Matt Murdock woke up with a startle and found out he was blind.

Now that wasn't a strange occurrence. Unfortunately, Matt had been waking up unable to see for the past two decades, ever since he had been in an accident involving messed up chemicals and an act of spontaneous heroism on his side. In return, he had gained extremely enhanced senses and with time, he had learned to use them to see.

Which was exactly what was wrong at the moment.

Matt woke up... feeling blind.

The room he was in was strangely silent, no intrusive smells attacking his nostrils, no distinctive taste on his tongue, no extremely smooth sensation on his skin– gripping the sheets, he was very sure these weren't his silk ones, this was not how silk felt and yet, the sheets weren't scratching his skin so hard it would make him cry. Matt would think they were simple cotton, but this was not how it supposed to feel.

And he fucking couldn't map the room as he couldn't pinpoint his radar sense; his world of fire lacked fire.

He snapped his eyes open, his breathing raged, sitting up with a jolt.

He was not ready to the picture in front of him.

After all, this kind of picture only existed in his memories. This kind of picture had colours. Sharp edges, painfully so, as if every freaking atom had its place. Then again, Matt wouldn't be a good judge of the state of his eye-sight, he couldn't tell is it was 20/20, because he couldn't remember what it felt like.

What could tell and was hundred percent sure of, was that... yeah, he could definitely see.

It freaked the shit out of him.

Feeling the bile rising to his mouth, his body jumped up on instinct, taking a bee line to the bathroom. It was only after he emptied his stomach that he realized that he had no clue which bathroom it was and how he had known where to go.

---

Several blocks over, a man jolted awake, snapping his eyes open, only to be met with darkness.

He gasped, blinking, but there was nothing. His heart started hammering in his chest, a strange sensation vibrating through his ribcage, warmth spreading into his body with each thumb-thumb. A fraction of second later, the noise of the city assaulted his ears and hit him like a train – a train passing him by inches. He jumped back, hitting the wall behind him, quickly rolling over, falling off bed and shooting to his feet, his arms raised and fists curled up.

The noise didn't fade out, making him raise his hands to his ears.

There was a weak taste of mint toothpaste in his mouth, barely covering other strange tastes he couldn't quite place. His nose was itching with at least twenty different smells, mingling together and overwhelming his brain, easily causing him a headache. Not to mention his whole body was aching and he felt like every freaking cell of his body was alerting him on pain.

He thought the sweatpants he wore felt soft, yet there was an itch against his skin, as if they were made of the roughest fabric he ever felt. His balance was complete shit – the room around him pounded, the floor shaking with what he was sure was a subway train riding right under his feet and on top of all that, he was still in darkness, a strange darkness that felt somehow vibrant, flashes calling out for him

What the hell was happening?

Calm down, soldier. You know better than freak out. Deep breaths- oh god, so many smells, breathing in deeply was so not a good idea-- focus. Think of it as of a recon mission. In a very loud environment that resembles a battlefield, but those you know too.

Yeah, but going in this blind is a bit unusual.

Three quick knocks – and he would swear he felt them echoing in his bones, his ears pretty much bleeding with that sound – snapped his mind from racing.

"Matthew, I swear to God, if you don't open the door, I'll—... use my own key," somewhat familiar voice threatened, apparently changing his mind in mid-sentence and offering a less violent solution.

It didn't matter. Because he was in some serious trouble. The voice was too loud, joined by cacophony of tens others whispering or yelling in his head, everything felt wrong, his head hurt and apparently, he was in some Matt's home.

He couldn't remember drinking last night, but he made himself a promise. Steve Rogers swore that he would not get within a ten feet distance to Thor's Asgardian liquor ever again.

---

Exiting the bathroom after a very long shower – and about an hour spend on the floor, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the tiles didn't feel as hard as they should against his knees, his body feeling overall wrong, definitely not his, and oh yeah, he could fucking see –, brushing his teeth for at least three times (why did the toothpaste taste so faintly again...?), and examining himself in the mirror – blond? He was blond now? – he went to examine the space he had woken up in.

The apartment was rather plain, but definitely belonged to a well-situated person, only if judging by the fact Matt found himself in at least thirtieth floor. During his freak-out, he had come to a bit unorthodox and, let's be honest, totally insane conclusion, that he had been in a body of someone else. A steroid-freak, by the way, because what the hell, Matt was sure this amount of muscle tissue could not be natural, what was the guy doing apart from drugs? So yeah, that was a thing.

The thing was, there wasn't much else to go on. He discovered an impressive closet, ranging from work-out clothes (wow, so many work-out outfits), comfortable homey sweats and t-shirts and hoodies (Matt's clothing of choice for now), to shirts and suits (not too many, which was strange, because again, rich guy, clearly).

In the nightstand, there were two sketchbooks (one extremely well worn) and Matt was no expert, but the drawings in it – mostly pretty random – were quite good. Huh. Rich. Freaky-ripped. Most likely on steroids. Handsome though. Artistic. Matt was surprised he didn't find a woman's (or man's, whatever) underwear lying around at least, because this guy could to be a playboy for sure.

This guy. In whose body Matt was now, waking up, just like that.

He ran his hand down his face.

"Good morning to me," he murmured, not even startled by the stranger's voice which was – naturally – not his own.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers," a female voice with thick Irish accent sounded above him and Matt jumped back, immediately raising his fists to protect himself (not himself) from the intruder (who might actually live here, unlike him). He saw no one.

Saw no one. Hilarious, Murdock.

He squinted, looking around, which was something he was not used to goddammit, he was supposed to sense the person coming, but while he guessed his hearing was alright for an average person, he was definitely not fine.

"May I be of any assistance?" the woman asked and Matt tilted his head in attempt to locate her better, which was perfectly useless.

What, was she invisible? Because that would be so fucking ironic he might even laugh. Able to see after two decades and the first person I meet is invisible. Congratulation, Universe, you managed to fuck it up again.

"N-no," Matt tried out, hoping the weird... thing? Person? Would disappear and leave him alone to his inspection.

"Apologies, Sir. You seemed confused." You have no idea. "And you were sick. Shall I inform anyone about your-"

"No, thank you. I'll do it myself," he blurted out, not even caring it probably didn't sound very convincing.

"Understand, Sir."

Matt slightly shook his head, easing his fighting stance and allowing himself to breathe in. He didn't even know how he would fight. The self-awareness of his body, his ability to control the incredible mass was way too low, but hell, he would not have had a choice. And who knew, he might be able to pull out few moves, this body clearly remember something..

Because apparently, he was a captain. Captain Rogers. He thanked God he had a name now, at least. Now, if he would meet someone, he would at least know to turn around if someone addressed him.

It actually made sense, this guy being military. Retired maybe? Then again, he seemed fast and agile, which he would expect from an active soldier, but he wasn't exactly an expert.

He wondered for a brief moment if he should call Foggy, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Firstly, he only found a locked phone, which sucked, secondly, he still had no idea where he was, thirdly, he didn't want to put his friend in danger, and finally, he was aware that if someone called Foggy, claiming he was his best friend and business partner, but had woken up in the wrong body, Foggy would probably hang up anyway.

With a deep breath, he walked through the room, gathering courage to exit the relatively safe space. Gripping the handle – which cried under his determined hold, the material curving, what the hell, steroids, seriously - he opened the door, feeling like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

"Alright, Captain Rogers. Let's do some recon."

----Notes:

Wanted to write a body-swap for like... forever. So. Steve obsession. Matt obsession. And here we are.

I think swap Matt-Steve hasn't been written yet, so that's a plus, right? O:-) Let me know what you think ;)