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Matt had convinced himself that he was going to find Victoria, and he was convinced that nothing would stop him.
A broken femur? No problem. Punctured lung? Easy peasy to deal with!
However the four other people who knew about Ryder weren't letting him off so easily.
Claire flat out refused to let him put any pressure on his leg. She stole a pair of crutches from the clinic, and gave a nasty glare to Matt when he tried to move without them. The other Defenders agreed with her, which only added to Matt’s annoyance.
The morning after pizza, Matt went down to church for Sunday mass, if only to hear Maggie and Lantom. The familiarity of the pews calmed Matt, even with a hidden bandage suffocating his thigh.
After mass, Maggie found him resting in the pews, leaning on his crutches like he normally would with his cane. When Maggie sits down next to him, Matt keeps his head forward and clenches his jaw. Just because he wanted to hear her doesn’t mean he wants to have a conversation with her.
He’s not too keen on talking with her since he found out about their shared history , but Matt can’t ignore his mother forever. Especially if he goes to the church where she works.
Maggie gives a soft sigh before she speaks. “You can’t stay away from danger, can you, Matthew?” Matt doesn’t reply, and Maggie takes it as an invitation to continue. “Do I get the pleasure of knowing what happened?”
“A woman was taking children.” Matt replies curtly. “She is taking children. I didn’t - I couldn’t - stop her.”
Maggie takes a deep breath in, but doesn’t reply. Matt feels her small hand on his good leg, and doesn’t shake it off.
“I know where she’ll be next week-”
“Matthew.” Maggie scolds, putting pressure on his leg. “You can’t walk, and God knows how many other injuries you have. You can’t go after someone like this.”
Matt gives a weak scoff. “What choice do I have?”
“That detective friend of yours, can’t you tell him?”
Matt shakes his head, defeated. “It’s not as easy as that. I don’t have enough proof.”
“But you have enough proof for yourself?” She pauses, but Matt doesn’t take the bait. Maggie eventually takes her hand off of her son’s leg and sets it back in her lap. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t like seeing you hurt, Matthew.”
“Me neither,”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
Matt stands and pulls his crutches underneath his arms. “I’ll see you next week, Sister.” He leaves without giving her a chance to convince him to stay.
When he’s passed the threshold of the old church doors he hears her whisper, “Bye, Matthew.”
Matt takes a cab, and trudges up his stairs to his apartment.
It smells like Karen.
His old mail smells like Karen’s hand lotion, the same kind she used when they had first met.
She switched scents a few weeks ago.
Matt shakes the thought out of his head and heads to the couch, haphazardly resting his left leg on the arm rests. It’s starting to ache, the last of the drugs from the past couple days wearing off.
Claire had been unhappy but unsurprised with his decision to avoid pain medication. That didn’t stop her from wasting her energy trying to get Matt to at least take a bottle of T3’s, even if he won’t use them.
They weigh a million pounds in Matt’s jacket pocket.
After kicking off his shoes, Matt pulls a blanket off the floor and sleeps the rest of the drugs away.
He dreams of Elektra, of her heartbeat, of her scars, of her breath. He dreams of holding her in his arms.
He dreams of buildings falling.
Matt wakes with a start, lungs aching and heart pounding. He scrubs a lazy hand over his face and eyes, trying to forget his past.
His blood pumps around his chest, and Matt’s breathing catches in a gasp.
Something doesn’t feel right.
It’s the same thing that didn’t feel right when he first woke up, but the drugs have been flushed through his system and it’s still here.
Something in his chest isn’t right.
Matt can hear his breathing pick up, going from brisk to racing.
Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong .
Matt’s hands fumble around until he untucks his shirt. Fingers line up around familiar scars, until they find the one that’s new.
Yesterday Claire put his hand there, let him know that she had to do internal stitching.
But that’s not what he’s feeling.
Something else is there.
No, something else is missing.
Both hands palpate the left side of his rib cage, despite his body screaming at him to stop. He knows he’s hyperventilating, but only because of the lightheadedness.
Matt presses down around the incision, and stills when he feels it.
On his left side, his sixth rib isn’t right.
It’s too short.
He hears the blood flow around it, he feels the blood flow unnaturally.
A piece of his rib is gone.
Not just that, a piece of his rib is gone, and he didn’t realize it until now.
Matt presses down harder, determined to feel everything.
When he presses down against his fifth rib, his body convulses and he turns to the side as he coughs uncontrollably.
The copper in his mouth tells him that he’s hacking up blood. He unconsciously wraps his arms around his middle, and waits until he can breathe again. Matt forces himself to take deep breaths, but that just gives him an in to hearing his rattling lungs.
He knows he should call Claire, he really does. But she’s already done so much for him.
Matt can deal with this by himself.
And he does.
When he takes his hands away from his side, they come back slippery and coppery.
Matt groans when he hobbles on his crutches and retrieves the first aid kit, and curses when his fingers drop the needle once, twice.
Luckily Claire decorated him with interrupted stitches, so he doesn’t have to redo the whole wound. Matt re-sutures about two inches of the wound, and he doesn’t need vision to know that his look like shit compared to Claire’s.
Matt doesn’t bother to put the kit away afterward, instead leaving it open on the coffee table, dirty needle beside it.
For the rest of the day, evening, and then early night, Matt stays on the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin. He tries to rest, tries to meditate, but nothing comes easily.
When the clock hits 1 AM, Matt’s had enough.
His brain is buzzing with activity, even if his body disagrees.
Matt doesn’t bother putting on shoes, doesn’t even bother tucking his shirt back in.
Dried blood cracks off his palms when they hit the rubber of the crutches, but Matt ignores it. He shuffles up the stairs to the roof access, and takes a refreshing breath when he takes in the outside world.
This city is screaming and bleeding, but it’s home.
Matt sits down and lays his crutches behind him, even though he wants nothing more than to toss them into the alleyway beside him.
He scoots to the edge until his legs are dangling off, and just. Sits.
Matt sits.
He listens to the city.
He hears the people cry for help, knowing that he should be out helping them. His throbbing leg shouldn’t hinder his job.
Matt tries to block it out, and tries to focus his hearing to anything regarding The Hand.
It doesn’t work.
Matt continues the pattern of sleeping and working out when he gets bored in the day, and then listening on the roof by night.
By Thursday, Matt pulls out his stitches and places clean gauzes on top, satisfied when the wounds only bleed a bit.
He takes hesitant steps without the crutches for the first time, and his leg is on fire.
But, it doesn’t collapse.
And in Matt’s fucked up sense of self-preservation, he’s healed.
Which is how he finds himself being yelled at on Friday afternoon.
“There is no way in Hell that you’re going out,” Claire starts, and Matt can feel the anger dripping out of her voice like an overfilled glass. “You have broken ribs, a broken leg, and don’t even get me started on your insides,”
“Claire-”
“No!” She snaps. “Matt, I fucking held your lung together. With my own goddam hands, as you fucking died underneath me! God- I,” Matt can hear wet in her voice. “Goddammit Matt, I’m not, I can’t , deal with this again.”
Fabric shifts, skin against skin. Luke is hugging her, and guilt rips apart his already fragile insides.
Alcohol stains the air when Jessica takes a swig from her flask.
Seconds pass, seconds that turn into minutes.
Finally, Matt breaks the silence. “I died?”
Jessica is the one to answer. “Yeah asshole, you died. That’s what happens when you drown in your own blood.”
Luke adds in, “I, uh, cracked another one your ribs keeping you alive. Hope you don’t mind.”
Matt gives a shaky laugh in response.
“Listen,” Jessica starts, “Just tell us where Ryder is going to be meeting, and we’ll handle it.”
Matt wants to refuse, he wants to prove his worth, but fuck his leg is on fire, and he can tell that Claire’s seconds away from crying again.
“Yeah.” He swallows. “She’s meeting, to transport kids, down at the docks.”
“Transport kids? ” Danny incredulously asks.
“C’mon Danny, you know how The Hand works.”
Jessica mutters a “Jesus fuck,” at the same time as Luke’s “Sweet Christmas.”
Matt swallows again. “You should probably go now. Y’know. Before it’s too late.” Everyone hears the unspoken, ‘Before I come with you’.
“Yeah,” The three of them leave through the front of the apartment door with a sparring glance to Matt and Claire.
Matt listens to their steps down the staircase, and when they couldn’t be heard by a normal human he starts, “Claire,”
“You should probably sit down, Matt.”
Matt nods and slumps down onto the couch. “I’m sorry,”
“For what?”
“For dying?”
Claire gives a wet laugh. “You can’t apologize for that. You just, you just, can’t.”
“Oh. Er, thank you.”
Matt can hear her nod. “You’re too stubborn to die, Murdock.”
He can’t help but grin. “I’m starting to get that.” They spend a few moments in silence before Matt asks, “So, roof?”
“What?”
“We should sit on the roof. It’ll help me hear better.”
Claire gives him a look even he can’t decipher, but she sighs in defeat anyway. “Follow my lead.”
The odd pair sit on the roof, a bit too close to the edge for Claire’s liking, legs stretched out in front of them.
“Can you really hear the docks from here?”
Matt nods. “Yeah. ‘S not too far away.”
“It’s three blocks.”
“Not too far away,” Matt parrots, effectively ending the question.
They sit in silence for about fifteen minutes, until Matt’s head suddenly jerks to the side.
“Matt?” Her heartbeat picks up along with her respiratory rate.
“Something’s wrong,”
“What’s that mean? How wrong?”
“I don’t…” Matt trails off, shifting even closer to the edge of the building. “There was fighting, coughing, and now there’s just… Not.”
“Maybe they won?” Claire tries, but both know that it’s weak.
Matt shakes his head. “I have to go.” He’s stopped by Claire grabbing his shoulder.
“Hell no.”
“Claire, they’re in trouble.”
“You can’t even walk on that leg correctly-”
Shrugging off Claire’s hand, Matt unfurls his body to standing. “I need your scarf.”
“K’know, Jessica specifically warned me about this,”
“Claire,”
“I can’t let you go running out there!” Her statement is accompanied by tossing her hands up in disbelief. “You’re barely alive. You want to make it up to me for saving your life? Then don’t fucking go out there. Call the police,”
“I can’t do that. Scarf, please,”
Claire stands her ground. “No.”
A clenching jaw is all Claire gets in anticipation before Matt reaches up and takes her scarf. He’s out on the fire escape before she can even react, the last words on his lips, “Forgive me, Father,”
The stinging pain from Matt’s leg and chest isn’t enough to atone for his sins, but it sure as Hell helps.
Matt blocks out Claire’s voice to focus on the numerous voices by the docks, but her anger still reaches him.
His chest is scratchy on the inside, making every breath scorching hot. Matt wills his heart rate to slow, but his chest makes it impossible. Setting one hand on his side, Matt focuses.
Light heartbeats, light but fast. Very fast.
Kids.
But they’re incased by aluminum, making all of the beats echo. It’s impossible to tell how many they have. Every noise bounces off the walls to make two.
Focus.
More heartbeats. Heavy and slow. Not confident-slow. Unconscious-slow.
Matt knows those heartbeats.
With Claire’s scarf knotted on his scalp, he crawls down from his air conditioner nest and makes himself walk without a limp. The short fifty, maybe sixty feet trip could be a marathon if his labored breathing was any indication.
Once he’s closer, Matt can hear metallic objects on the floor, and a quick kick reveals what he feared. Medium cylinders litter the floor, all empty, but Matt can smell the residue of muscle relaxants.
Stick made sure he knew what that scent was.
The kids are closer to Matt, and after a few quick bashes with an old cylinder, the shipping crate creaks open, kids scattering like cockroaches in the light.
Unsurprisingly, they make a shit ton of noise, alerting Ryder of his position. Matt smells Ryder’s perfume before she makes herself visible.
There are at least seven guns trained on him, but Ryder’s hand goes up, and they lower their weapons.
“Not looking so hot, are you, Daredevil?” Her voice is icy cold, withdrawn from any emotion. “I can’t imagine what that could be from, now could I?”
Matt hears quiet steps hide behind one of the crates. The heartbeat belongs to Claire.
Keeping his face stoic and without letting his hands stable his excruciating chest Matt answers, “Why are taking kids?”
As if tired of answering this exact question she simply states, “They’re pliable. Easy to manipulate.”
Matt only makes it two angry steps forward before the guns are once again aimed at him.
Ryder laughs. “Now now, there’s no need to get bitter.” Matt’s surprised she has a heartbeat. Then again, he supposes you can have a beating heart without a soul. “I”ll come with you,” She says, dramatically putting her wrists out as if he was going to cuff her.
With little subtly, Matt grabs the side of his chest to alleviate the pain.
“However I truly doubt you’d even be able to get to me without collapsing, isn’t that right?”
Matt doesn’t answer. After all, lying is a sin.
Ryder gives another callous laugh. “But I’ll give you a choice anyway,” Keeping her own smile trained on Matt, she speaks to her guards. “You can put the guns down, boys. As for you, Daredevil , here’s your choice:”
Matt flicks his head to the side as metal against metal scratches the inside of his ears. One of the crates is being moved over the Hudson with a crane.
“You can catch me, get all your vigilante justice, or whatever helps you sleep at night,” Matt clenches his eyes shut when his breathing pinches something inside. “Or you can save your friends.”
Claire gives a sharp intake of breath, and Matt can only hope that Ryder doesn’t hear it.
And then Matt’s ears pick up on scraping metal.
“No, no,” The heartbeat of his friends are suspended high up from the crane. They’re still heavy and even.
The crane opens with a groan and the shipping crate drops with a monstrous splash into the river.
Ryder keeps her wrists out. “So what’ll it be?”
Matt gives out an animalistic, “No!” but the exertion on his lungs causes him to fall to a knee on the ground.
Matt can practically hear her smirk. “Thought so.”
Mind controls the body.
The mind controls the body.
The mind controls the body.
Take a step. Take another one.
And take.
One.
More.
Matt dives into the Hudson, frigid water swallowing him whole. He rips off Claire’s scarf, and tries to ignore the water blocking his ear drums..
He feels the ripples in the water, circling them like a crocodile. The crate is sinking.
Fast.
Swimming up to the surface to grab an extra breath, Matt’s forced to use his good leg to get any power. He breathes hot coal into his lungs, and dives back under.
Left leg laying limp at his side, Matt kicks open the crate, wondering why the water burns so bad when it should be doing the opposite.
Finally, the damn thing opens, and Matt hooks an arm around the nearest body. Danny.
Getting back to the surface feels like the longest journey Matt’s ever been on, but he does it for Danny. When his head breaches the surface he lifts his shoulder up high to get Danny’s to do the same.
“Matt?”
His head turns toward the sound. “Claire,” He confirms with a shaky exhale.
There’s a deep breath in and a splash. A few moments later the weight is taken off his shoulder with a confident, “I got him.”
Matt doesn’t bother with a response, just dives back under.
Getting to the crate this time is infinitely more difficult.
His legs feel useless, now the only thing bringing him power are his sluggish arms.
The pain pierces its way into his heart. Surely he’s been stabbed again.
He reaches the crate, and hauls the other two Defenders on his arms, sides, hips, anything.
He forces his legs to kick with enough force that would make Stick proud, but they aren’t going to make it. Begging for oxygen, Matt’s lungs spasm, trying to force him to open his mouth for precious air. All of his brain power is used to sew his lips shut.
Finally his head reaches the surface. Matt tips his head up, his nose and mouth the only things above the water.
Each beautiful breath hurts as bad as Nobu’s hook, and each exhale is a reminder of the blood Nobu left.
Weight is taken off his left side, and Matt doesn’t even know if it’s Luke or Jessica, or who is taking them from him.
Matt lets his eyes droop shut, but a shout from someone flicks them open again.
Distantly, Matt can hear someone asking him, begging him, to just help, to just hold on for a little longer.
Seconds, minutes, days, a year has passed when Matt’s toes find rocks. An arm pulls him up, and he collapses on the smooth rocks, head barely above where the waves crash.
Claire’s talking to someone, or maybe to no one, about something, or maybe it’s nothing.
He’s slapped when his eyes flutter closed.
He hears cursing, and then relief after coughing.
More cursing, and he’s turned onto his side, his own leg acting as a kickstand for the rest of his body.
He’s slapped again, but his eyes stay closed.
More cursing, but it’s through a snowstorm.
More yelling, and it’s through a foam pad.
More coughing. It could be from someone new, or it could be from Matt.
He can’t really tell.
(Don’t tell Stick.)
When it becomes too hard to breathe, he slips into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.
**
“Stay down.”
Matt blinks a few times, as if that will help clear his senses. “Mmm?”
“I’m not stealing more stuff from the hospital for you. Stay the fuck down.”
“‘Re?”
“What?”
“‘here?”
“Matt, you’re back at mine and Luke’s apartment. You can’t move right now, okay?”
“Mmm.”
It’s Claire. He’s talking to Claire. That makes sense.
She sighs softly. “You need rest, okay?”
“‘M awake.”
“Sure you are.” She says with a scoff.
Matt tries to swallow but gags instead. “Others?”
“They’re okay,” Claire says. “They’ve all woken up at least once. No more water in their lungs anymore.” She pauses, presumably looking around the room. “Just sleeping off some drug.”
Matt loosely grabs for Claire’s hand, and she completes the contact. “You took my rib.” Is all Matt can muster up.
He can hear Claire’s hair along her shoulders as she shakes her head. “Out of all the things, that’s what you want to tell me.”
“T’was mine,” Matt argues.
“Yeah, well, your beloved rib was in your lung, so I didn’t have much of a choice. Go back to sleep Matt.”
Can’t argue with that logic, can he? “‘Kay.”
**
When Matt wakes again, he takes stock of his surroundings. Jessica, Danny, and himself are all laid out on the ground, covered in blankets like a bad slumber party.
Claire is sitting on the edge of the sofa and Luke is laying down next to her.
“‘Laire?”
“Oh, shit,” Claire says, before gently getting of the couch and coming to his side. “Don’t move, Matt.”
“‘Urts to ‘reathe.”
Claire pets his hair. “I know, I know,” She soothes, “You tore up your insides again. Just take deep breaths.”
Matt opens his mouth to respond, but never gets there. He nods off with Claire’s hand in his hair.
This time when he wakes, Claire and Luke are unconsciously cuddling on the couch, Jessica is sprawled out next to a few bottles of beer, and Danny is curled up underneath a few hundred blankets.
Matt gingerly picks himself up off the floor, testing the strength of his leg.
He can walk, assuming he takes shallow breaths, and “walking” actually means “hopping”.
That’s good enough for Matt Murdock though.
He nabs a few dollar bills left on the counter, and puts on his soggy shoes.
After the door clicks behind him, he listens to make sure everyone’s breathing and heart rate hasn’t changed.
As he “walks” down the stairs he hears Jessica whisper, “Claire’s gonna be worried sick when she wakes up. What kinda dick leaves a sleepover party in the middle of the night? Dick.” She adds for extra emphasis on the fact that he is, in fact, a dick.
Matt smiles as he gets into the cab.
“You alright, sir?”
The cabbie’s voice takes him out of his head. “Hm?”
“I said, you alright? You don’t look so hot.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
The cabbie doesn’t sound convinced when he asks, “Alright. Where to?”
“Clinton Church."