Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Matt heard Karen's distant screams as he ran into Fisk's camp, ignoring her desperate warnings. 

“If you go in there, you'll be killed… or you'll kill.” 

He went anyway. 

Maybe he'd never be able to cross the line again, just as Frank said would happen if he became a murderer. Maybe that would be the only way to take out Fisk, and maybe Matt would be okay with that. 

The sound of a familiar grunt snapped Matt back into reality- it was Frank. 

It was a familiar noise, though it was not followed by the typical groan of retaliation or the occasional scruff of feet that would be present in a fight. Frank was in trouble. 

Although Matt butted heads all the time with the other vigilante, he still cared about him. Maybe his ideals were messed up, but a life was still a life. He couldn't just let Frank die, especially not with whatever the hell was between him and Karen. 

Matt tuned in to the location of the one-sided kerfuffle, zeroing in on the heartbeats in the room. The fastest likely belonged to Frank: pumping full with adrenaline, pain, and maybe even the slightest bit of masochistic dopamine. 

The rest of the space consisted of dozens of other heartbeats that echoed in the alleyway. They pumped with adrenaline, but the kind that was only present when unsure of what to do. They definitely belonged to the “Punisher fanboys” lost in the hurricane of emotions that came with meeting your heroes.

It wasn't a room, but an alleyway, one that was close-by if only Matt could- 

A blast of something (a fog horn?) practically knocked Matt off his feet. In a rush of instinctual escape, Matt fell into fetal position and covered his ears tightly with his hands. Still, the loud sound seeped through, sending him into a panic of “get me out of here. This hurts. Get me out!” 

He was brought back to his moments as a newly-blinded child, lying awake at night, flinching and curling up at every car passing by. 

Although the ringing lasted no more than 30 seconds, the aftermath left his brain spinning and his ears ringing. He became painfully aware of his loss of hearing. 

“I can't see! I can't see!” 

Matt felt a puff of air, though it wasn't enough of a warning to dodge the blow that followed. 

It hit him square on his temple, the impact making him instantly dizzy and nauseous. 

Matt teetered on the edge of consciousness, eventually giving in to the blissful darkness. 

 Matt reawakened on a carpeted floor in a room that echoed and smelt of cleaning chemicals and dust. 

His throbbing head and ringing ears were the only reminders of how he ended up there. 

The air condition blew harshly at his skin, making him painfully aware that he only wore his undergarments, no suit and no mask. 

To make things worse, there were people- a few dozen- gathered around the carpet. Fuck. So much for a secret identity. Some had nervous heartbeats, others had a giddy anticipation, and one was oddly familiar. 

Then he caught it- the perfume. “Heather?” His voice was weak, but based on her rapidly increasing heart rate, she heard him. 

He groaned in an attempt to get up, only to receive a blow to his recovering gunshot wound. He collapsed on the coarse carpet, groaning and writhing as he clutched his chest.

“Stay down,” a voice commanded. It was Officer Powell, of course. 

“Officer Powell, pleasure to meet your acquaintance, as always,” Matt retorted, trying to right himself again. 

His act of rebellion earned him a kick to the knee, one that bent it unnaturally and resulted in a pained scream that echoed throughout the tall, pristine ceiling. 

A few of Fisk's dignitaries gasped, and Matt wasn't surprised to find that Heather was one of them. Her heartbeat picked up. 

Judging by the shooting pain that coursed through his nerves as he breathed, there would be no standing up or fighting back anytime soon- at least not on foot. 

“I said, stay down,” Powell spat, his foot resting dangerously close to Matt's misshapen knee. 

“Ah, he's awake,” Fisk's unmistakable voice rang. “Thank you, Officer Powell.” 

The fear in the room became palpable. 

“You are gathered here to receive a reminder of what we stand for. We are here to make a difference in our community, to rid the streets of the filth of vigilantes. Here is the most vile of them all- lawyer Matthew Murdock, also known as Daredevil.” 

Fisk gestured to Matt, pausing for emphasis. A few dignitaries gasped. If Matt's identity wasn't known before, it was now. 

Heather’s gasp rang the loudest, echoing of poorly-masked betrayal and anger. 

“I'm sure this has come as a shock to most of you, most of all, Dr Glenn,” Fisk walked forward towards her, “Dr Glenn here was Mr Murdock’s romantic partner. Even she wasn't aware of the reign of terror this man had been controlling in the night. He's a liar, a violent man that hides behind a… a charade of a poor blind man.” 

Matt did his best not to scoff at the absurdity, though he allowed an eyebrow furrow. 

Fisk stepped toward Heather, dangerously close. “This must be really hard for you, Doctor. I can't imagine the betrayal or the pain you must be going through,” he whispered. He took a small step back and projected his voice again, “It's all the more reason to end the devil’s violent schemes.” 

He raised his arm and put it in an act of false comfort on her shoulder and she tensed. She was conflicted and absolutely terrified. 

“Get your fucking hand off her,” Matt roared. 

Powell leaned his weight on the foot that rested on Matt's shattered knee. Matt tried to hold back the scream, but found it impossible as he was enveloped in anguish. 

Breathe through the pain. The mind controls the body. Breathe. 

Fisk raised his other hand to Heather’s other shoulder. “This is the price of breaking the law,” he soothed. He retracted his hands and walked away a few strides. Under his breath, not even audible to the normal ear, Fisk whispered, “She's next.” 

“Heather!” Matt yelled, scrambling to get up. 

“See the fractious acts of this man? Who knows how many people have suffered his hostility.” Fisk snapped his fingers, and some members of his “task force” approached Matt. 

Officer Powell lifted Matt up and dropped him on the ground, making him gasp for breath. 

Before he could get his bearings or fight back, punches pummeled down on Matt. Fists sunk into his flesh, knuckles dug into his ribs and his sides making it nearly impossible to breathe, and the ruthless battering no doubt left black and blue marks in their wake. 

With no chance of an act of offense, Matt sat and took it, just as his father did in the boxing ring.

“As much as I would love to continue, we need you to be somewhat recognizable to the crowd.” 

Matt's mask was shoved back onto his face, scraping against his broken nose, cracked cheekbones, and black eye. 

“Come on Mr Murdock, the press awaits,” Fisk said, snapping at his guards to drag Matt away. 

As Fisk adjusted his suit and used a handkerchief to wipe his face of Matt's blood, Matt found himself twisting in a futile attempt to get away. The act only made Powell’s grip stronger, pulling more on his dislocated shoulder to elicit a groan. 

The crowd roared as Fisk and his men entered the stage outside the government building. 

Between waves of ringing ears and blackouts, Matt heard Fisk giving a similar speech as before, though with more charisma and feigned empathy. He went on about vigilantes and the safety of the city. Eventually, Matt heard a mention of “Daredevil”. 

As if on cue, Matt was dragged towards the doors that led to the stage. He allowed himself one last attempt of escape, though all he achieved was to reinjure all his wounds. The result was that he was heaving and whimpering like a rabid animal right as the door opened to the stage. 

A silence fell on the crowd as they caught sight of the battered vigilante. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn't easy to catch this dangerous man, but my Anti-Vigilante Task Force didn't shy away and didn't stop until the streets were alleviated from this threat of safety. They have been working tirelessly to make our city safe again, and here is the perfect example of what will happen to those who operate recklessly outside of the law.” 

Matt was dumped at the front of the stage in a failed attempt to raise him to his knees. Instead, Powell picked him up and held him awkwardly by his misshapen shoulders, Matt's legs protruding out from under him in odd angles. 

“Just to show how common these criminals are among us, let's reveal the identity of our most sinister threat.” 

Matt attempted to scream, to plead, but all that accomplished was to expel a coagulated glob of blood from his lips. 

Powell slowly lifted the mask off Matt's face, building a tense suspense among the crowd. 

Matt wished he would just get it over with. 

“Matthew Murdock, a lawyer by day and a vigilante at night. Don't let his blindness deceive you. He is living proof that even the most seemingly innocent of citizens can be murderers.” 

Matt wished more than ever that he had his glasses, his barrier to the outside world. He didn't want people looking into the windows of his soul as he knelt there in a nearly-naked heap. He didn't want them to see how utterly frightened he was. 

He was scared, and that terrified him more than anything else. 

Chapter Text

Matt didn't know what Fisk would do. He didn't know if he was just being shown for the press or if Fisk wanted something more sinister like a public execution, but before Matt could even question if the publicity stunt would escalate to the latter, he heard a single gunshot followed by a familiar rain of bullets. 

The men holding Matt up collapsed beside him, leaving Matt in a tangled pile of broken limbs. Once the pain of being dropped wore off,  Matt noted that Fisk was quickly being escorted indoors with his closest compatriots, and the crowd was screaming in a chaotic hive of fear. 

Somewhere among the chaos, a woman approached Matt. He felt them lay gentle hands on him, and overwhelmed with the security he felt, he collapsed into their arms, unconscious. 

Matt woke up with an excruciating pain in his chest. A further assessment confirmed that there were more, worse injuries throughout his body. He groaned, trying to pick up his head. 

“W-where-”

Matt smelt a familiar mixture of scents below the overwhelming smell of blood; a faint perfume, paper, some kind of curry, and a faint tinge of alcohol. The smell not only told him who it was, but also gave him some warmth. 

“Karen?”

“Matt, stay there, you are badly injured,” Karen rushed to his side, placing a hand on his. “We are in Frank’s hideout.”

“And-and Frank?”

Karen sighed. “Nobody has heard from him.”

“I-I thought he-”

Karen shook her head. Her heart rate had picked up; she cared for him deeply. “The bullet was from.. Uh-” She paused. 

“Karen, who?”

“Bullseye,” She answered softly, barely audible to even Matt. 

“Pointdexter?” Matt’s head spun. He was saved by Poindexter?

“You know that people can change, Matthew,” the other voice spoke up. Unlike Karen, there weren’t any hints of alcohol on the second woman’s breath. Instead, the cotton they wore was covered in the scents of coffee, bread, and splatters of Matt’s own blood. 

“Mom?”

His mother sighed. “Who else was going to patch you up, Matthew?”

Matt let out a sarcastic chuckle. 

“Matt, they televised the whole thing. Everyone knows who you are, and there are multiple warrants out for you.”

“I know,” Matt sighed. His limbs hurt badly, despite having been recently splinted and casted. His mother’s first aid skills knew no bounds. 

Through all the pain and blood, he felt cared for and loved. In his weakness, he somehow felt stronger. 

“We need to take down Fisk.”

“Not right now! You need time to heal,” Sister Maggie chastised. 

“She’s right, Matt. We can use this time to plan and find help.”

“But-”

“You can’t take Fisk down if you’re dead!” Matt could hear the emotion in Karen’s voice. He may have been imagining it, but her heart was beating at the same rhythm it did with Frank. 

Matt sighed. They were right. 

He couldn’t do it alone. 

He’d let himself heal and recover- physically and mentally- before going at Fisk. 

He'd assemble a team of legal allies, suspicious citizens, and maybe even some old friends to take their city back once and for all. 

Together, they were the city without fear, and if that didn't make Matt feel braver, he didn't know what would. 

Only with them could he be what he was meant to be, what the city needed: a Man Without Fear.