Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hell’s Kitchen was never quiet.

Each night the neighbourhood burned a fiery cacophony of screams and swears and fights. But the muggings, the petty thefts, all the little loud crimes were much easier to stop than the quiet, patient silence of a plan long brewing.   

Daredevil tilted his head, furrowed eyebrows hidden behind the mask as he moved closer towards the docks. The abandoned warehouse nearby was said to be the centrepiece of this long brewing plan – all courtesy of Kingpin.

Matt didn’t know what was inside the warehouse – hell, he’d only just barely found out it existed. But Wilson Fisk had been quiet for too long, and Fisk’s silence was just as dangerous as his rage.

So, Matt stalked a few people, listened in on some conversations, beat up just a few thugs for answers. And the trail led here.

There was always something brewing within the Kitchen. Always a group of hired goons to fight. Always a villain-of-the-week, or a nemesis concocting a plan. Every time, Matt would be there to fight. He’d crash into a full house of thugs, take out the muscle, derail their plan and escape.

He’d do it again today.

...Except maybe he wouldn’t.  

Hell’s Kitchen was never quiet.
But the approaching warehouse was.

Matt landed on the roof, feet silent as they padded against metal. A steady hum thrummed from inside.

He didn’t hear the footsteps of dozens of guards, nor the overlapping rhythm of heartbeats.

Instead, there was one solitary heartbeat… a beat somewhat familiar. The vibration in the air was distracting. His ears tingled from the sensation, refusing to focus on the individual inside and he grimaced.

Was there only one guard? Or was this someone else? Maybe, this was a trap. Or maybe Fisk had grown complacent with his plans.

Both were unlikely. If Wilson Fisk wanted to trap Daredevil, there were far more satisfying ways to do so.

Slipping inside through the rooftop hatch, Matt stayed in the rafters, tilting his head to pinpoint the location of the individual.

The humming was louder now, concentrated in the middle of the room where a large looming machine was stationed. All curves, it was an eerie figure of a circle – a ring broken only by the sharp edges of the control panel that jutted out from its side. It thrummed, calling out to him like a siren.

The heartbeat too, was clearer now – strong and jagged and recognisable.

Matt dropped to the ground in a huff and growled the name.

“Deadpool.”

The heartbeat spiked and a pair of footsteps stepped out from the shadows. There it was, the scent of gunpowder and dried blood unmistakable. Wade Wilson stepped forward with arms wide open for a hug, and a grin no doubt plastered across his face.

“Sweet Jesus in latex. Is that really you Double D? I think I just peed a little. Spiritually.” Deadpool slung an arm around Daredevil’s shoulders, grip tightening when he tried to step away. “What’re you doing creeping around an empty warehouse, hornhead? Not a good place to jack off, trust me. It’s unsanitary.”

With a growl, Matt jabbed Wade in the stomach and stepped away. “Why don’t you answer your own question, Wade?” 

He nodded towards the machine at the centre of the room, focusing on the weird vibrations emitting from it. The hum swelled, rattling the edges of his perception. It was in the air, the floorboards, in between the gaps of his teeth.  Unnatural. “What is that thing?”

“Well... I’m afraid I can’t say, Bugaboo. Just know that it’s not anything important, and that even if it was, I’m here to take care of it! So, you can just go on ahead. Go home and sleep under those silk sheets of yours. Rub one out while you think of me.”

Wade waved a hand, motioning him to leave.

Matt clenched his jaw in frustration. Wade ‘taking care of things’ was just the problem. Him being here just spelled bad news – as all things with Wade did. Whatever this machine was, the merc would ‘solve’ the problem by shooting it, or better yet the people behind it.

Not responding, Matt walked towards the machine.

Immediately, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Tilting his head up to the ceiling, Matt murmured a prayer for patience. “Deadpool. Move.”

Wade sighed dramatically and shifted in place. “No can-do buddy. I’m being paid to stand guard here, and the big boss gave me just a few rules. Number one? No touchy. So, respect its no-no square and step back pookie. Consent is sexy.”

Matt grunted in annoyance and flipped Wade onto the floor. “So, you do know what it is?”

“Not a clue!” Wade chirped as he bounced back up. “But I know I’m getting paid a buttload to just sit here and make sure no one touches it, so I don’t really care about what the big hunk of junk does.”

The rush of air was unmistakable, and Matt dodged the punch sent his way. Inhaling, he kicked at Wade’s knees instead.

“Who hired you?”

“Again, not a clue!” Wade grunted as Matt’s billy club cracked against his shoulder. He threw a few knives in return. “You don’t look a gift job in the mouth. You just say yes and sit and shove away any fellow freakazoids who want a sneak peek at the goods.”

Matt groaned in frustration, moving close and elbowing him in the face. “It was Kingpin. He hired you.”

Wade paused. “Wait, really? He beat me up that one time. The asshole… But he’s also paying me loads this time so… forgive and forget, that’s what your fandom says right?”

The press of soles against floorboard prepared him for the tackle, but Wade was fast enough to still pin him down anyways.  “Cmon, DD, I’ll give you five bucks from my payout.”

 “No, you won’t.” Matt growled. His hand searches the assassin’s lower leg and- there. Matt draws out the knife from its sheath, stabs it into Wade’s thigh and twists.

Yelping, the assassin curls away with a hiss. “Jeez, can’t you just stab me normally?”

When he looked up again, Matt was already limping towards the machine. Cursing, Wade pulls the knife out of his thigh and throws it in the devil’s direction.

“No touchy, asshole!”

The knife whizzed through the air, slicing across Matt’s calf and he staggered.

“Wade, damn it. Fisk is just using you.”

“I know that silly!” A harsh kick connected with Matt’s ribs. “That’s what a job is. This job just happens to have a sick payout.”

A resolute crunch rang out as Matt’s fist smashed against a masked nose.

“Ow! Why would you- ugh. Now I need to reset it.” Wade hissed in pain, grabbed the horns on Matt’s helmet and shoved down – his knee slammed right into Matt’s face.

Grunting, Matt wrapped his arms around Wade’s waist and leaned backwards, suplexing him straight to the floor.

“It’s Fisk. The payout isn’t worth whatever he’ll do with that machine and we both know it.”

Tumbling away, Wade shook his head and reset his nose with a rough jerk. Matt got back into stance, fists raised, looking from Wade back to the machine which was only a few feet away.

Wade paused. Held a hand up like a traffic cop. “Wait, let me think.”

Matt waited. He’d seen this routine before. 

Rubbing his masked forehead, Wade turned away from Matt. “Group huddle guys, c’mon.”

He started murmuring to himself, words too quiet for any normal person to hear. Matt of course heard them clearly.

“What do you mean the hornhead’s got a point?”

“Yeah but, money.”

“Shut up, White. I’m financially responsible, I only gamble till I win. Sometimes.”

“…Jeez, even I wouldn’t do that Yellow.”

“Nah, I think we can trust Double D a bit for this one.”

“Yes sure, he’s crazy. But not as much as us.”

“…Speaking of, is this conversation interesting enough for you Red?” Looking over his shoulder, Deadpool aimed his middle finger at Matt before switching to a finger heart.

Matt didn’t answer, guard still up.

“Okay look, devil. Here’s the deal.” Wade gestured to the machine, tone all business as he walked towards it. “We take a look at the giant mood ring. You figure out whatever the hell it is. If it’s an end-of-the-world premium deluxe package, we destroy it, and I sell the scraps for money. If it’s just some weirdly shaped money printer or pie maker, I kick your ass out and collect my pay check. Capiche?”

Matt stepped past Wade, ignoring his sarcasm in favour of running his fingers over the machine warily. Wade leaned against it casually, idly tapping a leg. “Say yes or I’m gonna have to skewer you and send you to daddy.”

“...Fine.” Matt growled, moving Wade out of the way so he could run his fingers over the control panel lightly. He paused as his fingers ran over the set of buttons. “Wade.”

“Yes, master?”

“Do you see anything? Any writing or symbols that tell us what these buttons do?”

Cracking his knuckles, the merc stepped forward. "See? This is why you need me, Bats. I'm your peepers."

"Wade?"

"Yes, papa?"

"Just look at the damn control panel. And enough with the bat jokes."

"Aww, but they make so much sense! Plus, they're on theme for this fic."

"…What?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie pie." Wade started playing around with the buttons. "There's no text or instructions by the way."

Matt tensed. "Pray tell, why are you pushing the buttons then?"

"It's a little philosophy I follow called fuck around and find out. So many colours and buttons, one of ems gotta do something.”

"Wade. Stop playing with that." Grabbing his wrist, Matt pulled his hand away from the dial.

"Lawyers. You're all so boring." Wade grumbles, then promptly goes silent. "Oh wait, there's a start button."

"What-"

Wade moved to press the button, and Matt moved to stop him but it was too late. The button was smashed, and it stayed down in place.

There was silence.

And then...

Nothing.

"Ah, what the fuck." Wade sighed and jabbed the button. He watched deflated as it popped down, stayed still for five seconds and slowly rose again. He pushed it down again. "Anti-climactic much?"

"It doesn't work."

"So, you're telling me I got hired to babysit a broken piece of scrap?” Wade groans. "Christ on a chopstick. Easy job, but I kinda feel duped. You make a guy feel important and then break his heart."

Matt frowned and ran his hand along the sides of the machine as if he'd find some secret hidden away. "No, that doesn't make sense. Why hire you? Why all this chatter about the warehouse if it doesn’t even do anything?"

"Don’t cry hubby, he tricked the both of us." Wade said, leaning against the console and poking the start button again. "He probably hoped I'd kill you, and he'd get his happily ever after. Too bad he doesn't know we're secretly in love and ready to give each other hea-"

"Shut up, Pool."

Matt sighed, stepping away, eyes instead looking at the platform at the machine’s centre. The click of Wade’s button pressing grated against his ears. "Stop touching the button."

Wade conceded, lifting his arm up in faux innocence.

Stepping onto the elevated platform of the machine, Matt walked inwards. He ran his hand against the inside arc of the circle with a frown. The ever-persistent hum had now grown louder. Yet the machine didn’t even work. Maybe Fisk knew that a slight humming was all it took for Daredevil to stay and investigate.

He tensed. "Wait. Shit. The real machine is probably somewhere else and working. You're the distraction.”

"That fucker!" Wade said, slamming his fist against the control board. He glared at the start button. "You're a lil fucker too."

He angrily pressed down on the button one more time, knowing it wouldn’t work.

But this time the platform lit up beneath Matt's feet.

The humming reached a piercing crescendo and Matt flinched.

"Wade, what-" He started, but the words were cut off. The light from the platform flashed bright.

Wade winced, closing his eyes from the burn of the flash.

When he opened them, the light was gone. So was the humming. So was Matt.

"…Shit.” Wade murmured. “Guess it wasn’t a fake-out after all.”

Chapter Text

The city roared against his ears as Daredevil came back to himself.

He was on his knees on the platform. The distant lapping of water against wooden piers echoed in the background. The machine’s hum died down, sparks flickering as it powered off and took out all the electricity in the building with it. Lights shattered in a burst; the steady drone of a ventilator fell silent. Racing heartbeats pulsed around him. Copper and sweat and adrenaline hung heavy in the air.

Daredevil tensed.

Tilting his head, he took in the room. Eight heartbeats. Seven carried guns. Tightened fists and hands reaching towards pockets made it clear. They weren’t friendly. He should knock them out before things turned for the worse.

He launched forward, landing atop the nearest man’s shoulders. With one hand, Matt jammed his fingers into a pressure point; with the other, he threw out his billy club and knocked another man unconscious.

The first man below him crumpled unconscious and Matt jumped off, caught the returning billy club and now hurled both at the two men drawing their weapons.

One’s gun was knocked out of his grasp while the other took a solid hit and dropped. The first man hissed, shaking his hand from the impact, and Matt followed with a flurry of punches that sent him down as well.

A bang echoed through the room. A bullet grazed Matt’s arm. Matt ducked and spun, delivering a swift kick to the woman who had been moving to shoot him in the back.

She grabbed him, arms tightening around his waist as if to throw him backwards. Matt pushed off before she was ready, sending them both crashing down, and then knocked her out.

He took her gun, unloaded the bullets, and tossed the magazine at the next attacker. The man dodged, and Matt cursed under his breath before hiding behind a wall of crates as another woman opened fire.

Whipping out his billy clubs, Matt listened for the man’s position and threw one out. It knocked the gun right out of his hand, and Matt seized the moment to round the wall and tackle him down. The man slowly sank into unconsciousness and Matt moved to stand - but the press of metal behind his head stopped him.

“Don’t move.”

The lady’s voice was firm, with an undercurrent of fear.

She seemed to be piecing together what to say, heartbeat slowing down slightly as Matt stayed still and listened. Good.

He ducked to the side, and she reacted a few seconds too late. The gunshot rang out, a good foot away from his ears – but for him that was far too close to begin with.

The kind of ringing that followed a bad fight with the Punisher crept in. Matt grimaced. Time to end this.

He tackled the woman, pushing her to the ground.

“Who are you?” she gasped, breathing raggedly as she tried to reach for her gun – too far away to grab.

He grinned, baring his teeth. He almost enjoyed this part.

“The Devil.”

Moving forward, he delivered a sharp blow to her temple. She went limp.

Only one more person remained. He lifted his head, tilting an ear to the corner of the room where the last man cowered – the only one without a gun.

“Please,” he whimpered. “I didn’t want to be here. Please let me go. I’m innocent.”

His heartbeat read like a polygraph.

Daredevil tilted his head towards the door, granting an unspoken allowance.

The man seized the chance and fled.

He wasn’t innocent. He didn’t want to be there - that was the truth. But his heartbeat painted a half-lie when the man spoke the word ‘innocence’.

Daredevil should have chased him down, demanded answers, refused to let him get away. But Matt’s ears were ringing too loud, and he needed... an escape. He needed quiet. His breathing turned raspy and shallow.

Then came the rev of a motorbike. A new heartbeat approaching the warehouse.

No. He wasn’t in the state for another fight right now.

Jumping onto the rafters, he found the rooftop hatch that he’d used to enter.

Where had Deadpool gone? The question lingered in the back of his mind as his ears screamed, and a black-and-blue clad stranger stepped inside. Daredevil closed the hatch quietly and fled off into the night.

The skyline was unfamiliar.

Unknown structures shaping the city pressed in around him, and familiar sounds now curved around buildings in odd ways – not wrong, just different. The roads twisted in ways he didn’t recognize, a faint smog whispered against his nose. Even the salt in the air tasted foreign. This was not Hell’s Kitchen.

But there was no time for that.

Darting across rooftops, he headed towards an old, rotting building. A slight pungent smell invaded his nose, the outward decay clear even at night, and the lack of humming electricity bringing forth an eerie silence. Still, the quiet heartbeats from squatters inside told him the building was not completely abandoned. That was fine. He just needed an empty room for the night.

Climbing into a vacant room near the fire escape, Matt leaned against the wall, sinking down into a corner, knees brought up to his chest and ears covered by his hands. He reminded himself not to scream like last time.

It wasn’t as bad as when he’d lost his hearing because of Frank.

Nowhere near, in fact.

But the ringing was still overwhelming.

Curled inwards, he sat there for a while, waiting for it to die down.

When it finally did, he slumped against the corner, exhausted. His body slipped into unconsciousness before his mind consented. Hell’s Kitchen would wait for his return tomorrow.

The screech of tires against metal made Damian glance up, eyebrow raised. Nightwing slid to a stop on his bike, then smoothly hopped off and approached the boy at the Batcomputer.

Planting his hands on his hips, Dick regarded Damian silently. His eyes flicked from the boy’s casted arm back to his face, as if waiting for a confession.

“What is it, Grayson?” Damian leaned back, glaring at his older brother.

“You know what it is, Dami,” Dick said, sighing and running a hand through his hair in exhaustion.

“Last I checked, you’re injured and supposed to stick to monitor duty. You’re lucky we even let you down into the Batcave to begin with.”

Damian scowled, confusion flickering across his face as he spoke. “Yes. And I agreed to stay in the Batcave, so I do not understand why we are having this conversation.”

“The warehouse Oracle called about - the one with the weird energy readings. I got held up stopping a mugging after I left the Batcave to check it out. By the time I got there, all the thugs were already knocked out. You and Alfred were the only ones in the cave when the alert came through… I know you snuck out the second I left and took them on yourself, Dami.”

Damian gaped. “I have been here the whole time!”

“Damian.” Dick sighed, tired. “I know we all snuck out when we were younger, and you’re just doing the same. But your arm needs time to heal, baby bat. You were being reckless.”

“You’re not even listening to me-!”

“Master Damian has indeed remained here the whole time, Master Dick.”

Dick looked up and saw Alfred descending the stairs, carrying a tray with a few mugs.

Alfred motioned for Dick to take one, then gestured toward Damian, who huffed but accepted one with a small nod of thanks. “I only just left to get hot chocolate about three minutes ago. I doubt the young Master could have gotten to the docks, taken on those thugs, returned, and changed in that time.”

Dick frowned, taking a small sip of his drink. “I see...” He looked down at Damian, smiled apologetically and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “I’m sorry for not listening, Dames.”

Scowling, Damian moved out of the way. He shot Dick a sharp look before delivering a soft kick to his knees, pushing him away. “May this be a lesson of trust for you, Grayson.” Huffing, the boy took his mug of hot chocolate and squeezed past them and walked up the stairs.

Dick grimaced.

“That went well…”

Alfred let out a light chuckle. “Young Master Damian just needs some space.” Frowning, he looked at Dick searchingly. “But the warehouse had already been dealt with, you say?”

Dick nodded. “Everyone was knocked unconscious, but the energy readings Oracle received came from this machine at the centre. I don’t know what happened exactly, but it seemed like they were testing the machine, and it blacked out the whole building.”

“Then perhaps it was the machine that incapacitated them?”

Dick shook his head.

“No, there were signs of a fight. A few bullets were fired too. I’m thinking whoever it was took them down and had to leave in a rush. I called Bruce and let him know about the machine, so he and Cass are checking it out right now.”

Alfred hummed in consideration. “Is there... a possibility that this may have been Master Jason’s doing?”

Dick bit his lip. “Ah… I should have thought of that.” He tapped a finger against the rim of his mug. “I wish he’d come home Alfie.”

Alfred smiled tiredly. “Don’t we all, Master Dick.” He rested a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, young master. I’m sure all will get better soon.”

“Will they, really, Alfred?” His eyes creased with a weary smile and Alfred smiled back.

“We can only hope.”

Looking up towards the stairs leading into the manor, Alfred’s eyes gained a slight twinkle. “For now, however, I suggest you talk to the other little brother who is... upset.”

Dick laughed softly. “Right. Thank you, Alfred.”

With one last nod and a light squeeze to Alfred’s shoulder, Dick headed up the stairs.

Alone now, Alfred settled at the bat computer and slid an earbud in, tuning into the team’s comms. He listened to them discuss the machine, mind wandering.

Alfred hoped this wasn’t the start of something big.

But in Gotham, hope like that rarely lasted long.

Chapter Text

The morning after felt like a hangover.

His senses returned slowly, one by one, and with them came an overwhelming sense of wrongness that tinged through his very being.

This was not Hell's Kitchen.

Matt didn't know where he was.

Somewhere in America, probably. He recalled the woman’s accent from yesterday. New Jersey, maybe?

But it was too distinct. Too different. That couldn't be right.

He needed to leave. To get back to Hell's Kitchen. God, hopefully Wade hadn't blown anything up yet. And Foggy and Karen were probably wondering why he hadn’t shown up for work.

Was it even time for work? What time was it?

He needed to get outside. Walk around. Get his bearings. Then figure out how to get back home.

He could borrow a phone off someone and call Foggy.

...Maybe not Foggy.

Would Karen stay calm about this?

...Okay, not Karen either.

Whatever. He'd figure that part out after figuring out where he was first.

Matt looked down at his red suit. First things first, it was time for a change of clothes.

And he should look at his wounds. 

The fact that he hadn’t bled out overnight was a good sign. None of the cuts felt that deep. Perks of having such a well-tailored suit. Thank you, Melvin.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to double check.

Tilting his head, Matt listened for nearby heartbeats. He’d chosen a floor with almost no other people squatting there so he was fine to go rummage around the other rooms. Surely there were clothes left out here somewhere.

Sure enough, he came across an abandoned room that someone had been squatting in days ago. A pair of torn shoes reeking of damp mould sat by the door, and a pile of clothes – most tattered and ripped – lay in a corner.

Scrummaging through, he came across a t-shirt his size that was only slightly frayed. He hoped it was just a normal shirt, free of any conspiratorial graphics – God forbid the Punisher incident happen again.

Paired with some cargo pants he found lying around, it was enough to pass by without drawing attention. As for the shoes… the smell was a bit too nauseating for him to deal with. His own combat boots would do just fine.

Matt climbed out the window and dropped into the alley as discretely as he could. He’d stashed his suit under some floorboards and made sure the door to the room was locked from the inside. He'd come back for it later.

Walking out of the alleyway, Matt’s fingers lightly ran over the walls of the buildings he passed, pretending to use them as a guide.

Anyone looking at his eyes would know he was blind. But without his cane, it was a bit difficult to figure out how to go about this. He missed his glasses. He missed the familiar tap-tap-tap of his cane. The rhythm grounded him, helped his senses focus and hone on what was going on nearby, instead of being pulled in every direction at once.

Now, without the cane, everything screamed out to him. This was a foreign city, and his senses drank everything in like a thirsty madman.

Right. He needed to figure out where he was.

The aroma of coffee and light baked goods wafted from his left and he followed it. Cafés had nice people, right?

He approached the door, timing it just right so that he’d walk in just as a woman inside stepped out.

He wavered, eyebrows raising as he tilted his face upwards. “Ah, I’m very sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Foggy would have rolled his eyes at his little self-joke if he were here.

But Foggy wasn’t.

Instead, the woman let out a quiet “oh”, pausing for a beat as she took him in. The contemplative silence passed just as quickly as it came.

“It’s quite alright. I think I should be the one apologizing.”

Matt tilted his head, offering her a charming smile. “Well, maybe as an apology, you could answer just one question?”

“Hm? It’s not my number, is it?” She stepped aside so that they wouldn’t be blocking the doorway and turned to him. “I’m afraid I don’t give it out to strangers, no matter how charming.”

Matt let his eyes widen slightly, then shook his head with a wry grin. “No, although I’m sure you’re absolutely beautiful.”

She chuckled at that, and he continued. “No, I just wanted to ask... where exactly are we right now?”

“Oh! We’re right in front of Pamela’s Café, in the financial district, hun.” She tilted her head at him, short hair brushing against her nape as she assessed him. “Lost, are you?”

He chuckled, faking an embarrassed expression. “My ah... friend decided to play a prank on me and dropped me off here without my stuff. We were heading back home after a trip, but the man thought he was hilarious, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t consider anyone who did that to me a friend after that,” she snarked, although none of the annoyance seemed to be aimed at him. “But back home, huh? Don’t suppose I’m wrong in assuming you’re not from around here?”

He smiled warily. “No ah, I’m from Hell’s Kitchen… I was hoping you could enlighten me on what city we’re in, in fact.”

 He heard the woman inhale sharply, then shake her head slightly. “You’re in Gotham, hun.”

Matt internally furrowed his brows, trying to place this unknown city, but the woman continued before he could spiral.

“If your friend wanted to pull a prank, he should’ve picked somewhere safer. Like Metropolis. At least then Superman would’ve heard you yelling. God, even Star City would’ve been a safer bet.”

“Gotham, right...” Matt felt his heartbeat pick up at the cascade of unfamiliar names. “Remind me how far from Hell’s Kitchen that is again?”

She let out a breath of laughter. “You’re in New Jersey, so it’s a good hour away. You’re not drunk, are you?”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, just… disoriented.” Nodding his head at her, he flashed another charming smile. “Well, thank you for humouring me. I’ll never forget your face, or well, voice. Have a good day.”

He turned to leave but a hand curled around his elbow, stopping him. Turning his head, he faced her direction again. She’d moved so quick and quiet, and now they were much closer than before.

Petting his elbow, she spoke, amusement lacing her voice. “Honey, if you think I’m letting you go off into the streets of Gotham without a wallet or the faintest clue where you are, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“I didn’t realize I was speaking to a saint.” He said lightly, although curiosity tingled within his mind. He didn’t sense any ill intent from the woman, but it wasn’t often someone was so willing to help a stranger.

“Oh, you’re not,” she replied wryly. “But your friend’s an ass, and you’ve clearly been mugged as well. This is obviously your first time in Gotham, and you don’t have a clue where to go. You’ll end up dead by sundown if you try winging it.”

Right.

“So again, you’re just a good Samaritan that I happened to pass by?” he questioned as she guided them past the café and towards a car.

“Oh no, hun. You just seem fun. Entertaining. And frankly, I’ve been bored these days. Let’s get you some better clothes, to start off with.”

“So, you’re a rich socialite with enough time on her hands to take in strays?”

That made her laugh for some reason. “Something like that.”

They got into the car and Matt shifted in his seat.

“Not that I don’t appreciate all this,” he said, “but I don’t exactly have money on hand right now to pay you back.”

She waved a hand dismissively, giving the driver a location before turning back to him.

“I’m pretty good at reading people, you know,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. And you? I can tell you’re a charmer by trade. Lawyer?”

His eyebrows raise, for once not part of an act. “Correct.”

He felt her grin in the silence that followed.

“Nice to see I’ve still got it,” she murmured. Leaning forward, she tapped his shoulder lightly. “You have a pretty face, and a sharp mind. I have an invitation to a gala, and no partner. I buy you the suits, you accompany me and smile and wave. That is the price of my help.”

Matt tilts his head appraisingly. He had figured she was upper-class, in a sense. Her shoes were branded, the rings on her fingers seemed thin but elegant, and her leather jacket was of a pristine high quality. But a gala?

“I’m honestly... at a loss for words.” He admitted, letting a slightly depreciative laugh fall from his lips. He wasn’t sure he had time for all this. He needed to get back to Hell’s Kitchen and fast. Whatever Kingpin was planning wasn’t good – and it wouldn’t wait around for Matt to get back.

But Gotham? He didn’t even know where he was. There was no Gotham in New Jersey – not one he knew of. Sure, if it were a small town hidden away somewhere, it would be plausible.

But this was a looming, large and widespread city. There was no Gotham in New Jersey, yet... here there was clearly a Gotham in New Jersey.

And a Central City.

And a Metropolis.

And... a Superman? Was that meant to be a superhero name? A bit on the nose.

He had a nagging feeling he knew what had happened – the multiverse wasn’t a new concept, after all. Spidey shared enough personal anecdotes for him to stop questioning things like this. But the fact that Kingpin had access to such tech… a worse omen couldn’t be made.

Maybe it was a good idea to take the rich lady up on her offer. He’d gain some footing and get a chance to do some snooping before he jumped to conclusions.

Matt really hoped this wasn’t an alternate universe.

He was a street level hero, not an Avenger – and for good reason. He never wanted to deal with space or intergalactic wars. Sure, he’d help if called upon, but he was only human. Put Tony Stark in this situation, and he’d build his own machine and travel right back – probably cure cancer while he was at it. Hell, Peter had enough experience with the multiverse; maybe he should be the one here instead.

It was probably a good thing Matt got sucked into the portal instead of Wade.

Ridding his mind of the thought, he turned back to face the woman. “Why do you need a partner to this gala anyways? Can’t you just go alone?”

“If only,” she said wistfully, crossing her arms. “It’s a Valentine’s gala. Showing up alone on a day for partners is enough to get all of high society talking. And I don’t like it when they stare. I’d rather join the conversation on my own terms, instead of having to field question over question about why I’m alone that night.”

“Ah, the woes of being rich,” Matt said with mock sympathy, flashing her a smile to show he meant no harm.

She snorted, shaking her head. “There are far too many creepy old men at these galas. It’s a game of cat and mouse, and I much prefer not to be the mouse in this situation.”

Matt sobered, nodding in understanding. “So, I come with you, and their attention goes elsewhere.”

“Yes.”

“And then you…?”

A beat of silence, then a tilt of the head. “And then we do nothing, hun. Wallflowers. I’m assuming you know the role.”

She was a good actor, but her heart gave her away.

“Ah, well, I just feel like I’m getting the better end of the deal if all I have to do is stand around. I thought maybe you wanted help with something else too?”

Selina smiled. “A bit of shopping won’t do my bank account any damage, don’t worry. I like buying new things. So really, I’m not doing much on my side either.” She brushed some lint of his t-shirt and leaned back. “I just need you to help keep up appearances… and maybe act as some eye candy. I’m winking at you, by the way.”

A short laugh tumbled out of him despite himself.

She wasn’t quite telling the truth, but he hadn’t felt any contempt during their entire conversation. He didn’t fully trust her yet, but this gala now felt like a bag of cats he itched to open.

Matt smiled. “Well then, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Great,” she smiled wryly. “I guess introductions are due then, partner.”

He tilted his head in acquiescence, thinking up a name that would work as an alias without jumping too far from what he was used to. “Matthew Michael, or Matt. Whichever you prefer.”

Yes, sure. He’d used better aliases. But already a stranger to this city, he didn’t quite want to be a stranger to himself as well. He wasn’t here to start a new life, and his name was the only thing he had as a solid connection to his world – other than Daredevil – so he’d keep as much of it as possible.

“Matthew,” the woman smiled, and for a moment, he was reminded of Elektra. “It’s a pleasure to properly make your acquaintance.”

She extended a hand, and he grasped it. Her lips parted into a smile. “My name is Selina. Selina Kyle.”

“Nice to meet you, Selina.”

Just in time too, it seemed, as their car pulled to a stop and the driver opened the door. The rest of the world seemed to rush back in.

Stepping out, Matt was greeted by sleek glass walls and the posh smell that often accompanied shops he’d never dare set foot in.

Selina tugged him inside.

It must have been an hour or so of suit fitting. Trying on fabric upon fabric itched on his nerves, the material threatening to turn overstimulating. But what had Wade said about gift horses?

These suits were crisp quality and changing out of the tattered clothes and into something that more resembled what he usually wore was a relief. Not having to worry about the price was an even bigger relief.

Stepping out of the changing room, he let Selina appraise him one last time. She hummed appreciatively, apparently having a keen eye for these sorts of things. “This one fits you pretty well, Matthew.”

“I like it as well,” he said with a smirk, adjusting the collar and smoothing a hand down the fabric. He’d been told it was a dark grey. Probably not quite as close to his usual suits, but still, the fabric itself was quite comfortable.

They walked out of the shop after the transaction. Matt held a bag with his suits on one hand, and Selina’s hand wrapped around his elbow on the other.

“You know, I kind of miss my old t-shirt.” He told her wryly and she laughed and shook her head.

“Hun, you were wearing a Condiment King t-shirt.”

Matt paused. “That’s not a villain of any sort... is it?”

Selina tsked, lolling her head from one side to the other. “A villain... now that’s a strong word. No, I would call him a ruckus at worst, but not a villain.”

He hummed in understanding and walked alongside her.

“So, where to next, partner?” Selina asked. “Shoes? Maybe you’d like a watch?”

“Honestly,” he said with a tilt of his head and a smile. “I think I’d like to get a new cane and some glasses first.”

She inhaled, berating herself. “Oh, of course. I don’t know why that didn’t hit me earlier.”

“It’s okay, Selina.”

“You can tell me that after we get you your stuff. Come on, I know a place nearby.”

By the time they’d gotten everything ‘important’ the air had turned cold, and the sun had nearly set. Matt held onto a few bags, following Selina as they entered her apartment. Selina held a duffel bag that she’d bought for him in her own hand. For him to keep all his new possessions in, she’d said.

He’d need it too, considering the load of things they’d bought within the last few hours. Alongside the suits, he’d also been given two new pairs of shoes, a few sets of casual clothing, a black scarf, a jacket, a watch, and an air respirator mouth mask ‘in case of any toxin attacks’.

They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but it was getting increasingly harder not to do so when it came to Gotham.

Going into the guest room Selina showed him to, Matt arranged everything into the duffel bags and then changed into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. The bag, despite holding almost everything they’d just bought, still had quite a bit of space left. It even had a pocket on the inside in case he wanted to separate anything - the perfect place for his vigilante suit once he’d gotten it back.

Speaking of which.

He needed to get that tonight.

Walking out into the living room, he planned to get it once Selina had gone to sleep for the night. A cat rubbed against his legs, purring slightly and he leant down to pet her.

“Matthew, I hope the bag was enough to hold everything we bought?” Selina asked from where she stood near the dining table. Another cat lay curled around her feet, and when Selina shifted slightly, he hissed as if personally offended and moved to lounge on the sofa instead.

“Yes. Thank you again, for all your help,” he told her, adjusting the glasses on his face. This new pair was, apparently, not too different from his old ones. Round with red lenses, the only difference was that the temples were a pitch black instead of the gold his old pair was. Not that it mattered to Matt, who’d circled from red and black, to red and gold every time he’d broken his glasses before.

Selina nodded at him, motioning to the chair next to her. When he just stood there, she paused before clearing her throat slightly. “Of course. Come sit with me. Dining table, two steps to your left and five steps forward.”

He followed her instructions, pleased to see her measurement of steps was just right. Pulling the chair out softly, he sat down.

“You’re not vegetarian, are you? A friend of mine sent over some lasagna this morning, and I’m afraid that I haven’t made anything else for dinner because of it.”

“No, lasagna is fine,” he said while accepting the cup she handed to him. “Wine?”

“Mmhm. Need to simmer down after today.”

Smiling he nodded at her and took a sip as she sat down.

Selina waited for him to take a bite out of his food before she leant closer, hands folded atop the table. He felt like he was back in Hell’s Kitchen. Karen had often trapped him like this after all, lowering his guard with the guise of lunch, and then when he’d taken a bite, she’d dive into the ‘i-think-daredevil-should-take-better-care-of-himself-don’t-you?’ questions or the ‘hey-maybe-dont-turn-the-punisher-in-when-you-catch-him-in-the-warehouse-tonight’ proposals.   

“So, just as a small heads up,” Selina spoke, and he raised an eyebrow, preparing to be blindsided. “The gala is tomorrow.”

He blinked at her, taking a moment to swallow his food. “I thought Valentines Day wasn’t until Saturday?”

“Well, yes,” she spoke, cutlery sinking into food as she started getting ready to eat. “But it’s a charity gala that the Wayne Foundation is holding. Proceeds are sent to Gotham’s orphanages.”

Taking a bite, she continued. “There is another Gala held on Saturday. A charity gala as well, they say. But then Bruce Wayne announced his own charity gala set on Thursday and so no doubt more people will attend that one.”

“Because it’s happening earlier than the other one?” Matt asked.

Selina shook her head. “Not quite. It’s because it’s a Wayne gala. You know the prestige Bruce Wayne holds.”

“Right…”

 “You don’t know, do you?” blowing out a slightly surprised breath, she continued. “For a lawyer, I would’ve assumed you knew more about these things.”

“I focus on Hell’s Kitchen. Trust me, it’s enough to keep you busy.”

“Hm, I’ll take your word for it. Maybe I’ll introduce you two sometime,” she spoke with a twinkle to her words.

Matt tilted his head at her, curious. “Are you implying you know Mr Wayne personally, Miss Kyle?”

“Something like that…”

The way her heart tittered just slightly gave it away.

“Was he your date?” he asked in surprise.

“And I’ve been caught.”

Shaking his head, Matt ate another piece off his plate. “So, the very host of the gala bailed on you? Are you using me to get back at him?”

He sent her a sharp grin to tell her he didn’t mind, but she just shook her head with a low laugh anyways. “Can’t get back at him if he won’t see us to begin with.”

At his confused silence, she continued.

“Bruce is known to be a bit… ah, evasive. He’s always got many things on at once.”

“You’re saying the man can’t make it to his own gala?”

“Yes, but I’m sure he’s got his own reasons.”

“And I’m sure your expectations of him are a bit too high,” he retorted.

Ah. Oops. He’d fallen into the back and forth as if he was back home and bantering with Foggy. But Selina didn’t seem to mind, instead leaning forward.

“Oh? Do you have an argument prepared, counsellor?” she spoke with a smile clear in her voice, but the underlying interest was clear. “Formed an opinion of Bruce Wayne already?”

“Maybe I have.”

At her curious ‘hmm?’, he continued.

“It seems like Bruce Wayne is a man holding a new gala ahead of an already existing one, not because of any genuine interest in charity, but because he’d like to show off.”

Waving his fork slightly for emphasis, he continued. “If he truly cared about charity, he would show up to the first gala, donate, and do whatever it is all billionaire playboy philanthropists do.”

His mind flashed to Tony, who he didn’t always get along with. But at least the man didn’t pull acts like this. Tony was trying to be good. This Mr Wayne just seemed like an arrogant money-hoarding jerk.

“But instead, Mr Wayne holds his own gala, and as you said, most of the rich will flock there instead. It makes me wonder, if this was all in the name of charity, then why be competitive about who gets the most money?”

He sends a sharp smile to Selina. “Plus, if Mr Wayne ditches you, I think he doesn’t deserve your time at all, your honour.”

She laughs a little at that. “I think you’re jumping the gun with Bruce there, Matthew.” She takes another bite of her food. “Plus, it’s not what you think. We’re friends.”

“Really?”

She shakes her head, an amused huff escaping her. “We were... together. A long time ago. But sometimes you realize you want different things, or that your aspirations are too different. So, it just didn’t work.”

He hums, thinking of Elektra. And Natasha. And maybe Frank. “I understand that.”

Raising his eyebrows at her again, he asks, “So, you’re sure I don’t need to ‘accidentally’ poor a glass of wine on him?”

“He’s a friend, Matthew. And a close one at that,” she laughs. “Plus, he won’t even be there, remember?”  

“Another reason I don’t like him.” He raises a hand in acquiesce at her silence, guessing that she’s glaring at him. “But fine. I’ll be on my best behaviour tomorrow, regardless of whether Mr Wayne is there or not.”

“Good.”

Then they’re standing up, and he’s helping her load the dishwasher. Another cat peeks out from behind the counter and he wonders just how many she has.

“The gala is at five in the evening tomorrow, so feel free to sleep in. I won’t judge, considering how late it’s gotten."

Giving her a nod and one last thanks, he heads back to his room. Letting the door close, he waits.

Selina stands around in the kitchen for a bit, petting her cats and cleaning some things up. Then she heads to her room. The door clicks shut, and he hears her flick the lights off.

Matt leaves.

Pulling out the black scarf from earlier and tying it around his head brings a sense of nostalgia from the early days. He slides open the window quietly, thankful that he'd gotten lucky enough to be placed near the fire escape again.

Then he's off.

The wind laps across his face and his feet bring him from rooftop to rooftop. The tail of his scarf flaps slightly in the wind. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed the feeling of euphoria that sinks in when he’s reminded of the Man in Black days. Things had felt a little simpler back then, when he wore a piece of cloth around his head instead of a fortified mask.

It doesn't take too long to reach his destination, thankfully. Selina's apartment, located in the East End as she'd called it, wasn't too far from the docks.

It took him a while to search for the right building, seeing as many of them were vacated and near demolished, but once he did, it was fairly easy to slip into the room he'd claimed the night before.

Taking the suit out of the floorboards, he took one last glance at the room

He'd gotten lucky, running into Selina. Now he had a solid place to stay until the gala at least.

He still found himself surprised at her antics. Not many people would allow a random stranger to stay with them for days end - and for good reason. But he had a nagging feeling she knew how to hold her own.

Bundling up the suit in a blanket he found lying around, Matt left the room and made his way back.

He'd have to think about what to do after the gala.

As the day went on, Matt had only grown surer of the fact that this wasn't his universe.

He'd thrown around Tony and Steve's names, only to be met with blank confusion. He’d even outright referenced the Avengers, calling them a ‘small sports team from his childhood’ to monitor her reaction. Just in case this was all some prank or trick or messed up lie. But her heartbeat remained impassive as she politely asked more.

Clearly, this wasn’t his world.

Which left him with very few options, and the need for a plan.

First, he needed to find the man he'd let go back in the warehouse and dig out any answers he could.

It was worrying knowing Kingpin had been working on a space travel device, and even more worrying that somehow, it's second half, an almost replica, was here in Gotham.

Ah.

He needed to go back to the warehouse and check on the machine.

Gum stinging from the way he bit into it, Matt growled in frustration. How had he forgotten to do that earlier?

He should’ve gone back to the warehouse. Should have examined the machine. Should have gone out earlier and searched for the man he’d let go.

But instead, he'd gotten complacent. By the time he'd finished Dinner with Selina, it was nearly three in the morning. They'd been out browsing through stores till late, and if he'd just stepped away earlier, maybe he would have had time to go out.

There was nothing he could do about it now though. The sun was threatening to peak through the horizon, and whilst Selina said he could sleep in, his gut twisted at the thought.

He trusted her, he did. But he couldn't turn off the overdrive his mind seemed to run in. He couldn't sleep in for so long on his first night at a stranger's place. His brain screamed at him that being unconscious that long was putting him at a disadvantage.

If Stick were here, he'd call him a pussy for being so "weak" and needing to accept a stranger's help to begin with - never mind that it was a two-way deal.

Slipping back into the room, he quietly slid the window shut and tucked his suit away into the pocket of the duffel bag. He'd deal with it all tomorrow, he told himself.

After the gala.

He'd find the guy. Threaten the truth out of him. Simple as that.

Hopefully by then, he would have thought of a plan on where he'd live too.

He was hoping that he'd be able to return to Hell's Kitchen soon but... chances were low, no matter how much he'd like the opposite.

It was frustrating. Who knew what Kingpin was doing, and yet he was stuck here.

But maybe if he followed the traces of the machine's existence on this side, he'd find out how to get back.

This had all started with that machine after all. It would end with it too.

Chapter Text

The last time he’d been to a gala, it was with Elektra at his side, dressing up fancy and playing nice as a guise. He’d practically been dragged there last-minute, the whole thing just a cover to steal a secret ledger from Roxxon. 

This time, things were entirely different. No hidden agendas, no kleptomaniac partner, and no dual identities. Just a normal gala.

It was weird.

Sure, it was nice – marble floors, high ceilings and extravagant statues galore. But back with Elektra, at least he knew he had a purpose for being there. Now, he just felt out of place, wearing a suit that clung a bit too tight, in a manor he’d never been in before, in a city he was only just starting to know.

Selina’s fingers curled lightly around his elbow as the lady she’d been talking to focused on him.

“Selina, darling, who is this young man you’ve brought today?”

The tone aimed at him was far too coy for someone her age, and Matt flashed a charming smile her way despite his bewilderment. “I’m Matthew. Mathew Michael.”

The elderly woman let out a small laugh, leaning slightly forward. “Evelyn Rogers, although my friends call me Eve.”  

Matt held his hand out, palm up. When Margaret placed hers in his, he swiftly lifted it and kissed her knuckles. “Well, it’s quite lovely to meet you then, Eve.”

She let out a surprised ‘oh!’ and he softly released her hand, fighting a smirk once he heard Selina’s quiet inhale of laughter.

The left the lady not soon after that, and Selina turned into a corner, allowing her grin to finally break free. “What was that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Matt replied, a small smirk gracing his lips as he spoke. “I was making friends. I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“I think Mrs Rogers thinks you want something more than friendship, Matthew.”

He scrunched his face up at that. “You know, in the moment it was funny but in hindsight...”

Selina huffed, grin still on her face. “You’ll never see her again, lucky you. Me on the other hand, will be stuck fielding questions about ‘that handsome young man’ for months.”

“Hm, should I be thanking you for your service in advance?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and then they were on the prowl once again. Selina blended in almost seamlessly here, walking around the expansive hall and greeting people. But Matt could tell it was an act well practised. She didn’t quite fit in here. Or maybe that was just Matt’s bias talking. She was the only genuine person in a room seemingly full of socialites posing as philanthropic.

Sue him, maybe his opinion of the rich and wealthy wasn’t exactly… generous. But only a select few of the rich people he’d met had wanted to make a positive change with their money. He wondered how many Tony Starks and Danny Rands were in this room, and then how many Wilson Fisks. Then he promptly dismissed that line of thinking. These were strangers, maybe he should give them a chance before jumping to assumptions.

“Selina!”

A young man’s voice snapped him out of his reprieve. Matt stood in interest as Selina seemed genuinely fond of the man, allowing him to embrace her before she turned and ruffled the hair of the even younger man who appeared a second later.

The second boy let out a huff of laughter before ducking his head in acknowledgement. “Hi, Selina.”

“Hi boys, I was wondering where you’d gotten off to,” her voice was filled with warmth as she regarded the two, and Matt couldn’t help but feel slightly lost amidst it all.

Selina, perceptive as ever, touched Matt’s shoulder as she turned to talk to him. “Matthew, meet Dick Grayson, Tim Drake. I’ve known them since they were little. They’re good kids.”

The boys seemed to preen and flush in embarrassment, respectively.

“Selina…” the oldest spoke with a grin before turning to Matt. “Nice to meet you, I’m Dick. My little brother Tim is the one off to my side. We’re helping host the gala today.”

Matt tilted his head in curiosity at that. “Call me Matt. I thought Mr Wayne was the host?”

“Dick and Tim are Bruce’s sons. They’ve been to a few galas so they’re not too bad when it comes to hosting,” Selina explained.

“C’mon, Selina, surely you can give us more than ‘not too bad’.” Dick laughed, before turning his head as he seemingly spotted something. “Ah, speaking of host duties... I think Mr Dawson’s getting a bit too drunk, I should probably go check on him.”

Turning around, he nodded at them again before bolting off. “It was nice to see you again Selina. Nice meeting you Matt,” and then he was gone.

Tim watched Dick leave before turning to face them. “You have no idea how glad I am to not be the oldest Wayne at the event right now. Too much responsibility.”

“I don’t think Bruce would let you and Damian host a gala to begin with,” Selina responded, but he could tell that she was distracted by the way her voice slightly trailed off and her heartbeat rose for a second, as if she’d just spotted something.

Sure enough, Selina put a hand on Matt’s arm and nodded at Tim. “Do you two mind if I leave for a bit actually? I think Mrs Ethel’s waving me over.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” Matt asked, partly because as a genuine question and partly because he knew that Selina had just lied.

Selina shook her head, “No, it’s fine. I’m sure you’re tired anyways. Rest for a bit.” Waving at them one last time, she headed towards an elderly pair who stood idly near the water fountain.

He heard a quiet snort come from his side, and focused back in on Tim. The boy was eerily... quiet, now. If Matt couldn’t hear his heartbeat, breathing and the way the sound warped around him, he may have missed him completely. The boy stood so still and quiet, almost in an effortless way. It was slightly off-putting.

But then Tim turned to him, and the moment was over.

“So, how do you know Selina exactly?” his tone was the perfect mix between politeness, curiosity and friendliness, but Matt could sense that the kid was reading him somehow. Or at least, trying to.

“She needed a plus one for the gala,” Matt said with a smile, knowing completely well that that wasn’t what Tim had been trying to get at. “Can’t really say no to a friend, now, can I?”

“You guys are friends?” Tim paused, before seemingly backtracking. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that she’s never mentioned you before.”

Yeah. There was a layer of protectiveness and suspicion hiding behind those words for sure.

“To be fair, she hasn’t mentioned you two to me either.” He said with a sharp smile, and Tim snorted in amusement.

“Touche,” the boy said before leaning against the wall casually. “So, you really don’t know who we are?”

Matt followed suit, letting his back rest against a nearby pillar. He was momentarily distracted by the sound of Dick’s loud laughter from the other end of the room. Tim’s quick glance in that direction told Matt that it wasn’t just his heightened senses playing up.

“Not really, no,” Matt said, tuning back into the conversation. “I’m not really from around here.”

Tilting his head curiously, Tim moved to ask another question but was interrupted.

“Timmy!” Dick laughed, bringing an arm around his brother’s neck. The elder brother seemed quite different to how composed he’d been when they had been talking before.

Instead, now Dick’s shirt seemed to be soaked in wine, and judging from the way the young man was acting, he had consumed much more alcohol than what was on his shirt.

Tim let out a slightly surprised ‘ah’ before shifting to carry more of Dick’s weight. He looked at Matt again, “Sorry, it’s been great talking to you. But you know how it is.”

The kid spoke like it was relatable, to have to half-carry a drunken older sibling away. He barely waited for Matt to say goodbye before he was off, walking Dick down one of the corridors to probably help sober him up.

Matt heard some of the socialites laugh or roll their eyes once they caught sight of the two disappearing away. There were several jokes about how the boys ‘took after their father’ and a few murmurs of how disgraceful it was that the ‘Grayson boy’ couldn’t hold up his duties as host enough to control how much he drank.

Matt frowned as he tilted his head in the direction they went. It would have been worrying, to see that Bruce Wayne’s children seemed to be known for picking up their father’s bad habits. He’d heard the rumour mill run quite a bit while at the gala and heard a lot of stories about Mr Wayne’s escapades and people hypothesizing on what the man could be up to that made him miss his own gala. The night had done nothing to improve his opinion of Bruce Wayne.

But while Dick’s shirt had been soaked in spilt wine, his breathing and heart rate weren’t changed at all. Even more incriminating was the distinct lack of alcohol on his breath. The young man hadn’t drunk a sip of alcohol the whole day.

Maybe the two had grown exhausted of the socializing and this was merely a pre-thought of plan for escape. Matt wouldn’t blame them for it. He thought of Sam and had to stifle a smile as he wondered what the kid would have done if he were in their place.  

The sound of heels walking his way interrupted his musing, and Matt looked up as he heard Selina approach.

“Hm, was that Dick and Tim who just left?” she asked, tilting her head in consideration.

“Yeah, Dick didn’t seem to be doing so well.”

At his reply, she hummed in thought and draped her hand around his elbow again. “Well, I suppose we should be going now anyways.” At his wondering look, she continued. “It’s about time to call it for the night. Everyone else here bores me, and the boys were the only people I really wanted to see. And we’ve seen them.”

He followed alongside her as they walked out the manor and to the driver waiting beside her car.

“Don’t you want to check up on him?” he asked her, only for her to shake her head slightly.

“I’m sure they can look after themselves.”

He hummed as the car’s ignition turned on and they moved out of the driveway. He drew his senses out towards the manor, but the heartbeats, music and conversations all congested in one place made it hard to focus on one person. It was easy to pick out Foggy’s heartbeat from a crowd. Not as easy to pick out the heartbeat of a person he’d talked to for three minutes. Especially when he hadn’t been paying too much attention to their heartbeat to begin with.

When they reach Selina’s apartment, he follows her inside and pauses to pet the cats while Selina turns on the TV. Instantly his ears are blared with the sound of a frantic reporter exclaiming about a ‘Poison Ivy attack’ and Matt looks up, alert.

“Poison Ivy is a… rogue. She’s got one of the buildings in the financial district on lockdown right now.” Selina explains at his questioning look. Her voice is painted with a hint of pensiveness and another unidentifiable emotion.

Matt stands there, trying to think of an excuse to leave to his room, and calculating how long it would take him to reach the financial district, when the reporter exhales sharply.

“Nightwing and Red Robin have just arrived on the scene!” Relief coats her voice as she reports. She stops talking and they’ve presumably begun moving closer and recording the fight, from the sounds that erupt from the tv next. A loud clang is picked up by the speakers and then a pause, and Matt hears what seems to be the voice of Nightwing, slightly muffled.

“Hi, so I’m just gonna... put you down right here. Please stay here, for your own safety.” The vigilante seems slightly exasperated, and then his voice disappears. The sounds of the fight can now barely be heard, so Matt assumes this ‘Nightwing’ had moved the cameraman and reporter to safety.

Selina hums and turns the tv off, her curiosity apparently satiated.

“How did you know about the Ivy attack?” Matt questions as she slips off her shoes.

“I didn’t. Gotham’s got something going down every day, hun. Trust me, doesn’t matter when you turn on the news, something will be happening. I was just curious about what was on today.”

“And you’re not worried?”

She shakes her head, petting a cat that comes up to sit on her lap. “The Bats showed up, didn’t they? It should be fine now.”

“Right, the bats…”

Selina pauses at this and huffs. “Sometimes I forget that non-Gothamites only know Batman.”

At his silence, she continues. “Contrary to what the rest of the world believes, Batman does not in fact ‘work alone’. Gotham’s protected by a few vigilantes.”

“The ‘Bats’?”

“Mmhm, that’s just what we call the ones affiliated with Batman.”

Right. Batman. He nodded his head like that name had any meaning to him.

Selina moved forward and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re probably tired so I’d recommend sleeping after everything today.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head in agreement. “Yeah, I think I really need it at this point.”

She snorted at that and squeezed his shoulder before walking off to get some sleep as well. He watched her go, not quite knowing how to feel about the extra ring on her hand, the long necklace tucked under her dresses’ high collar and the slight extra weight to her wallet that meant it was fuller than it had been before the gala.

He didn’t know how to feel about the idea that she might have stolen them. Rich socialite like her didn’t really have a reason to, did she? Unless she really was a kleptomaniac.

Retreating to his guest bedroom, he closed the door and changed out of his suit. He kept the lights off as he slipped into his second suit. The mask is comforting to put on after not wearing it for so long.

Slipping out into the night, he extended his hearing, searching for wherever the fight with Poison Ivy was happening. He’s greeted to the sounds of a fight nearly ending and police arriving to the scene. All seems to be fine now.

Redirecting himself, he headed towards the docks instead. This part of the city had started to become intensely familiar, with how often he’s come back.  

Slipping through the roof hatch, he once again crawls into an abandoned warehouse. There is no solitary heartbeat this time. No mercenary.

…And no machine.

Damnit.

Matt’s mind runs astray as he tries to figure out who could have taken it, and what it meant for him. The thugs were gone as well, that was no surprise. But did they leave, or had they been taken in by the police? Was the machine in the hands of the Gotham PD? Or had the machine’s mysterious creator come and collected it? Both spelled bad news.

Walking out of the warehouse, he decided it was time to tackle the second part of his plan.

Track down John Doe.

He regretted letting the man run off more and more as time passed, but if he looked long and hard enough, he believed he’d find him. Matt knew the guy’s voice, his heartbeat, and his scent – although scent could always change, so he’d rely more on the other two.

So, he was off. Prowling the rooftops. He took his time scouring the area, listening out into the buildings for the familiar heartbeat. It took time, and even more so because of how he would have to stop and change course every time he heard a mugging or caught people trying to break into stores. There was a sea of raging crime infesting these streets.

Hell’s Kitchen was never quiet, but Gotham was always loud.

It was during another one of these small fights, where he’d been beating up a pair of thugs who had tried to jump a man, that he heard a faint heartbeat coming from above.

Tying the thugs up, he warily waited to see if the person would jump down, or attack. But they didn’t.

Cautious still, he turned to the man who had been attacked, tilting his head towards him. “Are you okay?”

Returning the shaky nod sent his way, Daredevil spoke. “Good. Get out of here.”

The man ran off, and Matt let his ears follow him for a moment. He knew the man lived close by from the scent of his dog that clung to him, which he’d traced back to an apartment nearby, where the Rottweiler lay.

Matt moved up onto the rooftops again, hearing the jingle of keys, the door opening and the dog greeting the man as he walked inside. He would be fine.  

Now, for his little stalker.

Matt kept moving, from one rooftop to another while he continued his search. He kept the heartbeat of the person following him in the back of his mind, monitoring them idly as well and waiting to see what they would do. But they followed him at a carefully set distance and didn’t move to attack even once.

Another mugging sidetracked him, and his stalker stayed still, watching him take them down swiftly.

It really didn’t seem like they would do anything, and he was starting to have his suspicions.

Back when he’d had his first few run ins with the Avengers, they’d been slightly… obsessed. Or maybe they had just wanted an ally, and Matt was just being an antagonistic asshole who was exceptionally good at avoiding them.

Point still stands, they’d done a lot of tailing him during those early days.

So, if he could, Matt would be willing to bet money that this was some vigilante tailing him too. Their movements were graceful and quiet and controlled, and all they seemed to be doing was observing.

Frankly, Matt didn’t want to play friends.

Picking up his pace, he began leaping from one building to the other with no set pattern. It was getting late, and he didn’t particularly want to continue his search if it meant a vigilante snooping on him the whole time.

A few more sharp turns and twists and listening to their movements to predict which way they were going to move allowed him to gain further distance by moving into the direction they were furthest away from. It took more effort than he thought it would. The stranger seemed to not be on Natasha’s level, but instead far better than the Widow herself.

But soon enough he’d gotten rid of his tail.

Double checking that there were no other strangers lurking by, he headed back to his bedroom window.

He’d have to leave Selina’s apartment tomorrow.

It wasn’t too big a deal. He’d done it before – wandering the streets in a foreign city, sneaking a bit of cash away from thugs or just cheating his way through casinos. But things were a bit harder now. Not having any solid form of ID only made it trickier.

Standing inside the room, he worried his lip. Why wait until tomorrow to leave? He felt his skin itch at the thought that he’d been staying here for so long to begin with. Selina was great, but the longer he stayed, the more he felt like an intruder. Scrawling down onto a piece of paper, the pen digging in deep as a habit, he wrote her thanks for everything she’d done. Said he was leaving to get out of her hair and wished her well.

Then, taking the duffel bag, he left out into the night. He went back into the building he’d gone to that first day. The room he’d first chosen was now occupied and he felt a twinge of irony at that. Finding a different room, he put his duffel bag on the ground and using it as a pillow he slept.

It was nowhere near the comfort of the beds in Selina’s apartment, but it was fine. He’d find stable housing soon enough. For now, this would do.

Chapter Text

It was the middle of July, and summer sang its score of scorching heat. Sweat stuck to their skin, the air conditioning stubbornly refused to work, and the window offered so little solace to the point where Karen stood up, brushing dust off her skirt with a huff. "I refuse," she stated out loud into the silent room, and then promptly walked out the door.

Foggy sat up in his seat and blinked at the doorway their friendly reporter had left through. He ran a hand through his hair in confusion, grimacing at the sweat, then blinked at the door once more.

The sound of a long-suffering sigh rang out before a blonde head poked into the office's entrance again, and lo and behold stood Karen, eyebrows raised.

"Are you going to join me or what?" she asked, and Foggy felt a smile crawling up his face.

"Oh, but the paperwork." he lamented, pulling an exaggerated face as he looked at the papers strewn across his desk. "I can't just stop working on them and leave."

Karen snorted and leant against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "As if you were working on them to begin with. You had your head poking out that window for the last twenty minutes."

"Hey now, you said you were here for a fresh perspective while working on your story, but I haven't seen you writing anything down into your notepad either," he defended.

Karen grinned and waved a hand, as if dispelling his words. "That's exactly why I'm saying we should take a break. None of us are getting any work done right now anyways." She looked off to her left. "None."

Foggy hummed, moving out of his seat. "Some fresh air would help clear my mind." He followed her line of sight and walked to the doorway on their left, propping the door more open. "Whaddya say, buddy?"

Matt glanced up at them from where he sat in his office, hair haphazard and hand moving across paper as he read the braille. "You guys go on ahead, I'll be down soon." He absent-mindedly wiped away the sweat on his neck. "I just need to finish reading this."

He felt the air shift at his friends’ intentions. Karen put her arms on her hips and Foggy leant forward as if to drag him out of the chair himself. Sitting back, Matt shot them a tired, almost pleading look. "Come on."

Sighing Foggy stepped back. "Alright, but you better be down in five minutes or you're toast Murdock," he said, making an 'I'm watching you' movement with his hand. "Toast, you hear me?"

"Yes counsellor." Matt replied, a small smile filling his face.

"Five minutes, Matt!" Karen reminded him as she and Foggy left the office.

The moment they stepped into the elevator, Matt sunk slightly into his seat with a wince. His ribs felt like they'd been put in a grinder and then pieced back together, and his head slightly spun from dizziness.

Although that may have just been the heat catching up to him.

Running his fingers across the page, he frowned in concentration. There had to be something in all these records that gave a hint or lead to even the slightest break in the case. It had been a whole day of nothing, and the heat was only making him more frustrated.

He had to shake himself out of his stupor and go back a few sentences, fingers tracing over the bumps again as he reread the words he'd skimmed over.

Nothing.

He felt his patience thinning and closed his eyes, letting his senses wash over him and allowing them to hone and focus in on Foggy and Karen-

Who were still down on the ground floor, apparently idly talking while they waited for him. They hadn't even stepped outside yet. He grinned slightly, listening to their light banter, his mind easing up-

"Okay, Murdock. Time's up."

Matt blinked as Foggy said those words and he turned on his phone. The automated voice spoke out the time to him and he laughed. Five minutes to the dot.

Shaking his head, he started making his way down, listening to Foggy's countdown of when he expected Matt to get down there and Karen's commentary.

"Okay, I’m coming back up there now-" Foggy broke off, laughing a little as Matt reached where they had been standing.

"There you are." Karen said, smile clear in her voice. She wrapped her hand around his arm, while Foggy interlinked their elbows on his other side, and within a second, he was caged in between his friends.

He grinned at them wryly. "Was this pre-planned, by any chance?"

"Well, you know me and Foggy. We have weekly sessions where we make up schemes related to you."

"It's called the Matt protection squad." Foggy added on. "I'm winking at you by the way. Very charismatic wink."

He snorted at their words, and all three of them walked, arms interlinked. It was a tight fit, squeezing through the door, but they managed and were out.

They let out a collective sigh of appreciation as the cool breeze lapped at their faces.

"See, this is why we need to go out more often." Karen said, beginning to walk, meaning Matt was forced to do the same, meaning Foggy was also forced to do the same.

"Yes, well we're kind of swamped with papers at the moment Miss Page." Matt retorted.

"And I think that's a skill issue on your part."

Matt scrunched up his face at her words. "Did Sam teach you that phrase."

"You know, if we had a secretary again, that would help with all the paperwork," Foggy mused.

"You think you've got enough money to afford a new hire, Fogs?" Karen asked curiously.

Foggy hummed in thought. "I was thinking we could give them a share of what we earn."

"Not everyone wants to be paid in pumpkin pie and fruits, though." Karen huffed, grin clear in her voice.

"They should.” Matt smirked. “Mrs Parker's pumpkin pies are amazing."

Foggy let out a pleased ‘thank you!’ at his agreement, and Matt laughed.

They must look like quite the trio, elbows linked, taking up most of the footpath and laughing at nonsensical jokes. Karen and Foggy, although almost pressed at his side on each end, still held onto him not-too-tight, as if they knew that he had injuries of some sort and didn't want to aggravate them. A soft smile fell onto his face as he listened to the two joke. Of course they'd figured it out.

Walking sandwiched between the two, Matt felt the lightest he'd felt in days. He let the feeling wash over him, wanting to be able to remember it for a long while to come.

Matt woke up.

The floor was hard underneath him and the room reeked in a way he hadn't paid as much attention to last night. Or maybe a rat had just died in here while he'd been asleep. His neck had a crick in it from the angle it had been in while using the duffel bag as a pillow. Sighing in annoyance, he massaged it slightly.

As he changed into a fresh pair of clothes, he felt a slight twinge of regret that he hadn't stayed the night at Selina's. It would have been nice to shower, at least. The scent and texture of grime and dirt itched at him.

But it was alright. He had had to leave. It was... a matter of pride too, as remiss as he was to admit it.

Smoothing down the wrinkles of his suit, he walked out into the streets and stretched out his senses. He'd checked the area near the docks quite intensively last night and even gotten through the fashion district without the scent of John Doe coming up.

Today, he planned to look in the Chinatown district, since it was located right next to the fashion district. He didn't fully understand Gotham's layout quite yet, but walking around with Selina that first day had let him catch on to some names at least.

He walked around for a bit, letting his hearing spread out as he tried to track down the man's heartbeat. It was noon, and the various restaurants were filled with people on their lunch breaks. Gotham was weird. It was a busy crowded city, but no one dared draw attention to themselves. Their conversations were murmured, and any loud laughter confined to inside apartments.  At night, the streets were even more quiet. Any nightclubs seemed to be extremely exclusive, meant for the rich, the crime empires, or sex workers. At least that’s what he’d learnt from his nights patrolling.

After a few more hours of searching and moving further into the city’s centre, he’d begun to grow tired. He had no idea where he was now. Sure, it wouldn’t be hard to find his way back to his temporary room, but that wasn’t the point. It was uncomfortable, to know you were a stranger in the very world you were standing in.

Amidst his musing, he’d gotten distracted, and it was only when he walked past the alleyway that he focused on the bodies hiding inside it. A hand shot out and he internally sighed as he was dragged into the gap between buildings.   

Steadying himself on his feet, he took in the people crowding him. Fast heartbeats, curled fists, heavy breathing.

Great. They wanted to mug the blind guy.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to figure out how to play this out. He'd had a few ways he usually went about these things. Sometimes he'd ‘obliviously’ move just in time, making it seem like they were simply bad at fighting and couldn't aim their punches. It was fun, casting a blow to their ego. Other times, if it was too suspicious to do otherwise, he'd let them punch him but tilt himself ever so slightly so that the bruises would mainly be artificial.

He must have spent too long thinking though, because a fist flew and smashed right into his cheekbone. He winced, hoping it wouldn’t bruise. A kick to his ribs had him crouching over in slight pain. Guess these guys were going the ‘nock em unconscious and steal’ route instead of the ‘threaten and steal’ route. Great.

Just as he was about to evade the next punch aimed his way, the thug was pulled back and thrown against the wall. The attacker was a man who had dropped down into the alley from the rooftops. Or maybe a kid. Matt tilted his head at the stranger who'd come into the fight. He was shorter than Matt, and there were a few telltale signs that marked him as being on the younger side.

The kid was engrossed in a fight against the other guys - who were floundering around as if they didn't know how to fight back. Guess they weren't that good at fighting to begin with. Matt stepped back and put on the act of 'weak civilian', letting the suited vigilante do his thing.

Once everyone was taken down, Matt faced the direction that the guy (kid) was in, and let his voice wobble slightly, eyebrows furrowing as if he was disoriented as he thanked him.

There was a pause, and then Matt heard a slight shift in the suit the kid was wearing, the sound of electricity, and a slight wave of it, reminding him of Sam whenever he turned his suit’s invisibility on and off and – oh.

Well. Matt’s kind of messed up now, hasn’t he.

The kid, now visible, shifted slightly. “No worries… how did you uh, know I was there?”

Matt twirled his cane and sent a slightly confused smile the boy’s way. “Well, I’m blind, not deaf. And that fight wasn’t quiet.”

“Oh, sorry, no-” the kid waved his hands hurriedly, signalling no. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Clearing his throat, the kid looked off to the side. “I’m the ah, Signal. So... you know. I was invisible for a second there and surprised to be addressed, I guess. You looked exactly at where I was standing while my invisibility was still on.”

“Hm, well I’ve gotten pretty used to guessing where people are standing. It doesn’t really make a difference to me whether you’re visible or not.” He shot a calming grin at the boy. “I guess this time I guessed pretty accurately huh?”

Signal exhaled a laugh. “Man, you have no idea.” Then blinking, as if suddenly remembering where he was, he stood up straighter. “Anyways, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Matt let the kid give him the civilian treatment, allowing him to be escorted back onto the main streets. He assured the kid that he was fine, but Signal seemed just about ready to walk him home or to the nearest clinic, and Matt wryly thought of Spiderman’s earlier days.

Pete’s still one of the brightest and most hopeful heroes he knows, but the spider’s also almost twenty years past being the teenager who’d walk old ladies across the road. Now he’s in his early thirties, the light in his eyes has slightly dimmed, and he’s still helping old ladies with crossing roads.  

Matt’s not the twenty-two-year-old he was when he’d first started vigilantism either. Now he’s in his early forties and stuck in an alternate dimension, trying to escape the little vigilante who’s still trying to coax him into going to the hospital.

Speaking of which.

“Fine,” Matt said, lowering his head in conceit. “I’m really not injured, but I’ll yield.”

He felt Signal perk up at that and Matt pointed his cane in the direction they’d come from. “It might be a good idea to tie them up first, though.”

Signal turned to face the alleyway before swinging back to face him. “Okay, stay right here. I’ll tie them up and then come back.”

Matt nodded at him and gave him a smile. Signal walked into the alleyway and dropped to a squat, pulling out some zip ties from his pockets.  Matt swiftly turned around and stalked off further into the city.

Just how many vigilantes did Gotham have?

It’s dark now, and Matt was frustrated. He couldn’t keep going on like this. Days and nights passing without any progress being made on how to get back. It was driving him mad. This John Doe, nowhere to be found. This John Doe-

Right there.

Grumbling to himself from inside a nearby apartment, the runaway man sat watching his TV. Matthew tilted his head up at the familiar heartbeat and voice, a jolt of satisfaction finally running through him.

It felt like it took an eternity, to run back to his apartment in the shadows, change into his Daredevil suit and come back, but when he finally did, it was if his entire being was vibrating from the excitement of finally taking a step towards his goal.

The man startled as the lights in his living room were cut off. He whipped his head around and there stood a dark looming figure. For a second, he feared that it was the Batman.

But no, this was worse.

The television glow cast over the figure, illuminating their blood red eyes, warped horns and deep frown.

“Found you,” the Devil glowers.

Matt took a step forward just as the man stumbled out from his place on the sofa. In a second, Matt had him pressed against the wall, his head cocked slightly. He heard the other’s heartbeat tick up.

“You- you’re the one from the warehouse,” he croaked. “You’re the Devil.”

“And you lied.”

The man shakes his head fast. “No, I really don’t work with those guys. I didn’t shoot you, remember?”

“You didn’t have a gun to begin with.” Matt pressed his fingers against the man’s neck slightly, enough of a threat to stop any more lies. “And you did work with those thugs. You weren’t apart of their crew, but you were all pieces of a bigger plan.”

He leant closer, teeth bared. “Start talking. From who you are, to what you were doing there.”

“Okay, okay. Fine,” the man raised his hands, shrinking back despite the wall pressing at his spine.

“My name is Jermaine Carlson. I was… given an offer to be there that day.”

He paused, inhaling deeply. “I worked for the Penguin. Got moved up from being just some goon to working in the Iceberg Lounge… You have no idea how tempting it is. All that money, just waiting to be taken. At first, I just skimmed from the registers or from the pockets of the rich people. Grew up a street thief, you don’t just lose those talents y’know?”

“Get to the point.”

Jermaine scowled but conceded at the hard frown etched across Matt’s face. “Point is, I racked up a ton of money. Then I moved onto the bigger stuff. I thought if Catwoman could do it, why couldn’t I?” Here, he let out a short bitter laugh. “I made a mistake. There was some meeting between Black Mask and Penguin, and I got cocky. Thought if I could steal some from Penguin, then why not from the Mask too? One of his guys caught me and they told the bigshots. And Penguin and the Black mask don’t treat thieves well.”

Breath quickening, Jermaine’s hands trembled as he recounted the story. “I ran, but I’ve got two crime lords after me. I’ve got a bounty on my head. I’d been squatting in different buildings and changing places at least twice a day until…  one day I came home to a letter. No sender, but they knew everything that’d happened and said they could help. Told me to go to this hotel on the edge of town and tell them a code, then burn the letter.”

Matt steps back enough to let Jermaine collapse into a chair and stands towering over him.

“At first, I thought it was a trap, or maybe Batman goading me in. But I was desperate. So, I went. Got sent up to a room and I open it and it’s the nicest bedroom I’ve seen in days. Theres a bag on the bed and it’s got a thousand fucking dollars inside.” He looked up at Daredevil with a desperateness to his voice. “For me that’s a lifeline. Then the room phone rings and there’s this guy telling me he has a proposal.”

Here Jermaine paused, fidgeting with his hands.

“Jermaine.”

“Right,” he looked back up at Matt. “Will you believe me if I tell you?”

“If you tell me the truth.”

“This guy tells me, straight up, that I’ve got no life worth living here,” he scoffed to himself at that, shaking his head. “He’s right. But then he offers a way out. Says he can get me to a place where no one knows my name, or my backstory. Where no one’s hunting me down.”

“You hear an offer like that, it makes you want to take it,” he huffed a laugh. “I thought he was talking about moving to another country. But no.” Jermaine shook his head, his voice slightly hysterical. “This man says he can send me to another universe.”

Looking up at Matt, he continued. “That’s insane right? I didn’t believe him at first. Who would? But then I’m told to check this envelope and it’s got a credit card in it. I hit the ATM downstairs. One million dollars.”

“One million. At this point, I don’t care if he’s messing with me. I tell him I’m in. I go to the warehouse. Watch those other people set everything up. They tell me that all I gotta do is walk through the machine, and then when I get there, there’ll be a folder somewhere. In that folder is the contact details of a guy who’ll get me my fake ID. Then I’d be able to live my new life.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jermaine bristles. “No. I knew there was a catch. I’m the test subject. They were gonna use me to see if the machine worked. That’s why they paid me. I’m not an idiot. Even after I went through, I’d be in observation until the ‘big guy’ got in contact.”

Matt tilted his head at that. “And who’s that.”

“I don’t know.”

Matt exhaled in frustration and gripped onto the man’s hand. “There’s still something you’re not telling me.”

“No, that’s it-”

“Liar.”

Matt adjusted his grip so that he now had his fist wrapped around two of the man’s fingers. He started bending them back slowly, coaxing him to answer.

“Fine,” Jermaine hissed. “Fine. I stole the folder.”

“I thought you said your folder was in the second universe.”

“Yes. Mine. But there’s a second folder. They were gonna test the machine both ways. I go there, and a nobody from there comes here later. A folder for me there, a folder for him here. See if it works on both ends. But he wasn’t meant to come till next week. Then you crashed the party. I was just about to go through the machine, and you fucking ruined it. I nicked the folder while you were fighting.”

Matt let go off his hand. “Where is it?”

Groaning, the man held onto his hand and went over to a cupboard, pulling the folder out. He brought it back to Matt and held it out.

Not taking it, he crossed his hands. “Read it to me.”

Gritting his teeth, Jermaine flipped it open. “It’s just a number and a question. You call, they ask you the exact question that’s written here, and you give the answer.”

Matt furrowed his brow. “And?”

“And the trick is, the question’s something about their world. The guy who was supposed to come here from that other universe, he’s the only one who could answer it. That way if someone like me swipes it, it’s worthless.” Jermain waved the page. “I mean, I’ve read this thing a hundred times and its gibberish. Sounds like comic book trivia more than anything.”

“So, your folder-”

“-would’ve had the reverse,” Jermaine cut in. “A question about this world. Probably Gotham related. If I’d made it over there, I’d be the only one who could answer mine. But I never went, so I don’t know what they were gonna ask me. Instead, you cut the lights and jumped off the roof onto the machine or whatever. Probably broke the damn machine.” He shrugged bitterly. “Point is, without the right universe knowledge, the folder’s just a fancy paperweight.”

“Just read it, Jermaine.”

Sighing, he read the question to him and Matt stilled. He took a slight breath in, memorizing the number from earlier.

Jermaine paused and lifted his head to look up at him, now seeing the code in a new light. “Wait, is this about you?” he backs away slightly. “When you say you’re the devil… you’re actually him, aren’t you?”

Ignoring Jermaine, he picked up the man’s phone that had been lying on a table nearby.

“Do you know the answer to this question then? Wait, are you from that other universe?”

Matt shoved the phone into Jermaine’s hand. “Unlock it. Put the number in.”

Jermaine did so with shaky fingers, and Matt snatched it back.

He needed to make a call.

The line rang for a while, and Matt shifted slightly on his perch above the city. The giant gargoyle beside him remained impassive, its cold concrete an anchor in the stillness. The tired voice that finally answered reminded Matt just how late it was. There was no greeting - only the crackling voice cutting straight to the question. 

“They say Daredevil is without this human crutch, yet in truth, it is what haunts him most. Now tell me, the devil is the man without what?”

There’s a beat of silence, just breath hitting the speakers, before Matt replies. “Fear.”

“You are… correct,” the voice sighed. “Whatever that means.”

It was quite anticlimactic, after the weight of such a question. Of course Fisk would write a code so poetic yet stabbing towards his nemesis. Matt was only surprised that the question hadn’t been about the Kingpin himself. Unless of course anonymity was the purpose of all these games.  

But to this stranger on the end of the line, none of that mattered. The sound of keyboard typing pattered through the phone slightly as they asked for the details for his ID. Matt idly moved from rooftop to rooftop, prowling the city as he gave the answers for his cover.

“Okay. I’ll get everything sorted out. You need your photo taken for some of this, so go to Gotham’s Department of Identification tomorrow. Talk to Lenore Kaplan and say exactly what I tell you to say, and she’ll get you what you need.” The voice droned off, typing still faint in the background. “That’s nine in the morning tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you...” he trailed off, and the voice on the other end remained silent.

“I won’t be telling you my name, if that’s your aim out of this.”

“Would you pass on my thanks to your employer then?”

They huffed, “I don’t work for anyone. Freelance. And this time I got paid extra to not ask any questions and just follow the instructions given to me. Which, and I quote, was literally to sit waiting till this phone rang, answer and ask the question. And if you answered right, like you did, we’d do this whole thing. If you didn’t answer right, I hang up, and you’d probably be… well, let’s not dwell on that.” The voice exhaled. “Honestly, this is most definitely the strangest job I’ve gotten. But the payout. Dear lord, yes.”

“So, you don’t know the name of the man who hired you.”

“No, and the fact you know it’s a man means you know more than I do.”

“Hm.”

“Is that all then?”

“…Yes.”

“Okay. Don’t call this number again, it’ll be deactivated.”

With that, the line ended, and Matt was yet again left in silence. Throwing the phone into Jermaine’s living room through the window, he made his way back to his own apartment.

It would have been nice if he could have tracked down the voice on the other end of the line too. But it didn’t seem like they were in Gotham to begin with. He’d listened for the echo of their voice while moving around the city, and yet he’d heard nothing. Of course, he hadn’t covered all the ground and there was still the chance that they were in the richer district up north or somewhere in the east-side districts. But Matt had a nagging feeling that they weren’t in the city at all. Either way, it didn’t seem a trail too important to follow. They had been telling the truth about the terms of their contract. They knew nothing more. He’d have to find another way to get information on who was behind the machine in this world.

In the meantime, he had made some headway when it came to documentation. The sun was rising, the warmth hitting his jaw, and Matt made his way back to his room. Slipping out of his suit and into softer fabric, he laid down to get at least three hours of sleep before office hours started.

All he needed to do now was go in for photos and collection and it would be done.

He would be Matthew Michael.

A recognized individual of this world.

He didn’t like the feeling.

Chapter Text

The first thing Matt does in the morning is go outside and book a hotel room.

Nights of taking down petty criminals and stopping muggings meant he’d picked the pockets of enough thugs to have collected ample cash to last him a few days. Now that he was getting physical government certificates, he needed a proper place to keep the documents safe. An abandoned building with multiple people squatting in nearby rooms wasn’t safe nor secure. So, it was worth it, to spend some of the money he’d accumulated on a hotel room, if it meant he wouldn’t be robbed of his IDs the same day he’d gotten them.

The clerk at the register smiled as he requested a single room. “Special plans for tonight huh?”

He furrowed his brows, slightly affronted and confused at the question. “Sorry?”

“Ah, I just- It’s Valentines Day, so I assumed…” the clerk trailed off, voice wobbling slightly and Matt felt the lightbulb go off.

Huh.

Was it Saturday already?

“Oh, it’s alright. You were right anyways,” Matt shot her a charming smile. “I just didn’t hear you the first time.”

The lady exhaled in relief and handed him his keys. “Well, I hope you and your partner have a nice time today then.”

Nodding his thanks, Matt left to his room. The second the door was locked, he threw the duffel bag onto the bed and went to take a shower. His muscles untensed as he scrubbed the accumulated grime off his skin. The rising overstimulation from the feeling of crusty skin finally left. The scent of old mould and rotting wood still slightly lingered – not strong enough for anyone except him to tell – but it was fine.

Changing into a fresh pair of clothes, he headed to Gotham’s Department of Identification. He stood outside for a bit, listening in to figure out who Lenore was. And then he’s off inside and when it’s his turn, he heads up to the desks with a tired smile on his face.

“Morning, I’ve just moved to Gotham and uh...” he ran a harried hand through his hair. “I got mugged. Guess Gotham’s not the place for hopeful vagabond’s huh?”

Lenore pauses slightly at his last sentence, catching onto the start of the code. “I think there’s still some hope left for Gotham, don’t you?”

“I think if you think that, you don’t know Gotham at all.”

The clerk’s mouth slightly twitches as the code is completed and she opens a drawer, taking a folder out. Matt thinks it’s pretty sombre for a code, but who is he to judge this world really. He doesn’t care too much about the tone of some code because soon enough papers shuffle, a camera flashes, the scent of lamination fills his nose and then he’s been given a folder full of everything he needs.

It doesn’t take long to go back to his room, holding the folder like a prized possession – which it rightfully is. Once he’s there, he counts the documents to make sure everything the clerk had said would be inside is still inside.

Most of the new information for this identity was similar to Matthew Murdock’s. But Matthew Michael did have a few notable differences. This new identity’s parents for instance, were slightly different. James and Mary. The documents stated them both as deceased and said that Matthew had no other living relatives – making things so much easier. He had no real connections in this world. For Daredevil this was a good thing.

Once he’d finished reading, he set the paper back in the folder and placed it inside the duffel bag, hiding it under his clothes. Once he had zipped it closed, he sat back.

Great.

What now?

It was noon and Matt was without… any solid plan. He’d gotten temporary accommodation and how he had his identification documents all sorted out. That was all he’d had planned for today.

And all his other plans had reached dead ends.

He’d found Jermaine and drained that lead dry. The hacker he’d called last night had been honest in what they knew. The cleric who’d given him his documents was clearly just a corrupt official who was ready to do shifty jobs occasionally for money. She’d gotten the money and did her ‘job’. So, no lead to follow there either. The people from the warehouse were long since gone, and Matt had done a short search for them but had to stop short when he reached the bay and felt the concrete walls of a prison ahead.

As for the machine, it was completely gone. And it was what irked him most. Missing people had heartbeats, distinct scents and voices. They were much easier to track down than missing machines.

Wishing for some fresh air, he stepped out of the hotel and went on a walk while he thought.

There were couples littered around, in cafes and wandering shops and some even tentatively enjoying the fresh air as they lounged in the park.

Tapping his cane as he walked, he let the rhythm guide him back into his thoughts.

There really were no ideas that came to mind for what Matt could do to track down whoever was behind the machine. It seemed like he’d hit a dead end on the vigilante block.

So maybe it was time to focus on what Matthew Murdock needed, not what Daredevil needed.

Matt Murdock needed stable housing and income. He needed a job.

He’d gotten the hacker to create fake tertiary certificates for law school, knowing he’d need them at some point or another if he wanted to practice the law during his time here. They even put up a few fake job listings, and anyone curious enough to do further digging would find traces of the fact that he’d worked at a small law firm five years ago that had shut down. Unfortunately, it seemed no one at the law firm was particularly technologically inclined because they were lacking very much in online presence. Which meant no way to get in contact with anyone else who’d ‘worked’ there. How sad.

Matt tuned into the sound of computers and book pages rustling nearby, and turned to walk into the public library, a plan formulating in his mind. The librarian at the desk near the entrance welcomed him and he greeted her back.

“How accessible are your computers?” he asked with a questioning smile.

The librarian let out a little ‘ah’ and wheeled herself out from behind her place at the desk. “Most of our computers have screen readers and headphones. I can guide you to them?”

He nodded his head, and she wheeled up slightly in front of him. “I’m a wheelchair user, so you’ll have to grab onto the push handles of my chair. They’re just a bit in front of you.”

Matt did just so, thanking her, and they began moving.

“Are you new to town? I haven’t seen you around here before.” She wondered as they moved past her desk and a reading area with beanbags.

“Yes, actually.” Cane tapping against plush carpet, he took in the little details of the library. “I only just moved here.”

“Oh, nice to meet you then,” her voice was warm, and he shot back the smile she was no doubt sending his way. “I’m Barbara Gordon.”

“Matthew Michael.” He nodded back.

“Any reasons for moving to Gotham?” she asked curiously while they walked past the children’s section and towards the looming bookshelves further into the space. “We’re turning right here, by the way.”

They both turned, not walking into the isles and instead right past them to the line of desks holding computers. Matt shrugged. “I just needed a new change of pace.”

“And you chose Gotham?” she said with a slight laugh. “Sorry, it’s just, Gotham is the last place people would consider for something like that.”

“Let’s just say it chose me, and not the other way around.”

Barbara let out a curious hum and then slowed down. “Well, I’ll take your word for it then.” Matt came to a stop next to her. The computers were now right in front of them. “We’re at the computer desks. I’ll just turn it on and set up the screen reader, give me a second.”

He stepped back as she opened a drawer off to the side and took the equipment out. She locked the drawer with a key, and his senses explored the room while she set everything up.

There weren’t many people using the computers. The two or three that were using them were each sitting at a different row of desks, leaving plenty of space between themselves.

The lady sitting at the desk two rows behind him had her headphones plugged in and was listening to an unfamiliar rock band while typing away. The teenager a row behind her was listening to an 80s jazz artist, tapping their foot slightly as they read whatever was on the screen. The sound of the mouse’s scroll wheel rolling was slightly satisfying to his ears, and he wondered how quiet it was for everyone else. The man sitting at the fifth and last row was tapping away at his phone, seemingly having forgotten about whatever work he had wanted to get done. The computer in front of him hummed quietly as its processor ran, and Matt wondered how many applications he had open for it to emit the warmth that it did.

Down the aisles stood a man, his daughter hoisted up on his shoulders while she reached for a book.

A couple sat hustled in a corner near the back, sharing one beanbag as they giggled at whatever book they were reading.

“Okay, that should be that.” Barbara moved out of the way so he could move to sit down on the chair. “If you need help with anything then just call out. I’ll be nearby; I need to clean up some of the bookshelves.”

Matt gave her a nod, and she went to do just that. Shifting to sit more comfortably in his seat, Matt navigated to Facebook and created a new account.

Him and Foggy had started up a law firm on their own, and while it felt strange to do it all again alone, he knew that it was necessary if he wanted to start earning a living.

Sharpening up his profile, and joining a few Facebook groups for Gotham civilians, he started to type up a post about his services. Matthew Michael. Lawyer. Happy to help Gotham civilians with any cases and accepts different forms of payment. Cares about his services being affordable and accessible, so no need to worry too much about fees – they could always be adjusted and discussed in person.

Adding a few final details and setting up an email for himself and adding that onto it as well, he clicked post. Great. Hopefully he’d have at least one case by the end of the week.

Logging off and taking off the headphones, he stood up from the desk. Barbara was off organizing books down an aisle a bit to his left.

“Barbara?”

At his voice, she popped out of the aisle. “Hey, Mr. Michael. Everything okay?”

“Please, just Matt is fine. I was wondering, does the library put up community flyers?”

“Oh, we do. We have a few placed right near the entrance. Were you looking to sign up for anything?”

Matt shook his head, sending her a smile. “No, I was wondering if I could put something up myself actually.”

“Oh?” Barbara questioned, curiosity filling her voice.

“I’m a lawyer. Independent. So, I need a few ways to let people know about my services.”

She hummed in interest. “I see. I’m not sure how much the average Gotham citizen can spend on lawyer fees though.” She warned.

He shot her a wry smile at that. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I practice law to help people, not for the money. We used to accept fruits as payment back at my old law firm.”

She snorted in amusement. “Really?”

“Hell’s Kitchen had a lot of people low on money who were being mistreated by their landlords, falsely accused of crimes or just… struggling. It would have been counterintuitive, to help them and then put more on their plate by demanding money.”

She seemed to think on his comment before nodding slightly. “I could help with designing the poster, if you’d like.”

At her offer, he perked up slightly. “I would appreciate that, thank you Barbrara.”

She nodded, telling him it was no issue, but her attention seemed diverted as two heartbeats walked into the library.  

Matt cringed inwardly as he recognized one of them, and the person themselves slowed down slightly once they caught sight of him.

“Matthew?”

Matt turned around, letting his eyebrows raise in surprise as he faced the duo. He paused, as if taking the time to place her voice. “…Selina?”

“Correct, counsellor. Long time no see, huh?”

This time, he let the wince show on his face. “I didn’t want to intrude any longer than I already had.”

Selina crossed her arms, seeming like she had more to say but didn’t want to make him feel cornered in front of their current company. “I want to argue that statement, but maybe we should do that over a cup of coffee instead, hm?”

He sent her a weary smile at that. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to do. Now that he knew Gotham might turn into a slightly longer-term investment, it would be nice to have allies of some sort. And Selina was a good ally. Maybe even a good friend, if he’d let himself reach that point.

“I’m sure Bruce wouldn’t mind,” Selina was saying as she turned to the person next to her and cocked her head. “Do you?”

Matt turned to face the second person, happy to finally put a name to the beat. Although, maybe not as happy at what the name was.

So.

This was Bruce Wayne?

Mr Wayne had been lowly exchanging a greeting with Barbara, but now that their attention was on them, he shifted forward and stuck out a hand. “Of course not. Bruce Wayne. It’s a pleasure.”

“Matt Michael,” Matt nodded back. “Mr Wayne… you’re who couldn’t make it to accompany Selina to the gala right?” he slid a questioning smile the man’s way, allowing the slight sharp edge of his smirk to slip through.

Selina exhaled a short laugh of amusement and Wayne dropped his hand. “Yes, but Selina knows I had my reasons. I had to fly out of country last minute, you see.”

“Oh, for a bigger party I’m assuming?”

“Exactly.” Bruce’s tone clearly painted the toothy smile on his face, and Matt sent an equally fake smile back.

Selina cleared her throat, and he could sense the bewilderment and slight exasperation coming from Barbara. “Okay boys, if you’re quite done measuring your swords, the rest of us would like to have some normal conversation.” She turned to his left. “It’s great to see you again Barbara.”

Matt tilted his head in surprise. “You know each other?”

“I wanted to ask you the same question, Matt.” Barbara said with a light laugh before explaining. “I’ve known Selina and the Waynes since I was a kid.”

Oh, well that was news. Babara was back to asking the other two questions, and Matt rolled his cane in his hand while he listened in.

“No, now you know I don’t read Barbara.” Bruce was saying. “Me and Selina were just on a little walk, when we passed by the library. And who would we be if we didn’t come in to say hi?”

“It was completely my idea.” Selina clarifies with a smirk. “Just like how it was my idea for Bruce to treat me to lunch. To make up for missing the gala.” She said, aiming the last sentence towards Matt.

“Speaking of lunch, are you joining us then Matthew?” Bruce saying Matt’s name with such casualty made his skin itch, but there was something about the man that made Matt feel it was all intentional. Other than the fact that he had lied about ‘just passing by’ the library.

See, there was a way that Bruce Wayne held himself. He walked like a man who owned every place he stepped in or knew that he could own it if he wanted to. But there was a preciseness to every movement he took – even the bold, sweeping ones that spoke of grandiosity. He had the flare expected from a playboy billionaire, and yet a calculatedness hid behind every move he made.

Also, his ribs were just on their way to healed.

So, Matt couldn’t help but smile and tilt his head. “Of course. I’d love to.”

There was something about Bruce Wayne that screamed at him to listen close, and Matthew Murdock could not help but want to know what it was. At the least, through this lunch he could figure out what thrill-seeking hobby or cheap trick the billionaire had tried to pull, and failed miserably at, to gain an injury like the one he was just healing from.  

Bruce did not trust Matthew Michael.

He hadn’t trusted him when Selina first mentioned the man while on their walk. He hadn’t trusted him when she told him about his disappearance after the gala - no proper goodbye, no explanation. And now, sitting face to face, that instinct hadn’t changed.

Matthew Michael didn’t seem to like Bruce Wayne either. Fine. Most people didn’t. Brucie Wayne wasn’t designed to be liked. Because if you liked someone, it meant you saw through the first layer they presented to everyone else.

And Brucie didn’t have anything under that first layer. The playboy persona was the perfect cover. Shallow, charming and careless. Brucie stumbled into fountains, spilled wine and flirted with anything that moved. It kept cameras on him when he wanted, and off him when it mattered.

So, while Matt was a strange new character to deal with, he was also someone who didn’t like Bruce enough to dig further into his actions. Just another person in the crowd.

Selina liking him was the issue. She toyed with the friendship like a cat with yarn. Not because she needed friends, but because someone new in Gotham’s dull, grey smog was a novelty. And novelty made Bruce check backgrounds.

One text to Oracle after learning his name was all it took. Only for Barbara to text back her location. Bruce wasn’t sure if Matt’s constant presence around his people was just coincidence. But it wasn’t something he would let go until he had done some more digging.

Selina hadn’t been impressed when he told her (“Really, Bruce? Couldn’t even wait an hour to do your stalking?”), but she’d dragged him to the library anyways.

Which led them here. Respective coffees on the table, Selina between them, Matt across from him, as they sat at a table tucked into the corner. Out of the windows’ line of sight. Easy to watch the room from, and hard to be seen.

He sat wanly at his seat, one leg crossed over the other while giving Matt a practiced, pleasant smile.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, Matthew,” Selina said. “But I thought you left for Hell’s Kitchen the morning I woke up and you weren’t in the guest room.”

Matt winced towards her. Not convincing. He was sorry she was hurt, but not sorry he disappeared. Leaving without a goodbye. The kind of move Bruce would pull. Exactly the reason he didn’t trust him.

“You did say that my ‘friend’ didn’t deserve the title,” Matt mused. “And I agree. I cut ties with him but…” he paused, frowning slightly. “Without the people, Hell’s Kitchen feels… different. The city’s just not there anymore.”

He smiled. “I needed a fresh start, and I’ve been getting to know Gotham. So, I thought, why not stay?”

Selina’s brow arched in disbelief and Matt chuckled. “You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, aren’t you?”

“That’s because you may as well be,” Brue spoke lightly, calculated mirth in his voice. “I don’t know anyone who wants to live here willingly.”

“So, you’re not here willingly then, Mr Wayne?” Matt asked. “You’re rich enough to move. Metropolis is right next door even. But you stay here.”

“Matty, I grew up here.” Bruce lets the nickname drop on purpose. The twitch in Matt’s polite expression worth it. “I have a connection to Gotham. I can’t just leave. No matter how boring it gets."

“Please, call me anything but Matty, and we should get along fine.” The sharp smile didn’t match the words, and Bruce returned it easily. “I think ‘boring’ is the last word people would use for Gotham.”

“Fallen in love with the city already? I know a few good tour guides. I could set you up.” Bruce let a suggestive edge leak into the words.

“No thank you, Mr Wayne. And it’s easy to call a city boring if you’re fortified, safe and don’t have to worry about what everyone else fears.”

“I assure you, Matthew, I’ve had my fair share of villain attacks.”

“And you also live far enough from where most of these attacks happen.”

Bruce let that pass. “Right, I forgot you were at the manor. How was the gala? My sons mentioned you.”

“It was fine. You’ve got great sons, you should be proud of that. But that wasn’t my point, Mr Wayne.”

No jab. No insult about their messy exit. Bruce hadn’t expected that. He made no physical movement to show surprise, but Matt tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something private.

“Please, call me Bruce. Mr Wayne is my father,” he deflected.

That, oddly, got a smile from Matt. It wasn’t aimed at Bruce, instead at some distant memory. It was gone as fast as it came.

"Has anyone told you you'd be a good reporter?” Bruce asked. “You have a way with words."

"No. You’re the first." Matt says sardonic. "Lawyers are meant to have good verbal skills, you know."

"Amongst others, I'm sure." Bruce’s tone dripped with suggestion, and Selina snorted.

His eyes turned to her just a millisecond too fast. He’d almost forgotten she was there. Matt seemed to have done the same.

"Aw, what a shame.” Selina said, amused. “I was enjoying the show. Don’t stop on my account. I love watching grown men argue."

Knowing Matt couldn't see him, Bruce levelled a flat stare Selina's way. She raised an eyebrow back.

"Come on, you’re really stopping here? You two are so alike, it’s interesting."

Matt’s mouth tightened. Bruce’s own eyebrow twitched. Alike? Hardly. Matt’s charm was calculated arrogance; Bruce’s was a shield.

“Selina, we’re just joking around.” Bruce said, waving a hand before leaning towards Matt. “I just want to get to know your friend better.”

The red-tinted glasses masked it from most, but Bruce caught the subtle narrowing of Matt’s eyes. Calculation. He’d seen that look in boardrooms, and back alleys. Men with something to hide. He’d seen it on plenty of lawyers too. The good ones. The corrupt ones. The ones who smiled at you while having a knife hidden within the paperwork.   

He didn’t trust Matthew Michael, but if he was here to stay in Gotham then Bruce needed to keep an eye on the man. Gotham didn’t have the best track record with attorneys after all.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not wasting daylight on polite conversation.” Grabbing her coat, Selina tossed a glance between them. “Let’s go.”

Matt rose without protest, smoothing out the sleeves of his jacket. The motion was casual, but Bruce noticed the way he tilted his head towards the door, as if listening for something before they headed out.

They stepped outside, Matt with an arm around Selina’s as she led them to the destination she had in mind. Conversation was idle between the three, with Bruce occasionally tossing pointed questions Matt’s way. The man answered smoothly, but firmly dodged specifics about his past or work. Brucie chuckled at one of his own jokes, while Bruce catalogued the evasions. Specific points to do more research on later.

It didn’t take them long to reach the art gallery, and he shot a look at Selina at her choice of destination which went ignored. Instead, they walked inside, and Bruce observed the way Matt tilted his head, walking at a slightly slower pace as he took in the expansive hall.

The sleek modern interior of the gallery was a sharp contrast to Gotham’s usual grit. Selina had chosen well for the exhibit, and even Bruce found himself drawn in by the light, sound and texture which danced around him. Most of the exhibits were based on touch and sound, focusing on the audience interacting with the pieces, rather than just observing.

At one point, they entered a room painted in white, with black butterflies adorning the walls. In the centre of the room, the paper butterflies cascaded down from the ceiling on strings. They reminded him of bead curtains, with the rocks replaced by paper. Matt touched a butterfly and the whole line of string softly swayed. Bruce watched him stand there, Matt’s head tilted as if listening to an invisible melody.

Then he lifted his head up, voice carrying slightly. “Enjoying the exhibit, Mr Wayne?” Matt asked, something searching in his voice.

“It’s nice.” Bruce said, now walking up to Matt. “But I’d much rather recommend the Louvre.”

Matt hummed, placing both hands on his cane. “Paris is a bit out of my budget.”

“Just spend a month saving up and you’ll be fine.” Bruce let the carelessness drip in his words, patting Matt’s shoulder lightly.

“A month. Right.” Matt’s voice was wry, and his smile amused as he replied. He started walking, head tilted searchingly. “Where’s Selina?”

“Bathroom,” Bruce shrugged, but he had an inkling of what she was really up to. He extended his hand slightly towards Matt, “Allow me, Matthew. Wouldn’t want you bumping into one of Gotham’s finer art pieces.”

Matt raised an eyebrow but seemed to concede, bringing his hand forward and holding on lightly to Bruce’s elbow. They walked into the next exhibit. The floor was marked with swirls and a group of teenagers jumped from one swirl to the next. As their feet touch the ground, music pattered from the speakers. Tones and instruments differing depending on where they jumped. A girl stood jumping back and forth, the sound of two different piano keys repeating at her movements. A boy stomped his foot from his spot in the middle of the room, playing a boring beat on the drums.

Bruce felt Matt’s fingers twitch slightly and observed the slight pinch in his eyebrows.

“Quite chaotic.” Bruce murmured, and Matt turned to face him.

“It is pretty loud for an art gallery.”

“I would say juvenile, more so than loud. This is the type of room you’d see in a playground, not an exhibit hall.”

Matt began walking, and Bruce, noting his eagerness to leave the room, walked beside him, guiding them to the exit.

“I’m guessing the Louvre didn’t have an exhibit like this one?”

Bruce let out an amused huff at the teasing murmur. He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid I didn’t have the... pleasure, of coming across anything like that during my time there.”

The next room was filled with various paintings and miniature sculptures, these being held behind glass and not to touch. Bruce caught Selina standing at the centre of the room, facing the painting prominently on display.

She turned around, arms crossed, once she heard them approach. “There you are. You two sure took your sweet time catching up.”

“What are we looking at?” Matt dropped his hand from Bruce’s elbow and took a step closer to the display.

“It’s a painting, pretty boring.” Bruce feigned disinterest in his voice while he looked at Selina with slightly raised eyebrows. She shot him a wry smile in return.

“Don’t mind Bruce, he just doesn’t see the art in these things,” she said, before turning to look at the painting again. “It’s a portrait the artist did of his wife. Named ‘The Brightest Jewel’. One of his ancestors used to be a British soldier back during the British Raj. Must have been some commander, because he was ‘gifted’ with these two dual diamonds during his time there. The diamonds were passed down from generation to generation, until Noah here, used it for his painting.”

She pointed to the woman’s face. “The giant earrings worn by Noah’s wife are the standout piece of this artwork. Literally. The diamonds are stuck onto the canvas and work as the earrings. This piece is worth millions, for the history behind it and because of the value of the diamonds themselves.”

“That’s…” Matt trailed off, and Bruce let him. It was in silences like these that people often revealed their true thoughts. “Horrible, actually.”

Selina grinned, satisfied. “It is. I hate this artwork for that very reason.”

Matt looked up from where he had been listening to the audio description of the artwork. He shot a humourless smile their way. “The description and ‘history’ here have avoided everything related to colonization and stealing. No surprises.” He shot Selina an inquisitive work. “Did you already know about this painting’s history?”

“I like art. I like keeping an ear out on the special new pieces that come to Gotham.” She smiled as they began walking out of the room. “So yes, I did a little research.”

Selina swept the room with her eyes one last time, glancing at the painting for a second too long.

The trio left the gallery.

“Selina’s planning to steal an exhibition painting from Gotham’s Gallery of Art.” Bruce said out loud as he fixed his tie.

Dick looked up from where he leant against the kitchen counter, “I’m guessing you want me to go check it out?”

“I would go myself, but…”

“You have a gala to attend.” Alfred finished wryly, packing away the leftovers from dinner.

The rest of the kids snorted from their relative places in the room.

“Are you telling me that not showing up to a valentines gala is that huge of an issue?” Stephanie twirled a marker around in her hand, eyebrows raised in genuine curiosity.

“Honestly, it’s the fact that he skipped his own gala. And now if he doesn’t not show up to the actual gala held on Valentines Day?” Tim picked the marker out of her hand and uncapped it. “Gotham’s prince missing two galas in a row is big enough for a scandal.”

“High society is weird.” Duke sighed, taking the marker and passing it to Cassandra who hummed in agreement.

“I’ll stay for an hour.” Bruce informed them, watching idly as Cassandra swiftly brought the marker closer to the unconscious face of Damian. “And then leave after throwing a stunt to feed the magazines. I’m assuming you can all manage during that time.”

They hummed their agreements and Damian stirred awake at the noise. Cass threw the marker backwards, straight to Dick, who pocketed it in his jeans swiftly. Damian narrowed his eyes at them, not suspicious but more so embarrassed at having fallen asleep to begin with.

“You’re leaving, Father?”

At Bruce’s nod, the boy stood up and followed him. Bruce turned to the others one last time.

“Dick, investigate what Selina’s planning. The rest of you, patrol as usual.” He paused. “If you spot the masked man, inform me immediately.”

At this, the room rose to action.

“Wait, the one that’s been trying to play vigilante lately?”

“He was good at fighting, from what I saw when I observed him.”

“I heard he’s got all the thugs scared of him. Are you jealous, B?”

“They’re calling him the Devil. Isn’t that kind of crazy?”

“Do you guys think he’s actually…”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t think the Devil spends his time stopping muggings and break-ins.”

“Do we try and capture him, if he’s a hostile?”

“I trust your judgement.” Bruce replied, and then promptly left them to their discussion. Damian followed him as he made his way to the front door.  

 “Do you think this… ‘devil’ was the one involved in the warehouse incident?”

“The one Nightwing thought you sneaked out for?”

 “Yes,” Damian scowled. “He’s stopped a lot of crime the past few days, but he only appeared after we found that machine. We don’t know anything about the two. Do I approach the man as a friend, or as a foe?”

“You approach with caution.”

Damian nodded and then stalled as they reached the front door. Bruce turned, raising an eyebrow slightly as he looked down at his boy and waited for what it was that he really wanted to talk about.

Damian looked off to the side. “I think it was quite silly for Kyle to insist you have lunch with her today.” He huffed.

“I thought you liked her.”

“She is nice, but if you are going to court her again-”

“Robin.” The boy crossed his arms but looked back up at him, and Bruce continued. “I asked Selina for help on a mission, which I then couldn’t make because the Lanterns called me up to space. To make it up to her, I offered to be her partner for our Valentines Gala, and then I had to cancel because of a League mission. We went out to lunch today as friends, because if we didn’t go now, I probably wouldn’t have another day free to make it up to her.”

“So, you are both just… friends?”

“Yes.”

Damian huffed. “Good. I’ll let this pass, but in the future let Kyle not forget that Valentines Day is for those romantically inclined towards one another. My mother, meanwhile-”

“Damian.”

The boy paused and then turned to the window with a huff. “I do not understand why you two cannot try.”

“I think you do.”

He was met with silence and stared at the boy for a moment. Damian didn’t usually bring Talia up, but with it being Valentines Day, seeing the couples and parents around on dates must have itched at him. To a point, Bruce understood why Damian felt the way he did. But Bruce hadn’t felt that way towards Talia in a long, long time.

He placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before withdrawing. The boy gave a short nod and Bruce walked out into the car. Alfed was already inside, somehow, and he gave Bruce a knowing glance before wheeling out into the road.

“I have your suit packed in the car for when I return in an hour.”

“I thought so. Thank you, Alfred.”

He nodded at him, and Bruce looked out the window in thought. He’d played it off with Damian, but his son had been right. The so-called masked ‘Devil’ was a wild-card, and the machine he was related to even more so.

Friend or foe, Damian had asked. Bruce didn’t know yet.

Chapter Text

Tuesday

(The Day After Matt’s Teleportation)

“Sir, I need you to put the gun down.”

Swivelling his head to face the sweating security guard, Wade took his second pistol out and aimed it at the man. “Not really fair to say when you’re aiming one at me, is it?” He waved the pistol carelessly towards the man’s hand where he gripped a handgun. “Mine’s better, by the way.”

A shot rang out and Wade squinted his eyes in offense, now staring at the man standing to his left. “The fuck, dude? Are you mad I didn’t compliment your gun? It’s a bit too small for my taste, honestly.”

The lack of screaming on Wade’s side must have disturbed the shooter because he began firing madly, bullets unloading into Wade’s torso. The mercenary winced, bending over like he’d gotten cramps.

“Shit, these do hurt by the way. Also, respect my preferences.” He shot the man’s knee, tsking in slight disappointment as he watched the man immediately fall.

Turning back to Guard 1 (or was it technically 2?), Wade stalked forward. “Y’know, I wasn’t actually going to shoot any of you. I had my fair share of that earlier today.” Putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, he leaned forward. His mask shifted, fabric wrinkling to hint at the wide toothy grin he had underneath.

“Just use whatever access code you have to unlock that elevator, and I’ll leave to go up and visit the big daddy. Capeesh?”

“I… can’t do that.”

Sighing, Wade brought his pistol up. “I said I wasn’t going to shoot you, but after your buddy carved me up like a donut, I’m seriously having second thoughts.” He nudged the gun against his chin. “So, spill.”

“Y-you won’t be able to do anything to me that would match what Fisk would do, if he found out I let you up. So, no thanks.”

“Huh. I seriously doubt that.” He flicked the safety off the gun and brought it away from the guard’s face. Instead, he brought the pistol south and then-

And then his hand was whipped back and his gun jammed close by white webbing.

Damnit, Spidey.

“What are you doing, Pool?” The man’s exasperated voice rang out. He gave the unconscious guard a once-over before pulling on the web attached to Wade and dragging the mercenary to him in one tug.

Wade let himself be tugged and then placed his hands on the spider’s shoulders. “Look Webs, I’ve got no time for our usual flirty back-and-forth-”

“That’s all you, Wade-”

“I’ve got no time. I have a meeting with bald papa up there, so pry open this elevator and throw me up.”

Peter shook his head, shrugging off Wade’s hands. “There’s a bunch of cop cars on their way here, so you better explain to me why you thought it was a good idea to storm into Fisk Tower.”

“Come on, Spidey. You’re telling me it’s okay to fight Electro and Goblin-what’s-his-name in public, but Fisky’s the exception?” Wade wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, dragging him to the elevator.

But Peter’s strength far outmatched his, and the man grabbed onto Wade’s arm and held them in place. “Deadpool.”

Wade sobered up. He faced Peter, pitching his voice low. “He’s. got. Red.”

Peter tensed slightly at that. “What? Daredevil’s up there?”

“No, I-” Wade scratched his head through the mask. “I don’t know. DD’s gone and it’s because of Wilson Fisk, which, who decided to make us share a name huh-”

His words ended in a yelp as Wade was suddenly lifted off the ground. Peter swung them out of the building and onto a roof. He gripped Wade’s shoulder, grounding him. “Tell me what happened.”

So, Wade did.

Halfway through, Peter began swinging them towards the warehouse Wade mentioned. They dropped down in front of it by the time Wade had finished.

“What if I killed him, Spidey?”

For once, Wade’s tone lacked humour. It was a genuine question, allowing the other man a peak at the wariness Deadpool felt.

Peter shook his head firmly. “No. He’s not dead. There’s no way M-Daredevil’s dead. The machine sent him somewhere. I can figure it out.”

He opened the door and then paused at the horde of bodies that lay on the ground. Deadpool shrugged at Peter’s blank stare, electing to ignore him as he stepped inside the warehouse.

“What? I stayed here all night in case the horn-head came back. Which he didn’t, the asshole. But then come morning, and these idiots for hire swarm in to retrieve the machine for Fisky boy.” He turned back to point at Peter. “I didn’t kill them though. So that’s a point on my good list, write it down.”

Peter knelt near one of the men, as if to confirm Wade’s words. Satisfied, he stood up and joined the merc where he stood in front of the machine. “...Why is this built like every teleportation device ever.”

Wade whipped his head to him. “So, you think he’s been sent to space?”

“Something along those lines.”

At this, Deadpool deflated. “Then he’s definitely dead. Devil boy wasn’t wearing a space suit when he left. I’m going down as the man who killed Daredevil.” Wade exhaled. “The Punisher’s gonna kill me.”

“Daredevil’s not dead, and I think the Punisher wants to kill you either way.” Peter placed his hands on his hips decisively. “We need to tell the Avengers.”

Wade perked up, clearly about to make a comment, but a flicker of gold glowed in his peripheral made him pause. They looked back at the machine and saw a portal open up on the ground right underneath it. The machine fell through the portal’s gaping golden mouth and the two men blinked in the silence that remained.

“...Maybe we should get a second opinion before talking to the Avengers.” Peter murmured before he swung right into the portal.

Groaning in exasperation, Wade eyed the portal wearily before jumping through. Just in time too, as it closed right behind him. He landed on the ground with a thump, knees slightly aching.

“For some unknown reason, I am surprised to see you two here.” A sardonic voice greeted them, and Wade looked up to see the Sorcerer Supreme looking at them with a raised brow.

“Be honest Doc, you’re just cranky because your favourite red hero isn’t here with us.”

A smirk tugged at Strange’s lips. “Actually, I’m fond of Spiderman too. It’s just you I don’t like, Deadpool.”

“Ouch.”

Ignoring them, Peter observed the machine. “Why are you looking into this machine, Stephen?”

Frowning, the man walked up to the machine as well. Warily, he touched the device with his fingertips before retreating. “I woke up this morning feeling the magic of the universe practically vibrating. I traced the immense amount of magic back to this machine. It feels like the world’s magic is pulling at me – and at itself.”

“What? Like the universe is about to break apart?”

“No, more like it’s trying to go somewhere.” Then Strange looked at them. “Now tell me, what were you two doing with this?”

Peter looked at Wade and the merc tilted his head backwards, tired from having to re-tell the story so much. “Ahh… I may have been hired by Wilson Fisk to guard it.” Strange tensed and Wade continued. “To be fair, I didn’t know he hired me until DD showed up! And then we started poking the machine – or I poked while he tried to figure out what it was.” Strange’s face pinched more at that. “And then... I accidentally turned it... on? I think? And he was standing on it and there was a bang and then he was just- gone.” The wrinkles on the wizard’s face may have just turned permanent, Wade thinks. “He’s not dead right?”

“I’d like just one day where I’m not in eternal stress. One day.”

Turning back to the machine, Strange continued. “The magic in here is powerful and… old. It seems to be a transportation spell, yes. But it’s fused with space itself in a way I’ve never seen before. And the magic itself feels so eerily familiar and yet… foreign.”

“Daredevil is a friend, and I want to hope that he’s okay.” He says. “But I also fear he’s right in the middle of whatever is going to happen. The world is thrumming. I feel the magic reaching out to us and then reaching further back out – but to where, I have no clue.”

Peter sighed.

“So… this is an Avengers level thing then?”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

-

Present Time

-

Matt had been patrolling when he recognized it. A strange something ran through him, and he stumbled as he finally realized that there was something terribly off with his body. So busy focusing on the world around him, he’d dismissed the feeling of wrongness that had itched inside him. It was homesickness he’d thought, or a feeling of weakness that he was happy to shove down and away.

But a small moment of looking inwards absent-mindedly and now he knew something was wrong.

Getting his bearings intact, Matt breathed in and out.

There was something coursing through him. It was light, barely there and only just brushing against his perception. If he stopped focusing properly, it immediately rushed away from his mind, and there was no sign that there was anything wrong or different. But when Matt honed into himself, it was there again. Faint, but present. Something strange. Something foreign.

The wispy sensation was mainly concentrated in his chest, coiling around his heart and his ribs. His breath quickened in discomfort, not knowing how or when this had gotten there. Was it an aftereffect of the multiversal travel? A permanent alteration to mark him to this world?

Breathing raggedly, he let his senses spread out, trying to distract himself from this pervasive feeling of wrongness. Now was not the time for an existential crisis. He urged the city’s noise and smell to envelope him instead and-

There.

His ears snag onto a wide building just a street away. Tense heartbeats gathered inside, the smell of gunpowder and haggard breathing. Matt’s feet carry him towards the building, his heart slowing its thunderous rate, relieved at having something to punch.

He hears an unfamiliar voice ranting inside, and heartbeats slow – drugged, he can tell from the wine’s scent. He slipped inside through a high window, noticing that the voice isn’t from anyone in the room and instead comes from the speakers.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” The voice crackled. “Such a lovely party you have here, and Valentine’s is the day of gifts, isn’t it?”

Matt hid behind a pillar as the voice prattled on, taking stock of the situation.

“Riddle me this: to love is to trust. How much do you all trust your resident vigilante, I wonder?”

The guests were all tied to their chairs. Metal chains were wrapped around the hostages, with heavy heart-shaped padlocks hanging at the front.

“When he gets here, your beloved Bat will have to pick the right keys from this gift box. Love is a gamble, you see. Half of these keys free you, and the other half triggers the traps in your locks.”

The padlocks each held distinct smells and quiet thrumming sounds that trailed out to his ears.

“You each get a different flavour. Toxins, gas, explosions – maybe a hint of Joker Venom in there too. Fancy, I know. And I’ve made sure it’s the Bat himself who’ll play my game today.”

Matt heard the main door click shut, the thugs who had tied the guests up effectively vacating.

The voice continued, but Matt paused, instead focusing on the sound of sudden ticking starting in tandem across the city. Six distinct places spaced sufficiently far apart.

He moved, stepping out of the shadows. Okay, he’d have to speed this up and then go deal with the bombs, it seemed.

“Oh, it seems the Bat is here already…” The captor trails off, presumably taking in the Devil’s form. “Who are you?”

The voice is tinged with malice and a hint of interest. Matt has an inkling of the type of man this is, and he decides to play into it.

“Someone who’s come to play your puzzle.” He growls, tilting his head towards the television in acknowledgement. His hearing spreads throughout the room, checking to make sure the captives are all okay. Most of them seemed to have consumed the alcohol and have sluggish heartrates.

He blinks under his mask as a familiar heartbeat graces his ears. Bruce Wayne. Right, this was the second Valentines gala. It made sense for the man to come since he missed the first.

Although this probably wasn’t the party Bruce had been hoping for.

“You are not who this puzzle is for.” The voice continued, and Matt grinned, baring his teeth.

 “Afraid?”

“No, I’m merely disappointed. There are only a few people who can match my intellect, and you stranger, are not on that list.”

Matt’s senses had already taken in the keys within the box, and he walked towards them. He felt Bruce’s shifting against his restraints, heartbeat impressively calm compared to the thundering roars that filled the room alongside his.

“You should open your heart to a new competitor on a day like this.” Matt said as he stepped up to the box.

There was silence for a moment, before the voice spoke up again. “Fine. What is your name then, player?”

“Daredevil.”

The name felt loud in the room, and Matt realized this was the first time he’d spoken it out loud in this world. Matthew Murdock did not exist here in Gotham, but Daredevil did.

“Your name explains your actions.” The voice spoke with dry amusement. “This box holds the keys to their hearts. Use the wrong key to open a lock and you’ll be sending them into a toxic death.”

Matt picked up a key at the stranger’s words, turning it around in his hand.

“Fifty keys, fifty chances to fail.”

Picking up another key idly, Matt paused. They weren’t equally balanced, with one being just slightly heavier in the shaft. Choosing a third one, he compared it with the two to find that it too was slightly heavier in the same area.

"I see you’re observing the different prints of the keys.” The voice mused. “I have five riddles. Each riddle tells you which ten keys are true. Learn the answer to all five riddles and you will know which fifty keys to choose.”

Matt exhaled slightly, internally grateful for not having villains as tedious as this stranger. The voice must have caught a twitch in his expression however, because it laughed. “Not so daring now that you see the stakes, are you?”

“Tell me the first riddle.” He growled out instead, buying more time.

The voice started speaking but Matt tuned the words out as his fingers felt the warmer, denser state of the weightier key. He brushed the two keys against each other, listening to the thud and slight vibration from each one. The heftier key had a slightly duller resonance.

Matt set it aside and reached for the next few keys, sorting them between weightier and not.

The voice on screen chuckled, catching Matt’s actions. “What’s wrong, Devil? Afraid to play with all these hearts at once? The clock is ticking.”

At his words, the guests, who had been murmuring and cowering wearily, turned frantic. They yell at him and tug on their chains, but Matt ignores them, instead continuing to separate the keys.

“Us guests aren’t allowed to answer the riddles, are we?” He hears Bruce ask the voice. His words are slurred, as if his daring question was a result of the drugged wine in his system.

Faced away from the rest of the room, Matt lets a slight frown tug at his lips. Bruce was one of the only few not drugged, and his lips held no trace of alcohol. Clearly the man had forgone drinking tonight.

“Mr. Wayne, you’re lucky you aren’t gagged. Some puzzles aren’t for all to play.”

“But Riddler, It’s Valentines Day. By your logic, this puzzle should be a game for two-”

Eyebrows raised at Bruce’s sheer audacity, Matt sorts through the keys faster. He hears the heartbeats around the room speed up and feels Bruce’s own fist tighten slightly from where it seems he was trying to shift out of the chains.

Seemingly out of patience, the hostage closest to Matt yells out in frustration. “Why are we letting this stranger complete the puzzle? Have you all gone insane?! I don’t trust this man, and we may as well be dead.” He shook in his chair, desperately trying to escape from his restraints. “At least with Batman, escape was almost certain. This- this devil-”

His words break off partway through as Matt crouches down next to him, two keys in his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Wait.” Matt murmurs and then holds up the heftier key. He brings it slightly closer to the lock and pauses. There. A slight magnetic tug from the lock. He feels the metallic vibration through his skin and the sound of a slight click.

He puts the key away, the sensation disappearing. Then he brings the second key closer, and closer still. When there is no reaction at all coming from the lock, he knows he’s made the right choice.

The lighter keys were the right ones.

Pushing the key into the lock, he felt the man stiffen under his arms in fear. But no toxins were released, and instead the chains dropped, allowing the man to fall to his knees in relief. He squeezed the man’s shoulder in support before standing up and collecting all the lighter keys he had separated from the lot.

A ragged exhale hissed through the speakers. “How did you…”

Matt moved, unlocking each person with the right keys. “I saw through your plan, Riddler.” He said, remembering what Bruce had called him earlier. “Simple as that.”

“You didn’t answer the riddle. Not even one.”

“I didn’t need to. There are other ways to solve puzzles.”

When he reached Bruce, he felt the man slightly tense under him. Nothing visible to the normal eye, but he heard the scrape of teeth as the man’s jaw tightened by a fraction. Interesting.

Freeing the man and moving on to the final few, he picked up the pace of his movements. The Riddler was agitated, but he seemed to have been relying on the game completely and hadn’t set up any other traps. Matt would be able to sense if he had.

No, it seemed the Riddler was a man who valued his game, and valued the game being played to the full.

“I beat you.” Matt told the screen.

There was a beat of silence. A disbelieving frustrated exhale. And then a click as the static from the tv disappeared – and seemingly so did the voice.

The heartbeats around him quietened, and a stranger’s voice wobbled as they called out to him. “Who are you?”

He nodded his head towards them in acknowledgement, trying to seem non-threatening. “Daredevil.”

“R-right…”

Bruce pushed through the crowd then, and Matt internally furrowed an eyebrow as he catalogued the man’s actions throughout the event.

“But who are you, Mr. Daredevil?” Wayne man asked. “Another vigilante protecting Gotham?” Bruce huffed slightly, as if in disbelief. His voice wobbled, hinting at the fear someone like him would have felt in this situation, but his heartbeat remained steady. Bruce Wayne was a good actor.

Tilting his head, Matt took a step away from them. “Wait here.” Shooting out the wire from his billy club, he swung out of the building through the high window and dropped to the ground.

He drew his senses out into the city, placing the ticking from earlier. One or two heartbeats now surrounded each bomb and their ticking cut off one by one. Matt untensed slightly. The Bats had dealt with the bombs.

Breaking the padlock that had been placed on the door from the outside, Matt opened the door. The guests rushed out, exhaling in disbelief, the smell of sweat strong in the air.

They turned to face Daredevil who stood framed in the light that leaked out from the hall.

“As for your question,” He spoke. “It seems like Gotham could use a helping hand.”

Hearing the heartbeats of four vigilantes fast approaching, and the distant sirens of police cars a few blocks over, Matt threw out his billy club and swung away. Confirming the guests were safe, he left before any of the masks or officers decided they wanted to try and follow him again.

He listened out, trying to track down the voice he’d heard over the speakers.

There.

Southward, the Riddler hid away in a warehouse murmuring angrily to himself. “He cheated, he cheated. He didn’t play the game.”

Matt’s smile sharpened. Found you.

Chapter Text

If the streets had been murmuring the Devil's name before, the media were now practically shouting Daredevil's after the Riddler incident.

It had been two days since Matt had caught the top-hat wearing man, and he'd heard people speaking his name with both awe and curiosity and fear and wariness. It reminded him of the early Man in Black days. Days not fondly looked upon considering how divided the city's opinion had been on him, and that he'd been framed for terrorism and bombing.

In fact, maybe all this speculation about Daredevil just made Matt feel even less at home. Hell's Kitchen was used to their devil by now, no longer surprised to see him lurking at night or running across rooftops during the daytime. Meanwhile, Matt had limited himself to nighttime prowling here in Gotham, not yet sure about its unspoken rules.

Walking through a part of the city he hadn’t explored yet, Matt thought back to the young man who had 'saved' him from the potential mugging and hummed in thought. Maybe Gotham was used to seeing their heroes out in the day after all?

Speaking of vigilantes, the so-called 'Bats' had been trying to track him down for the past few days. There had been two close calls in the past few days especially. It seemed that they too, were more interested in him after the gala rescue.

Securing the bats in his mental 'avoid' list, he thought of the other few people he had interacted with so far.

Barbara had been extremely helpful with the poster and now they had a flyer proudly displayed at the libraries front. She'd also offered to let him know about anyone who mentioned being interested to Barbara herself.

Then, Selina. They had met for coffee after exchanging numbers. Selina seemed bemused at his low-quality flip phone but made no comment. In his defence, he was working with whatever money he got from pickpocketing pick pocketers.  So, a durable phone that cost forty dollars would have to do.

Selina seemed interested in Daredevil too, although she didn't muse on him too much. Just asked Matt if he'd heard the news, and what he thought about the man. Matt had hummed uncommittedly, making a statement about how vigilantes conflicted him as a lawyer.

"But?"

"But I'm grateful he saved those people."

She hummed in agreement and that was the end of that. They moved onto different topics.

Then there was the final person he had on his mind. Bruce Wayne.

Matt's first impression of the man had been that he was an egotistical self-centred billionaire. Matt had seen the playboy as annoying and frustrating at most.

But then he saw the man while in captivity and it made Matt... suspicious.

He was in danger, yet his heart remained impassive. He seemed to be trying to escape from the chains, quieter than everyone else to his credit, and they seemed to have lightened just a bit, yet the man’s heartrate made it seem like he was at a tea party instead.

Even more incriminating was the pretending to be drunk by slurring his words when he hadn't consumed alcohol at all - and so subsequently wasn't drugged either.

Then came the bold-faces conversations and questions not just aimed at the Riddler but at Matt himself. Sure, maybe the boldness could have come from his drunken state. But again, the man wasn’t even really drunk to begin with. Façade after façade after façade.

All this made Matt's feelings towards Bruce Wayne change from just annoyance to something more. Wariness.

Because Bruce could only have been that calm if he knew he was safe. And what a better way to be safe than by working with the big bad capturer.

It made sense too. Matt had seen one too many rich benefactors backing up villains and crime syndicates.

Bruce didn't seem like a Kingpin, but that didn't mean he couldn't be worse. So, Matt elected to keep an eye on the man.

Right now, though, the Devil had to make himself more familiar to this city. Not just as Daredevil, but as Matthew Michael as well.

He’d gotten a case in fact. Barbara regarded him wearily as she told him about the possible client. A Veronica Lionel, who lived down in Park Row. Everyone in their building was in the process of being forcefully vacated from their apartments and Veronica had been at the library searching for other places to live in, when she’d seen his flyer.

Barbara had told the girl that she would tell Matt about her case, and she left. But as Barbara told Matt, he could tell that she was in deep thought while talking to him.

“Vanessa lives in the area of Park Row that everyone calls Crime Alley.” She informed him. “You need to know that this is a dangerous case Matt. There’s a lot of gang activity and I can assure you that chances are, the landlord is involved in it.”

“I can handle myself, Barbara.”

She shook her head. “Gotham is different. I said I’d help you find cases, so I’m giving this one to you, but I need you to be careful.” She exhaled slightly and he guessed that she was sending him a slight smile. “You’ve only been here for a week. I was hoping you’d avoid disasters for a bit longer.”

 “I’ll be careful.”

At his insistence, she had caved in and given him the address. So now Matt stood knocking on the apartment door.

There was a shuffle from inside the room before someone opened the door slightly, a head looking out from behind the door. The heartbeat was young, but nowhere close to being a child.

“Yes?” Mixed with height and the sound of their voice when they spoke, he would guess they were in their early twenties.

“Hi, I’m Matthew Michael. Barbara gave me the address…” he trailed off. “If this is the right apartment, that is.” He let a chuckle slip, putting on a soft enquiring smile.

The door was opened wider, and the person stepped to the side. “Come inside.”

The apartment smelt stale. Wood creaking just slightly under his feet as he walked.

“You’re Veronica, I’m assuming?”

The girl had her hair pulled back, dressed in what was presumably her work uniform, and smelt slightly of oil and french fries.

“Yeah, I… Pops said this was probably a bad idea, god.” She ran a hand through her hair before glancing at him again. “Sorry. Here, sit down. Please.”

Matt walked towards her and ran a hand over the back of the chair in front of him, before pulling it back. Sitting down, he waited until he heard Veronica take a seat as well before speaking.

“Okay, walk me through what’s going on.”

The girl inhaled before drumming her fingers on the table.

“Um. So, I grew up in this apartment. Lived here with my dad since I can remember. Same thing goes for everyone in the building.” She leans forward. “Crime Alley is not a safe place to live; I need you to understand that. But it’s also one of the only places we can live, and you need to understand that too.”

“But now, Mr. Milchick’s basically forcin’ us to leave. He cut the water off for two days.” She waves her hand vaguely while she speaks. “A lot of the people did leave, although to where, I got no idea. I think I spotted Marvin sittin’ on the street southside.”

Veronica shook her head, jaw gritting. “But I can’t leave. My pops needs a proper bed and this is literally all we can afford. I tried looking up different apartments to rent, I really did, but even in Gotham the prices are too much. It’s crazy. And then I saw your flyer.”

“Mr Michael,” she spoke gravely. “You’ve got to help us. It’s unlawful, isn’t it? To be pulling these tactics to make tenants leave. We can sue?”

Matt nodded, assuring her that he would take on the case. “Don’t worry about payment. You’re my first case, that’s payment enough.”

After he’d gotten more information from Veronica, he went back to the library. He needed an office sooner or later, or at least a personal laptop considering the confidential nature of cases. But for now, he used the public computer to search up tenant protection legislations. He had to make sure there weren’t any differences in the legalities of this world, and then doublecheck that Gotham didn’t have any city-specific legislations or loopholes.

Then he paid a visit to Gotham’s Civil Courthouse where he filed the complaint and the supporting documents. Barbara had warned Matt not to be surprised if the complaint got dismissed, admitting that there were more than many corrupt people in the courts. Matt understood and knew that he would most likely need to find more if he wanted to be able to take the landlord to court. Still, it didn’t hurt to try the first way.

The sun has nearly set by the time he gets back to his apartment and Matt shrugs off his coat and steps into his red-clad suit. Matthew had retired for the night, and now it was the Devil’s turn to pick up the case.

It took a bit of stalking, and a bit of beating, but after an hour he had his suspicions confirmed. Milchick did in fact have more incriminating things going on behind the scenes. Things that Matt could send him behind bars for, if he got the right evidence.

The landlord was forcefully evicting his tenants in a plan to repurpose the building. The truly incriminating aspect being that Milchick was a pillar, albeit a small one, in the ‘Falcone gang’. Matt noted down the unfamiliar name, no doubt that it was an important criminal group within Gotham. The building would be repurposed for the Falcone’s needs. What they were planning to use it for, Matt didn’t know yet.

What he did know, was Milchick’s home address. He dropped the man he had been holding up by the collar, letting him run away since he’d already gotten the information he needed out of him. The address Milchick had provided to his tenants was a fake, no surprises there. But now that he had gotten the man’s actual address, he could do some proper stalking. After figuring out where exactly the place was ofcourse.

Matt moved to leave but instead his head shot up at the sound of gunshots nearby. Crossing the few buildings in between him and the scene, Matt perched above an alley and observed as an armoured man took down a group of men that surrounded him.

For all the vigilantes he had glimpsed through the nights, this was one that Matt hadn’t interacted with yet. And he had to be a vigilante, from the sleek helmet he wore, and the various weapons attached to his person.

Matt heard shifting of fabric against concrete as one of the thugs the man had knocked unconscious earlier raised an arm, gun in hand and aimed at the fighting man. The vigilante seemed preoccupied, faced the other way as he took down one of the final men, so Matt threw out his baton instead.

It hit the gun from the side, whacking it out of the man’s hand effectively. His baton bounced against the wall and recoiled, and the helmeted vigilante whipped his head around at the sound. He seemed to glance at the man on the floor cradling his hand, the gun laying a while away and then followed the baton zipping back to where Matt was crouched on the rooftop.

Well. Time to leave.

Jumping back onto his feet, he swiftly left the site. He heard the man curse in confusion and the sound of boots against metal as he scaled the fire escape and jumped onto the rooftop. The man took out his gun as if to shoot at him. They were rubber bullets, he’d figured that out earlier from the sound, smell and differences in friction. Still, it was best to nip this in the bud.

Slowing down his pace slightly, Matt twisted to avoid a bullet aimed at his leg and then swiftly jumped backwards. He backflipped, travelling through the air towards the man and extended his legs, effectively kicking him and pushing the man backwards. The vigilante’s back hit the roof, and Matt used this moment of immobility to jump down from the building and throw out his billy club’s wire, swinging away.

The man stood up and ran to the edge of the roof, but by then Matt was far and out of sight. “What the fuck?” he murmured to himself. Matt heard the man retreat to the alley he’d left the thugs in and tie them up.

It was kind of disappointing, to not know the names of so many of Gotham’s masks. He knew Signal, from the day the kid had helped him out. He remembered the night he was at Selina’s, where the television had played a report about Nightwing alongside a Red Robin.

There was the stalker he’d had on one of his first few days. Agile and graceful and silent as they followed him. There were a few more people he tracked running across the rooftops during his patrols. He strayed far from them, focusing on not falling under their radar, so he knew not their names or voices or even heartbeats. But he knew they were vigilantes.

Then of course, there was the famed Batman.

He hadn’t met the man at all yet. Although not for a lack of trying from the Bat’s side, he thought.

See, Daredevil had an idea of the type of man Batman was. He could smell the territorialism, and it was one he knew well because Matt was protective of his own city. Sure, he’d probably have to confront the bat someday, but right now he was happy avoiding every vigilante who tried to talk to him while he was in his gear.

Making connections with people as Matthew Michael was one thing, making connections within the masked community was another. It was messy. Messy was normal for Matthew Murdock, but he didn’t need anything to be messy while he was in Gotham. He couldn’t afford to be pulled into vigilante drama when he was trying to find a way home.

He respected Batman and his posse of vigilantes from what he’d heard of them. Albeit he was conflicted at the presence of so many children. He hadn’t begrudged them too deeply, thinking of Young Justice and Sam and knowing he couldn’t judge the teen heroes when he knew so many that started their work around their age. Hell, Peter had been sixteen when he had started, and Matt had been twenty.

So, he didn’t judge the teenagers in masks, but the urge to push them away and tell them to stay at home was bright and livid inside him. He wondered if this was how Foggy felt and then dismissed the thought. Matt was a grown man.

There was a difference.

The universe did not like Matthew Michael Murdock, nor did it respect his wishes. Matthew thought this sardonically as he walked through the corridor, attention focused on the man who had his arms crossed and was leaning across the wall a few feet ahead of him.

Once Matt got closer, the man stood up straight and moved to block his path, clearing his throat so Matt would be aware of his presence. Matt stopped in place and stared at the vigilante from yesterday.

Or well, technically he was staring at the bare face of a young man. Short, cropped hair, leather jacket, a few scars littered across his face. He wasn’t wearing the helmet from yesterday, or the same clothes, but Matt picked his heartbeat out the second Matt walked up to the building.

He tilted his head questioningly, heart slightly speeding up. Was it just a coincidence, that he’d spotted this kid yesterday, and now he was standing in front of Matt again? “Hello?”

“I heard you’re taking up a case to help the tenants here.” The kid said warily, and Matt raised his eyebrows.

“I am. Are you here to warn me to back off?”

“What? No, no. I live here.” His heartbeat spiked in a lie. “I just wanted to ask what you’re planning to do, I guess.”

“Hm. Well, I’m taking this to the courts of course.”

The man shook his head. “You don’t have enough evidence on you. The courts don’t care about a little forceful eviction, they need something more.”

He was right. Matt’s complaint had been rejected, he’d found out this morning. He needed to find something else that was incriminating enough to bring the guy in. That was what tonight’s planned break-in session was for.

He turned back to face the guy in front of him. “Then I’ll find more evidence. I’m not giving up on this case.”

“You’d better not.” The man squeezed Matt’s shoulder and then moved off to the side. “Nice talk, Mr Michael.”

“You too...” he trailed off, tilting his head towards the man in question.

“Todd.”

“Todd, right.” Matt accepted the fake name and let their conversation end. He tracked ‘Todd’ as he walked down the stairs and slipped an earpiece in. The man leant against the buildings side and Matt forcefully did not sigh.

Just a little over a week, and he was already wired. He grinned dryly towards the bug that Todd had placed in his coat pocket. To the young man’s credit, he had been quick with it. A normal person wouldn’t have noticed the bug. Matt had noticed it’s ever so quiet electrical whirring from the moment he’d focused in on Todd, however.

When Veronica opened the door for him, he placed his coat onto the hanger and casually guided her to the other end of the room. Sitting at the dining table, he went over the results of the complaint but then assured her that he was making headway with research. They would be able to take Milchick to court, he would make sure of it.

Their meeting ended without much fanfare, but unfortunately the rest of the day wasn’t the same. By the time Matt left the building, the air was cold with evening wind. He heard about a dozen men loitering on the edges of the property and slowed his descent as he wondered how he would get out of this without revealing his identity.

He glanced woefully at the window down the corridor. He was on the second floor, but it would be easy for him to manoeuvre himself out and parkour down. He itched to do just that, but the heartbeat of Todd rung clear and steady on the building’s rooftop. The man had left an hour or so ago, but it seemed he’d come back after changing into his vigilante gear.

Tsking slightly, Matt descended the stairs. He’d just have to leave through the front door to avoid suspicion. Hopefully the helmeted vigilante would step in sooner rather than later when the thugs attacked.

Just like he anticipated, bodies tensed the second Matt stepped out of the building. The men crowded around him and Matt brought himself to a stop. He gripped his cane harder, tilting his head in question. “Who’s there?”

“Huh, so you’re the lawyer tryna mess up Boss’ plans?” The voice sneering at him belonged to a particularly muscular man.

“And you’re the thugs sent to scare me?” He couldn’t help but dryly ask back.

The man huffed angrily, shoving Matt against the wall and wrapping a hand around his neck. He hulked over Matt, making him seem like a twig in comparison. Matt knew he could take him.

“Look, this is Falcone terf. You’re gonna back off and run with your tail between yer legs if you know what’s good for you.”

Matt choked. “What- are you planning… to do with this building… anyways.”

“Fuck if we know.” One of the other men sneered.

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Another spat.

Matt started struggling to breathe and began debating if he should just drop the cover and twist himself out of the man’s grasp. Matthew Michael could have always learnt self-defence after all. But Todd finally moved, and a gunshot rang out.

The man that had been choking Matt recoiled back, groaning as he felt his leg. “What the hell-”

His words were interrupted as the vigilante dropped down, and Matt stepped back from the fight as Todd took down the men. His fingers traced his throat which was slightly sore. Hopefully it wouldn’t bruise.

Noticing the fight had wrapped up, and being slightly impressed, Matt raised an eyebrow. ‘What took you so long?’ he wanted to ask, but he had a feeling he already knew. Todd needed information, or confirmation at the least, on what the thugs were doing here. That, and he probably hadn’t trusted Matt yet completely. He probably wasn’t sure if Matt was a genuine lawyer, or just a bought-off one pretending to help Veronica when in reality he was derailing the case. So, he let Matt hang in there for a bit so the men would talk, and then he stepped in.

It was frustrating for Matt because it was knowledge he already knew, but it wasn’t like he could just say that to the masked man. Instead, he gripped his cane tighter, as if in fear, and warily turned his head to where the fight had been taking place. “What are the chances you’ll choke me if I ask who you are?”

Todd snorted at that. “It’s the Red Hood. Are you okay?”

Matt sent a sharp nod Hood’s way, internally pleased to have a name to put to the man’s face. Sure, ‘Todd’. But Matt smelt the half-truth in the moment he had spoken it. It was probably a nickname, last-name or an age-old alias. Red Hood at least, was most definitely the vigilante’s name. He said it like he lived in it, and his heartbeat rang steady and true.

“I’m okay.” He told Hood. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened over a case.”

Red Hood hummed in interest at that, before bending down to pick up one of the men’s phones. “Well, good for you, but Gotham doesn’t really treat good samaritans well.” Dialling a number, he spoke into the phone and Matt picked up police on the other side. Pocketing the phone, Hood turned back to face Matt. “The cops are gonna show up here soon. Stay if you want to give a statement or leave if you don’t wanna deal with them.”

He began walking away and Matt called out to him. He was slightly amused by the kid’s gruff exterior, although he made sure not to show it. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the case?”

Hood paused at that, back still towards him. “Why would I do that?”

“You’re going to look into the thugs, right? Look into the case. Look into what the Falcone’s are up to. That was why you were staking out this place to begin with, I’m guessing.”

“Lawyers.” Hood grumbled to himself. “And if I am? I doubt you have any information that’ll lead anywhere.”

“I don’t.” Matt easily agreed.

There was a pause and then Red Hood swivelled around to face him. He crossed his arms, and then as if realizing that it wouldn’t have much of an effect on Matt, he began tapping his foot as well.

“I got cornered before you or the thugs even made an appearance.” Matt admitted. “Yesterday, after I first took on the case.” He sent an impish smile Hood’s way. “You’re not the only vigilante on this case, it seems.”

 “Batman’s on the case?” Hood scowled.

“No,” Matt blinked. “He introduced himself as Daredevil.”

“Daredevil.” Hood sounded the name out and huffed. “Isn’t he the Devil man everyone’s been talkin’ about?”

“I’d assume so.”

“So what, you’re suggesting we team up?”

“I’m saying he gave me his burner phone number, and if you want, I can arrange a meeting between you two.”

Red Hood snorted, stepping closer towards Matt. Matt could say for sure that the kid was only in his early twenties after observing his voice and heartrate. He was on the younger side, despite having the stocky build and skin sprinkled with scars.

“Why don’t you just tell me the burner number, and I’ll contact him myself.” Hood was saying, and Matt shook his head.

No way. Matt only had one phone, and Selina and Barbara already had his number. Chances are Selina had given it to Bruce as well. He couldn’t have both his vigilante and civilian contacts on one phone, that was asking for disaster.

“Daredevil told me not to tell anyone the number.”

“Right, and I’m telling you to tell me.”

Matt stood his ground and stared the kid down. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Hood huffed.

“This devil guy showed up what, a week ago? You really trust him to look after this case?”

“He seems to know Gotham well enough.” Matt lied.

Red Hood seemed to look at him pensively for a moment before shaking his head.

“Fine.” He started walking away again. “Call him. Tell him to meet me tonight. In two hours. On this building’s rooftop.”

“Okay.”

Red Hood left and Matt knelt down. He pocketed a bit of cash from the thugs and then made his way home. Reaching into his coat’s pocket, he picked the bug out and crushed it, throwing it into a dumpster as he walked past.

It was nice, having a case to work on again.

Chapter Text

It’s cold outside, when Daredevil gets back to the building.

Red Hood stands on the roof as promised, and he tenses once he sees the devil approach. He watches him land on the roof, and Hood crosses his arms. “You’re the one who was watching me, the other day.”

Matt stays silent at that but tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement. He feels the kid’s fists tighten slightly and then forcefully loosen.

“No comment? Stalking is weird, y’know-”

“Michael said you were looking into the Falcone case,” Matt interrupted. His low voice cut smoothly into Hood’s words and the younger man paused.

“Right, the lawyer.” Hood placed a hand on his hips, close to his holsters. “Look, Daredevil. I take protecting Crime Alley seriously, and if you’ve got information about this case then I’ll listen. But,” the man stepped forward. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want. I can’t trust you.”

“I don’t know who you are either.” Matt spoke back, already slightly regretting this.

“But the city does. The city doesn’t know you.” He shook his head. “Look, I’m not looking for a tragic back-story or nothing, I just want to know why you’re here.”

“To protect Gotham.”

Red Hood cocked his head at Matt. “You’re a grown man. What’s stopped you from ‘protecting Gotham’ all these years?”

“I didn’t have the means to protect Gotham then. I do now.” Matt was internally pleased at his own words. Technically fully the truth. He was even more pleased when Red Hood nodded after a second.

“Okay. What do you know about this case then?”

So, Matt led them to Milchick’s apartment and they looked it over from the building nearby.

“You’re not gonna throw a hissy fit if I knock him out once we go in there, are you?” Hood said, taking out a gun.

“You won’t have to worry about that. He’s not home.”

Hood paused and looked at him. “Huh, you stalked him and have his schedule out already?”

Ignoring him, Matt slid the window open and crept inside. The smell of stale cologne and faint mold greeted him as he walked around the living room.

“Amazing décor.” Hood said dryly as he followed him in. He poked at a sofa and Matt could only guess at the colour or pattern it was.

Moving into the bedroom found them with a drawer full of folders. He left Hood to look through them and instead walked into the bathroom.

“Nothing.” The younger man murmured. “Just bookkeeping related to the tenancy. A few grey smudges here and there, but not enough for the courts to want to do something about it.”

Walking out of the bedroom, Matt opened the closet instead. Dust invaded his nostrils, and he winced, clearing the air before tilting his head. One of the floorboards was slightly loose, air flowing through the gaps. Prying it open, he pulled out the box that had been hidden inside it and opened it.

Inside lay a binder and a burner phone. Great.

Heading towards where Hood stood near the bed, he dropped the box onto the bed and handed the binder to the young man.

Hood whistled as he flipped through the pages and then frowned when Matt stepped away to continue looking through the room.

“What, not interested in the files?”

“I found it.” Daredevil told him. “You can read it out loud while I look for anything else in this room.”

There was a pause and Matt untensed when Hood begrudgingly relented.

“Asshole levels matching the great Bat himself,” the man grumbled, but he moved and started explaining what he saw on the pages while Matt ‘searched’.

There wasn’t anything else to find in the room really, Matt knew that. But the only way he could read the papers was if he put fingertips to the inked text and focused. There were about a dozen pages in that binder, and it would take too long. That alongside the fact that Hood was right there, and Matt didn’t want him more suspicious than he already was, meant he was happy to leave the reading to the kid.

“This is good.” Red Hood was saying. “We have records of shipment dates and locations. One of the locations is the building itself.” Here, Hood paused. “Seems like the building’s been a location for a while now.”

Huh.

“They’ve been keeping the drugs in there for a few weeks now. In the basement, according to these schematics.” Red Hood’s finger tapped idly against the binder as he thought. “It looks like they’d nearly been caught, I’m assuming by one of the tenants. There haven’t been any more shipments delivered to the location in three weeks.”

Hood looked back up at Matt. “But there’s a shipment scheduled to happen in two weeks.”

“That’s why they’re making the tenants leave.” Matt concluded. “They want to eliminate any risks. Turn the building into a fully operative stash house.”

“Yeah...” Picking up the burner phone, Hood flicked through it. “There’s only one number saved on here. I doubt it’s Falcone’s, since Milchick doesn’t seem that high up the ladder. Still. I have someone who can trace it.”

He moves to pocket the phone and Matt tenses on instinct at his evidence being taken away. Hood pauses, perceptive of Matt’s wariness and reluctance.

“You gonna fight me on this?” Hood asks, voice questioning and slightly defensive. “Insist you know someone better? Try and take the folder and phone and run?”

“…No.”

Red Hood stands on alert, as if this is a trick, but Matt doesn’t move forward. He really won’t take it from Hood. One, because he doesn’t have anyone he knows that can do the job. And two, he can tell that the Red Hood is being genuine. The man wants to solve this case, he wants to protect the tenants. Matt doesn’t fully trust him yet, but he’s on the way.

“Just keep me updated,” Matt tells him, before moving towards the bedroom window.

“And how do I do that?” Hood huffs.

“You met Michael today. Talk to him. He’ll get in touch with me.”

Hood opens his mouth, no doubt to say more, but Matt has leapt out of the window. Free to the wind. He hears the kid huff in frustration and smirks slightly.

Jason drives into the Batcave hoping that Bruce hasn’t made it back from patrol yet. His wishes, for once, are heard because he skids into a Batman-free cave.

Unfortunately, his luck stops there because he’s greeted by an overbearing elder brother instead.

Dick snaps his head up from where he’d been stitching up his arm and gapes. “Jay?”

Grimacing slightly, Jason looks around avidly for a distraction before his eyes snap to the wound on Dick’s forearm. “Why are you bleeding.”

“I...” Dick looks like he wants to veer the conversation towards Jason’s presence in the cave but then pauses and seems to table it. “There was a group mugging. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been. The cut’s deeper than it looks.”

Dick waves his hand dismissively, but Jason frowns and takes over the stitching. “Golden child making mistakes? Well shit.”

Dick huffs at that and hands the bandages over to Jason once he’s done stitching. “It was a busy night. I had a few things on my mind.” Jason let him talk, focusing on wrapping the material around his arm. “Selina hinted at stealing some painting a few days ago, and I’ve been keeping an eye on the gallery ever since. She hasn’t done anything so far, which either means she’s using it as a distraction, or she’s being extra careful. Then we have the whole Devil thing, or ‘Daredevil’ as he introduced himself. We’ve been keeping an eye out for him on our patrols since day one. Thought I saw him during the mugging.”

Jason snorts at that but doesn’t explain, instead letting go off Dick’s arm as he finishes. “Why stop Selina, I’m sure whichever rich artist she’s stealing from deserves it.”

Dick hums noncommittally and Jason homes in onto it. He raises his eyebrows at Dick. “You agree.”

Standing up, the older man walks to the Batcomputer and Jason huffs, following him. “You agree with what she’s doing. Why waste your time and energy on this, then.”

“I don’t agree,” Dick protests. “I just don’t… denounce it, either.”

“Then again, why bother wasting time on it, Dickface?”

“Bruce told me to.” Dick sighs, writing up his report on the computer. “So, I’ll stake it out, try and talk to Selina. If I still agree with what she’s doing, then I’ll let her be. But I can’t just completely ignore the gallery and pretend like nothing’s going on. Especially when I’m the one who’s been given responsibility to look into it.”

“Right,” Jason scoffed. “Always the perfect soldier.”

He saw Dick tense, a breath of stillness. Then the man relaxed his muscles and continued typing out his report. Jason watched him, jaw slightly clenched before exhaling. “I’m gonna say hi to Alfie.”

Dick must have nodded, but Jason was already walking to the showers to tell. Putting his helmet and suit away, he quickly washed up and changed into the spare pair of clothes he kept in the locker. They smelt nice, like the nice laundry detergent Alfred had started using a few months ago. Freshly washed and dried.

Slipping it on, he rushed to head up the stairs, not wanting to linger in the cave for any longer in case Batman rolled in.

Heading to the kitchen straight away, he lagged at the doorway uncomfortably. Alfred stood with his back turned, wiping the counters. The man tilted his head. “I believe the saying is ‘take a picture, it’ll last longer’, Master Jason.”

Jason laughed at that and exhaled. He moved to sit down at the other side of the counter. “Hi Alfie. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed, it has.” Alfred looked at him with something in his eyes and then turned around, working on something. “I am quite glad you’ve returned, young master.”

“Thanks.”  Jason murmured, looking down and drumming his fingers on the kitchen countertop. “Catch me up on what I’ve missed?”

Alfred hummed at that. “Of course.”

A small smile regaled his lips as Alfred’s words washed over him. The man worked while recounting small events that had happened, and Jason interrupted occasionally to make snarky comments.

He paused mid-laugh as Alfred slid something over to him. Looking up, he was graced with a cup of hot-chocolate and blinked. Alfred sat down next to him with his own cup and glanced at Jason.

“I hope you’ve come back to stay for longer than just a night’s visit.” The butler said wryly, and Jason glanced away.

“I’m not sure.”

“Master Jason, you will stay for longer.”

Feeling chastised, Jason winced and bowed his head. “Yep. Okay. Understood.”

Alfred hummed and sipped his hot-chocolate and Jason brought his own cup to his lips to hide the smile that threatened to spill forth.

The peace lasted for just about ten minutes before Dick wandered into the kitchen. A smile filled his face once he saw the two of them and he leaned against the counter on the opposite side, hand reaching towards Jason’s cup.

“I’ll shoot you.”

Hands up in defeat, Dick sighed. Then his eyes grew a bit weary, and he glanced at Jason. “B’s downstairs, by the way.”

Jason tensed at this. He itched to leave but Alfred stood up instead.

“I’ll alert Master Bruce of your presence, and to leave you be for the night. And tomorrow morning, if you would like.”

He nodded at Alfred gratefully and once the man had left, Jason pushed back from his own stool as well. He held the warm cup in his hands and went up the stairs. Dick followed behind slowly, and Jason walked past the rooms and onto the balcony instead.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving, Jay-”

“No, Dick,” he sniped. “I just wanted to get some fresh air.” Jumping onto the railing, Jason’s hand caught onto a ledge, and he hoisted himself up onto the roof. Dick followed.

They sat there in silence for a few moments. Dick didn’t try to initiate conversation even once and Jason was both grateful and impressed by his restraint.

“I’m not mad at Bruce.” Jason confessed into the night. Dick stayed silent, wisely. “I mean, I am mad at Bruce. A lot of the time. For a bunch of different things. But that’s not what this is right now.”

He brought a knee up, resting his arm on it as he thought. “It was just… Joker attacking a while ago.” His breaths grew shallow and Jason splayed his other hand against the rooftop’s tiles, taking in the texture. “I always get… I don’t know. I needed space to deal with it, that’s why I went no-contact.”

“For a month.” Dick said, and Jason grit his teeth.

“Yeah, having to see your murderer again and again makes you do crazy things Dick. I thought taking some space for myself would have been a good thing in your eyes-”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all, Jason!” Dick said desperately. “It’s good. I’m glad. You’ve come so far.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But you’re also isolating yourself from everyone each time this happens. You’re locking everyone out. This time it was a month, last time it was a few weeks. And I need you to know that you don’t have to do that, little wing.”

He turned to Jason then, eyebrows furrowed. “We’re here. Believe me when I say we’re here for you.”

Jason felt sick. He’d been hoping to avoid a conversation like this, but it was Dick Grayson. He wasn’t sure why he had been expecting anything else.

“If I go down there right now,” Jason began. “And Bruce tries to talk to me, you have to promise that you’ll cause a distraction or something. Do that and I won’t leave immediately. But I swear, If I have to talk to him properly right now, I will break something if that’s what it takes to get out.”

“I thought you said you weren’t mad at Bruce.”

Jason huffed. “I’m not mad at him, but I do not have the energy to talk to him right now either. Now, will you or won’t you do what I just said?”

“I will.”

Nodding at him, Jason slipped down onto the balcony. Dick landed next to him, and he let the man walk ahead as they made their way down to the living room.

Dick ruffled Damian’s hair as they came up behind him from where he was regaling Alfred on a cat he had found during patrol. The boy grunted, leaning away from Dick’s hand in fake irritation. His eyes wandered and then landed on Jason’s and widened slightly.

“Todd. You have returned.”

Jason smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he went to lean against the counter. “Caught me, gremlin.”

Damian scowled at that and went back to telling Alfred about the cat, ignoring them. Slowly the others started coming up from the cave after their patrols, everyone surprised to see Jason.

Stephanie and Cassandra were the next ones to walk into the area. They both paused when they saw him. Stephanie grinned widely, punching him in the shoulder as she welcomed him back. Cass smiled like she had known he’d be back today, even though there was no way she could have known. Jason hugged her back anyways and they sat on his other side, since Dick was sitting on the stool to his right.

Tim blinked at him when he came into the kitchen and saw him. “Red.”

“Red.” Jason said back, raising his brows.

The boy huffed, walking forward to leaning against the middle edge of the counter, in between where Damian and Alfred stood off to the left inside the kitchen, and where everyone else sat on the right side of the counter.

Jason nudged his hot chocolate towards the kid as a peace offering for the time, he’d beaten him up a week ago. It wasn’t serious fighting on either of their parts, but maybe Jason had been a slight bit too territorial over Crime Alley when he’d seen Red Robin staking out a building. Especially considering how willing he’d been to work with Daredevil, a stranger, in comparison.

“Where’s Duke?”

“Wasn’t patrolling tonight.” Cass replied from his right, where she was pulling at a loose thread from his t-shirt. “He handled most of the dayshift, so he’s resting.”

“So don’t get into a yelling match with B, because you’ll wake our sleeping beauty up.” Stephanie told him wryly.

Jason rolled his eyes, but Tim spoke up before he could retort. “Bruce said he’ll be down there for an hour more anyways. I think he’s trying to figure out what that machine does.”

“Machine?” Jason asked in confusion, and Dick let out a breath.

“Jay, we have a lot to catch you up on.”

Chapter Text

Thunk

The sound of rubber on granite echoed across the cave as Jason idly bounced a ball against the wall.

"So, you're telling me," Thunk "that there was some huge energy spike near the docks last week and when Dick went to check it out, he saw a bunch of beaten-up guys and-" Thunk "-this machine."

"Yes." Tim said from where he was reclining on the chair in front of the Batcomputer. He sent a sidelong glance towards the ball. "Do you have to throw that so close to the computer?"

"Will it annoy Bruce, if he sees me doing this?"

"...Maybe."

"Then yes."

Tim snorted sardonically at that and stood up, walking towards the machine that had been placed in a corner. "I thought you didn't want to talk to Bruce."

Jason didn't reply to that, instead just bouncing the ball harder. Letting out a breath, Tim leant over the controls, inspecting them without pressing on any.

"I don't think Bruce will say anything if he catches you anyways." He told Jason.

The man snorted, raising an eyebrow. "Bruce won't tell me off for desecrating his man-cave?"

"No, Shakespeare. And I'm willing to bet on that."

At this, Jason smirked. He walked forward, placing an elbow on Tim's shoulder as he looked down at the controls too. "Alright. How much are we betting?"

"One free case-related favour."

“Throw a non-case-related one in there too, and I’m set.”

"Deal."

They fist bumped, both pairs of eyes still on the control pad. Tim tapped its side restlessly. "Y'know what's crazy?"

Moving to lean against the machine's side, Jason raised an eyebrow in question and Tim continued.

"So, from what we've pieced together inspecting this, it's most definitely a machine for space travel. Interdimensional travel specifically."

Jason nodded, having already heard this in the earlier explanation. "Right, and the giant portal-like structure is also a dead give-away."

"Right. Well, clearly it was used because of that energy spike we picked up, but I don't think... it was actually functional?"

"You're contradicting yourself, Timber." Jason said, rolling the ball idly in his arms.

Tim groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Look. It turns on," he powered the machine on. "And the buttons are functional." He pressed down on the 'start' button, watching as it depressed and then popped back up five seconds later. "It seems to have a safety feature, where the teleportation is actually only functional for a few seconds after the button is pressed, and then it stops working. Probably not to take up too much energy, as well as making sure that only the right things get sent through this portal. And I think it teleports whatever’s standing right on it when it's turned on."

Tim shook his head, looking back at Jason. "But none of that matters, because technically, the machine shouldn't be able to work properly." He turned back to Jason, motioning for the ball. "Harper helped out and we figured out how the machine works and the calculations it runs on. It seems to be one piece of a pair, so I'm assuming there’s a second machine in whichever dimension this one leads to."

Catching the ball thrown his way, he continued. "But the calculations are off. Only by a miniscule scale, but they're off. Whatever goes through this would have... I don't know. Been stuck in between? Disintegrated? Who knows."

"So, you're saying..." Jason began slowly. "That they tried using the machine, blacked out the warehouse, and the machine didn’t even work. So, no one actually came in from that portal or left out from it."

"...Maybe."

"Maybe??"

"That Daredevil guy has got to be related to the machine. The thugs we interrogated said he literally appeared when they turned the machine on, and then he knocked them all out.” Tim dropped the ball down onto the teleporter’s platform. “He had to have come from the other dimension, but it also shouldn't be possible because the machine should have killed him if he tried using it."

"So even though it looks fully operational, that's all just a facade. Because technologically it shouldn't be able to work at all considering the machine is completely fried." Tim looked at Jason with a tired smile. "So that means that if I press this button, nothing should-"

A flash of white exploded as the button was pressed. When the light dissipated, Jason and Tim blinked at each other before swivelling to face the teleportation deck of the machine.

The ball was nowhere to be seen.

"...You were saying?"

"No fucking way."

Peter scrubbed his eyes and shook his head, reorientating himself from the flash of white that had just filled the room.

He stared at the machine they had been sitting in front of, and he felt Wade’s fingers digging into his knee as the man gaped at the machine. Wade whipped his head to Peter, mouth dropped open before spinning back to look at the machine. Peter opened his mouth, still slightly dazed from the flash and a lack of sleep from the sleepless nights he’d spent analysing the machine. The machine that had just flashed into action.

 “So, Petey, what were you saying about the machine not working?” Wade said as he slowly stood up and walked towards the teleporter.

Peter followed him, running a hand through his hair. “I… From the time I got to spend looking over the machine, I figured out for certain that this is for interdimensional travel. I also know that logically the machine should no longer work because it’s completely fried.”

“Right, well-” Wade waved his hand at the ball that was now sitting on the machine’s base. “Clearly, the thing still fucking works.” He moved forward as if to step onto the goddamn thing, and Peter shot out a hand to Wade’s shoulder and held him in place.

“Yes.” He said, glaring at the man in exasperation. He shot out a web, pulling the ball to them instead of stepping onto the volatile machine like a madman would. He used the web to drop the ball onto the table instead of touching it. “But I was going to say that Stephen did say that the machine had unimaginable traces of magic sown into it, so even though it shouldn’t work by tech standards…”

“The magic fuckery means it does work.”

“Exactly.”

They both peered at the ball in distrust. Wade went to touch it again and Peter slapped his hand away. “No. We need to run tests on it. Don’t ruin the data by touching it Wade.”

“I think the data is already ruined because it’s on the grimy germy table, Peter.”

Peter groaned in frustration, not at Wade specifically but at the situation itself. After the talk with Strange, they’d all headed to Avengers tower knowing Tony would be able to help in figuring out the workings of the machine. However it just so happened that most of the Avengers, including Cap and Iron Man, had headed to space to deal with some other problem. Hawkeye said something about planets moving out of orbit, which was something sixteen-year-old Peter Parker would have gawked at. But Peter of the present was just grateful it wasn’t some big cataclysmic event involving Galactus or something of the sorts (knock on wood).

They’d tried Reed next, but none of the Four were there when they’d gotten there. They’d left a note about having to deal with some urgent business and that they’d be back in a few days.

Maybe Peter could have gone to ask the X-men, but at this point he was getting annoyed. Sure, heroes didn’t exactly have free schedules, he would know, but what the hell.

Strange had set a room in the Sanctum to store the machine and Peter had gotten to figuring it out himself. He couldn’t focus all his energy into it, since he had work and patrol most days, which was the very reason he’d sought out Tony and Reed to begin with. But whatever.

The few interrupted hours in a day he’d gotten to analyse the machine let him figure out its workings. The teleporter’s battery had been used – and the energy it took had fried it completely, so there was no way the machine could have been used again. The general calculations that whoever built the machine had used seemed a bit off to him too. They were solid for the most part, but Peter had done interdimensional travel before and he knew things most scientists didn’t. Clearly these guys had been calculating the trajectory, coordinates and distance needed to transport something or someone across dimensions, but there was one big flaw in their plans.

They hadn’t calculated for the space in between the universes. Whatever they’d used the machine for would have died, frozen and caught in that empty space because the scientists didn’t know enough about this topic and yet thought they could make a machine for it. Idiots.

At first he’d been worried about Matt when he made the realization. But Stephen’s words about magic being intertwined in the machine came back to him. If the magic was like a boost, or a helping hand for the machine, then maybe it fixed the human errors? Maybe Matt was still alive?

He looked down at the ball which had come from the machine. Further confirmation of his shaky theory. Someone had sent it from the other side. So Matt had to have been alive. Was it him who had sent it?

Using a plastic ziplock bag to seal the ball in, he turned to Wade. “Okay, we’re taking this to Baxter Building.”

“Uh goldilocks, I’m sorry to tell you this but the Incredibles aren’t home right now. We’ll be stuck outside at the door.”

“I’ve got a key.” He said, beginning to walk away.

“Oh right, I forget they force adopted you when you were itty bitty.”

“They didn’t…” he sighed, rolling his eyes but fighting the little smile that threatened to break free. He turned back to Wade and put a hand on his hip. “Choose something from this room that you’d be willing to throw away.”

Wade tilted his head in question before facing back towards the machine. “Ah, I see what you’re doing here. I love playing Gartic Phone.”

Wade took out something from his pockets, staring at it wistfully. “I was gonna save this for later, but you’re needed for more important things little one.”

Peter snorted as the man threw the object onto the platform and moved towards the button. Wade turned back to Peter for confirmation and he gave the man a nod. Exhaling, Wade pressed the button and their eyes were graced with another flash. When the light seeped away, they opened their eyes to see that the object had also gone.

So, the machine was definitely operating then. He looked down at the ball. Probably best to test it to see if going through the machine had caused any adverse affects. There could always be problems that weren’t visible to the naked eye. Plus, balls aren’t living things. Maybe the machine works differently on people. He frowned slightly, thinking of Matt again. Best case scenario he’d made it out into the other universe safely and was still alive. Worst case, the human errors in the machine’s making were a death sentence and Matt was… well. Yeah.

Wade swatted at the back of Peter’s head while they made their way out of the room. “Lighten up Petey pie. Matt’s already Mr Tall, Dark and Broody, and you got no right to try and steal his mantle.”

Peter scrunched up his face and looked back at Wade. “Right, but Matt’s not here. So that role falls to me on proxy.”

“Right, but Matt is alive,” Wade stressed the last word, leaning close to Peter’s face and widening his eyes as if to stress his point. “So your free reign to be sombre has now ended. Ding ding ding. Let’s go back to being a chaotic duo, I’m sure the readers will enjoy that much more than whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”

Used to Wade’s nonsensical references Peter just huffed out a sigh. The man had a point. Slightly. That ball was enough to keep the hope that Matt was alive running. It had to be. Spiderman steeled himself, hoping for the best yet again despite it all.

They headed towards Baxter Building.

“I’ll lighten up. Your comic readers better be smitten with me.”

“It’s fanfiction,” Wade corrected him. “On the archive. Not beta read. Slash fic.”

“...I don’t want to know.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never read fanfiction, Spidey?”

“I’m telling you I have, and that’s exactly why I don’t wanna know.”

“Right.”

Back in the cave, Tim Drake was frantically running a hand through his hair. He stared at the teleporter for a few seconds before glancing back at his older brother.

“It wasn’t supposed to work.”

“Yes, it wasn’t supposed to work,” Jason parroted.

“But it did??”

“Yes, it did.”

Tim shook his head. “I haven’t slept enough to deal with this.” He murmured to himself. “Why does it work.”

He stared at Jason as if the young man would have an explanation. Jason raised an eyebrow in return. “I found out about this machine like five hours ago. Don’t look at me for answers.”

Fingers tightened around the aluminium can in his hands before forcefully loosening. The energy drink was brought up to his lips as Tim drank a gulp of the liquid. “I need to think.”

“Think or drink?”

“I swear you’re not funny Jay-”

“It’s five in the morning, Tim. I’m not tryna be funny, I’m just out of patience-”

“Then go to sleep if your sleep schedule can’t handle this-”

“My sleep schedule is perfectly fine, it’s yours that’s-”

Their voices crescendo, tones snappy but half-hearted as they bicker. Then a flash of light, not dissimilar to the one that happened before; A beat of silence as they take in the item that now lies atop the teleporter’s base.

Jason squints.

“…Is that a half-eaten enchilada?”

Tim takes a step forward and stares at the object. His eyes go almost blank as he seems to space out for a solid second, but Jason can tell that it’s just the boy being immersed in his thoughts. Tim snaps his head up and whips around to face Jason. He points towards the affronting piece of food behind them.

“It’s magic.” Tim whispers. A short chuckle tumbles out of his lips and his eyes are slightly wider than what would seem normal. “It’s damn magic, Jay.”

Jason pauses and looks down at the enchilada. “Okay.” He concedes.

It was Tim Drake. If he thought it was magic, he probably had good reason for thinking so. It was Tim Drake. If he seemed to be on the verge of falling into madness when he made a discovery, then he was probably one hundred percent accurate in his findings.

Putting on some gloves, he picks up the new puzzle piece they’ve gained for this case. While he does so, Jason has already turned on their scanner and he places the enchilada onto the table where the machine is located.

“How long does this take again?”

“30 minutes.”

Jason sighs. “Okay. Buckle up I guess.”

“Is it done yet?”

“No.”

“Is it done yet?”

“No.”

“Is it done-”

“I swear to god Wade-”

“Scan Complete.”

With the speed of a meta-human bitten by a spider and a mercenary trained to physical extremes, both the red-clad superhumans loomed over the lab counter. The ball was held in place by robotic arms and seemed small against the backdrop of the counter. It was completely normal and innocent in appearance, but the lab results shown on the computer screen said otherwise.

Wade leans forward, looking at the string of numbers in confusion. Shaking his head, he glances at the words instead, tries reading them for a solid five seconds and then gives up on that too.

“Can the world’s smartest man not understand simple words or what? Why not just have ‘scan complete: this object is perfectly normal!’ on the screen instead of all this mumbo jumbo.”

“it’s called Technical Jargon, Deadpool. Use your head instead of asking for some all the time.”

“Asking for what-” Wade paused. “Oh. Ohhhh. Funny.”

The man grinned and moved to the side, letting Peter glimpse the screen. His smile slowly slid of his face however as he watched Peter furrow his eyebrows and then still completely as he read the findings.

“What is it Pete?”

No reply.

“Petey?”

The spider picked the ball up and turned to Wade, face disbelieving. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

“I don’t believe this,” Tim huffed. “I can’t believe that someone could mess up this bad when making a teleporter.”

Jason looked at the results displayed on the Batcomputer with a frown. “Maybe we should stop calling it a teleporter and name it a torture device instead.”

“And this is the machine we think Daredevil came from.” Tim murmured. He looked at the enchilada distrustfully. “The food looks fine, but I wonder if… all of this has a different impact on people?”

Jason stretched, trying to keep himself awake. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if these readings are correct… Daredevil has to be… unstable, in some form or the other. Physically? Mentally? There’s no way a human could walk away from that without something changing within them. I mean he literally got-”

“What do you mean he got torn apart and stitched back together again??” Wade shrieked.

Peter stared ahead at the computer screen as if it would give him all the answers he needed. “Not stitched. Mended? He was split apart down to the atoms, and then as if his fate was rewound, he was pieced together again."

“Infinity War.” Wade murmured. “What does that mean for Matt?”

Peter shook his head helplessly and looked down at the ball in his hand. “Am I hallucinating Wade?”

“…No?”

“Is this ball in front of me real?”

“Yeah,” Wade nodded, not quite sure where Peter was going with this.

“Does it seem perfectly normal to you?”

“Yessir.”

“Not even a scratch, right?”

“I mean, I could scratch it for you.”

Sighing, he threw the ball at Wade. “Don’t scratch it,” he said offhandedly before sinking down into the seat he’d found. “Okay. The ball is okay. The ball has been torn apart and put back together and is okay. So, Matt should be okay.”

“But Matt’s human.” Wade said consideringly as he eyed the ball. “Humans might be affected differently."

“Yeah.” Peter said sullenly, just slightly hysterical. “Matt’s probably not okay.”

“Do we wanna bet that it’s a physical thing or a mental thing?”

Peter looked at the ball held in Wade’s hand. “Mental. Definitely mental.”

“Okay. Matt’s definitely not doing well then.”

Matt was doing pretty well. He’d been going out at night more often and for longer periods of time, taking down crime and acquainting himself further with the city. He was starting to have a solid map of the place etched into his brain.

The meet-up with Red Hood had gone well, all things considered. He just needed to wait for Hood to get back to him about the contact on Milchick’s burner.

As for the Matthew Michael side of things, they’d also started looking up. Matt had took on another case, this one less complicated than Veronica’s. It had been a case of company neglect leading in an employee getting physically harmed on site. Cole had broken his arm and leg and missed out on work for two weeks. Then the company had threatened to let him off if he decided to sue them. Apparently, this was quite common in a place like Gotham, where there was so much crime rampant in the streets that ‘small’ corporate injustices like these went unheard.

He'd won the case for Cole and the man had been compensated by the company. Matt had received a small payout too which would help him keep his hotel room for another two weeks.

He needed an apartment though, somewhere more secure that could also work as an office for all his lawyer work. But apartments were a more… solid concept. They were roots, and he did not want to be rooted to this world. He had his own trees waiting back home and he itched to return.

But he still needed an apartment. Or at least a good laptop to get his work done. And for that, he needed some more money.

So, it was time to go back to his Macau days.

He now sat at one of Gotham’s smaller clubs, poker cards laid out in front of him. It was a game of Texas Hold ‘Em, same as it was back in China. He went all in, same as he did then. He was cheating, same as he always did.

It didn’t matter how well his opponents’ poker faces were because he read their heartbeats like a book. His own poker face was refined after practice from lying face-on to greats like Captain America and Foggy Nelson. He let the slightest of smirks through as the betting ended. He was the last one standing.

The men grumbled, but unaware as they were to his cheating, they let him have his unrighteous win. It was about three hundred dollars, but Matt was planning to slowly work his way up. The cash would start pouring in soon once he played more – and once he played at bigger clubs with higher stakes.

All things considered, things were going pretty well.

Everything was fine.