Matt can't think, he can't think. Sounds and feelings flash by, except for the pain. Pain is his whole world.

"What?" he gasps out. There's the taste of iron in his mouth. It smells like blood. (Dad? Dad, are you okay? Where are you? Why didn't you...?)

"I'm here. I'm here, Matty. Hey, hey, stay with me, okay?" Foggy. That's Foggy. Alright then.

He coughs a little, liquid splattering onto his chin and his shirt. He tries to reach up and wipe it away, but his arms aren't obeying him, neither are his legs.

"Shit," Foggy curses. That's bad. Why's he cursing? "You're okay, you're okay."

Of course. Why wouldn't he be?

"I called 9-1-1," someone says, unfamiliar. Matt fails to get away. "Ambulance should be here soon."

"Thank you, thank you," Foggy breathes out. Why does he sound so desperate? Matt never wants to hear him sound so desperate ever again. "I'm sorry," Foggy says, this time to Matt. Matt's starting to register that. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Foggy continues. What? Matt refuses to listen to this. That's Matt's line.

"Fog- Foggy?" he says, blinking up.

"Yeah, Matt?" Foggy says, with the thickness in his voice that means he's close to tears. Why? Who did that to him? Matt's gonna...he's gonna...

"Hurts," Matt says, mouth not working with his brain. Huh. That's not a good thing for a lawyer.

"I know," Foggy says, sounding hurt himself. Who hurt him? Who's hurting him?

"Tired," Matt says suddenly. And yeah, now that he thinks about it, he really is tired. Exhaustion weighs on his limbs, he can't seem to move, his eyelids are dangerously close to shutting, despite the fact that that won't really do anything for his vision.

"No, no. Hey, stay with me, stay with me, the ambulance is coming. Matt!"

He falls into the vaguely familiar darkness with the sound of sirens in his ears.


"Give him oxygen—"

"Blood pressure's tanking—"

"—get an IV in—"

"Need to reset this—"

"—conscious—?"

"—out of it—"

"—into surgery—"

"ETA one minute!"

Matt floats in the darkness. There's no pain here.

Fisk can't hurt him here.

But it's cold, and he's all alone.

Why is he here?


Matt's eyes flutter open to the sound of periodic beeps, coming from somewhere to his left. He moves to turn it off—his alarm clock, maybe?—but only manages to lift his arm an inch before it falls back down to the bed.

The beeps come faster, and he's trying to move, damn it, why can't he move?

He sinks back into the murky darkness.

("Hey, Matt. You finally awake?"

A pause. "Yeah, no, Foggy. He's completely out of it."

A sigh. "Well, guess it's time for blackmail photos."

"Really?"

"He's drooling! It's the perfect time!")

When Matt next resurfaces, there's a hand in his hair, stroking it gently. Matt hums, furrowing his brows. He can't seem to lift his eyelids. "Foggy?" he rasps out.

The hand pauses. "Hey there. It's Karen."

What's Karen doing here? She doesn't belong with Matt in the inky darkness. "Okay?" he rasps out.

"You're okay," Karen says.

Ugh. "I meant...you. You okay?" he asks.

"Oh!" Matt has the sudden feeling that he's failed some sort of test, which is absurd. "I'm okay too, Matt."

"Hmm...good." Karen resumes brushing through his hair, and he loses his hold on consciousness.


The next time he resurfaces, he claws his way back, managing to find handholds and footholds in the mountain that is awareness.

"Hey, Matty. You with me this time?" Foggy asks.

Matt hums in confirmation.

"Are you in pain?"

No. He can't really feel anything.

"Okay. That's good." He's quiet. Foggy's never quiet.

"Wha' happened?" Matt asks. He lifts a hand, which he can do now, into the air. A moment later, Foggy grabs it with his own, rubbing soothing circles into Matt's skin.

He doesn't answer.

"You were there," Matt says. He remembers that much. "Was it Fisk?"

"What? No!" Foggy reconsiders. "Well, I mean, I guess he could've payed the guy to hit you, but I highly doubt it."

"The guy? Hit me?" Matt scrunches his nose. He hopes it doesn't look stupid. He feels kinda stupid right now.

"A drunk driver. He hit you with his car."

"Oh," Matt says, trying to remember the squeal of tires, or the impact, but he only remembers Foggy, in the aftermath, apologizing, over and over. "S'not your fault," Matt says, squeezing his hand.

"I don't know about that."

"Foggy. Foggy Foggy Foggy, s'not your fault," Matt says. He thinks this is an effective opening statement. But he can't quite think of a good argument right now.

"I should've watched out, should've seen the car coming, should've pushed you out of the way or something." He sounds so tired that Matt frowns. Pouts. Whatever.

"Not your fault," Matt says decisively.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Matt shrugs. "'Cause I said so."

"...If we could use that argument in court we could've won so many cases by now."

Matt's brain sparks a little. "You couldn't've known," he says.

Foggy sighs. "Thanks, Matty." A pause. "By the way, Karen got you a balloon. It has a monkey on it. It's floating in the corner over there."

Huh. "Thanks, Karen."

"Karen went home to shower. She'll be back."

"She's not here?"

"Nope."

"Thought she was?"

"She was."

Matt blinks. "Oh. Hi, Karen."

"...You're so out of it right now," Foggy says with a little, genuine laugh. The sound makes Matt go all warm inside.

"Hmm...feel outta it," he says. "Thanks, Foggy."

"For what?" Foggy asks. He doesn't know?

"For everything," Matt says. He hopes Foggy's smiling now. Foggy reaches a hand out to brush the hair off his forehead, which feels really nice. So do his hugs. Foggy should hug him more.

A snort. "Thanks. I guess I'll make hugging you to death my life's mission from now on."

For some reason, the word 'death' makes Matt laugh, giggle, whatever it's called. He just finds it so funny.

"...Are you laughing," Foggy says, not quite a question. Oh. He's probably concerned. "I am concerned." Matt should stop saying things out loud.

"It's just," he says, still gasping with laughter, a wide smile stretching his face, "if I'd been taken out by a random car, after...after everything we've been through with Fisk and stuff, it would've been kinda sad."

"Yeah, devastating, actually. Why are you laughing then?"

"Sad in a funny way. Ironic," Matt says. He thinks Foggy's staring at him.

"...Matt, buddy, you're so high right now," Foggy says with laughter in his voice. See? (Hah.) They do share the same sense of humor after all. "You should probably go to sleep now."

Yeah, now that Foggy mentions it, he's pretty tired. "I figured," Foggy says dryly.

And Foggy will stay? "I'll be right here," he confirms, laying his hand on Matt's forehead, a comforting pressure. "Now go to sleep."

Oh. Okay then.