve hurt! Let’s see it again from the other side! Go on!”, he sounds like a sports commentator. The grip on his arm seemed to have gotten together after the first blow connected to the poor guys face, and then again with the second.  ”-Ohhhh yeah! I think I did!” The man on the TV continued as the Daredevil impersonator was hit again but on the opposite side of his face. Foggy didn’t want to admit the striking similarities his build had to Matt’s. It was impossible after all, and he didn’t want to give himself false hope. So why did he feel exactly like he assumed Karen did whilst watching the TV?

“Now in France, they say the word Stick like this; ‘Batoooon’, We got some of Daredevils Batons! We’re gonna show you what they can do, go ahead boys!” A blow connected to the figures front. And back. And it kept on repeating. Two of the thugs were hitting him, one hitting his back and one his front. With his own, no, with similar to Matt’s weapons. That wasn’t Matt. And even if it was, they weren’t his. His are red, not black. And technically, they’re Billy Clubs.

“In America, we say stick like this;” a pause before “Baseball bat”.

“Good for hittin’ knees, hands”, but then something unexpected happened. As he tried to swing for the person. They got up. The bat connected to his front, but he got up. He wasn’t sure how, that kind of strength and endurance he’s only seen in one person before. But no. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

The handcuffs broke. The duct tape still had him connected to the chair, but a swift backflip soon changed that. He grabbed the broken arms from the wooden chair, and instantly knocked out one of the masked assailants with a blow to the head. He was fighting. Jesus christ, how could anyone in that condition fight. He really wanted to believe it was Matt, but he knew that if he accepted it was him, and it wasn’t, then he wasn’t sure if he could go through the pain of losing him again. But whoever he was, he was good. Matt levels of good. His fighting and endurance? Foggy couldn’t help but be impressed. Karen had a smile on her face. A wide one with tears in her eyes. Her grip still on Foggy’s arm. It’d break her when she realised it wasn’t him, but Foggy would let her have this moment. 

Then all of a sudden, a gunshot went off. He couldn’t tell if it hit him or not. There was a lot of shouting in the video from the men. But they all went silent after the shot. The man who they’d captured stilled, like Matt would when he was struggling to hear, and then one of the masked thugs took his pipe and knocked him out with a swift blow to the head.

“Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. At least we know that that really is Daredevil now.” He laughed. The rest joined in. The pit in Foggy’s stomach somehow went even deeper. The man speaking to the camera clicked his fingers, and two of the men instantly walked off of camera. The main thug remained smiling into the lens. Then, they came back. With a metal chair. The rest then helped in picking him up, putting him in the chair, and using various ropes, chains, and tapes to secure him to the chair. The used actual steel grade chains. Jesus. What were they planning? Nobody would be able to get out of there.

Then, the man started speaking again, but the camera cut off. The news anchor came back.

Karen and Foggy instantly looked at each other. He started speaking, something about it being too violent and disturbing to air; ‘distressing nature’ he thinks he heard him say but they weren’t listening. The words ‘live execution’ reach Foggy’s ears but he refused to hear them. Everything sounded like a blur. Before he knew it, he looked down to the table, Karen had let go of his arm and had gotten her phone out. www.daredevilunmasked.com open in her browser. The video was back.

He doesn’t even know how long he was watching it for before the man in the chair began to stir again. Foggy questioned how he wasn’t dead already with all the blows to the head. The men were laughing at him. The main one now walking directly to the one in the chair.

“Ladies... and gentlemen... I now present to you... DAREDEVIL!”

He ripped his mask off and- Jesus Christ! MATT?!?! He looked like death. His face was covered in blood and bruising. His mouth slightly agape with blood dripping from it as his head hung forward. But there was no mistaking, it was definitely him. His mind couldn’t even comprehend it, but he couldn’t stop watching. Because it was Matt. He was alive. And he was right there. They threw water over him, and he started fighting his restraints like crazy, like he was struggling to hear his surroundings, which Foggy wasn’t surprised by. He was growling, for lack of a better word. He was determined to be free. But he was also tired. Extremely tired. The video quality wasn’t great, it was blurry and grainy. But you could tell.

The man gleefully stepped back directly in front of the camera and pulled out a canister.

”-Kerosene! Yes! The silent killer!” Foggy’s heart dropped lower than he thought it could as the man then walked back towards Matt and spatter pouring it around him. This- this isn’t real. Right? It’s just a bad dream from an overactive imagination and too many drinks at the bar. This couldn’t be happening right now. It couldn’t-

“And this to all of you cavemen out there... is firee...” the man, pulling out a lighter whilst others behind him continued to pour the gas all around and on top of Matt.

“Fire. Fire is good. Fire is our friend” He walked over to Matt, holding the flame tauntingly by his face, probably thinking that the sight of it would intimidate him. He’s not done his homework then on who this is in front of him. It’s hard to make out with all of his blood and bruising anyways. Maybe that was a positive? Maybe his identity was still relatively safe, only, Matt himself wasn’t. And that pit was in Foggy’s stomach again, growing deeper. Like it hadn’t really left.

“You ready to see the Devil burn?!?!” He shouted sickeningly as if a sports commentator, with enthusiasm and joy in his voice. Without a moments hesitation, he flicked the lighter open, stood directly over Matt, and threw the lighter down. Karen’s arm instantly grabbed for his, pure shock flooding through them as they watched the scene unfold.

The man started to talk more, the others laughed. By all Foggy could Focus on was Matt’s shout.  His mind instantly going back to the only other time he’s heard Matt scream like that. In college, when he was having a nightmare. He remembers the names ‘Dad’ and ‘Stick’, his screams that he couldn’t see, and only that Matt refused to talk about it after, refused to acknowledge it ever even happened, and that they soon never mentioned it again. He was soon brought back to the moment when Josie was trying to take the phone. He doesn’t think she could tell who it was, just that they shouldn’t be watching it. If only she knew it was her injured friend, the one who she became a somewhat guardian for the boys over the years. But she didn’t seem to, or if she did, she hid and wore it well.

After what seemed like forever, he couldn’t hear Matt anymore. But the phone was still on and Josie’s face was unreadable. Foggy looked back down, fearing the worst, Karen’s grip like a vice on his forearm. Matt was groaning, but still alive. But the fire was gone. There was something black over him. Had they really just thrown a blanket to put out the fire? They had. And Matt was no longer on fire. That was good. But he didn’t like the implications of that, and right on cue,  the man came back to the front of the camera lens, head tilted and began talking again.

“You know... there’s not much fun in a short execution. I think the devil needs some lessons in torture.” And just like that, the man grinned manically through his mask to the camera, and the footage cut out soon after that.

Chapter Text

It had been 1 week, 7 hours, and 43 minutes since the video footage. It had been 4 hours and 39 minutes since the police made a statement, officially looking into the masked men. Since then, there has been no new footage, no notices, ransoms, or bodies found, Matts or the Masked Men alike. And it had been 2 hours and 12 minutes since her last Coffee.

Karen had been looking into this since the moment the footage cut out. It had aired around 11pm the week before and she was home by 1am, Foggy came with her. Begged her to get some sleep and he promised they’d look into it in the morning. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t sleep whilst that was still happening to Matt as they spoke about it. And neither could Foggy, despite his best efforts to convince her otherwise. It didn’t even seem as though he believed his own words when he told her that they’d have a clearer head and therefore more useful in the morning. Instead, they turned all the lights on, and Foggy put on a Pot of coffee. Karen was instantly looking at Warehouses and abandoned buildings in the area, as it was unlikely for them to be anywhere else. They didn’t speak to each other for the rest of that night.

Karen knew that they probably should talk, but what would she say? ‘Oh hey, I know we just watched our best friend, who we both saw get crushed by a building months before, just get burned alive and tortured by some thugs, but how are you? What’s the weather like?’ No. Even saying it in her head started conversations in her psyche that she didn’t like. How long has they had Matt? Had they found him after Midland circle? Has he been chained up all this time? No. Unlikely. She went back there when Foggy wasn’t with her, she searched as far as she couldn’t within the four hours she managed, there was nothing. Most of it was taped up. But the areas she did manage to get close to, absolutely nothing. Just rubble and debris. A whole lot of destruction and not a lot of hope. Meaning he somehow got out of there, maybe before it fell? He did have a lot of injuries, but it would be hard to tell unless she saw in person wether they would’ve been caused by a building collapse or from being abducted and tortured. Even then, it’d still be hard to tell without a professional opinion.

That night, they both silently searched the Internet. Foggy was looking at comments online making sure nobody figured out who he was by connecting the Missing Matt with the Missing Daredevil and that footage and that they wouldn’t have to worry about that, whilst Karen looked at every single piece of information she could find online about buildings nearby and possible locations.

It was now a week after that first initial night. There were no new leads in location, but it was good to know the police were officially looking into it. She knows what they’re like, and if a vigilante is involved, they’re likely not to be.

It was later in the day, when both Karen and Foggy were working the investigation out of Matt’s Apartment. Their initial plan was to work out of the offices, but as neither of them were no longer working there, the next best place was Matt’s. Both to serve as a constant reminder of who they were doing this for, and so that they wouldn’t have to eat, sleep, and live in the same headspace, in the same place as the investigation. This however, proved quite useless when the both of them stopped going to work and started living out of Matt’s apartment to carry on the investigation.

However it had already been a week. Foggy could only call in sick for so much longer before his pay and his job got cut, and they both had their own homes to take care of.

It was around around midday when Karen decided to lift herself out of the nest of newspaper clippings, online forums that she’d printed and go home to freshen up. She was still in the same clothes she’d been wearing for the past two days, her regular black pencil skirt, short black heels and a white blouse, with tights and a jacket. She shrugged on her coat and locked Matt’s apartment door with her spare key. Foggy must’ve left earlier without her realising.

As she was walking down the street, she realised people looking at her. Noticed the whispers. It could’ve all been in her head. But then she got a call from Foggy.

“Karen! Where are you?!” He sounded desperate, scared even. He was definitely panicking.

She ducked into an alley and stood behind a dumpster, hopeful that nobody could see her.

“I’m just walking back home, why? What’s wrong?”

“Good-  D-Don’t go back to Matt’s. Wait, do. I’ll meet you there and explain everything. Just please hurry” and then he hung up.

She could sense the stares and whispers even more now, although she was still sure she was just being paranoid. Still, it didn’t stop her from rushing back to Matt’s. She had a thousand questions, such as, why was Foggy so panicked. It all made sense when she got back to Matt’s.

Foggy was already there. He was pacing rapidly. He looked panicked and worried and scared. He was mumbling to himself. Then he saw Karen. His eyes lit up, in both relief and even more panic. Seriously, what was his problem?

“Help me get all this out-“ he was starting to shove all of their investigation, their hard work, all of the papers and files, frantically into his briefcase, causing all sorts of folds and creases on their otherwise near-pristine work.

“They know.”

“Foggy-“ She began in a soft and placating tone, taking a step closer to him. “What do you- who knows what?”

“They- they- someone had the footage! Someone physically recorded it! Some super secret online group looked at it almost frame by frame. They know it’s Matt. We can’t go to the office, someone already tagged the door. ‘Death to the Devil’. I-I don’t know what to do. W-wh-what if the police knew and had been sitting on this? They had to! If an amateur online group could figure it out, then the NYPD definitely could. Th-“ he was frantic and rambling. She had no choice but to cut him off. It took her a few moments as her brain was struggling to process what he was saying, but she has to take control here, it was clear foggy was losing his.

“FOGGY!” He instantly stopped rambling and looked up at her. Tears brimmed in both of their eyes. “It’s okay- take a deep breathe. We can figure this out.”

He looked up. His eyes said everything. But how? How can we? We don’t even know what this is. Matt is being held, god knows where. The police definitely knew it was him and aren’t doing anything. Not to mention, my god, MATTS ALIVE, despite us seeing him die. Not only is he alive, but we haven’t known for months and have no idea what happened to him in that time. And feeling like we want to yell at him because how dare he let us think he’s dead when he’s not. But then getting angry at ourselves for knowing there would’ve  been a good reason and he deserves the benefit of the doubt and it’s unfair to hold it against him. People know Daredevil is him. People want him dead. Is this why the police haven’t done anything? What about the defenders? They were friends, weren’t they?

Her thoughts were spinning at a mile a minute. She needed to stop and breathe, they both did.

And so, they shared a look. A look that communicated everything, that everything they felt and were thinking was mutual. And they got to work, packing away anything incriminating towards Matt or themselves, without sharing a single word. They knew that if they spoke, that they wouldn’t be able to stop. They’d spiral. And right now, a job needed doing. If someone found their workplace, someone can find their home addresses. It was crucial that they scrubbed any evidence from their lives before they could even allow themselves to think about this situation anymore.

*****

Around seven hours later, both Foggy and Karen found themselves in a Motel room, all incriminating possessions with them also, in their shared room. The conditions weren’t great, but they could be worse too. They both had a single bed each, running water, they had a kitchen area and sink and fridge, a TV and two small armchairs. It was definitely not the most clean, but they needed somewhere where it was less likely for people to go looking for them, so a nice and fancy hotel was out of the picture.

With nothing better to do, and wanting to prolong the inevitable conversation that they had coming, they decided to turn on the TV instead. They had initially meant to talk as soon as it was safe to, but after they had put it off, it got harder and harder to find a place to want to start. And so, they didn’t.

Of course, the first thing that came on the TV was a new station. The anchors were of course talking about the video and Daredevil, however, they did happen to mention something interesting. The fact that a lot of people don’t believe Matt is Daredevil. People were questioning how a blind man could fight, and the fact that Matt hasn’t been seen in Hell’s Kitchen for months. The fact that he’s a lawyer, so why would he support vigilantism. And also, the fact that Daredevil kills, and Matt is a known Catholic. Of course, they didn’t know that Matt never killed. And of course they don’t understand the intricacies of his mind and why he does things, Karen doesn’t either. But she doesn’t have to, because she understands enough to support her friend. They also brought up the fact that Daredevil could be anyone else and even went through an extensive list. Of course, for the most part they weren’t taking it seriously, even one of them saying jokingly that “he could be Captain America’s darker alter ego”. But this was a good thing. It meant that Matt wasn’t condemned. It meant that they all still had hope, and that it was becoming just one strand in a larger conspiracy web, and that not many people were taking the ‘Matt is Daredevil’ claim very seriously. That was good for Karen and Foggy, and their business obviously. And good for Matt. But it was also dangerous for him. Maybe putting a name to the face would help find him. Rescue him. But she didn’t have time to dwell. She needed to get to the bottom of where he was and who had him. And now that there was an alleged saved video of the footage, maybe if she and Foggy combed the footage enough, it’d help place exactly where he was.

And so, they got to work. Still evading their conversation that seemed to be at any moment imminent.

Chapter Text

Matt wasn’t sure how long it’d been. The last thing he remembers was searing heat. And the feeling of screaming, although he could recall no sound. And he still couldn’t. Sound was still evading him. He was scared. Terrified. Yes, he couldn’t see, but he had never been truly blind until now. He’d only felt like this once before, when Frank shot him. Oh yes, that explains it. He recalls being hit around the head- a lot. So why wasn’t he dead? Or maybe he was, and this was purgatory; complete darkness and silence. Trapped physically and emotionally, with only his thoughts.

But then he felt it. A sharp upper-cut to his jaw. Definitely with knuckle-dusters. This wasn’t good. But he couldn’t fight back, he had absolutely no sense of his surroundings, and the only thing he was sure of was the constantly pain, fear, dread and anxiety that continued to pile, and drown him. He felt stuck, buried under an avalanche with no way to dig himself out. He was suffocating. Was he back at Midlands circle? He felt like his lungs were crushed. He felt multiple lacerations on his body. He could feel the new cuts being made on his arm, only briefly noticing that his mouth was moving. Was he screaming? He had no idea, and no way to control himself. And so, he distracted himself with his thoughts. However, that wasn’t much better. Okay, so he wasn’t at Midlands, although it sure felt like it. The bone cheering sense of loss. Maybe all of this would be okay if he had Elektra. She would know what to do. However, she wouldn’t be weak enough to let this happen to her in the first place. That’s when he heard Stick in his head for the first time in a while, “Come on Matty. I trained you better than this. You’re a soldier, so get up and fight. Don’t show them weakness, don’t have a weakness. You disappoint me. I knew you weren’t worth it.”  The words felt like a punch to the gut, although he’s pretty sure he would’ve preferred that over the repressed words that seemed to have resurfaced along with the resurfacing and subsequent death of Stick that happened months, if not, weeks prior. He was getting side-tracked. If he wasn’t dead, that meant that they don’t intend to kill him, at least not yet anyways. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel, happy? Angry? He wasn’t sure. But he did know that he had to keep fighting. Stick was right. He heard him again, taunting him. “You look so pathetic right now. Come on Matty! So what you can’t hear?! You have other senses, use em!” And he was right. He could smell. He could feel. He could taste. He was trained well. He could use this. He could feel them cutting into his skin and, nope- not getting into that. He now remembers why his brain was currently trying to block out that sense. But it was okay, right? He still had Smell and Taste. He could make this work, whatever this was. And whatever working was in this situation either. He could do it.

Okay, so. Taste. He could definitely taste copper, no doubt his own blood. Yes, the smell supported that too. He could smell sweat. A lot of it. Most likely a lot from him, but also, three other distinct variants of pungency. That was the best indicator that he was going to get. There was currently three others, besides himself, in the room that he was in currently. If he let himself feel for a moment he could gauge how many were close and how many were far away.

Extreme searing pain. Heat. Looks likes the blades were put away. This definitely felt like he was being burnt with a molten poker. Okay, so one next to him, the other two far away.

Stick reminds him that he’s being cowardly, that he’s taken his presence out of his body for too long. He had to get back in there and fight. And so, he did. Everything hit at once, everything that could anyways. It felt like an immediate overload, although he could still feel the overwhelming loss of his other senses underlying that sudden flood of pain. Pain. That’s all he felt. But pain could be used for Good too. As Father Lantom always told him, ‘God puts the toughest trials on his strongest soldiers’, this was being put on him, because he knows he can overcome it. He must take this burden so it isn’t placed on someone unfairly. It’s his responsibility, and he can get himself out of there. He has to. God wouldn’t have put him here in the first place if he didn’t think he couldn’t make it out. Or maybe, God doesn’t care. Maybe he left a long time ago. Maybe he’d a sadist who likes to watch him suffer. But Matt knew that he couldn’t dwell on this, he’d have to make time for it later, meaning he had to prioritise on escaping as for right now.

He used his pain, used it as a fuel, igniting his anger. He struggled against whatever had him held down. He struggled, hard. He pulled against his restrains, but they were too strong. Stronger than him. How pathetic that something made by man could beat him so easily. He still tried to struggle, but this only seemed to make his situation worse. The person in front of him, with the presumable poker, seemed to fall straight into Matt due to his struggling, and it went straight through his scapula. Fighting was useless, it only made things worse. He’s pretty sure he screamed again but he wasn’t sure. The next thing he knew, he was out cold once again. This seemed all too sempiternal for him, giving into the relentless abuse his body was suffering and the safer embrace of the darkness, allowing it to cloud him. He felt safer here. In his small corner of nothingness, away from his body and his mind. Away from the world and everything in it, with only blissful darkness to be his reprieve.