It is nighttime.
Another Matt would listen to the sounds of the city and the cries of those in need. He would go out as Hell's Kitchen's savior in the shadows. He would come back to his own apartment with blood dripping from his hands, utterly alone, still hearing everything and nothing.
But here, now, Matt sleeps. It is not a peaceful sleep.
He dreams of Fisk looming over him, holding a noose around his neck. He dreams of pain, of darkness. He dreams of Fisk winning. He dreams of a deserted Hell's Kitchen, completely void of life except for Matt, blindly trudging through the wreckage.
And then there is a gunshot, his dad lying on the ground, bleeding, dying. He runs over, kneels by his side, smells the blood and no, no, this can't be happening, this can't—
He traces the body's face with shaking hands. This is his dad, alright, but then the skin under his hands morphs, changing to another familiar face dear to him. "Foggy?" he croaks out. "No. It can't be. You're fine, you're fine." Screams in the distance. Matt tilts his head to the side, breaths quickening. "Karen?" he calls out, standing up but not willing to go too far away. He can't leave Foggy alone, it's too dark and cold and lonely. "Karen, are you there?"
The sound of his breaths echoes in the alleyway. He kneels down again, but finds nobody there.
"Why didn't you save me?" Foggy suddenly asks from behind him. Matt whirls around, hands automatically clenching into fists before the guilt hits.
"What?" he says. Had he almost punched his friend in the face? What kind of person is he, to...?
"You didn't save me, Matt," Foggy continues, sounding...betrayed. "How could you?"
"I- I tried. You have to believe me, I tried," Matt says, begging.
"Fisk killed us," Karen says from behind him. Matt whirls around yet again, feeling surrounded and suffocated.
"No," Matt says, shaking his head, stepping towards her voice. "You're alive." He whirls around towards Foggy. Is he even still there? "You have to be alive." His throat feels raw, on fire, like he's been screaming for hours, like when Fisk tortured him and beat him and hurt him, and he's been trying to crawl back ever since but all he's done is fail.
He's always failing.
"It was your fault," Karen says. Matt doesn't even try to turn around and look at her this time, shoulders hunching, hands shaking, becoming smaller and smaller and smaller...
"I'm sorry," he whispers. He can't seem to do anything right. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please—"
Matt scrambles up, trying to let go of the tension in his chest and grasp the feeling of soft fabric on his body. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out slowly, and reaches up hesitantly to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
All he finds are tears.
He curls around himself and the blanket that had fallen in his lap sometime ago. Right. He's in Foggy's apartment, on his couch. Foggy's sleeping in his bedroom. Karen's sleeping on the air mattress nearby.
They're together. They're alive. It's not Matt's fault.
But he has to check.
He swings his legs off of the couch and stands, and although this is not his apartment (the three of them had wanted to stay close for a bit), he's been here enough times to know his way around.
Hands outstretched, he reaches the wall and continues to walk, hands trailing against the paint. It is a bit too reminiscent of...it, and he ends up unsuccessfully avoiding stubbing his toe into that one spot on the wall.
He winces, curses Foggy's wall in his head, and continues the journey to Foggy's room, opening the door to where he's...not snoring. That would mean a good, deep sleep. Why isn't he? Is he okay?
"Matt?" Foggy asks, sleep in his voice.
Matt grimaces. "You're awake. Did I wake you? I'm sorry."
Foggy groans. "Self-deprecating bastard," he mutters. Matt tries not to be offended.
"I'm sorry?" he offers.
Foggy groans again. Matt hears him shuffling before he says, "C'mere."
"What?" Matt says. The word is sharper than he means it to, in the middle of the night with the shadows looming over them and the darkness outside Foggy's windows.
Foggy pats his mattress, the sound enough to get his point across. Matt sighs, moving forward to fall onto Foggy's bed and bury himself in the warmth. Foggy immediately hums in satisfaction, wrapping Matt in layers of blankets.
Foggy's a lot more cuddly than usual, Matt muses, smiling a little. He's probably still slightly high on pain meds.
"What are you smiling 'bout?" Foggy asks, miffed.
"Nothing," Matt says, still smiling. He can hear Foggy's breathing here.
"Objection! Wait, no..."
Matt snorts, then rolls over a little toward Foggy.
After a few seconds of hearing them breathe, Foggy says, "It's not your fault, y'know."
Matt shrugs. "It feels like it though."
"It's not. If I know anything about Matt Murdock it's that he blames himself for anything remotely bad in his life.
"I don't know about that."
"Please don't blame yourself, Matty," Foggy says, gently caring.
Matt sighs. "I'll try," he says. He squeezes Foggy's arm.
"You always do," Foggy mumbles. "Now try to go to sleep. You need sleep."
"You need sleep," Matt grumbles.
"I'm not the one who stayed up at least three days straight back in law school."
"Don't remind me."
"Too bad. Gonna sleep now," Foggy whispers.
"Okay," Matt says. "Night, Foggy."
"Night, Matty." His breaths even out as he falls asleep.
Footsteps. Creaking floorboards. The door opens.
Matt groans. Foggy shifts from beside him. "Whassit?" he asks.
"Dunno," Matt says.
"Hey, guys," Karen says from the doorway.
"Huh. Hey Karen. Whatcha doing here?" His brain isn't working.
Karen laughs softly. "You guys are really sleepy, huh?"
"No," Foggy protests.
Karen steps further into the room, and Matt frowns. "Are you using your crutches?"
"Yes," Karen says.
"No," Foggy counters.
Matt sighs. "C'mere," he says, moving to make room on the bed for her. It's getting super squished. "Sleepover."
Karen laughs again, coming to lay down next to him. "Thanks, guys," she says after a few seconds.
"No problem. Go to sleep," Foggy says, rolling over to wrap an arm around Matt and pull him close.
They're all okay. Matt smiles.