Matt Murdock, the very young Daredevil. Based as much on "Daredevil - the movie", Marvel & 20th Century Fox, 2003, as on Frank Miller's comic books, Marvel 1979-1986. I don't own DD, I don't want to earn money on DD, I just borrow him for now.

About language: English is not my native language. I try to write British, but my spell-check insists on American. Please, don't flame me, but tell me about any major mistakes.

Please read, enjoy and review!

Without fear

The boy sat alone in the dark room. Silently. Listening. His father sat in the brightly lit kitchen. The father looked at his son, with an expression of love, care, worry, guilt, and deep sorrow. It had been almost three full weeks since the accident now. And the boy had been home from the hospital for seven long days. The father shuffled his feet. The boy tilted his head slightly. "Are you all right, son?" the father asked. Seven days had gone since his son was released from the hospital. The doctors could not do anything. Twenty dark days since the accident. The father cringed as his son turned his head in his direction. The boy's bright and shiny eyes had reminded him so very much about a mother and wife long gone. The first twenty days of a long life in darkness. The boy's unseeing eyes turned towards his father. "Yes, dad. I'm all right."

Mathew Murdock sat surrounded by sounds. The ticking of the wall clock. His father's shuffling, breathing. Voices from the staircase, from the flat next door, from the street outside. The ticking of the clock. Cars driving down the street. Honking. Shouting. Glass breaking. Voices shouting in the hall, in the flat next door, in the street and in the bar across the street. The ticking of the clock. His father's breathing, heartbeats. Heartbeats? All these sounds surrounded Mathew Murdock. And this strange, black-on-black, almost-like-seeing, sound.

Twenty days ago Mathew had hurried home from school. Matt didn't take part in any of the school's sports teams. He was secretary of the science club, but they didn't meet this day. Matt paid attention in class, he did his homework, and was well liked by the teachers. He was the smallest boy in his class, and was an obvious target for big bullies like Frank and his gang. To avoid them, Matt had begun taking different routes home every day. Sometimes he managed to stay clear, and sometimes not. This day Matt had crossed the playground, climbed a fence, and run two back alleys when Frank caught him.

"So there you are," Frank said with a smirk. "You got somethin' for me, Murdock?" Sometimes Matt was able to buy himself free, maybe even "protection" for a whole day. But this day he didn't have anything. Only his school books.

"You ain't got nothin'? Let's see." Ethan, Frank's second in command, grabbed Matt's shoulder and forced him up against the brick wall. Matt mumbled something. "Huh?" "I said I haven't got anything for you." Ethan pushed harder. Frank laughed. "So you HAVEN'T got ANYTHING. Listen to this, gentlemen. This sweet little daisy HAVEN'T got ANYTHING. Why, gentlemen, I think I'll have to check that for my self."

Frank pulled book after book up from Matt's bag, tearing them apart and dropping the reminding pages om the muddy ground. The text books, writing books. Matt wriggled to get free, but in vain. Frank held up his final price. "Oh, I see you are a straight A student!" He had gotten hold of Matt's mid-term grades. "Or, not really, I see. How do you dare to get a B in Physical Education? A daredevil act to ruin your chances at an ivy league university?" Matt wriggled and stretched his arms to get at Frank. "My father's gonna get you. He'll make you pay for this." Matt shouted and fought against Ethan's firm grip. "Your father? Jack Murdock, the has-been? He can't win a fight that ain't been fixed. He can't even swat a fly!" Ethan let Matt loose. He grabbed the empty, muddy bag and headed for the end of the alley as fast as he could. He could hear Ethan laugh as Frank called after him. "Oh, let the daredevil run to his daddy!"

Matt wiped his eyes as he ran down towards the harbour. He didn't know whether his father worked down there this day, but at least he would avoid Frank's gang. Only a few more blocks now. Across this street, through this gate, around this corner, and... There were someone in the alley. A man pleading for just a little more time. "... I'll have the money by tomorrow, I promise! Please, don't hurt me..." A big, broad shouldered man in a black leather jacket almost lifted the other man. "You knew the terms when you got the money. And you knew the consequences..." Matt stepped back, stirring up some dead leaves. The tall man turned his head. Their eyes met. Both froze. Matt had believed his father when he said he no longer worked for the Fixer, but had got honest work at the docks. The father knew he had tried, and failed. A former boxer with back aches and injuries didn't get work that included heavy lifting. He could do something though. There were fees to collect, interest to be gathered, favours to be withdrawn. Jack Murdock could get a good day's pay as the Fixer's hit man, or no pay at all.

Jack Murdock tried to do what he could to provide for his son. He had never had much school, he did not know how to handle heavy machinery, an his backaches prevented him from heavy lifting. There might have been other work for him elsewhere, but not here in Hell's Kitchen. Jack Murdock was a boxer, an once he had been a good one. But he lost more matches than he won at the moment. That moment had lasted for a couple of years now, come to think about it. He had little or no health insurance for himself, and a visit to the doctor's office was expensive. A bottle or two of cheap brandy was as good a pain killer as any prescription pill. But he knew he had to look after his son. He had promised Grace that he'd do that, before she ... died.

Mat ran again, not even bothering to wipe his eyes this time. His father called after him, but Matt didn't stop. He felt betrayed by his father, and by his own wish that his father had straightened up his act. His throat ached and his cheeks were wet from the tears running down them. Matt could hear big, heavy feet following him as he dodged around some barrels. He darted a glance back towards his father. He turned. A forklift swerved to avoid the boy. The forklift hit a barrel and cut a hole. A spray of liquid.

Jack Murdock, once a boxer, tried to make a living as a hit man. He tried to force a man he knew to pay. He tried to get money for a man he despised. But most of all he despised himself for taking on this job. And now his only son had seen him. Oh, God, if only he hadn't seen him. Jack ran, he tried to call Matt back, but Matt didn't stop. Matt looked back. Their eyes met for one last moment. Then a forklift turned a corner, the driver tried to avoid the small boy in front of him. He swerved. He did not hit the boy, but he cut a hole in one of the barrels stacked next to him. Jack could only watch as the poisonous liquid splashed down Matt's face. Jack's own moan of agony was drowned in the sounds of his son's screams of pain. "God, please, help my son!" But Jack did not hear God answering as the ambulance rushed Matt to hospital.

Pain. Darkness. The doctors said the pain would ease eventually, but they could do nothing to lift the eternal darkness.

This was twenty days ago. The father and the son sat in silence thinking about the last weeks, contemplating their futures. Something different was about to happen. But only the future could tell what.