Chapter Text
Matt Murdock woke up in a room that was decidedly not his. For one, the sheets were made of a much smoother silk than the ones he normally had on his bed, and, two, as he let his senses extend around the room, this was not the layout of his apartment. In fact, this was much bigger than his apartment.
His first thought was that he had been kidnapped, but there were no restraints on his body, no smell of other people to indicate that he was in a foreign area. That would have the scent of multiple men, of guards, henchmen, and crime bosses. No, all he could detect was a light cologne emanating from just outside the door, a steady heartbeat accompanying it. A guard. So he had been taken somewhere. But by who? And if they knew he was Daredevil, why would they only post one guard? Unless they didn’t know and decided to target Matt Murdock, blind defense attorney, due to his proximity to the Punisher.
The last thing he could remember from last night was… well, his fight with Frank. He winced thinking about it, regretting the insults they’d let fly, the angry words they’d exchanged in a moment of rage. Matt had stormed off to his room, slamming the sliding door behind him in a silent “fuck you” to Frank. He remembered listening to Frank sigh as his boyfriend settled onto the uncomfortable couch with a creak of tired bones. He’d felt a pang of guilt for making Frank sleep out there, but it was just one night, and he knew the man had slept in worse places.
That still didn’t excuse his actions, though, a voice whispered. It didn’t erase the things they said, the feelings they’d revealed that one night. There was nothing that could erase that, it felt like.
Matt slowly crawled out of bed, noting that his clothes from the night before were unchanged. Same worn out sleep shirt, same ratty sweatpants. But where the fuck was he? He wandered tentatively through the apartment, going through a mental checklist of things that could have happened.
No, he hadn’t gone out as Daredevil once Frank had fallen asleep. Not that he could ever sneak past that man, with how lightly he slept, Matt thought with a small smile gracing his lips. So he hadn’t been captured by criminals that night. He bit his lip in concentration as he went down a set of stairs (what kind of pretentious asshole has stairs in their apartment?!) and passed through a doorway.
He let his senses map out the area. It was split into two halves, the doorway marking the middle. Real leather and the earthy scent of oak reached his nose from furniture scattered around the left side. Matt could hear the ambient noises of the bustling city coming louder from that side, indicating that a massive glass wall overlooking New York stood there.
The right half of the room consisted of a small kitchen, indicated by the lingering scent of gas from the stove and a dizzying array of spices in the cupboards. A small bowl of oranges on the verge of rotting sat on the counter. He circled back around the kitchenette, the marble floors cool and soothing on his bare feet. After he assessed his surroundings, he returned to his thoughts.
The only logical explanation he could come up with was that he had been… teleported somewhere. Not something completely unreasonable, considering aliens poured out of the sky a number of years ago, but still strange, especially with his low, street-level involvement. Most criminals he fought weren’t wizards, they were drug dealers selling a different kind of magic.
But, what happened to the other guy who had lived here? Oh, he hoped he hadn’t been switched or something. That would mean a stranger was now in his bed, and Frank would not take too kindly to his boyfriend being replaced with some person he didn’t know. He had to get back to the apartment as soon as possible, hopefully before Frank accidentally disfigured this poor businessman whose place he was inhabiting for the time being.
Oh, but how was Matt going to explain the switcheroo to the bodyguard standing outside the door? He guessed he could try and stroll out, explain it as a one night stand, perhaps. If worst came to worst, he could take the guy out, but he’d rather not do it in a place where cameras were sure to be lining every hallway and he wouldn’t be able to explain how he, a blind man, was able to wrestle another man to the floor. But first he had to find a change of clothes.
He wandered back upstairs to the bedroom, reasoning that if this guy was rich enough to have freaking stairs in his apartment, he wouldn’t mind if Matt borrowed some jeans or something. Did rich people even wear jeans?
After locating a closet by honing in on the scent of silk and a light fragrance of cedar, he flipped through the hangars, looking for something that might fit him.
To his surprise, the hangars were labeled with braille and entire outfits (suit jacket, slacks, undershirt and tie) hung off them. That was odd. Sighted people never had to do things like that, it was only for those who were visually impaired. Damn, what were the chances he switched locations with another blind guy?
He tentatively reached into the back of the closet and his fingers closed around a plastic shaft. A white cane.
Matt pulled it out, tilting his head as he heard something shift inside the stick as he picked it up. He rotated it at different areas, before the scrape of plastic on plastic told him that he found the right spot. Twisting in the spot where the handle transitioned to plastic, he felt and heard a blade unsheathe from inside the cane. Matt dropped the plastic sheath, running his hand along the flat, curved edge of the blade. He swung it through the air, hearing the whistle as it cut through imaginary opponents, as he realized that it was a katana.
A katana like the ones members of the Hand used.
His heart was really racing now. Who was this guy and why the hell did he have a sword in a white cane? No, there was something very wrong here. Maybe Frank wouldn’t be wrong in detaining the man before Matt returned home.
Matt dropped the sword with a clatter onto the floor, before he grabbed one of the suits off the rack and ran to the bathroom across from the wardrobe, throwing on the outfit as fast as he could. After he re-emerged from the bathroom, he picked up the white cane husk and the katana, sliding the blade back into the sheath. He let his senses expand around the room, looking for a pair of glasses. With some luck, he noticed a pair on the nightstand. Hopefully, if his luck held out just a little bit longer, they’d be sunglasses and he wouldn’t look like an idiot.
He raced down the stairs and dug through the foyer closet for a pair of shoes (God, even their shoe sizes were the same) and steadied his breathing as he reached the front door. He molded his expression into the satiated one of someone who was finishing up a one-night stand, loosening his tie and creasing his shirt in a few spots to complete the illusion best he could. He inhaled deeply, and, nervousness filling his body, opened the heavy front door.
“Mr. Murdock!” the guard called out. “So good to see you, sir. Hope you had a good night’s rest.”
Matt blinked. What the fuck? How did this stranger know his name? He couldn’t ever recall meeting him before, and it wasn’t like he was one to forget someone, especially someone wearing a cologne this recognizable. And why wasn’t he surprised to see Matt exiting another person’s apartment?
Oh, God, there was something wrong with this place. He needed to get out, back to his apartment where Frank and the man he switched with was. But, a small voice whispered to him, maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been switched with a stranger, no. What if, somehow, he’d been switched with someone much closer to him than he ever thought.
Realizing the bodyguard was waiting for a response, Matt gave a stiff nod in return, before responding, “Yes, thank you very much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
Matt tried to hurry down the hall, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Sir,” the man said, something akin to fear tingeing his voice. “Sir, I’m not sure if you noticed, but your tie is undone. Didn’t think you’d want to go out like that. Also, did you, uh… did you dye your hair? It looks nice with that shade, sir, I’m of course not saying anything against the new color, sir…”
The guard was rambling in terror now, his heartbeat beating faster the longer Matt remained quiet. He could smell pheromones indicating panic emanating from the man, heard the beat of his racing heart and the drop of sweat sliding down his temple as the man’s heat signature grew brighter in his world on fire.
“Ah, thank you, I hadn’t noticed,” Matt finally said, seeing the man’s impeccable posture falter as relief swept through him. “And, yeah, I did. Just a… spur of the moment decision.” He sent a grin in the direction of the guard, which was evidently the wrong thing to do as he heard the man’s heart rate shoot up again. Matt grimaced slightly, dropping the smile and twisting the cane in his hands like he did when he was nervous. This wasn’t good.
A long moment of silence sprouted between them, the tension between them rising as Matt tried to figure out what the person whose life he’d been dropped into would do in this situation.
It seemed that he was not a kind man. Not prone to smiling, dangerous to talk to, and someone who demanded the utmost respect from his underlings. It would have to be enough for now.
Matt was about to open his mouth, but the bodyguard standing outside his room beat him to it, as he blurted out, “Sorry, Mr. Murdock, sir. I’ve just never seen you smile before. My sincerest apologies, I know you can hear my heart beat.”
“Don’t worry about, mister…?” Matt responded, keeping his voice steady even as his thoughts spiraled into panic.
“Sato,” the man said. “Christopher Sato.”
Matt bobbed his head in response. “Thank you, Mr. Sato. And please, I’m not going to kill you.” Matt thought about it for a moment. What would be a fitting end to this conversation? “Not yet at least,” he finally settled on.
The guard seemed to have a much more normal reaction to this statement, his back straightening and his heart remaining steady like he’d heard this threat a thousand times.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mr. Murdock.”
And with that, they were done. Matt did his best to keep his steps measured as he strode down the hall, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t fleeing. After turning the corner, he reached the elevators and let out a sigh of relief. He jammed his sword-cane into the button and waited anxiously for the elevator to arrive, thoughts whirling in his head as his foot betrayed his anxiety and tapped a polished shoe against the carpeted floor.
He practically jumped in, mashing the “ground floor” button as soon as he was in, and prayed that he wouldn’t run into any more people waiting for him. Or, maybe, some other version of him.
Pieces were starting to fall into place, dots connecting in a way he didn’t want them to. But considering there were three Spider-Men in New York City just a few months ago, he couldn’t ignore the fact that this was the best explanation for his situation. Somehow, for some reason, he had been transported to another universe. One where Matt Murdock was a rich asshole who enjoys people’s fear, where he’s open about his powers, and where he would have to play this disgusting part until he figured out a way back.
And then, as the elevator continued on its merry way down, quiet beeps accompanying each floor they passed by, a horrible revelation snapped into place as another piece making up the horrible picture that was now his reality.
If he was here, and had replaced the other Matt Murdock, then it could only stand to reason that the one from this universe, the sadistic, other him, was now in his apartment with Frank. And Frank would have no idea that a complete stranger who looked exactly like Matt was now sleeping ten feet away from him.
He had to get back to his universe. No matter what it took, he knew he had to save his boyfriend from the other him.
With a final ding, the elevator doors opened and he rushed out into the lobby, barely remembering to tap his cane to keep up the appearance of a blind man. He heard people hastily move to the side, not wanting to be smacked by his wide sweeping motions, then listened as a pair of heartbeats detached from the wall and fell into place some ten steps behind him. Probably not a tail, maybe some kind of covert protection he always had following him?
He could hear the guns rustling against their suit jackets and if he listened closely, he could hear the buzz of an earpiece accompanying them.
Matt ruled out the possibility of a tail completely as one of them whispered his name, as if he knew that only Matt would be able to hear him. “Mr. Murdock, if you turn left outside the doors, there’s a car waiting for you around the block. We’re already running late, sir, so please, if you can, do your best to get there as quickly as possible.”
Oh, shit. He would have to master this facade and Other-Murdock’s personality much faster than he thought. A wave of anxiety washed through him as he nodded, feeling their eyes boring into the back of his skull.
Following their instructions, he turned left after pushing through the lobby doors, listening intently for some sign of a car that would belong to him. He regarded and discarded each parked car he came across, tossing them out for the hum of a taximeter, or the lack of life in the vehicle. Eventually, he found a humming SUV complete with three other heartbeats and the cold rustle of weaponry in their pockets. That had to be his.
He opened the back door, and to his relief, a series of “Sir”s followed his entrance. He nodded curtly in response, unbuttoning his suit as he sat down, leaning his cane next to him. As soon as Matt was settled, the car took off, along with two others in the front and back. Two of the three men sat in the front seats with the other behind him. All of them were armed, he noted nervously, but it seemed unlikely that those weapons were for him. Matt worried his lower lip with his teeth. He had to find out where they were going, though. But what if they caught on that something was amiss if he asked a question like that? He was already under suspicion from his different-colored hair. No, he had to risk it. It was better than going in unprepared to a situation that might prove dangerous, if the level of protection around him was any indication. The last time he’d seen protection like this was, well, with Fisk, driving around New York with his entourage.
“So, gentlemen,” he started, startling everyone in the car as their heartbeats jumped. “What’s on the docket for today?”
Silence met his response before the man sitting next to him cautiously replied, “We’re meeting with Mr. Fisk, sir, to discuss his cooperation with the FBI in exchange for freedom.”
And with his words, Matt’s blood ran cold.
“I see,” he managed. Oh God. Oh God, what kind of a universe was he in? His mind whirred. This universe seemed to be about five years behind his own if the deal with the FBI was anything to go off on. But defending Wilson Fisk, trying to get him out of his prison cell and into the swanky lap of a luxury penthouse where he knew Fisk would continue running his criminal enterprise while remaining in the shadows? No, there was no way in Hell he would be able to pull this off. For fuck’s sake, he’d put away Wilson Fisk in his own world! But this Matt was helping him? His palms felt clammy at the prospect of facing his old nemesis as an ally. But, he had to. For Karen, for Foggy. For Frank.
This was the only way forward.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and felt all attention fall on him.
“Please, if you would be so kind, hand me the case file?” he asked.
“Of course, sir. And I, uh, like the new hair, sir.”
There was a rustling of paper as the proper files were pulled out and handed to him. He nodded. “Thank you.”
No change in heartbeats, so politeness wasn’t unexpected. It was genuine emotions that seemed to throw these people off, so, with an internal sigh, Matt resigned himself to becoming the prickly, emotionless man his counterpart seemed to be.
He ran his fingers over the braille. Wilson Fisk. Imprisoned December 11th, 2016 with two life sentences for money laundering, extortion, and the first-degree murders of-
Matt’s reading paused as he reread the names of the two people Fisk had killed. Vanessa and Richard Fisk, ages 43 and 16, respectively. His wife and son. His eyebrows furrowed. The Fisk of his world hadn’t ever had a child, only Vanessa.
Maybe this universe was more different than he thought, he wondered uneasily. Could it be that with their deaths, Other-Matt lost leverage over Fisk and was now forced to work for him to keep Foggy and Karen alive? Yeah, that had to be it. The other explanation was that Other-Matt had willingly gone to work for Fisk. No, that was impossible. They couldn’t be that different, could they? They were, at heart, the same person.
Right?
He couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort not knowing the full story behind his working for Fisk, but did his best to ignore it as he continued scanning the file.
As he continued reading, he was a bit distraught as he discovered more changes between his world and this one. Like he’d found out earlier, this Fisk was more open about his crimes, especially compared to the Fisk of his world who’d only been arrested for racketeering. Plus, it seemed his final confrontation with the man in November 2017, seven years ago in his universe, had never occurred, as this Fisk committed the murders of his wife and son in July 2016 and was convicted in December 2016. Other-Fisk was making a deal with the FBI in—Matt brushed his fingers over the date at the top of the file—October 2017 and since Matt was working for him, it seemed that their final showdown in Fisk’s penthouse suite would not occur.
In addition to those differences within Hell’s Kitchen, Foggy was the District Attorney for New York (Matt read this with a swell of pride) and Frank… Frank was a detective with a wife and kids who, while alive, left him. The only reason he had his nickname of the Punisher was for his excessive violence towards criminals, not because of vigilante activities like his Frank.
The car bumped along, leaving Matt swaying gently from side to side as they approached the prison. Despite everything he’d learned about this universe, he still felt a knot of anxiety form in his stomach. There were so many things that could go wrong. He didn’t know if their relationship was professional or—he swallowed, not wanting to consider the thought—friendly.
Lost in his own head, he barely noticed as the entourage of vehicles stopped and the door was opened for him to exit. He neatly gathered his papers, asking for the briefcase the bodyguard sitting across from him had taken the documents from, and exited the vehicle, gravel shifting underneath his soles. The gates buzzed as he was admitted in, and with a pang of fear, he wondered if his cane would pass through the metal detector. He’d been such an idiot to bring it.
But the prison guards escorting him and his men didn’t even bat an eye as, one by one, they all triggered the metal detectors. So this Fisk had taken over the prison, too. Matt scoffed lightly under his breath. Of course he had, what else would he expect from the Kingpin himself?
They wove through a maze of corridors until they reached the visitors area, where Matt could hear a strong heartbeat through the glass. Wilson Fisk.
He clenched his hands around his cane. It was now or never.
Time to put on the show of a lifetime.