The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room buzzed quietly, casting a sterile glow over the worn chairs and scratched linoleum floor. Jack sat slumped in one of the hard plastic seats, his body aching from exhaustion. His head lolled against the cool wall behind him, eyes heavy and almost shut. The weight of sleepless nights and endless worry pressed down on his shoulders like a stone.
His hands, rough and calloused from years in the ring, twitched nervously in his lap. Each breath was shallow, uneven, as his mind drifted between restless thoughts and brief moments of silence. Outside, the distant wail of an ambulance reminded him of the fragile line between hope and despair.
Suddenly, a firm hand touched Jack's shoulder, shaking him gently. His eyes snapped open, startled and bleary.
"Mr. Murdock?" The woman's voice was calm but carried a weight of importance.
Jack blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. "Yes… that's me."
"I'm Dr. Evans," she said, offering a reassuring smile. "The surgery on your son's eyes was successful."
Jack's heart hammered wildly. "Successful?" he echoed, disbelief lacing his voice.
Dr. Evans nodded slowly. "Yes. The procedure went better than we anticipated. The damage was extensive, but we were able to repair most of the corneal tissue. Your son's vision should improve significantly during recovery."
Jack felt a rush of relief, so overwhelming that tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. His body sagged, as if a massive weight had been lifted. The tight knot of fear and helplessness that had gripped him for days began to unravel.
"Thank God," Jack whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Thank God…"
Dr. Evans placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Matt is stable and resting now. We'll keep him under close observation, but for now, you can see him soon."
Jack's breath hitched. The thought of seeing his son, his boy who had been swallowed by darkness was almost too much to bear.
"Thank you," he managed to say, voice cracking. "Thank you so much."
Dr. Evans gave a small nod and stepped back, leaving Jack alone with the quiet hum of the hospital.
Jack closed his eyes, the tears spilling freely now, soaking his cheeks. Hope, fragile and bright, bloomed inside him for the first time in what felt like forever.
Timeskip
Jack's footsteps were slow, careful, as he approached the stark white hospital room. The antiseptic smell was thick in the air, mingling with the faint hum of machines and the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. His heart pounded in his chest but not from exhaustion this time, but from a fragile hope.
Inside, Matt lay in the crisp white bed, his small frame swaddled in hospital blankets. Thick bandages wrapped tightly around his eyes, casting shadows over his pale cheeks. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but the usual spark in his young eyes was hidden beneath the layers of cloth.
Jack's throat tightened. He crossed the room in a few strides, gently taking Matt's hand in his. The boy's fingers twitched weakly, then curled around Jack's with a faint strength.
At that moment, the door opened and Dr. Evans stepped in, her face softened with a gentle smile.
"Mr. Murdock," she began, her voice warm but clinical, "the surgery was a success, but there's more we need to explain."
Jack nodded, gripping Matt's hand tighter.
"Matt's eyes are incredibly sensitive right now," she said. "Because of the chemical burns and the surgery, he's developed photophobia which is a heightened sensitivity to light. That's why his eyes are bandaged. When he's outside, the sunlight can cause him sharp pain and damage if unprotected."
Jack looked down at his son, feeling a mix of sorrow and relief.
"But indoors," the doctor continued, "he can remove the bandages, and the pain will lessen. It will take time, but with care, Matt's eyes will heal."
Jack gave a grateful nod. "Thank you, doctor. Thank you."
A nurse stepped forward, moving gently to Matt's bedside. With tender hands, she began unwrapping the thick bandages from around Matt's eyes.
As the cloth came away, Matt's small fingers instinctively reached up to shield his newly exposed eyes. The light in the room seemed sudden and harsh.
Jack leaned closer. "It's okay, Matt. You're safe here."
Matt's brow furrowed, then his face lit up with a flicker of excitement.
"I can see," he whispered, voice trembling but hopeful.
Jack's eyes filled with tears. "You can?"
Matt turned his head slowly, looking toward the window. But as the sunlight streamed in, a sudden sharp pain flashed behind his eyelids. He winced and blinked rapidly, fear flickering across his face.
The nurse quickly moved to the window and pulled the blinds closed, dimming the room. Relief washed over Matt's features.
Dr. Evans reached into a drawer and produced a pair of glasses which were red-tinted lenses framed in simple, sturdy frames.
"These are special glasses," she explained, handing them to Matt. "They'll help protect your eyes from the light while still letting you see clearly."
Matt took the glasses with curious fingers, then carefully placed them over his eyes.
Slowly, he turned back toward the window, peering through the red lenses.
This time, no pain. Only a soft, muted light.
A smile spread across Matt's face and it was like a small, fragile victory.
Jack squeezed his son's hand gently. "You're going to be okay, Matt. We're going to get through this. Together."
Matt looked up at his father, eyes shining even behind the red glass.
"I'm going to see again," he said with quiet certainty.
And for the first time in days, Jack believed it too.
1 Year Later
A year had passed since that life-changing day. The city outside their small apartment had shifted with the seasons, but inside, Matt Murdock was learning to navigate a world that no longer looked the same and yet, in some ways, felt entirely new.
Jack watched his son with a mix of pride and quiet worry as Matt moved through their routine. Which was getting ready for school, helping around the house, and studying late into the night. Matt wore the red-tinted glasses more often now, their once-awkward presence becoming just another part of him. He smiled more, laughed even, but there was something Jack couldn't quite put his finger on but there was a guardedness behind those eyes.
What Jack didn't know and what Matt carried silently was how much had changed beneath the surface.
Matt's senses, once ordinary, had sharpened beyond belief. Sounds he barely noticed before now came alive: the distant drip of water in a nearby building, the softest whisper of footsteps on gravel, the flutter of a pigeon's wings as it took off from the fire escape.
He could smell the rich aroma of Jack's coffee brewing in the morning, the faint scent of rain on the pavement, even the subtle difference between fresh bread and day-old rolls from the corner store. Taste was sharper too. Now Matt could savor flavors more deeply, each bite a small revelation.
Touch, perhaps most surprising of all, had become a language. He felt the pulse of life in the city and the vibration of subway trains humming beneath the streets, the faint tremor of someone's heartbeat through a handshake, the cool breeze brushing past his skin like a secret.
But none of this was easy to share.
Matt remembered the way his mother had looked at him before she left with her eyes clouded with fear and something unspoken. He was afraid his father might see him as "weird," or worse, broken. Jack had enough to worry about; Matt didn't want to add to the burden with talk of strange new abilities he barely understood himself.
So he kept it locked away.
At dinner one evening, Jack caught Matt's gaze as he carefully folded his napkin. "You've been quiet tonight," Jack said gently.
Matt shrugged, offering a small smile. "Just tired, I guess."
Jack nodded but didn't press further. Instead, he reached across the table, resting a rough hand over Matt's. "If you ever want to talk about anything you know I'm here."
Matt squeezed his dad's hand briefly, grateful but hesitant. "Yeah. I know."
As the night deepened and the city lights twinkled outside their window, Matt lay in bed, eyes closed behind his red glasses. The world was louder, fuller, and more alive than ever before. And though he was still scared of what those changes meant, a quiet hope stirred within him.
Maybe, just maybe, these new gifts were a part of who he was meant to be.
The kitchen was small and cluttered, the faded linoleum floor worn from years of footsteps. A single overhead light flickered softly, casting warm shadows over the chipped wooden table where Jack and Matt sat facing each other. The evening quiet wrapped around them like a fragile thread, a momentary peace before the storm.
Matt pushed his food around his plate, but his eyes were bright, fixated on his father. "Dad, I want to see you win this fight. Just once."
Jack paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate. The words hit harder than any punch he'd taken in the ring. For a long moment, silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Jack swallowed and looked down at his hands, calloused and scarred, folded tightly on the table. He could still feel the weight of the promise he'd made the favor owed to Joseph Maggie, the man whose name was a shadow in every corner of his mind. Maggie wanted Jack to lose tonight, to keep Jack under his thumb, to remind him who held the leash.
But looking up at Matt's eager, hopeful face and the way his son's eyes shone with innocent belief made Jack's heart clenched. The fire inside him sparked.
"Matt," Jack said quietly, voice rough, "this fight… it's not just about me. There are things I gotta do, promises I made."
Matt's brow furrowed. "But I want you to win. I want to see you stand tall. Not just for me. For yourself."
Jack's gaze softened, and a slow smile cracked through the exhaustion on his face. "You know what? You're right."
He reached across the table and ruffled Matt's hair gently. "Tonight, I'm fighting for you. For us."
Matt's grin blossomed, filling the room with a light that seemed almost impossible to hold inside those four worn walls.
As Jack stood and cleared the table, the weight of the decision settled over him and it was heavy, but necessary. He would fight not just to survive, but to win.
For the boy who believed in him.
Timeskip
The small living room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the old television set, its screen casting dancing shadows across the worn furniture. 11-year-old Matt sat cross-legged on the threadbare carpet, his eyes glued to the grainy broadcast of the boxing match. The crowd's roar echoed faintly through the speakers, mixing with the rhythmic pounding of gloves on flesh and the sharp gasp of breaths.
Jack moved with a determined fury in the ring, every punch thrown fueled by a fire that seemed to burn beyond mere survival. Matt's heart pounded in sync with the fists, hope blossoming in his chest as his father dodged and weaved with surprising agility. The tension was unbearable, but then the final bell rang, and Jack's arm was raised in victory.
Matt's face broke into a joyous grin, eyes sparkling with pride. "Dad did it! Dad won!" he whispered, barely containing his excitement. Without a second thought, he grabbed his bag and dashed out the door.
The cold night air hit him as he ran to the gym, the streets eerily quiet except for the distant hum of the city. He arrived breathless, pushing open the heavy door to the familiar scent of sweat and leather. The place was deserted except for the faint sound of muffled voices coming from the back.
Matt's enhanced hearing picked up the unmistakable sound of a struggle and it sounded like harsh grunts, thuds, and the crack of a fist against flesh. His blood ran cold as he strained to listen.
Suddenly, a sharp, terrifying gunshot shattered the night.
"Goodbye, Jack," a voice sneered, cold and final.
Matt's eyes widened in horror, panic flooding his veins. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the source of the sound, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.
He stumbled into a dim alley behind the gym and froze.
There, slumped against the cold brick wall, was his father and he was bloodied, battered, and lifeless, a dark bullet wound marking his forehead.
Matt's knees buckled, and he collapsed beside Jack, tears spilling uncontrollably down his cheeks. The weight of the world crushed him in that moment with the pain, the loss, the unbearable silence.
His cries echoed into the night, raw and broken.
For the first time, the world was truly dark.