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coprime_writes) wrote2026-01-16 04:49 pm
coprime_writes) wrote2026-01-16 04:49 pm
Entry tags:
Daredevil (Comics): Why Do I Feel So Hollow Inside—Like a Part of Me Just Died? (Foggy)
Title: Why Do I Feel So Hollow Inside—Like a Part of Me Just Died?
Author:coprime
Fandom: Daredevil
Character: Foggy
Rating / Word Count: PG / 767 words
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Daredevil belongs to Marvel Comics.
Summary: Foggy worries he's set his best friend on an impossible task.
Notes: This is a tag for Daredevil Vol. 1 #108, which I thought could use a bit more whump.
Please right click and choose "Save As".
Length: 06:01
~Why Do I Feel So Hollow Inside—Like a Part of Me Just Died?~
It must have been the drugs the doctors had him on, making him loopy, and only now, hours later, did he realize what he'd done, the danger of what he'd asked of Matt. How—why—had Foggy set Matt to stopping Black Spectre tonight? He was ecstatic to see Matt again, but that was no excuse—
Foggy struggled to sit up in his hospital bed. His left side pulsed, a livid hot pain across half his body now that the analgesic they'd given him had worn off. A nurse would be in soon to administer a new dose, he was sure, which meant he needed to move fast if he wanted to save Matt. There was no way Matt could face that sinister organization by himself, and Foggy knew Matt was as stubborn as him. Foggy had told his best friend to stop Black Spectre, and only Foggy would be able to get him to stand down.
He took a moment to breathe, already winded from the exertion of hoisting his injured torso upright.
What had he been thinking?! Matt had pressed him for details, needing answers, and Foggy had responded—like he was talking to Daredevil! Foggy hadn't heard that strong, commanding voice since the masked crusader had moved to San Francisco to team up with the Black Widow, but Matt's face had swum out of focus and Daredevil's had settled in its place as his drug-addled mind had struggled to focus.
The clack of heels in the hall outside his room brought his attention back to his surroundings. The nurse was coming.
Foggy set one shaky foot on the cold floor and tested his strength. Oh, how he'd wished for the help of the scarlet swashbuckler ever since he'd begun investigating the shadowy group behind New York's most recent spree of violence, and look at what his wish had wrought: Matt, a man who couldn't even see the guns he'd be facing down, trying to stop the most ruthless villains Foggy had as yet matched against with naught but his wits.
His second foot down, and he tried to stand. Tried, because his knees buckled immediately. He grabbed at his hospital bed, and the edge of the mattress pressed into his wound. But he held on because he knew if he fell, it'd be all over. He wouldn't be getting up again, and Matt would be facing Black Spectre alone.
He locked his knees, braced his palms, and pushed upright.
There, he was standing. Now to find Matt. One step at a time, he could do this—he must.
The steps were closer, easy to hear in the quiet of the evening shift. Foggy had to hope they weren't coming for him, not yet, let the nurse visit some other patient first while Foggy made his escape. The nurse stopped, and he held his breath, waiting to see if his door would open, if he was caught. He wouldn't fight past someone simply doing their job, and besides, he didn't have the strength to do such a thing anyway.
Just when he thought he might be in the clear—
The knob turned, bright fluorescent light spilled from the hallway into his room, and a cheery voice asked, "Mr. Nelson? Are you awake?"
Foggy sagged, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. Whether from the pain of his wound or from knowing he'd failed Matt, he didn't know.
The nurse gasped. "Mr. Nelson! What are you doing out of bed? If you needed something, you should have rung me. I'll have to get the doctor in to recheck your injury, but first—"
She chivvied him back to bed, and Foggy didn't have any energy to protest. Her blonde hair reminded him of Karen, and he couldn't. He followed her instructions, let her help him back to lying supine in bed. The doctor told him he was lucky he hadn't injured himself further with his stunt and ordered a stronger dose of morphine for him.
Foggy tried to ask for someone to contact his office, so he could send one of his ADAs to Matt with a message, a last ditch effort to save Matt, but the doctor merely patted his arm and bade him not to fret about work. His words slurred with tiredness, misunderstood, until even his ability to form words faltered.
This was it. Foggy had failed. Sleep came unrelenting for him, Somnus's call stronger than any resistance his exhausted, pain-ridden body could offer. He only hoped Matt would survive the night, that Foggy had not sent his best friend to his doom.
Author:
coprimeFandom: Daredevil
Character: Foggy
Rating / Word Count: PG / 767 words
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Daredevil belongs to Marvel Comics.
Summary: Foggy worries he's set his best friend on an impossible task.
Notes: This is a tag for Daredevil Vol. 1 #108, which I thought could use a bit more whump.
Click here for podfic version.
Download: MP3 (5.8MB) | (Alternate DL)Please right click and choose "Save As".
Length: 06:01
~Why Do I Feel So Hollow Inside—Like a Part of Me Just Died?~
It must have been the drugs the doctors had him on, making him loopy, and only now, hours later, did he realize what he'd done, the danger of what he'd asked of Matt. How—why—had Foggy set Matt to stopping Black Spectre tonight? He was ecstatic to see Matt again, but that was no excuse—
Foggy struggled to sit up in his hospital bed. His left side pulsed, a livid hot pain across half his body now that the analgesic they'd given him had worn off. A nurse would be in soon to administer a new dose, he was sure, which meant he needed to move fast if he wanted to save Matt. There was no way Matt could face that sinister organization by himself, and Foggy knew Matt was as stubborn as him. Foggy had told his best friend to stop Black Spectre, and only Foggy would be able to get him to stand down.
He took a moment to breathe, already winded from the exertion of hoisting his injured torso upright.
What had he been thinking?! Matt had pressed him for details, needing answers, and Foggy had responded—like he was talking to Daredevil! Foggy hadn't heard that strong, commanding voice since the masked crusader had moved to San Francisco to team up with the Black Widow, but Matt's face had swum out of focus and Daredevil's had settled in its place as his drug-addled mind had struggled to focus.
The clack of heels in the hall outside his room brought his attention back to his surroundings. The nurse was coming.
Foggy set one shaky foot on the cold floor and tested his strength. Oh, how he'd wished for the help of the scarlet swashbuckler ever since he'd begun investigating the shadowy group behind New York's most recent spree of violence, and look at what his wish had wrought: Matt, a man who couldn't even see the guns he'd be facing down, trying to stop the most ruthless villains Foggy had as yet matched against with naught but his wits.
His second foot down, and he tried to stand. Tried, because his knees buckled immediately. He grabbed at his hospital bed, and the edge of the mattress pressed into his wound. But he held on because he knew if he fell, it'd be all over. He wouldn't be getting up again, and Matt would be facing Black Spectre alone.
He locked his knees, braced his palms, and pushed upright.
There, he was standing. Now to find Matt. One step at a time, he could do this—he must.
The steps were closer, easy to hear in the quiet of the evening shift. Foggy had to hope they weren't coming for him, not yet, let the nurse visit some other patient first while Foggy made his escape. The nurse stopped, and he held his breath, waiting to see if his door would open, if he was caught. He wouldn't fight past someone simply doing their job, and besides, he didn't have the strength to do such a thing anyway.
Just when he thought he might be in the clear—
The knob turned, bright fluorescent light spilled from the hallway into his room, and a cheery voice asked, "Mr. Nelson? Are you awake?"
Foggy sagged, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. Whether from the pain of his wound or from knowing he'd failed Matt, he didn't know.
The nurse gasped. "Mr. Nelson! What are you doing out of bed? If you needed something, you should have rung me. I'll have to get the doctor in to recheck your injury, but first—"
She chivvied him back to bed, and Foggy didn't have any energy to protest. Her blonde hair reminded him of Karen, and he couldn't. He followed her instructions, let her help him back to lying supine in bed. The doctor told him he was lucky he hadn't injured himself further with his stunt and ordered a stronger dose of morphine for him.
Foggy tried to ask for someone to contact his office, so he could send one of his ADAs to Matt with a message, a last ditch effort to save Matt, but the doctor merely patted his arm and bade him not to fret about work. His words slurred with tiredness, misunderstood, until even his ability to form words faltered.
This was it. Foggy had failed. Sleep came unrelenting for him, Somnus's call stronger than any resistance his exhausted, pain-ridden body could offer. He only hoped Matt would survive the night, that Foggy had not sent his best friend to his doom.