Infinity Era

by JDPrime22

Chapter 40 – Born Again

How long had it been, Matt? Days, months, weeks, years even? Were you even still alive? Who would even find you? Who would even remember you?

Matthew Murdock stirred in his slumber.

You gave your life for this city. You saw the world you built, the world you wanted, and the world that was beyond even you… crumble away when that building fell. Fighting a war that wasn’t even yours, and for what? For your old mentor? For Stick? He’s dead… because of her.

Matt breathed in heavily, almost gasping in a lungful of air. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move.

She was far gone and still you wouldn’t give her up. You let your team—your friends—get away without you. Everyone you loved… all safe… as you stayed with her. Fought her. Loved her even as she denied who she truly was again and again. There was no saving Elektra and you know it. She’s dead… you’re dead… for nothing.

Gritting his teeth, Matthew arched his chest upwards, groaning in agony as the flushing pain reverberated throughout his body. Like small convulsions, slowly becoming more and more evident.

Lord, forgive me for my sins. I have been a sinful man, done horrible things in my life to protect the city I love… the people I love… and I still wasn’t strong enough. Don’t let their pain be for me. Comfort them in this time. Be with them, Lord. Be the Protector that I couldn’t.

He breathed so very loudly, his chest sporadically rising and falling from the bed frame. Trying to open his eyes, Matthew saw only a piercing light above him, the whiteness of the walls giving him a sense of ease. Just like they always said it was… Heaven really was a world of white and light. “Lord… forgive me…” Matthew whispered.

Please… forgive Elektra.

He closed his eyes and let death take him…

… Only it never did.

Matt gasped, eyes popping out of his skull. Like newfound life was just breathed into him, Matt instantly felt the wave of pain flush across his body. He groaned heavily, stuttering in his breathing as painful tears began to boil and flow at the corners of his eyes. Raising his palms, Matthew could see through his slightly-blurred vision as his palms—old scars still evident on the pale, white skin—that his hands shook uncontrollably. He clenched both into fists, the whites of his knuckles shaking and shaking. Both of his hands burning through the world that he saw.

The pain was real, of this world. There was no rest for him. Not yet. God decided otherwise. His time on Earth was not yet finished, Matthew imagined. Seething through clenched teeth, Matthew shut his eyes tight and pressed his hands to the bed beneath him, slowly but surely pushing himself to sit upwards. It was quite possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do, his entire body screeching to a halt and begging, begging him to stop and rest.

Matt opened his eyes. Saw nothing but the world on fire.

He shook his head, pushing and pushing and fighting the constant battle with himself. Finally resting in a sitting position, Matthew took in several calming breaths, several small victories. Sure enough, he could hear his heart thump slowly in his chest. He could hear the blood flow through his veins, giving his body function and life. Reaching upwards, Matt gently caressed his abdomen and pectorals, feeling nothing but numerous bandages. He gasped lightly, continuing to feel and get a better grasp at the situation.

All he could force himself to remember was the last thing he saw before the earth fell over him. And that was the final moments as he held the woman he loved in his arms, their lips locked, knowing for certain what it was finally like to live again. Those final moments with Elektra—after having bested the Hand and the influence they had over her—were all Matt could have ever wished for.

Being with her one more time would have been even better.

But that fleeting hope was gone. She was gone. Matt shut his mouth, closing his eyes at that final thought.

He shot his head up, twisting his neck accordingly. Several soft footsteps came from his right, slowly getting closer. When the door at the end of the room opened, Matthew turned his head right, spotting the older woman. The nun. Her face and body resembled a flaming shell, shades of red and orange blistering across her face as she slowly came into view. She paused directly by his bedside, staring at Matt with concern in her eyes. Almost like she didn’t want to speak.

“We would hope… today was the day you awakened.”

Her heartbeat was fast. Faster than normal for someone her age. Curious at that, Matt tilted his head her way, his eyes staring straight ahead, almost looking right through her. “Where am I?” he asked. When she spent several seconds refusing to answer, he prodded further. “Who are you? Where’s—?”

She raised her hand. “All questions… you should save for her.”

Matt breathed. “Who?” he asked quietly.

Her face contorted into a grimace. Her stance, her expressions, her breathing, all of it slowly put a picture together for Matt. And he didn’t even see it until she finally said, “Your mother would wish to speak with you.”

How long had it been, Matt?

Matthew Murdock thought of that as he stumbled throughout Clinton Mission Shelter, almost aimlessly, thinking only of his mother. And it was true. How long had it truly been since he had seen or even heard of his mother? His father, Jack, always pushed his questions away when he was younger, when he would always ask those questions. Sooner rather than later, he eventually gave up, and just believed she had passed away.

Apparently not, as he was currently walking to her office now.

He wore a black T-shirt and baggy, gray pants. No shoes graced his feet, just a pair of socks that rested by his bedside. Matt didn’t seem to mind. The only things that currently kept consuming his thoughts were the constant pulsating pains in his body. Even after several weeks of recovery and rest that the nuns had told him about, he still felt absolutely broken. Yet he pushed on, more important matters to deal with. Other than the pain, questions flooded his mind with every step he took.

He entered the chapel of the convent, rows and rows of seats lining up and facing the stage, where the empty podium remained with soft, morning light spilling inside. No one was present. All he was directed towards was the doors behind the stage, where Sister Maggie’s office remained. With each painful step forward, all Matthew could think of was his mother.

The only answer his father would give him about his mother was her name. He never did forget it. Margaret Murdock. Everything else was completely blank, forcing Matt to have to wonder what she was like. She was clearly a part of the Catholic faith, probably helping to steer Matthew to that point as well without even being in his life. He almost smiled at that thought, pausing just by the doors when he stepped up to the empty stage. And that was it.

Just the pair of doors that laid between him and the mother he never knew.

Murdock sighed through his nostrils, gripping the door handle and pushing inwards. The office door was open, unveiling more morning sunlight and the shadow of the only life that lived and breathed behind the desk. Matt gently closed the door behind him, beginning his approach steadily towards the office. His eyes were forward, wide open, gazing at the woman whose face was on fire. That’s all he saw.

But he knew differently.

He felt it differently.

When Margaret Murdock raised her head from the Bible, her jaw fell and her eyes widened when he entered her office. Stopping. Waiting. Alive and well. Matthew saw her, too. Even though all he could truly see was the flames that consumed her face, body, and surroundings, what she really held was aging, white skin, long brown hair flowing over her shoulders and resting just above her chest. She didn’t wear a headdress, only a standard black and white uniform. Her brown irises gazed in Matt’s blank ones, her eyes nearly burning just at the sight of him.

Her only son.

Sister Maggie couldn’t help herself and broke out into tears, rushing over and wrapping her arms around him. She was careful with him and his injuries. He didn’t even move, just let her embrace him for as long as she pleased. He could feel her trembling, her shaking voice whispering in his ear, “Matthew…”

Continuing to let her shake against him, Matt gently brought her forward, hands gripping her shoulders. Margaret stared at him for a moment longer, almost incredulous to see her son all grown up. So at ease. So unlike her. With what he said, it was no wonder why he didn’t look that surprised.

“They said you were my mother.”

Margaret took in a painful gasp of air. It only worsened with what he said next, his eyes staring at her blankly. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” Margaret exhaled, shaking her head. She brought her hand forward, resting it on his shoulder. He didn’t even acknowledge it, just stared right into her eyes. “Yes, it is, Matthew.”

“Prove it.”

She slowly brought her hand back, shocked, almost like she was struck right then and there. Her voice was even more electrified, asking breathlessly, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Matt said, taking a step closer. “Prove it. What was my father’s name?”

“Jack Murdock,” she answered almost instantly, her brow still furrowing at his growing agitation. Why he was acting defensive was not unheard of—she almost expected it—but to see him so incredulous, more so than her, slowly but surely injured her already weakened heart. Especially with his continuing questions.

They only got harder for her. “How old was I when you left?”

She felt her heart fall to that question. “Matthew… I—”

“How old?” he pressured on, taking another step forward and causing her to hit her desk.

Margaret could tell he was done waiting. After all, he had spent his entire life just waiting to know if she was even alive or dead. There was no hiding the truth any longer. “You were a year old,” she admitted, turning aside and shutting her eyes. “Just about to turn two.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why did you leave?” Matt asked, further emphasizing the question and the answer he wanted. Margaret opened her eyes, continuing to look away in silence. He slammed his fist on her desk, causing her to yelp in fright from the sudden threat. He was clearly fuming with anger, his facial features twitching in agitation. “Where the hell have you been for the past thirty years?”

She sighed at that, finally letting that pent-up fear that gripped her for so long ease away. Getting it out of her system and off her chest was something that would close the regret she held. She wanted someone—someone other than her fellow sisters—to listen to the truth. “Please, take a seat. It’s about time I told you.”

Matthew removed his fist from her desk. It thumped with pain, but he ignored it. He instead focused all of his attention, all of his heart, and his hearing… to her. She took her seat behind her desk, Matthew dragging a chair forward and sitting down. Margaret began by folding her fingers over each other, releasing a great and regretful sigh. “I always wanted to, you know? I always wanted to come back, to be a part of your life again, but… I just… couldn’t,” she said, head falling into her palms. “Oh, Lord, it’s so hard.”

“Just start from the beginning.”

She looked up, meeting her son’s gaze. It wasn’t harsh like earlier. Much calmer now. Sincere, even. That’s all she really needed to begin again.

“I married Jack at a young age, around our early twenties when I realized I was pregnant with you. After you were born, I… I started suffering from a form of… postpartum depression. I always wanted to be a good mother, but I kept having all these doubts, all these fears gripping me and telling me otherwise. Those fears turned into paranoia and eventually turned into a mental illness.”

Margaret tried to breathe, but it only came in as a painful stutter, something she didn’t want to relive or reimagine. Matthew watched her movements carefully, all the while listening to her heartbeat.

She gulped, looking away and refusing to meet his eyes. “One night… I imagined that Jack was trying to turn against me… and I always thought that the separation that didn’t exist was because of the child we had. Because of you.”

Looking up, she met her son’s gaze. Matt continuously stared at her, refusing to blink.

“I tried to hurt you… that night. Jack was able to stop me before I could even lay a finger on your head. I sobbed in his arms for hours and…” Margaret said, stopping only to shut her eyes tight and prevent the tears from slipping through. She succeeded, only barely, and continued, “… and I realized that the longer I stayed around you two, the more insane I would grow. So… without telling Jack… I left home… swearing never to go back until I got better.

“The church took me in almost instantly. They said I would be safe there, giving me the right care and counseling needed to cure my depression. All the years I spent recovering… all I could really think about was you and Jack. I thought of nothing else… not until I saw you two again.”

When she opened her eyes, fresh tears slipped down, cascading down her cheeks and impacting the Word of God beneath her.

“But even then, I knew I couldn’t.”

Matthew breathed. That’s all he could.

“I knew… that if I went back… I could threaten the both of you again. I didn’t want to take that chance, Matthew. I just wanted you to be safe…”

That was all she could manage before forcefully dropping her gaze, her eyes shut tight as more painful tears fell from her eyes and impacted the Bible pages. She shuddered, sobbing rather loudly within the confines of her own office. Almost utterly alone. Had it not been for Matt, she may as well have been. She practically was, considering how silent and motionless he was during her whole ordeal, appearing to do nothing but stare.

But he wasn’t doing nothing. As she poured her heart out to him, Matt spent those moments listening not only to her words, but her heart. He heard her heartbeat, how calm and collected it was. No increase. No decrease. Just pain. True, human pain. That was all he really needed.

His hand fell over hers. Margaret gasped lightly to her son’s touch, lifting her red-rimmed eyes up to see him slowly smile her way. And what he said made even more tears fall from her face, her face contorting at his words.

“I knew I recognized your face from somewhere.”

Margaret instantly remembered the days before her depression, watching as her only son gazed up at her from his crib, from her arms, watching and waiting as she slowly put him to sleep every night. Singing to him, kissing his forehead, being the mother she once was. And she cried. Margaret Murdock cried harder than she had in years.

He didn’t make it any better, gripping her hands with his own. She met his gaze, noticing the tears in his eyes, one in particular slipping down his cheek. “I appreciate the honesty… Mom.”

She smiled alongside him. A smile that didn’t last, finally taking notice to his eyes. The blank stare, the tears that filled it, the way he hadn’t…

“Matthew, you haven’t blinked since you came in here.”

Chuckling to that, Matt dropped his head, bringing his hand back and wiping his eyes free from the wetness. He said, almost admitted, “Well, I’m blind, Mom, so…”

“Blind?!” Margaret nearly screeched, leaping out of her seat. “What happened?!”

He could only imagine the look on her face, but he kept his eyes to the floor, remembering everything that came to be. From the toxic chemical spill that took away his sight, meeting Stick and training with him for years on end, breaking away and becoming something even more. Memories, many good and many more even worse, flooded back into Matt Murdock. Every cut, every stab, every bruise, every punch, every heartbreak, every friendship, every enemy, and every day…

And he could only smile. “It’s a long… long—”

Matt’s smile instantly vanished. He titled his head, freezing in place and silencing his tongue.

“Matthew?” Margaret began, flinching only when her son raised his hand to her.

In that continued silence between them, Margaret watched her son focus only at the opposite wall, staring only at it. Yet Matthew was elsewhere. His enhanced hearing caught something, a break of wind, a screech of something large hurtling downwards, approaching and only growing more and more powerful. Louder. Quicker. Its distance was closing fast…

“Wait…” Matt muttered, darting his head slightly back and forth, still facing the wall opposite to his left, “… something… something’s coming.”

Margaret blinked. “What’s com—?”

“Get down!”

Glass shattered over them as the resounding eruption shook the very foundation of New York City. Margaret screamed as her son gripped and shielded her head, bringing her down to her desk as the glass rained over them. The explosion that followed, the tremor shaking the entire church and office, was so powerful it nearly knocked Matthew off his feet. Yet he remained determined, holding his mother with whatever strength he had left, until the end of his life if need be.

That didn’t come to pass, unfortunately, as the tremor ended and Matthew breathed again. He almost didn't want to breathe. All it did was remind him that he was still alive, still trapped on Earth and away from true bliss. A bliss... he once believed was gone. A bliss... now shaking with fear in his arms. A new reason to live. A new reason to act. The pain returned to him, all of it overshadowed by the rising adrenaline in his veins. Both he and his mother turned accordingly, eyes shifting out of the office and towards the door that separated them from the world beyond the convent.

“Matthew!” his mother screamed, running around the desk to stand by his side. “What was that?!”

Matthew already had a fairly clear idea what it was, but he needed to check it out himself just to be certain. “Stay here,” he told her, ignoring his mother’s eyes but still hearing her fearful heart, never once letting it leave his senses. It was difficult, considering everything else that assaulted his ears. “I’ll check it out.”

“Matthew, no, you can’t—!” Margaret declared, stopping him by gripping his forearm.

Matt turned back to her, both mother and son meeting each other’s eyes. They each found comfort in it, Margaret seeing her son—even if he was blind—and knowing he was there. For Matt, he was just glad to see her, even if she was surrounded by a world on fire. “It’s okay, Mom,” he whispered to her, prying her hand away and holding it tightly. For assurance. For a promise. “I’ll be fine.”

She let him go—almost regretfully—after that. And Matt Murdock exited his mother’s office, continuously pursuing the constant screams, the rising sirens, and the undeniable sounds of buildings crumbling to the ground. His heart burned after hearing that dreaded sound, only worsening to hear literally everything else. And he could. He heard everything.

“Everyone, stay inside! Don’t go near the windows!” Matthew yelled, entering the chapel where several nuns were busy trying to repair what had fallen over, collect the broken glass spread across the carpet. They made way for him, watching as he pushed open the doors that led to the outside world.

Matt’s senses shot skywards, feeling the heat on his skin, smelling the death in the air, tasting the smoke on his tongue, and most importantly… hearing the chaos and terror unfold within Hell’s Kitchen. He looked about, citizens fleeing and in flames, away from the second sun burning bright in the fire-filled skies. The city and the skies were on fire. The world he saw, even with his sight, was exactly like that. Everyone saw it. They all experienced the torment Matt went through with every day, seeing a forever burning hellscape.

And that hellscape burned on the horizon, a second sun rising from the ashes of Central Park, burning away as buildings crumbled in the distance, almost like a small nuclear explosion had just impacted Manhattan. But it was more than that. Matthew would have felt the radiation in the air, but there was none. Just ash and fire. And screams. God, the screams…

All of it was overshadowed once more. Matt tilted his head, this time to the skies, and not only heard it coming… but felt it. Something else… something bigger. Something far… far worse. He heard the massive engines growing louder, the low and terrible hum overwhelming his senses and making him stumble backwards. Back into the nunnery and into his mother’s office. He ran every step of the way, no more pain. No time for that.

“Mom…” Matthew breathed, standing on the outside of his mother’s office. Margaret stood up from her seat, holding the broken glass pieces from her window and tossing them in her trash can. She approached her son, already seeing the soot and ash paint his face.

But completely unprepared for what he asked of her.

“When you picked me out of the building… was I wearing a red suit?”

The doors to the convent opened wide, allowing Daredevil to run straight out into the smoke and ash-filled air. Hardly anyone paid him any attention. A few glances his way, but everyone in New York was preoccupied in trying to flee the madness, to run in the opposite direction to where Daredevil was running.

He stood in the center of the street, covered head to toe in his Daredevil attire. From his dark red and black armor and boots, to his devil-horned mask, Matthew Murdock was ready for whatever chaos the suit was willing to withstand. The nuns had managed to repair most of it, a few scratches and tears revealed in minor places. On his left hip, his billy clubs remained resting in a small pocket. His light red eyes turned towards the sounds of crying, of people trying to recover from the blast. There were no cars, so he remained motionless, only shifting his head in the direction he needed to go.

More screams from the right. Deeper into the madness.

He ran where his senses told him to run, listening closely for every shout in pain, for every terror-filled scream, for every cry for help. The majority led closer to the heart of the storm, to the heart of the flame. To the impact zone… where the fireball rested over Central Park.

Matthew Murdock ran right for it, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen entering the face of Hell itself.

Right as the Chitauri Command Center dropped into New York City.