Chapter Text
He woke to silence.
He wasn’t even sure he was awake, at first. He had never heard silence, not since he could remember anyway. Every moment since the accident had been filled with sound, even if it was only the sound of his own heart and lungs.
He had often longed for silence.
But its sudden absence after decades of noise was far worse than those fleeting moments when he had wished for peace and quiet. Now the world around him was nothing. No shifting images in his head, no world on fire, just endless black.
He gritted his teeth, chest tightening, fingers clenching around nothing. This was not happening. This was not happening. It was some nightmare, praying on his worst fear - that something else would be taken from him, and he would be left truly helpless.
His cheek, below the mask, was pressed against asphalt.
This was not a dream.
Slowly, he pulled his hands underneath him, and pushed himself up. Pain shot through his leg and side. He was sure he made a noise, but could only feel the vibration of it in his throat and chest.
He reached out beside him and found a wall. Brick. He leaned against it for a moment, the sharp ridges poking uncomfortably into his back. Everything hurt.
He tried to slow his panicked breathing, concentrate. He could still smell, he could still feel vibrations. He could still tell something about the world around him, he just had to calm down and concentrate.
Vibrations through the ground, stronger on the right, irregular. Vehicles driving down a busy street.
The - frankly disgusting - scent of the alley had not changed, aside from the addition of what might have been smoke, nearly dissipated. He was still where he had been before… before… whatever had happened. It was fuzzy. A flash of crackling heat and pain, a bang like thunder, and then nothing.
But he knew where he was. Whoever had attacked him - or had he attacked them? - Had simply left him alone. That was something.
He reached for the phone in his pocket. He’d get a lecture, again, but Claire was his best chance.
The movement sent fire through him, muscles spasming as he tried to get it under control. He clenched his teeth and tried not to make a sound, though he wasn’t sure whether he was successful.
He finally got the phone out, shaking.
And it fell apart in his hands.
He leaned his head back against the brick, breathing deeply, taking stock. A wound in his right thigh, deep. Right shoulder nearly out of it’s socket, ribs aching, scrapes on his cheek and arms, all on the right side. He must have been thrown against the brick, hard.
He stood slowly, leaning heavily against the wall.
Stop. Concentrate.
The air was still cool and damp - still night. Hopefully not too many people around. Hopefully those that were would take no notice, just assume he was a drunk stumbling home for the night. He rolled up his sleeves and pulled off the soft gloves - as painful as it might be to feel his way along a brick wall with nothing to protect his hands, he had to be able to tell as much about his environment as possible, pick up on every vibration and change in the air.
He pulled off the mask, fumbled with the knot, and let it fall. Just a piece of fabric now, nobody need know the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been there.
He limped forward, stopped. He raised a hand to his face. No good wandering around looking like he’d just been beat to crap if he didn’t want to draw attention. He wiped away as much blood as he could on a sleeve and hope he didn’t just leave a smear.
Leg next. A lot of blood. Nothing he could do about it but hope the black clothing and the darkness would hide it.
Now pick a direction. If he was correct, then three blocks to his right was the office. With a phone. He could call Clair. No way of knowing if she had actually answered, but it was something.
But, shit, what if Foggy and Karen were working late? Foggy, as a general rule, didn’t work a moment longer than he had to. But if Karen decided to stay, which she often did, he would’ve too, pretending to do work so he’d have an excuse to make sure she got home safe. He didn’t want them involved. Not that this was something he’d be able to hide from them for long, but still, he didn’t want them to see… this.
To the left was his apartment, but that was farther away. A lot farther away. And across a busy intersection.
He wasn’t even sure he’d make it to the office. He definitely wouldn’t make it to his apartment.
He’d have to risk it.
He crawled along slowly, waited at the first street for the vibrations of a car to die away, unsteadily crossed with nothing for support, not even sure he was walking straight. Tripped over the curb - he’d veered way off course - and barely managed to stumble forward enough to catch himself against a wall.
Two more blocks to go.