For a moment, balancing there on the edge, Matt thinks he must be the one falling. He had shoved Dex with such full-body force that he'd staggered with it, senses still reeling from the earth-shattering silence where Foggy used to be; for one fleeting, freeing moment, he almost manages to believe that he'd toppled down there with him, driving horns-first into the pavement as though he were drilling straight back down to Hell. He can't decide if it's God or the Devil himself who grabs him by the ankles and holds him firm to that roof’s edge, but by the time he notices he's still standing, hunching under the weight of suffocating absence, there's a sickening crunch from the streets below, Karen wailing like a wounded animal.
He's wailing too, he realises, low and full and agonised. Just enough of her terrified jackhammer heartbeat is racing through his head to keep him firmly planted in that moment, and he wishes he could hate her for it the same way he wishes there were some way to jolt awake from a walking nightmare. Dex’s knives carve deeper with every sob, leaving his torso an unintelligible collage of sharp, stern pain that only worsens as he curls inward to tug off his helmet, fingers stiff and shaky. It falls from his hands like a dull guillotine blade, slicing listlessly through the night air.
Somewhere down on that street, Karen Page is sobbing so hard she can't breathe, half-gagging pleas as though God is listening, shaking and soaked in second-hand blood. Somewhere down on that street, Foggy Nelson’s jaw has slackened, his eyes dulled, the blood in his veins (and spilt down his shirt) slowly cooling. Somewhere down on that street, Benjamin Poindexter is smiling with bloodied teeth, only wheezing because he's too battered to laugh anymore.
The sound of it rattles in his lungs, echoes in Matt's skull. He hardly notices Cherry until he's calling his name, equal parts confused and afraid; he hardly notices his own body moving until he's halfway down the fire escape, arm slung around Cherry's shoulder; he hardly notices changing suits until he's being loaded into an ambulance, panicked hands plugging where Dex’s blades used to be, crowds muttering and gossiping about what kind of monster would cut up a blind man.
(The kind of monster who would take Foggy from him; the truest kind there is.)