Accidental Hero

by GirlwithoutFear

A teenager is severely injured when he rushes to the aid of an elderly pedestrian. This is the story of what happened to fifteen year old Matt Murdock after his heroic act.

Matt Murdock is the alterego of superhero Daredevil. The character is owned by Marvel Comics. I don't claim anything. If you have a problem, contact the law firm of Nelson, Blake, and Murdock.

Chapter 1

I vaguely register being loaded into an ambulance; the paramedics try to wash something off me, and I hear them say something about the hazmat team responding to the crash. One asks me my name. I barely get out "Matt Murdock" when I feel the stick of an IV needle, and something coursing through my veins that knocks me out.

-o-

I wake up. Man, it's dark in here. Everything hurts. I feel like someone took a baseball bat to me. I guess I'm in a hospital bed, feel the cold steel rails, the IV in my hand, hear machines beeping loudly. My throat is sore, and my lips feel cracked and dry. I'm really thirsty. I reach up to find my head is bandaged, and my eyes are covered with thick padding. I have no idea what time it is. I need to pee. Someone is snoring right next to me.

"Hello? Anybody?" There's got to be somebody around. This guy who's snoring isn't even going to wake up. I hear footsteps. It's a nurse, I guess. She asks what I need.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Damn, I hate to ask that. But there comes a time when you gotta do what you gotta do. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You're at St. Vincent's hospital. You were in an accident. There will be an aide to come in just a minute." I swallow whatever pride I might have, and wait for someone to help me to the toilet. Her rubber-soled shoes squeak out of the room.

C'mon, man, I gotta go! Heavier footsteps coming into my room. "Ready to pee, are ya?"

"Yeah, man, I'm about to bust." No shit, Sherlock. Get a move on.

"Well, they don't want to let you out of the bed just yet, so you'll have to use the urinal here." He pushes a plastic jug into my hands. "Let 'er rip, and when you get done, I'll empty it." I hear him pull the curtain around the bed. Now the snoring is on the other side of the curtain.

Damn. Is he watching me do this? "I don't need an audience, dude."

He's laughing at me. "Don't worry, I'm standing outside the curtain, nobody's watching. Just let me know when you're done, and I'll come get it."

I fumble with the sheets and whatever this is I'm wearing, a hospital gown, I guess. I find the neck of the jug and...

"Sonofabitch!" I think I'm on fire. I grit my teeth and take the worst piss of my life.

That faceless voice from the other side of the curtain shouts, "Are you all right?"

"Don't yell at me man! Why do I feel like I'm pissing fire?"

"Calm down, son, I'm not yelling at you. Are you done?" He pulls the curtain back a little. "Here, let me take care of that, and I'll get the nurse." He pries the urinal out of my iron grip. The curtain slides on the steel track above me. My head hurts. The snoring continues.

The nurse returns a moment later, and tells me she has pain medication for me. I feel a strange sensation snake up my arm. My bed seems to float out from under me. I think I hear my father talking to someone, maybe the doctor. What the hell? "Dad?" He doesn't answer. "What's going on? Where's my dad?" I think he's here in the room with me.

"He's been downstairs getting some coffee. I'll go get him." The nurse's shoes squeak out of the room again. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness, but I try to make sense of what they are saying. My head falls back against the pillow.

"…We did everything we could, Mr. Murdock." I suppose that's the doctor. A fist slams into a wall. I jump at the noise; it seems so close. "I'm afraid it's going to be permanent. We have a few more tests, but I can't make any promises." Am I dreaming this?

"Sonofabitch!" No, I'm not dreaming. That's definitely Dad.

I hear his leather-soled shoes pounding down the hall, and him breathing like he's been running a marathon. At first he says nothing.

"Dad?"

"I'M RIGHT HERE, SON. DOCTOR PRUITT IS HERE, TOO."

"Geez, Dad, you don't have to yell at me." He sounds like a giant hovering over me. My head feels like it's going to rocket off my shoulders. "How long have I been out?"

He draws in a long breath and puts his hand on my shoulder "About a day and a half. They had to do a lot of work on you when they brought you in, and they wanted to keep you drugged up for a while so maybe the pain won't be so bad. You know you're a hero, don'tcha, son?"

"Huh?" My head is reeling. I can't get my bearings. I try to remember what happened.

It was a sunny spring day, nothing remarkable. I had just come from the library and was on my way home. The last thing I remember before the accident was seeing an old man crossing the street, about to get run over by a truck. I dived out into the crosswalk to knock him out of the way, and at the same time, the truck swerved, hitting a curb and dislodging something from its cargo. Whatever it was, it hit me square in the face, breaking and splashing all over me. I thought I was on fire, then everything exploded like a bomb in my head. I passed out. Everything else is pretty fuzzy.

"I remember something about shoving an old man out of the way of a truck. Is he okay? How long will I have to stay? What happened to me? I want to get out of here and go home. Dammit, this hurts, Dad." I'm rambling; I can't quite get my mind focused.

"He's fine, Matty. The city wants to give you a medal for saving him." I can tell he's hedging, even as foggy as I feel right now.

Someone else clears his throat. "Hello, Matt, I'm Dr. Pruitt. I've been called in to consult on your care. I need to take a look at your eyes. Now hold still while I take off the bandages." He takes down the rail on one side of the bed, and I feel him lean over me, then unfasten the tape and the gauze that holds the pads over my eyes. It sounds like he's ripping sandpaper. I flinch at the noise. He lifts the cotton off gently. "Tell me when you see the light." I hear him click on a little flashlight, I guess.

"Huh?" I'm so wasted from the medication that he has to repeat the instructions. "I don't see anything."

"Well, Matt, it seems that you've got some rather bad chemical burns on your corneas, that's the bulging part at the very front of the eye, from the hazardous material that spilled onto you from the truck. We will have to wait and see if you might be a candidate for corneal transplants. There's also damage to the retina from exposure to radiation. We never have had a case quite like yours. "

The doctor leans back and puts the bed rail back up, and I think I hear Dad sniffling. Dr. Pruitt shuffles his feet and scribbles notes on some paper. He clears his throat again. "I think we need to level with you, Matt..."

"Yeah, I know, Doc. I'm not a moron. I'm fucking blind. No way around that one." I've got no inhibitions. Must be all these drugs.

"Dammit, Matty, watch your mouth, boy. There's no reason to jump to conclusions just yet. The docs say that they need to run more tests, and maybe there's something…"

I cut him off right there. "Be real, Dad. I know what's going on. I heard you talking to the doctor. He said they tried to do everything they could, but all they really did was patch me up. Isn't that great? Maybe I won't LOOK like such a freak. Or do I? Give it to me straight, Dad." I'm pissed off. Dad was never one to pussyfoot around the truth before; in fact he is brutally honest. I can tell somehow that he's lying to me.

Dr. Pruitt takes his opportunity to leave now. "I'll just let you two talk, and I'll be back later, okay?" He thinks he's tiptoeing out of the room, but I hear him just fine.

Dad drops into the chair next to the bed, and it sounds like he's talking through his hands. "Matty, I'm so sorry. It was some company hauling toxic waste on that truck, and that's what got all over you. They patched you up real good, you look fine, but there really isn't much they could do about your eyes."

"Dad, that's not your fault." Since I'm really groggy from the drugs, I haven't had time to process exactly what the repercussions of all this will be. All I can think of is getting out of the hospital, because we have no health insurance, and Dad can't afford this. "You need to sue the hell out of the company, but right now you just need to get me out of here, and back home. This is one noisy place, and it stinks, too."

"You have to hang around a few more days, son. They have to keep changing your bandages for a bit to watch out for infection and stuff. I'll stay here with you." He puts his hand on my head and tousles my hair. His touch startles me.

"I'm not a baby, Dad. Don't treat me like one. Go home; get some rest. I'm not going to take no for an answer."

"Okay, Matty. I'll go. Try to get some sleep. I'll be back in the morning." He kisses me on the forehead and walks away. That's really not like him. I figure it would be better to ask him to go home, where at least he could find some solace in a bottle. That's how he deals with things, and I'm sure this time will be no different. Now, how am I going to deal with being blind the rest of my life? I slam my fist against the bed rail. It hurts like hell. That was stupid.

The nurse comes back in, puts some goopy stuff on my eyes, changes the dressings on my head, and shows me where the call button is if I need anything. She tells me that it's time for more morphine. Before I can protest, she injects the medication into my IV. It feels like the bed is swirling beneath me, and soon it knocks me out again.

-o-