|craftydevil (craftydevil) wrote in avengers_logs,|
@ 2018-02-18 21:23:00
|Entry tags:||matt murdock, stephen strange|
Who: Matt Murdock and Stephen Strange
What: Back on the streets
When: Sunday night
The city of New York was alive even in the early hours of the morning. People talked and fought and ran and ate and fucked. Cars sped along the streets or sat cooling down at the edge of the road. Animals roamed in the shadows, seeking out abandoned food in bins piled high. In an alley, a man lay pooled in pile of boxes, slowly losing consciousness to the bottle loosely gripped in his fingertips.
Matt Murdock was dead, and the world went on as it always did.
He shifted his position and tilted his head again, zeroing in on the sound of a woman softly crying. They weren't tears of fear. She didn't need rescuing, at least, not in the way Matt could offer her. He let out a sigh and tried to block her out. The gentle sobs seemed almost synchronised to the cold wind as it rose and fell around him, ebbing and flowing with her stuttered breaths.
Matt swallowed and stepped away from the rooftop. This was too soon. This was too much. He should have known better than to think he could head back out into Hell's Kitchen the moment he felt physically strong enough. There was more to being Daredevil than punching criminals. A million sounds in a hundred blocks and all he could focus on was one woman's anguish.
He turned toward the door leading down into the building, intending to head back inside and take off the armour he'd been so ready to put on, but something caught his attention and he paused. He turned his head slightly. What was it? Not a sound or a smell. Not movement. Not--
The world seemed to shift all of a sudden. A wave of nausea hit him. He dropped to his knees, hands over his ears, struggling to tell which way was up. He couldn't feel anything! He couldn't hear or sense anything around him. For a moment there seemed to be no world, just endless darkness spreading off in every direction. Matt cried out, but there was no sound. Nothing.
And then it was gone. The cold rooftop pressed against his cheek, tiny stones digging into his skin. He pushed himself up and searched around for something that might give a clue as to what had just happened.
"What-" He started, his voice a whisper. He was only speaking to prove to himself he could, but was interrupted by the sound of gunfire nearby. Immediately his other thoughts were thrown aside and he bounded to the edge of the roof without hesitation. The adrenaline was already hot in his veins. Perhaps it had been too soon for Matt Murdock, but it would never be too soon for Daredevil. There were no nights off in Hell's Kitchen.