"No," he grunts, managing to answer the question without totally losing it. He glances at the man's offered hands and wonders what he should do - he thinks of Danny, their conversation about 'zen.' Clearly, he'd been right about having none. And he wonders idly if that's who Matt is talking about, the more innocuous thinking he can do right now, the better.

Alternate versions, alternate timelines. It's the only thing that explains any of this. And yet it should be unbelievable.

"And I wasn't a Marine. I told you already - Army, Delta Force, FBI." It should have been the trajectory for the perfect career in military intelligence. Instead, his whole life ruined by one bad op. He puts his hands on his own knees and avoids the other man's gesture, but he's breathing deeper now, those spots disappearing from his vision. "Didn't get shot either. Those bastards thought they could blow me up."

Somehow, focusing on the differences between himself and the Frank Castle Matt knows is helping him, so he keeps rolling with the facts.

"Oh, and I'm from Washington. D.C." Well, not originally, but still. An alternate New York didn't seem as likely as an entire dimension. "You said was. Is he...?"