Shattered Control
Matt stumbled through the church's side entrance, his body screaming in protest with every movement. The familiar scents of incense and old wood couldn't mask the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. His hands were shaking as he made his way down to the basement, a combination of fading adrenaline and something worse - something he didn't want to acknowledge.
"Weak," he muttered to himself, the word tasting like poison. "Pathetic."
He collapsed onto his bed, wincing as his ribs protested. The fight replayed in his mind - every sluggish movement, every delayed reaction, every moment where his usually razor-sharp senses had failed him. He'd been helpless, truly helpless, for the first time since...
Since Stick had first found him, a scared little omega trying to be something he wasn't.
"Damn it!" He slammed his fist into the wall, welcoming the burst of pain. It was better than the other feelings threatening to overwhelm him - the vulnerability, the fear, the crushing weight of his own nature asserting itself.
"Matthew?" Sister Maggie's voice came from the doorway, concern evident in her tone. "What happened?"
"Nothing." He turned away, but not before she caught sight of his injuries.
"This doesn't look like nothing." Her footsteps approached, bringing with them the clinical scent of the infirmary. "Let me help-"
"I don't need help!" The words exploded out of him, sharper than intended. "I don't need anyone's help. I just need..." His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. "I just need to be stronger."
"Stronger than what?" Maggie's voice was gentle, but probing. "Your injuries? Or yourself?"
Matt laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "Both. Neither. I don't know anymore."
His hands were still shaking as he reached for the pill bottles on his nightstand. The suppressants rattled mockingly as he fumbled with the cap, his usually precise fingers clumsy with exhaustion and emotion.
"These aren't helping you," Maggie said softly, watching him struggle. "Whatever they are, they're making things worse."
"You don't understand." He finally got the bottle open, but the pills scattered across the floor. "I need them. I can't... I can't be..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't admit what he was, what he'd always been fighting against. His enhanced senses picked up his own scent changing, the suppressants wearing off completely now, leaving him exposed. Vulnerable. Omega.
"Matthew." Maggie's voice was closer now, her beta scent non-threatening. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But please, let me help you with your injuries at least."
He wanted to refuse, wanted to maintain the facade of strength he'd built over years. But his body betrayed him, a wave of dizziness forcing him to sit heavily on the bed.
"Someone helped me," he said finally, as Maggie began cleaning his wounds. "During the fight. Someone I couldn't identify. They... they saved me."
"And this bothers you?"
"I shouldn't have needed saving!" The words burst out of him. "I should have been able to handle it myself. I've handled worse, fought harder battles. But now..." He gestured helplessly. "Now I can barely throw a punch without everything going wrong."
"Because of whatever's in these pills?" Maggie asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Matt turned his face away. "Because I'm weak. Because I'm not... not what everyone thinks I am."
"And what do people think you are?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Matt could feel himself slipping, the careful walls he'd built starting to crumble. The part of him that needed comfort, that wanted to be small and protected, was getting harder to ignore.
"Strong," he whispered finally. "They think I'm strong. An alpha. A protector. Not... not..."
"Not someone who needs protecting sometimes?" Maggie finished gently.
Matt flinched. "I don't need protection. I don't need anyone. I just need to get these damn suppressants working properly again."
"Even if they're killing you?"
"Better dead than weak." The words came out before he could stop them, raw and honest in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in years.
Maggie's hands stilled in their work. "Is that what you really believe? That needing help makes you weak?"
"You don't understand." Matt's voice cracked. "You can't understand. I've spent my whole life fighting against... against what I am. What I was born as. I can't stop now. I can't let it win."
"Let what win? Your nature?"
"My weakness!" The words echoed in the small room. "My... my..." He couldn't say it, couldn't admit the truth even now.
Maggie was quiet for a long moment, finishing her work on his injuries. Finally, she spoke: "Whatever you're fighting against, Matthew, it's part of you. And fighting yourself... that's a battle you can't win."
She left him alone then, surrounded by scattered pills and shattered pride. Matt curled in on himself, his enhanced senses picking up every detail of his failure - the tremor in his hands, the sweetness in his scent, the way his mind kept trying to slip into that dangerous space where everything felt soft and safe.
He needed to be stronger. Needed to fight harder. Needed to prove that he wasn't what biology had made him.
But as he lay there in the darkness, listening to the eternal rhythm of the church above, Matt Murdock faced a terrifying truth: he was losing control, and he didn't know how to get it back.