(Matt's PoV)
Five years.
They say time flies when you're having fun, but when you're an adult soul trapped in a toddler's body, navigating a world of shadows for the second time, time doesn't fly—it becomes torturous.
Reincarnation was supposed to be a fresh start, a cosmic "reset" button. So, naturally, the universe decided the funniest thing it could do was make me blind all over again.
I remember the initial frustration, the silent screams into my pillow in a nursery that smelled of fresh paint and talcum powder. Why me? What kind of karmic debt was I paying off? If the creators were testing my faith, they were certainly being thorough. Eventually, the anger subsided into a dull, pragmatic acceptance. I was now Matt Murdock. A man who had been a lawyer, a vigilante, and a man who turned a disability into a superpower in a different reality. I knew the path ahead. I just didn't expect to have to walk it starting from potty training.
Fortunately, this life offered a grace my last one hadn't: my parents. In the comics, the Murdocks were a tragic mess. Here, they were the anchor I never knew I needed. My father, Jack Murdock; he was a man who smelled of leather, sweat, and cheap peppermint, an instructor at a local training center who carried himself with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a retired fighter. And then there was Maggie. My mother didn't run away to become a nun this time. She ran a small shop downstairs, and her presence was a constant, warm melody of humming and the scent of lavender soap. They didn't see me as a burden; they saw me as their son, their flesh and blood. And that love was a light I could actually feel.
Because of my "experience" as a blind man in my past life, I was a bit of a prodigy at navigating. I didn't stumble as much as a five-year-old should. I learned the layout of our apartment within days, mapping the distance from the rug to the radiator by the vibration of footsteps and the shift in air currents. I kept my skills subtle, of course.
"Ready to go, Matty?" my father's voice boomed, vibrating through the floorboards before he even touched my shoulder.
"Where are we going dad?" I asked, trying to put on my best 'innocent child' voice.
"Meeting family, kiddo," he said, ruffling my hair with a hand that felt like a catcher's mitt. "Your Mom's sister and her husband. It's been too long since we've seen the O'Neals".
The O'Neals. The name hadn't rung any bells initially. My knowledge of Maggie's extended family was non-existent in the lore I remembered. I figured it was just a local addition to this reality. I climbed into the taxi, the engine's rumble a low-frequency hum against my spine, and listened as my mother described our maternal aunt and uncle.
I tried to recall any mention of an "O'Neal" connection in the Murdock family tree. Nothing. I shrugged it off. Maybe this was just the MCU's way of filling in the blanks. I didn't realize the "blanks" were about to be filled with green ink.
**********************
(General PoV)
The taxi pulled to a stop in a neighborhood that hummed with a different energy than the grit of Hell's Kitchen. The air here was cleaner, the sounds of traffic muffled by the presence of actual trees. As Jack and Maggie helped Matt out of the car, the boy's head tilted, his ears picking up the distant sound of a lawnmower and the chirping of birds—luxuries his home street lacked.
The house before them was a well-maintained brownstone, its facade radiating a sense of middle-class stability that stood in stark contrast to the Murdocks' humble apartment. Before Jack could even reach for the knocker, the front door swung open.
"Maggie! Jack!"
The excitement in the voice was palpable. A man stepped out, his footsteps slightly heavy, suggesting the weariness of a long work week. Kirby O'Neal was a man of average build, his black hair showing the first hints of graying at the temples. Beside him stood Elizabeth, a woman whose voice carried a melodic, mature warmth. She had a shock of vibrant red hair that Matt could almost "see" through the way the sunlight hit the heat signatures around her head.
"It's been way too long," Kirby said, his hand finding Jack's in a firm, enthusiastic shake.
Then came the whirlwind.
"Aunt Maggie! Uncle Jack!"
A blur of energy erupted from the house. A young girl, about ten years old, practically tackled Margaret Murdock in a hug. Matt felt the rush of air as she passed him, catching the scent of strawberry shampoo and graphite—the smell of a kid who spent a lot of time drawing.
"And who is this?" Elizabeth asked, her voice softening as her attention turned to the small boy standing quietly with his cane.
A heavy silence followed for a split second—the kind of silence Matt was used to. It was the "pity pause." He felt their heartbeats skip, their pulses fluttering with a sympathetic ache for the "poor blind boy".
"This is Matthew," Maggie said, her hand resting protectively on her son's shoulder. "Matt, this is your Uncle Kirby, Aunt Elizabeth, and your cousin, April".
Matt's world stopped.
April.
April O'Neal.
He felt the blood drain from his face. The rest of his senses spiked up. He focused on the girl standing a few feet away. She was tall for her age, her heart beating with the steady, vibrant rhythm of a healthy ten-year-old.
April O'Neal? As in... Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? As in... the Fifth Turtle?
The realization hit him like a blindside hit from a heavyweight. So, this wasn't the Marvel Universe? Was this a crossover? Or a merged reality? If April O'Neal existed, then so did others. The four turtle brothers were likely swimming in a sewer somewhere or maybe they haven't come to existence yet.
"Hi, Matthew!" April said, her voice bright and devoid of the pity the adults were projecting. She stepped closer, and Matt could feel the heat of her presence. "I like your glasses. They're like a spy's."
Matt blinked behind his dark lenses, his mind racing through a million possibilities. He had expected to deal with the Kingpin eventually. He had expected the Hand. He had not expected to be invited to a family dinner with the primary human contact for the Ninja Turtles.
"Thanks," Matt managed to mutter, his voice small. "Nice to meet you, April."
"Come on in, everyone," Kirby urged, gesturing toward the house. "The roast is almost ready, and I want to hear all about that training center, Jack."
As they moved inside, Matt felt the shift in environment—the smell of roasting meat, the ticking of a grandfather clock, and the subtle hum of electronics from what he assumed was Kirby's home office. He walked carefully, his cane tapping the polished wood floor, but his mind was miles away.
Seriously. What the actual fuck, he thought again, the silent curse echoing in the darkness of his mind as he followed the sound of April's energetic footsteps into the living room. This second chance at life just got a whole lot more complicated.