Ne Bis In Idem

Prologue

He is out on the streets when it happens for the first time, making his way to Nelson & Murdock to start yet another day in an office with as many clients as Antarctica has warm beaches. There is also much to be said about New York's cold break of winter, especially if paired with his refusal to go back up the stairs and change into warmer clothes before leaving the apartment. His spine has been throbbing as if the Hulk waltzed on his back, having slipped over a ridiculous puddle while running in the rain on the rooftops yesterday, skidding and plummeting against the corner of a dumpster in a graceless heap. It's more than a little embarrassing that Daredevil managed a showdown with Wilson Fisk better than water on the ground. Still. He's been controlling his urge to limp and grimace at any twinge on his spine, but going back to change was dismissed without so much as a second thought.

The sting of the wind bites his skin once more, sending regret made of shivers down his back, his fingers freeze in protest around the extended cane.

That was a poor decision, he thinks now solemnly, schooling his jaw to un-clench with cold. Walking slightly faster, he cups his left hand against his mouth, blowing heat, wondering how much he must already look like a human popsicle. He winces a little at the thought of Foggy going on for hours about how little he moves a finger to take care of himself, as if he is an oversized helpless kitten.

It's not like the weather will make his life any more miserable with the way his back is rioting. All in all, maybe it's even a good idea; he can feel the air is saturated with water that screams icy rain. It might even act as an unpredictable ice pack. Nope. He's not half as good at this optimist thing as Foggy and Karen seem to be.

He resists the urge to put the cane under his arm and push both hands as far into his pockets as he can to protect them. As much as his sharpened senses make him more than capable to navigate without his cane, it would be weird to meet people who know he's blind so close to the office.Hang on, Matt, he thinks, teeth chattering.

And then it happens.

…

He's about to cross the street, pushing the pedestrian button he knows is there, when a torrent of noise blasts against his skull, howling inside his head, tearing at his eardrums.

For a moment, pain is everything he can comprehend.

The cane drops from his hand, its clack against the pavement lost in the maelstrom of sound, when an intense flash whitening the corners of his 'world on fire' blasts coherence to nonexistence. As lightning, agony strikes him, fulminating in its million volts; excruciating pain explodes in his eyes and ears. The raging agony is something he never felt before—insurmountable torment, whipping inside his head and out through all his nerves.

His nervous system implodes, forcing his heart to beat as a crazed beast and send the blood with a terrifying pressure to all his veins. Completely overwhelmed, he cannot register the exact amount of pain he's in, cracking like thunder on his senses, every nerve ending a superconductor of desperate agony.

It hurts. His eyes and ears burn.

Hell is scorching his eyes, his eardrums are on fire, the roar hollers and the light flares, peeling his corneas. It is painful. It is inconceivably painful. He cannot-

It all stops.

He must be on all fours on the pavement, because his hands and knees are scraped. His throat is raw and tongue tastes copper, he doesn't know if he's still screaming, doesn't know- The sidewalk is solid under him, the whoosh of the cars passing indicates the traffic is again on green.

Something touches his shoulder – a hand – the pressure meant to be comforting for the blind man. He recoils, batting it aside and pushing to stand, to evade, to… The ground tilts under him as he staggers, he tries to find balance but stumbles, other hands try to give him purchase but he flinches away, his head throbbing. He doesn't know who's touching him, doesn't know anything, his legs give in again and he must still be screaming because his throat is catching fire while he attempts to snarl at them to stay away, don't touch me, do you know who I am-

But he doesn't, or he does but can't hear anything, sense any more than what smell, taste and the ground can tell.

The world is darkness and silence.

…

Each desperation has a unique identity, and mine speaks in gentle tones of hysteria. My mind is a city that never sleeps; I slink down the street like a thief in the night. If I run long enough, I can forget the devils of past nightmares in which no light and no sound find me. But they won't forget me, for I am one of them.

I can leave the past behind, but it won't leave me.

…

He pushes against the concrete and stands teetering to the side, head pounding, legs shaking, arms shaking, everything shaking, quivering- The hands try another time, other hands, he's surrounded, he doesn't know which way he's meant to go anymore. To safety. To guidance. To sound.Daddy…, he thinks desperately, but it's the wrong plea. Foggy…, comes in second, and while the voice in his head is all kinds of wrong, he can't find a reason not to follow it. The office. He must go… in which direction?

He starts running.