And waited.

There was no one else, of course. There hadn’t been in a long time. Ever since the missing case of Matthew Murdock was left cold and unsolved, Mike was on his own, struggling to pick up the bits and scrapes of their life. But he never stopped looking. It was his job, right? When Mom died and then Dad died, when they had no one else but each other, Mike had tried his best to protect Matt. He’d do anything for his brother, make sure the broken little bastard could be happy and safe…

And yet.

They said the chance of survival after more than 5 years of missing was close to zero. Mike tried not to think about it.

He never stopped thinking about it.

The silence was always deafening. It carved into his brain, echoed in his skull and tightened around his neck, as if it had been there all along. When he screamed there was no sound, and when he reached to his head to try and to tear his hair out, he didn’t have a head. Guilt eats him up like mush, like vines crushing his soul in until he had nothing left. Matt was half of his soul. His twin. When he disappeared, Mike was but half a person.

So he tried to find penance. He helped people, did what he could. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. At one point, Mike put on the mask and went out at night. Only then could he find peace, some what, in the bloodied knuckles and all the people he saved and the broken bones and the scream-

The water felt cold on his hands as he tried to wash the blood away.