The Not My Body Problem
based on a prompt by @theblindshot, once again thanks for the wonderful idea The previous chapter: link
Summary: Benjamin Poindexter wakes up and finds himself in an interesting situation that he has to deal with. Word count: ~5K
Trigger warnings: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, self-harm, suggestive content. If I missed anything, please be nice about it and let me know. Overall, I think that I took a slightly darker route with this chapter compared to the previous one but it did feel right in the end so I kept it this way.
Chapter 2: Hands That Hold
Benjamin Poindexter hated mornings.
Every time he would jerk up on his bed (if Dex had even been lucky enough to find one), as if after having been punched in his chest, and then relive a long series of flashbacks from the past few years. As if someone had looked down at him and decided that having a permanent reminder of how miserable his life had been so far would make for a perfect start of every brand new day.
The only part that made the experience somewhat better or more bearable was his morning routine because it was also the only thing that belonged entirely to him and nobody else. Controlled. Predictable. Stable.
This morning was no different.
As the regular programming of the same memories was finally over, Dex remained lying still, waiting for his breath to catch up. When it no longer felt like his chest could explode any moment, he reached his hand for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand but found nothing.
The man clearly remembered putting the bottle there the night before because his back had been killing him so badly that Dex had briefly considered taking one more pill just to see if he would make it alive to yet another morning.
He had checked it once. Twice. Three times before letting himself fall asleep. But there was still no bottle, no matter how many times Dex felt for it all over the nightstand. The glass of water was missing as well.
Poindexter disappointedly groaned and opened his eyes. Nothing changed. All he could see was the black darkness. Confused, Dex closed his eyes and opened them again. It didn’t help. He closed his eyes one more time, rubbed them and then opened. Nothing.
He remembered reading in the past that if a person hit their head in a right place, it could render them blind, either permanently or temporarily, depending on how lucky they were. And how had Dex managed to get so lucky this time? Well, perhaps, he could ask Murdock for some life advice since the guy had been as blind as a bat for quite some time. Not that Poindexter actually believed that Daredevil would be happy to share anything with him. But the idea did draw a wry smile from him.
Welcome to your new low, Dex. But don’t get too used to it because another one is already on its way to you.
The man heavily sighed and slowly sat up straight. It wasn’t easy but manageable nevertheless. And then he realised that his vision wasn’t the only thing gone. His balance was off too.
Having spent years and years of his life trying to blend in and cosplay some type of normalcy to fit in, Dex had had to master the control of his entire body, meaning that he was familiar enough with it to know if anything was wrong. This time, it all felt wrong, like absolutely everything, every single part of his body.
And why was he in a tight T-shirt that was clearly trying to suffocate him?
The T-shirt was then instantly taken off and thrown away.
After that, Poindexter decided that it was time to stand up but he either miscalculated something or was simply unlucky (as if he had ever been lucky) and ended up falling down on the floor with a loud thud. Dex braced himself for his spine to react with excruciating pain but it never came. Neither did the usual metallic ringing. Interesting.
Lying down, he wondered what was going on because there were already too many things that refused to add up.
Obviously, the loss of his vision was the most pressing matter at the moment. Without it, he wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone. It would certainly take a lot of time to readjust to his new reality. Unfortunately, time happened to be among the few resources he didn’t have much of.
On the other hand, his back seemed to be a rather positive development, although Poindexter wasn’t sure what had caused it. Actually, he had absolutely no idea. No explanation. Nothing.
He slipped his hand under himself, found his spine and carefully traced his fingers along it. There was no ugly scarring that Dex hated so much, no familiar coldness under his fingers, nothing. As if that fateful night at the hotel had never happened. As if his spine had never been broken at all.
And just as Dex was about to smile, he was suddenly attacked by deafening city noises coming from everywhere at the same time. He quickly covered his ears with his hands to protect them. It didn’t help.
It was much worse than his buzzing because at least he could deal with the buzzing inside his head by taking his medicine on time. But this… this was something he could do nothing about.
When did New York get so loud? Or had it always been like that? Poindexter didn’t know and didn’t care. All he wanted was for it all to stop.
His chest began to heave heavily against his will. Dex tried to calm himself down by attempting to control his breathing but at this point it was already a lost fight. His mind was like a house on fire and he was standing right in the middle of it, watching the flames.
He needed to get out. He needed to do something, anything just to get rid of all the sounds that terribly hurt his ears. He needed…
Poindexter grabbed his left hand with his right and dug his nails hard into it. It didn’t fully solve the issue of the noise but it did prove to be a distraction enough to pull his mind out of a cycle it was about to enter. Painful. Grounding. Temporary.
His heart was pounding loudly against his ribcage, ready to jump out of it. Even though he didn’t have to do it, Dex closed his eyes and imagined his chest going slowly up and down. At first it didn’t seem to help but soon he felt better or more functional.
After lying down for some time, Poindexter decided that it was time to get up and explore the place he had woken up in as he realised that it wasn’t his. It couldn’t be. The floor felt different. The air didn’t taste the same. Not his.
A few awkward attempts later and Dex was on his feet. Not being able to see was certainly an obstacle he would have to get used to but if he moved carefully, he would be fine, right? Wrong.
It took Poindexter only five steps before his knee hit something hard. He exclaimed in anger and surprise and stretched his arms out to feel the object.
It was a chair. A fucking chair. In the middle of a fucking room. Who would even put it there? And why?
Dex didn’t think much after that. He just grabbed the chair and threw it away with all his strength. His ears didn’t like the moment the chair hit a wall before breaking down but he surely did enjoy it, even if only a little.
As he mindlessly scratched his left shoulder, Poindexter felt some rough line underneath his fingers. He stopped. It was a scar and based on the way it felt it had to be a scar from a gunshot wound. But he had never been shot in his left shoulder before. So, how did it get there?
The amount of questions Dex had kept growing and growing as did his anxiety. He hated the uncertainty of the situation he was in. He hated feeling completely helpless. He hated simply being.
Come on, Dex, come on. Think, you need to think. Not to stand like a stupid idiot you are.
Poindexter pinched himself because physical pain seemed to be the only thing working as expected. Unfortunately, the city was still there, as present as ever. But when had it ever been easy for him? Right, never.
Eventually, Dex managed to walk around the room. This time, however, he made sure to stretch his arms out in front of him before moving forward so as to avoid any other potential unexpected surprises. Luckily, there were no more chairs in his way.
God, he hated chairs so much now. Fucking chairs…
Poindexter didn’t find anything helpful or interesting to help him get closer to answering any of his questions. Maybe, he had missed something. Maybe, he had been searching in all the wrong places. Maybe, there was nothing for him to find. However, there was one more chance left.
Dex recalled that even though his bottle of pills and the glass of water weren’t on the nightstand, there was still one object lying on the nightstand. Something cold. Something metallic. Could it be?..
It took Poindexter some time before he managed to remember where exactly he was supposed to go but once he did, he surprised himself by getting there in the blink of an eye. Perhaps, he was finally starting to figure this whole blindness thing out. Perhaps, he was just losing his patience. Perhaps, some stars did align for him after all.
As Dex reached the nightstand, his fingers ran all over its top surface until they found the mysterious object he was looking for. It was a knife. Interesting.
Poindexter examined the knife with his usual attention to detail. The first thing he noticed was that it was marked with his symbol. Slightly intriguing but nothing to write home about in the end. After all, his symbol had never been that unique to make it impossible to come across it out in the wild.
But there was also something else carved out on the knife. Some text. Dex kept tracing it with his fingers again and again until he knew exactly what it said.
You’re welcome.
And suddenly it all made sense. The blindness. The heightened senses. The scar on the left shoulder. The knife, his knife, the very knife he had used as a weapon but had left as a gift, a message.
He was stuck in Matthew Murdock’s body. The blind lawyer. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
No fucking way…
Poindexter bitterly laughed at himself but it came out pathetic and weak.
He was… tired. But even this wouldn’t fully describe the way he felt. Overstimulated? Overwhelmed? If Dex were really in a mood for it, he could probably find an entire dictionary of words to paint a vivid picture of his mental state. Instead, he was angry. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he had any time for this.
Dex lay down back on his bed. Matt’s bed, he lazily corrected himself, although he was well past the point of caring about such fine details.
Poindexter hated to admit it to himself but there was definitely something about being inside Murdock’s body like this. It was so… good. So holy. So nice. So pure. So right. So wholesome. As if it were meant to be. As if he belonged there.
And it was also the closest he was ever going to get to him.
His fingers mindlessly reached for the shoulder scar and gently caressed it over and over.
They had marked each other. Dex’ cheek scar. Matt’s shoulder scar. Like wedding bands. They had claimed each other in a way no one else would ever be able to.
”Oh, sweetheart, what do you want me to do?” Matt’s voice popped up in Dex’ head out of the blue. Deep. Hot. Tempting.
”Thank you, counsellor.”
”Fuck you.”
Well, fuck you, counsellor.
A wicked smile briefly appeared on Poindexter’s face before disappearing again.
Now that he was in full control of Murdock’s body and there was nobody to stop him, not even Matt himself, Dex could try a few things that had been buried somewhere deep in his mind till this wonderful opportunity presented itself to him. And all without having to worry about any consequences as if it had ever been an issue for him.
Poindexter swiftly took off his sweatpants. Any other person would have simply tossed them aside, but Dex, of course, meticulous as he was, took time to fold them as carefully as possible and then put them down on the nightstand next to the knife. The boxers went there as well.
Once fully naked, Poindexter lay down again and tried to relax as his body had already begun to tremble from pleasant anticipation quickly spreading throughout. But now that everything was within his reach and there was nothing standing in his way, the man felt… nervous? Lost? Scared? It was one thing to imagine in his mind every thing he wanted to do and it was a completely different thing to actually try them. And he just couldn’t bring himself to cross the line he found himself standing at.
As some time passed by and nothing was happening, Dex started to hyperventilate again. His hands clutched the soft sheet before clenching into tight fists. His rigid body became too aware of the chill air in the room against his burning hot skin.
All talk, no action, is this what you are, Dex? A pathetic loser that can’t do anything.
Without even thinking about it, Poindexter suddenly raised his left hand up, reached for his throat and gently squeezed it. Just a little but it was surprisingly enough for his body to react and begin to calm down. As if a part of him had somehow recognised the gesture like something that was supposed to mean comfort and safety. And in a way it was all too familiar.
Because of his blood loss, Dex could barely remember the events of the night Matt had saved him right after Vanessa Fisk had shot him. His memory was too blurry, too hazy to form a full coherent story. But there were also details that were quite vivid, too bright to forget. As if they had been burnt straight into his mind.
The dimly lit tunnel. Dusty. Filthy. Stinky.
Poindexter’s heavy body. Broken, exhausted, bleeding out and ready to fall apart any moment.
Murdock’s looming presence that would have been too close for comfort if it had been anyone else instead of him.
Matt’s heavenly deep voice reaching Dex as if through a thick layer of water. Back then, he couldn’t make out a single word said to him by the other man but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.
All that mattered was Murdock’s left hand on Poindexter’s throat. Decisive. Strong. The only thing his clouding mind could register and desperately wanted to focus on before shutting down for good.
Choking, holding, suffocating, steadying him.
Pulling Dex stronger than any force of gravity.
Poindexter felt his body melt into the left hand at the memory. A gentle smile spread across his lips making him want to sink deeper into the bed. He felt at home. And it was home in a way. Right where he belonged. A damned ghost trapped inside Murdock’s body like it was always meant to be.
Dex missed the exact moment his right hand unclenched, letting go of the sheet, and went to the shoulder scar. His fingers slowly went over it, learning its irregular shape, its rough texture and its web of lines, big and small.
After that, as a wave of warmth began to grow inside him, his fingers started their descend along his body. The further down they went, the greedier, hungrier and less patient Poindexter grew.
Dex wanted to have it all. He wanted to create a perfect map of Matt’s entire body in his mind. He wanted to commit every single line and every single bend to his memory where it would always be there for him to treasure once it was inevitably all over.
All because he knew that it was never going to last. All because good things always ended too early for Poindexter. Or never happened to him at all.
Dex had no doubt that Matt would find a way to fix this and get them back into their own bodies. If anything, he would be in a great rush to get this over with.
But does this really need to be fixed, Murdock?
I am you and you are me. Isn’t it how we are supposed to be?
I would probably call it fate if I believed in such abstract concepts. And you… you could probably think of it as the grand design. Isn’t it what you told me that night?
You trying to kill me because of everything? Me surviving despite everything? The grand design.
As his fingers finally reached their destination, Poindexter nervously swallowed and briefly stopped before giving in to the primal instincts that took over his body.
His left hand squeezed his throat tighter. A quiet moan escaped his parted lips and it was enough for Dex to lose himself completely in the feeling that was so new for him.
While his hands were confidently doing all the work for him, his fingers lighter than feathers stroking him everywhere, Poindexter kept imagining that he wasn’t all alone in the room. That Murdock was there with him as well.
Matt’s hot breath against Dex’ ear. And his neck. And his collarbones.
Matt’s body hovering over his, trapping him in the cage of his overwhelming presence.
Their bare chests pressed against each other. Like two pieces of the same puzzle.
Matt’s thighs firmly locking Dex in place.
Matt’s strong arms holding Dex still by his wrists, pinning him against the bed.
Dex wondered if Matt would be gentle with him. Or rough. If he would remain quiet the whole time. Or would keep talking in whispers to make him shiver even more. Poindexter had no idea what Murdock could potentially say to him in such scenario but it didn’t matter because the sound of the other man’s voice alone was enough to send him to heaven.
When a strong wave of heat finally hit Dex, he groaned and arched his back, his hands helplessly grabbed the sheet again. He lost all track of time. He was dead and alive. Falling down and floating. Burning and freezing. Sinking and swimming. Overwhelmed by all the emotions he was going through at the same time yet eagerly craving them nevertheless.
After the pleasant feeling was eventually over, the man exhaustedly collapsed onto the bed. His chest was heaving, his heart was pounding like a bird, his arms and legs were trembling. Still, it felt good. It was good…
And then it was like someone had found a switch inside Poindexter’s mind and flipped it. Suddenly, it didn’t feel right any more.
Not because Dex did anything wrong. At least, he didn’t think so.
Not because he felt ashamed. He didn’t. And wouldn’t.
But because he had done something he wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t entitled to Matt or his body the way he had just touched it. And if Matt knew about it…
You are an animal, Dex, a filthy animal, that’s all you are, that’s all you will always be.
Murdock would despise him. Would be disgusted by him. He would hate him. Punish him.
To be honest, Poindexter was ready to accept whatever punishment the other man would have for him. But then what? What would happen next?
”Oh, sweetheart, what do you want me to do?” Matt’s voice was back in Dex’ head, this time mocking and taunting him.
See me. The way only you can.
Curse me. Damn me. Break me and watch me fall apart at your feet.
Be my saviour.
Be my judge and my executioner. Tie me to a stake, set it on fire and watch me burn.
Be my sun. Because I’ve never felt more centred than when I’m in your orbit.
Be the hand that drags me to hell right where I belong.
Make me something. Make me mean something. Make me matter more than the nothingness of my empty soul.
Tell me that I am nothing. That I mean nothing. That I am just the rust on the iron of your life, the sickness of your soul.
Be my guiding light.
Crack my ribs wide open, take my rotten heart out and crush it with your hand.
Roll me over in the clover, roll me over, lay me down and do it again.
Take me to your church, hand me a knife and I will worship you however you will tell me to. You want my blood? I will bleed all over your altar till there is none left inside me. You want my black heart? I will rip the useless thing out of my chest and give it to you, no, return it to you. Because it has always been yours. I have always been all yours…
It all came to a sudden stop when the sharp blade of the knife broke the thin skin of his neck. Not enough to kill Dex but enough to cut it open and draw some blood out.
Poindexter immediately froze. His steady hand was still pressing the heavy knife into his neck, his fingers were tightly wrapped around the hilt.
Dex was on the edge and all it would take him to cross the invisible line was just one tiny push. One wrong move and it would be all over.
But he couldn’t do it. Not to Matt. Never to Matt.
If Poindexter were back in his own body, if Murdock were in his own and were there in this room, if he told him to do it, Dex would obey him in an instant, no questions asked, no time wasted.
But like this?.. Dex would never do it. He didn’t want to.
Still, the urge to finish what he had started was too strong to resist. Poindexter knew that the longer it went on, the harder it would be for him to stop, especially considering how close he had got this time. And what was even worse was that some dark part of him kept whispering to him to let go and do it.
It would be up to him to choose where, when and how. It would be up to him to make it either fast or slow. He would have full control of everything, unlike his entire life where he had been manipulated and used by far too many people.
Would Matt mourn him, his death? Would the blind lawyer mourn the loss of his own body more? Would he even care to react at all? Or would he be more concerned about getting rid of the corpse and the blood the whole place would reek of?
Dex nervously swallowed and took a deep breath in, feeling his chest slowly go up. After that, he exhaled and his chest obediently went down. Poindexter repeated a few times before the tension in his body began to decrease little by little.
The man focused all his attention on the hand holding the knife. What seemed easy was not so simple at all so Dex had to be really careful.
Luckily for him, his hand hadn’t got tired of being in the same position yet. A small win but Dex would need whatever he could get.
When he finally felt ready, Poindexter raised his hand, just a little to test the waters. The fingers didn’t let go of the knife. Good.
Before continuing, he waited, letting it settle. Dex lifted his hand a bit higher and then waited before repeating again and again until he felt that the knife was far enough from his neck to stop being a threat.
After that, Poindexter stretched his arm out above the floor and began to unclench his fingers one by one. When the knife fell down with a clank, he realised with a delay that he should have wiped the blood off the blade first. But it was already too late, of course.
Before Dex could fully enjoy the moment, the loud city sounds were back. He covered his ears. It didn’t help. But he needed to do something or it would drive him crazy. Well, crazier than he was already.
The man couldn’t leave the place, that was obvious. First of all, Poindexter had no idea how to navigate the world in his new body. Second, it would only make the situation with the sounds even worse as they would be much stronger outside. Finally, even though he would never admit it out loud, Dex desperately hoped for Matt to come. Not that he really expected anything good to come out of it. But maybe there was a slim chance. Maybe he had a chance.
As Poindexter was listening to the cacophony of New York, he was able to make out a distinct sound of drops of water hitting something, which gave him an idea.
Trying not to disturb his neck too much, Dex sat up and dropped his feet down onto the floor before eventually standing up. He didn’t sway. Didn’t lose his balance. Good.
Fortunately, it didn’t take Poindexter long to find the bathroom. There, he turned the cold tap on and impatiently waited for the bathtub to fill. As much as Dex felt irritated by the rhythmic sound of running water invading his ears without his permission and getting on his stretched nerves, the alternative was no better, so he stayed. Besides, he needed to be there to make sure that he wouldn’t cause a flood.
Once the bath was ready, Poindexter began to lower himself into the cold water. When it eventually reached the cut he hadn’t taken any care of yet, he hissed through his clenched teeth but didn’t stop until he was fully submerged. Dex held his breath. Waiting.
It felt nice to be underwater. Although the city was still there, its sounds continuing to remind him of his unfortunate situation, his ears hurt less, which was good. Yes, the man knew too well that it wasn’t a permanent solution but he needed a break from it all and this surely felt like one.
It didn’t take long for his intrusive thoughts to be back. However, this time, the moment he caught the first such thought, Poindexter quickly sat up before he could do anything he would regret later. The previously muffled sounds were back to their full strength but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to kill himself any time soon.
When he got out, Dex felt everywhere for a towel until he found one. He hurriedly dried himself off and then wrapped the towel around his waist. A brief thought crossed his mind that Matt might have used it before but the man immediately pushed it aside because he had already lost enough time. What Poindexter needed was to start doing something to get himself out of whatever this thing was, not to daydream about a blind lawyer with a hot temper and a nice ass, although the ass was really good, awesome even. But he wasn’t going to think about it at all, no way, absolutely no way…
Dex returned to what he believed to be Matt’s bedroom and looked for some fresh clothes. At first, when he put on a T-shirt he found, it was fine but then he realised that he didn’t like the way it felt on his body. Apparently, Murdock had a preference for a tight fit, which Poindexter hated. So, without thinking too much about it, he took the T-shirt off and threw it aside. He could settle for the towel. Besides, he was blind and wasn’t going anywhere so it wouldn’t even matter what he wore. Hell, he could even stay naked if he wanted to.
After that, Poindexter returned to the bed and made sure to get rid of all the evidence of what he had done not that long ago. He couldn’t say that he cared about it but he knew that if he wanted Murdock to help him deal with this, he had to behave. Be a good boy. Dex huffed at the idea. However, there was certainly something to it.
The knife was still where Poindexter had dropped it so he picked it up and did his best to wipe all the blood away. Perhaps, he missed a spot or two but since he couldn’t see anything, he had to accept that it might not be perfect. Annoying.
Dex’ fingers ran over the blade. He hadn’t expected Matt to keep the knife. And why would he? It was just a knife. Still, Poindexter couldn’t help smiling at the memory of him carving the text onto the blade. It was a complete waste of his time but he did it anyway. Because he could. Because he felt like it. Because he wanted Murdock to know that it was him. And now it was also the knife that had helped him put all the pieces together. Not that it solved his issue. It didn’t. Nevertheless, knowing was better than not knowing or was supposed to be at least.
With nothing left to do, Dex soon found himself pacing around the room in circles, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was growing angry and restless with every passing minute. He wanted something. He wanted to do something, preferably something violent to get it all out.
Then it dawned on him. It was all Matt’s fault. Murdock must have done something to drag Poindexter into this because Dex himself hadn’t done anything wrong, he was sure of that.
And so it was decided. Dex would make Matt pay. He had to because he couldn’t simply let it slide this time.
Meanwhile, somewhere on the other side of the city, Murdock, stuck in Poindexter’s body, was already on his way to his place.
