Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Guardian Devil ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Love Hina or any of the Marvel Characters. Some of the parts that are in this story were used from both the novel and the movie of Daredevil. The original script and novel were done by Mark Steven Johnson and Greg Cox.

 

Love Hina: Guardian Devil

 

Chapter 2

 

Part 1

Matt woke up in the hospital to hear the doctor speaking with his father.

“I'm—I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock. He's blind.”

 

“Are you sure, doc?” Matt could hear the fear and concern in his father's voice. “Is there any chance he'll recover?”

 

“I'm afraid not,” the doctor replied. “The damage is irreversible.”

 

Blind. Irreversible. The meaning of the doctor's words sank in, and matt understood that they were talking about him.

 

Blind.

 

Matt shifted his hands away from his ears, feeling the thick gauze bandages over his eyes. He tried to peer past the bandages, hoping to catch just a glimpse of light through the heavy gauze, but all he saw was darkness, complete and unbroken.

 

Irreversible.

 

To his surprise, he found that he wasn't really shocked by the doctor's dire pronouncement. Over the past few days, ever since the accident on the docks, he had lapsed in and out of consciousness, feverishly tossing back and forth in his hospital bed while his polluted eyes burned and a never-ending parade of doctors and nurses came to peek and probe beneath his bandages. Never had he seen the slightest flicker of light, no matter how many penlights and X-ray machines he heard humming and clicking near his face. Sometimes, uncertain whether he was awake or dreaming, he heard the hospital workers discuss his eyes, in whispers that were all too easy to overhear.

 

The poor kid…

 

On some level, he realized, he had known he was blind all along. Of course, he thought, remembering the fiery agony of the toxic waste burning away at his eyes. How couldn't I be?

But that pain was gone now, thank goodness, and rather than dwell on his life-changing loss, Matt was distracted by the unexpected sounds and sensations encroaching on his sightless new existence.

 

Buckets of water seemed to be crashing onto the floor only inches away from his bed, making the perpetual drip-drip-drip of the leaky ceiling back at their apartment seem pitiful by comparison. Has a hydraulic pipe busted or something? he thought. The pounding bursts of falling water sounded close enough to touch, but when he reached out his hand, all he felt was air, smelling oppressively of disinfectant and disease.

 

Four stories down, and a full city block away, a leaky faucet dripped in the kitchen of an elderly Japanese couple who had never heard of Matt Murdock. The sink kept on dripping, the faint, muffled sound being far too quiet to really worry about.

 

What kind of crazy hospital is this? Matt wondered, as no one came to check on the variation of the Niagara Falls splashing onto his floor. Nothing about this place made any sense. The sheets on his bed felt as rough and coarse as burlap, while every inch of the place smelled as if it had been soaked in ammonia, to the point of almost ridiculous overkill. At first, Matt thought he was in a room of his own, but now that he concentrated, it seemed there were dozens of people crammed into the room, not just his dad and the doctor. He could hear them talking, smell the sweat and the perfume and shampoos. Clothing and curtains rustled all around him, along with the snores and excessively loud breathing of more doctors and patients than he could count.

To his right, a tray of surgical tools rattled like subway tracks at rush hour. To his left, a stinking bedpan assaulted his senses, making his stomach churn. A priest seemed to be chanting Latin at the foot of his bed, and for a terrifying instant Matt feared he was receiving last rites. Aluminum chair legs pounded like sledgehammers against the ceiling, while a rushing ambulance seemed to be blaring its siren directly under his bed.

 

“Hey! What's going on?” he called out, but if anyone answered him, he couldn't hear them over the rising din of the overlapping voices, all talking at the same time. Panic threatened, and he heard his own heart firing rapidly like a machine gun. “Dad?”

 

The harder he listened, the more he heard, until he was positively engulfed in a sea of noise. Street sounds, clearly coming from outside the hospital, invading his room: honking horns, squealing brakes, blaring rap music, shouted profanities, and people whistling for taxis. The volume of the entire city had been turned up to the max, right outside Matt's window.

 

He could smell the streets, too. The exhaust of a thousand vehicles fouling the air. Heaps of garbage rotting in the heat. A whiff of garlic from an outdoor café. Steam rising from a sewer grate. Incense burning at the stands of sidewalk vendors. The lather of a tired horse trotting beneath a mounted police officer. Bacon and eggs frying at an all-night diner. Cigarettes and crack pipes and marijuana. Sweat, blood, and perfume.

 

It was unbearable. Sonic waves reverberated off the walls, crashing against his ears like a tsunami of sound. Countless odors, both sweet and sour, filled his nostrils and throat, all but choking him. In frenzy, Matt thrashed wildly in his bed, trying to escape the deluge, only to tumble over the side of the bed and land with a thud on the hard linoleum floor.

 

The impact of the fall sounded like an earthquake, and still the barrage of noise pursued him. Matt scrambled backward on all fours, seeking some relief from the avalanche of scents and sounds battering his remaining senses. The bumps and bruises he'd acquired in his tumble from the bed were nothing compared to the relentless onslaught. He backed into the nearest corner, his hands clapped tightly over his ears. “Dad?” he whispered, before a frantic scream broke from him.

 

“DAD!”

 

Part 2

Jack Murdock stood in the corridor outside Matt's room, watching the doctor retreat the hall. He didn't blame the M.D. for the bad news about Matt's eyes. At least he was straight with me, Jack thought, his own eyes red and tired. But how the hell am I going to break the news to Matt?

 

Restless feet carried him down the corridor, away from where his son was sleeping. He headed in the general direction of the elevator, with a vague idea hitting the hospital cafeteria before returning to Matt's bedside. It was almost six a.m., he noted, looking up at the clock over the nurses' station. He hoped the cafeteria had started serving breakfast already.

 

Jack knew the way by heart; he'd been practically living at the hospital ever since the accident, unwilling to leave his son alone in this place, whether Matt knew he was here or not. Jack winced as he recalled the circumstances surrounding the tragedy; it broke his heart to realize that his son's last sight of him leaning on that poor, dumb meatpacker on Saint's orders. The crushed look on Matt's face at that terrible moment was forever burned into Jack's memory.

Is that how he's going to remember me?

 

Jack frowned, scolding himself for even worrying about that after that had happened to Matt. This isn't about me, he remembered. It's Matt's future that matters now.

 

What about all their hopes and plans? College. A career. A chance to make something of himself, beyond the worst confines of Hell's Kitchen. Matt had worked so hard, studied when all the other kids in the neighborhood were out wasting time and getting into trouble. Were all those long hours for nothing? Had Matt's dreams been washed away along with his sight?

 

No, Jack Murdock resolved then and there. A fierce determination gripped him and he clenched his fists at his sides. We're going to get past this, he vowed. One way or another, his son was going to have the future he deserved, no matter what it took. There had to be books and teachers for the blind, resources to help Matt overcome his handicap. All he needed was plenty of support and encouragement. We'll start working on it right away, Jack thought, just as soon as Matt recovers…

 

A hysterical shriek spilled into the corridor, cutting off Jack's plans for tomorrow. Instantly, he recognized his son's cry.

 

Matt!

 

Part 3

At first, Matt had thought he would go insane. It had all been too much: the noises, the smells, the sheer sensory overload chasing him into the corner of room, where he had squatted in hopeless shock and terror. Forget being blind—he wanted to be deaf and comatose, too!

Then, just as he realized that he would have to get control of his runaway senses or else crack up entirely, something seemed to click deep inside his brain and he discovered that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could begin to sort through the flood of sounds and smells impinging on his awareness. If he stayed calm and quiet, and listened carefully to all the various noises out there, no matter how loud or disturbing, he could start to make sense of everything his supercharged ears were trying to tell him.

 

Slowly, awkwardly, he had climbed up to his feet and staggered toward the window, somehow managing to avoid the bed or any other obstacle that is in the way of the unsuspecting blind kid. The voices and odors of the city had drawn him like a sightless moth attracted to an invisible flame.

 

That loud splashing sound he had listened before was just a faucet dripping after all. And it wasn't dripping here in his room, but somewhere else, outside the hospital and maybe a block or so away.

 

Matt didn't know why he could suddenly hear and smell so well, but he couldn't deny what he was experiencing. Is it only my ears and nose, he wondered, or are the rest of my senses just improved? To test his theory, he reached out and stroked the folded, cotton curtain hanging beside the window. To his amazement, his fingers could trace every wrinkle and stitch; the swath of drapery felt like a detailed three-dimensional map beneath his fingertips.

 

He ran a finger along the windowsill, picking up a smidgen of dust, and then lifted the finger to his lips. His tongue touched the minute specks of dust and a smorgasbord of different tastes exploded in his mouth. Charcoal and mildew and salt and rust, plus umpteen other flavors he couldn't immediately identify. His jaw dropped in astonishment. Who knew a tiny bit of grit contained so much variety?

 

Part 4

Jack Murdock ran into the room; his eyes widened in alarm as he stared at the empty bed where his son should have been.

 

“Matt!” He skidded to a halt, his eyes searching the room. The sheets on the bed were in a state of total disarray, and a discarded pillow lay carelessly on the floor. “Where are you?”

 

“Over here, Dad.”

 

An overwhelming rush of relief washed over Jack as he spotted Matt standing by the open window on the western side of the room. For a moment, Jack thought that Matt was looking out over the city; then he realized that was impossible. There was no way that Matt could be checking out the view, which included a glimpse of the Hudson River a couple blocks away, even if his useless eyes weren't completely covered by bandages.

 

So what was he doing by the window anyway?

 

I don't care, Jack decided, overjoyed just to see his son up and about, for the first time in days. Thank you, God! he thought sincerely. “Are you okay, son?”

 

Matt held up his hand for silence. “Do you hear it?” he asked quietly. There was strange tone to his voice. A hushed, almost awestruck quality.

 

“What?” Jack asked, not understanding. He didn't hear anything special, just the usual early morning traffic noises drifting up from the street outside.

 

Matt turned away form the window, a transfixed expression on his pale, twelve-year-old face, as it he'd just had a religious experience.

 

“Everything.”

 

“Matt? What is it?” Jack asked, now concerned.

 

“Something's happening to me. I don't know what it is. But I'm not afraid,” Matt replied. “I'm not afraid.”

 

Matt tried to grasp what was happening. He'd read that blind people often developed their other senses to compensate for the loss of their sight, but this was incredible! I can't believe it, he thought, even as he offered vague answers to his father's urgent questions. This can't be normal, but what could have caused it?

 

A snapshot flashed across his memory: the yellow warning label on that metal barrel: BIOHAZARD.

 

Was there something in those chemicals? he wondered. Something that changed me?

Jack Murdock sat on the bed that Matt was lying on. He then looked down on the floor, guilt taking the tow of him. “Matt…” he try to speak, but couldn't begin where to start or how to make his explanations for lying to his own son all this time. How can he make an example for his son if he was going to take the same path that he didn't want Matt to go to? Jack took a deep breath and started to speak once again, “Matt…I'm so sorry. I was just…”

 

Before Jack could explain any further, Matt went over to his father, carefully walking towards him and holding up his hands so he reach for him, and started giving his father a forgiving hug. This was the moment that they both realize that things are going to change.

 

For both Matt and Jack Murdock.

 

Father and Son.