Work Text:
Nothing felt real. It hadn’t felt real for a while, and if he paid attention for just too long, something wouldn’t be right, would seem slightly off, and the illusion would shatter. This world that had been constructed around him, that he had lived in for so long now, would just fall away. But it never did. The haze that had settled over him has been there for too long, longer than he wanted to admit.
He’d like to say it had been there since the Eighth City had been drawn into this timestream entanglement or whatever they had decided to call it, but that would be a lie. It had been there well before that. When he had been given his new title of Dizang, when he had held the Beast’s head in his hands, back when he had first marched into hell to kill the demon god. Back when he had dug one too many graves, because they couldn’t be dead. It didn’t feel real, it couldn’t be real.
But that unease had settled over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and suffocating him in despair. And he let it, tugging it around himself. Because it had been there with him for so long now, he couldn't help but find comfort in it now. He would always be drawn to it, even when he knew it would hurt him, make him feel worse than he had in a long while, make him scream and cry and sob himself to sleep, it was all he knew. Maybe in the end, Foggy had been right, he had knocked his head one too many times jumping through the rooftops and now he was in some hospital, breathing through a tube, the doctors unsure if he’d ever wake up again, but knowing he wasn’t in pain anymore in his coma.
But Matt knew that wasn’t the case. Everything was too real, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. This city had too much detail in it to have been conjured by his mind. And he knew what he had done. Those things, those had been of his own free will. Killing the Beast, joining Yinglong, overseeing the Eighth City. He knew this was real. Logically at least. Didn’t stop him from sinking into that comfort that it couldn’t be. He watched over this new city, providing judgment and second chances, all while wrapping himself further into that haze.
When Hela first appeared on the steps of his city, he just saw her as another lost soul, one seeking refuge in the former prison dimension. So he let her in. It took her days to actually speak of what brought her to this city, but eventually she spoke. He listened as she told him what she had done, why she had asked for sanctuary, what had been done to her. She didn’t hold back either, and the only reason Matt let her stay was how honest she was. Hela didn’t hide anything, explaining exactly what she had done and why she had joined Knull. Matt wasn’t happy, of course he wasn’t joining forces with the god of the abyss was never going to be a good idea. But he let her stay, though in a cell, she had to earn that trust first. But what was this place he was trying to make than a city of second chances? He had been given the title of Dizang for a reason after all.
And he knew exactly what he had done too.
He tried not to compare them, whose actions were worse than the other, but in the end, it didn’t matter. His world was still gone. He had no idea what would have happened when he set off into hell to kill the Beast, how many demons and gods and monsters would have been released in the aftermath. No one could have predicted that. No one alive anyway. It didn't stop him from thinking about it, those things ripping through his world, and of course, he blamed himself. What else could he do?
All he could do was move forwards. There was nothing else. Keep going, move forwards, even if it’s only one step at a time. Get up, Matty.
Fighting Angela had been fun in hindsight. At the time, it had been to the death, and if she didn’t realize that her baby sister was in fact perfectly fine before she delivered the killing blow, the fight would have ended much differently. But they both came out of it alive, with a hatred for their new enemy, but respect for another warrior. If it had been any other situation, he wouldn’t have minded fighting her again.
All these things, Matt could deal with. As insane as these events were, they had become his new normal. Fighting a demon god in hell and winning, joining forces with a dragon and becoming his immortal weapon, fighting angels, bringing divine justice. Even the heart of heaven being formed as the other cities of heaven converged seemed to be no surprise to him. The blanket didn’t wrap around him so tight when he learned of the tournament. These events were normal. This was how things were now. Hell’s Kitchen was a dream that happened a long time ago.
Not forgotten though. Never forgotten. That would never happen. Not when he still heard their screams every night, not when he could still feel and smell their blood on his hands no matter how hard he washed and scrubbed.
But now, this, this didn’t feel real. It couldn’t. Even as he stood there, listening, like he always had, always would, it didn’t feel real. A dream-like fog covered his radar, like it didn’t believe what he was sensing either.
They welcomed him all the same, slightly more wary than they let on, but Angela had gotten there before him, surely swaying their opinions of him. He knew about the multiverse, of course he did. Peter had talked about it all the time whenever he got caught up in one adventure or another, traveling around, finding other spider-people.
That didn’t change how Matt’s head kept telling him that this wasn’t real as another Peter Parker stood in front of him, talking like nothing was wrong, like no time had been lost at all. Like Matt hadn’t buried him next to MJ and their child, doing his best to keep his friend’s limbs together despite how the swords cut through them like nothing.
It hadn’t taken much to spill everything to this new Peter. As much as he could without breaking down entirely. He still had to keep himself upright, to be able to still move forwards, because otherwise...
But Peter understood, didn’t push, didn’t ask any more than what Matt wanted to give. Just like his Peter had been. Their voices were the same, and if Matt let his thoughts wander, it could be him again. He could let that haze wash over him, wrap around and let him pretend that for a moment his Peter wasn’t dead. That the Hand hadn’t cut him to ribbons when he had come to help Matt. Even when Matt had begged him to stay home, that he couldn’t deal with any more death. Matt started digging his grave a few hours later.
This Peter explained everything, the two Dooms, the timestream entanglement, different timelines and heroes all drawn to this place, Galacta, a whole host of new threats popping up on top of them trying to find a way back to their homes. It was probably the only reason the newly formed heart of heaven hadn’t been destroyed by the gods and monsters tearing through Matt’s timeline.
It didn’t prepare him for actually meeting those other heroes though. Peter had explained that there were others that weren’t heroes, had even mentioned that Hela had joined them on a few of their missions every now and then before the whole Knull thing had happened. Nothing about this felt real.
He was interrogated by Stark, Strange, Richards, T’Challa, Angela, Emma Frost, and a few others. The new Iron Fist, Lin Lie, sat in as well, and Matt wondered how long it would be until they fought. Even considering tearing those shards out of his arm had seemed more normal than this at the moment. Matt explained everything again, much more clinical this time, and without mentioning what had happened in his world. Just that he was the guardian of the Eighth City, immortal weapon of Yinglong, and that Hell’s Kitchen was behind him. All they knew was that his timeline had collapsed. They didn’t need to know any more than that. Peter gave him a look from his seat next to Lin Lie’s, but didn’t say anything else.
Everyone around him were people he was sure were dead. Maybe one or two might have survived the Hand’s assault, either fighting back in their own way, or hiding out. But when the gods and monsters were released, Matt had trouble figuring out who could survive that. Besides him anyway. He always wondered why he was still alive.
Peter wanted him to come along on a mission, get used to what they were usually sent out for, making sure a convoy got to where it was supposed to. Matt didn’t really listen to the details, only heard there was a fight, and that was enough for him. That was simple, something he was used to.
But he should have known something was up by how much Peter was practically bouncing around. He was told to wait by a portal, then Peter swung away. A few others joined him, also waiting to be sent on whatever mission it was.
Matt knew heartbeats. He could identify them from blocks away, know who they belonged to, what mood they were in just based on the sound. So he knew exactly who was approaching before they even turned the corner. But that haze came back to him once again, and he welcomed it, folding it over himself like armor. He knew this heartbeat. Knew it better than anyone else’s here, even Peter’s.
Frank bristled when he spotted Matt. For his part, Matt tried not to react, but the flames that constantly licked up his shoulders gave everything away, growing more as the ghost approached. He didn’t hear what Frank said to Peter, something about tricking him to coming along, his finger moving slightly towards the safety on the rifle he carried. Petr just laughed, but it sounded like it came from miles away.
They stood in front of each other, not moving. Peter moved the others that had gathered out of the way, giving them room.
The last time he had heard that heartbeat was when it was flickering out, trying so hard to cling to life, to stick around, to keep fighting. Spite had been driving through his whole body, raising his gun one more time to get just a few more shots in, aimed at members of the Hand. Matt had some trouble bringing his body to the cemetery where Maria and their children lay, but he wanted to make sure he was laid to rest next to them.
But Frank was standing in front of him again, glaring down, ready to pick another fight. If he wasn’t a ghost, Matt would have been content to have just one more argument with him, just one more, even if it ended with blood stains and broken bones.
Frank didn’t say much, made some less-than-nice comment about Matt’s new armor, then walked through the portal. The others on their team followed, some grumbling that they had been taking too long, or worried about how many they would have to be healing now. Peter lightly tapped Matt on the shoulder, saying something along the lines of not having to worry so much.
One foot in front of the other, keep going, don’t stop. That's all Matt could do. He walked through the portal, ready to start whatever mission they had, but not entirely ready to walk among ghosts. The haze followed him through the gate. It settled around him in the waiting room, sitting heavy on his shoulders, bunching itself up tightly around his ribs, sinking into his lungs, into the pit of his stomach. Fire danced across his frame as the fury of the Beast stirred up within him once again, itching for a fight. The quietness of the comfortable unreality fighting with the rage that always sat within him. They were both distractions though, keeping his thoughts from what was really on his mind. Maybe he would let that fury out, let that consume him during their fight, it might even help them.
Matt still concentrated on Frank, trying to find any flaw, any crack that this was actually all just a dream. Because that couldn’t be Frank Castle standing in front of him, checking over his weapons, like he always had. None of this was real.
But both of those things could be true at once. This was real, but it also wasn’t Frank Castle. Not the one he knew. His Frank Castle was dead, buried in the ground. And he would remain there. Because this was just a copy, a variant, a ghost of someone he would never get back again. They all were.