Matt stood over his father's grave, his face impassive. He hadn't been expecting not to find it right where he'd left it. For all the talk of alternative realities, nothing in this one seemed to have changed in any significant way for him. Matt leaned down and pulled up a few of the longer weeds threatening to take over the otherwise plain stone on which his father's name was engraved.
He tossed the plants onto the grass beside the grave so he could dust off his hands. As he raised his head up, he took in the cemetery around him. A few scattered figures moving between the rows and rows of headstones were not out of the ordinary for a Sunday, but one caught his attention more than others.
One figure on the edge of his senses seemed so familiar to him. Matt took off towards the silhouette, his white cane sweeping left and right across the path in front of him. The closer he got, the more sure he was of who he had identified. Frank Castle. It was Frank bloody Castle. Of all the places in New York for him to be... Then again, he knew about Frank, and he knew what the other man was here for. He paused for a moment. He'd never had a chance to thank Frank for what he'd done for him the last time he'd seen him...
He was fully prepared to move up next to the stoic silhouette and pay his respects until he remembered that as far as Frank was concerned, he was just a blind lawyer. How would a blind man know Frank was there? He quickly redirected so he was walking down the path running parallel to the grave of Frank's family. Perhaps he could bump into him some other time when it was a little more logical. A time when he was wearing the horns.