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Peter knew he had changed after the Vulture Incident; as he was calling it. Being trapped under a building and almost killed at fourteen all because your supposed ‘mentor’ – and the man you had looked up to since you could string coherent sentences together – took away the one thing that would keep you safe, did something to your psyche.
What followed this incident was small, and although not inconsequential, it was rather minor in Peter’s life. Sure, he got an actual internship – although unpaid – with Tony Stark, legalised and on paper for his school records, and yeah, he got the suit back. And yeah, he was excited about that. Who wouldn’t be? He was fifteen, working with the Tony fucking Stark. He was finally patrolling with a proper suit again, rather than the hoodie-and-goggles combo. Of course he was excited! But the apology that followed the Vulture Incident was short, and awkward, and, in May’s opinion, not enough. A two minute conversation where a ‘sorry’ was spoken was not enough to make up for the damage to his mind and body that the incident had caused.
Peter had lost a little bit of respect for Tony Stark that night. He was still his idol, a genius, a mastermind in modern society – but he wasn’t that infallible, fantastic, uber-responsible and golden hero anymore. Peter was learning that nobody was ever going to be a blueprint, cookie-cutter hero, and at fifteen, it was a tough pill to chew on. The limelight and the fame of the Avengers, while a good thing, so the city had pillars to rely on, was starting to become their downfall. Too focused on fame to care about the little guy.
To care about the very reason Spider-man was created in the first place. To look out for the little guy, to make sure somebody had their back even in the dead of the night, on a random Wednesday, without there needing to be an intergalactic threat on their persons.
That was the reason Spider-man was created. Not for fame, not to be part of the Avengers – at least, not anymore – or to be known all around the world with his own merch, for fucks sake. He wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. To protect the ones who were forgotten about, in the areas where the Avengers never even glanced at.
Peter had grown up with a police officer. He had heard the stories of those who were forgotten by society, and he had seen the look on Uncle Ben’s face when those people weren’t given justice by the system, nor by the society they were all living in. He was there to see his uncle die as a product of the environment he grew up in, an environment where the forgotten people in society turned to violence as a last ditch effort to make their lives easier for themselves, and their families.
He wanted to change that. To make sure that there was somebody, somewhere, looking out for the people society cast aside.
May had told him that what he was doing was scary, but she was so, so proud of him for doing it anyway. That Ben would have been proud of him, too. That she was going to be proud of him for the both of them.
May patched him up when he needed it. Her knowledge and experience as a nurse was helpful, even if her eyes watered as she did so. Because she knew, just as much as he did, that he couldn’t stop. That he wouldn’t stop. There wasn’t anything in the world short of death that could make Peter stop being Spider-man.
He wondered if that was how Captain America felt. Being pulled out of the ice to a society that still had conflicts, wars, injustice. How he felt knowing that, while he had been trapped under the ice, his story and his efforts had barely helped in the slightest. Society had evolved, but it hadn’t changed. Not enough, anyway.
He wondered if Captain America felt the same as he did, unable to stop. He wondered if any of the other Avengers felt like that, too. If they wanted to retire, to settle down and let somebody else handle the world-ending disasters that seemed to crop up every other month. He wondered if they were tired of it all, too.
Black Widow, Iron Man, Captain America – all of them. He wondered if they all were tired. If Tony invited him to the Avengers – at fourteen, what the fuck, man – as a ploy to start changing the Avengers for good, to bring in new blood. To let them rest, to have somebody else bear the weight of the world on their shoulders.
He wondered if, although they were tired, they knew in their very souls that nothing short from death was going to make them stop. Because deep down, Peter knew that fighting was in his blood now.
And while Peter had lost some of that hero worship, he still respected what the Avengers did. How they took on the massive, world ending threats so that people like him could go out and make sure the little guy was taken care of as well. Peter was a vigilante. He was Spider-man. Nothing in the world was ever going to change that.
Things had changed after the bite. Not only did he gain powers that gave him the ability to help like he never had before, he felt a never ending need to fight, to help. And his spidey-sense didn’t help matters either, a small, but always there shiver of anxiety, waiting to trail up the centre of his spine. Leaving him constantly on edge, never able to put his guard down.
May said that he overworked himself. That he needed to take some time to rest, to decompress from all of the fighting and the darkness in the world. He would reply that he tried, but it was really, really hard to do that so easily. Not when he could hear people calling out for help at night, hearing gunshots and breaking glass. Not when he could sense when something was amiss from miles away, that something terrible was going to happen, and that someone’s life was about to change forever.
It was hard to step back and relax with all of that information swirling in his mind, weighing heavy on his soul. It was why he was out there, six days a week, doing his best to help people – because it was hard to relax when there was chaos all around him.
Peter’s night had been going great, until he’d come across a bank robber at one in the morning, and said robber had decided that to get away, he was just going to start running. The dude just full on sprinted away, and fifteen minutes later he had not stopped.
Peter would find it impressive if he wasn’t actively trying to catch the guy.
“Dude, where are you going?” Peter called. “I’ll catch you eventually. You can’t out-run me forever!”
“Watch me, Spiderman!”
“It’s Spider-man,” Peter huffed, swinging around a building. “It’s hyphenated!”
“Fuck off, Spider Freak!”
“Okay, that was just mean!” Peter sighed, finally getting close enough to swing himself into the guys back, and forcing him to the ground.
They had been chasing like cat and mouse for almost an hour now, and Peter was honestly just bored. There were other things he wanted to be doing with his time, the first on his list being sleeping peacefully at home. But nope, this dude decided to run away from him.
And get caught anyways.
Peter, in all honesty, had no idea where he was anymore. He hadn’t been on this part of New York before, and it had immediately sent his spidey-senses into overdrive. There was something off about this place.
The robber Peter was attempting to apprehend decided he was going to be a little bitch and fight back, standing up to throw Peter off of him, and punch him in the face. Which, rude, Peter only wanted to have him sit still and look pretty for the cops, not to gain a new black eye.
Remember when Peter said there was something off about this place? That “something off” showed up five seconds later, a figure in a red suit barreling down the alleyway, shoving Peter away, and decking the robber as hard as he could in the jaw.
Peter heard a crack, and the guy crumpled to the floor. Thank you, mysterious vigilante, but Peter had it covered. One hit wasn’t going to destabilize him at all. Peter did, however, get incredibly nervous when the man in red slowly turned around to stare directly into Peter’s soul. Devil horns on his head and all.
And at that point, Peter, coming face to face with the man, finally realised where he was. He was in Hell’s Kitchen. Hell’s fucking Kitchen. Daredevil’s territory.
Fuck.
“What are you doing here?” Daredevil growled, facing Peter head on.
“Just – just trying to get that guy,” Peter stammered, pointing at the now unconscious criminal on the ground. “He was robbing a bank in Queens and made a run for it, so I–”
“Don’t care,” the man cut off. “Get out of Hell’s Kitchen. Don’t come back.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Peter saluted, turning around and swinging away.
There was no way he was going to fuck around and find out with Daredevil of all people. That was a death wish, and an idiotic one at that. Everybody who knew about the vigilante world knew that Daredevil was a ruthless opponent. He’d send multiple people to the hospital before, and he didn’t seem to care about that particular fact either.
But Peter could sense something in him, in his short interaction with the man. He could sense the need for justice in him, that he was also out doing what he could to help the people in his area. Doing all that he could to control the chaotic input he was getting from every area of Hell’s Kitchen. To calm his own mind.
“Spiderman. I thought I told you not to come back here.”
“Actually, it’s Spider-man. You didn’t say it with the hyphen,” Peter replied. He shrunk a little at the incredulous look on Daredevil’s face, but he stood his ground. He was already here, what was the worst that could happen?
“You can tell when people aren’t hyphenating your name.” Daredevil deadpanned. It wasn’t phrased as a question.
“Yeah?” Peter shrugged. “It’s to do with phonetics and how people say words. I looked into it a while ago when I was procrastinating my assignments for–”
“I don’t care, actually,” Daredevil sighed. “Why are you back here?”
“Because my perp decided Hell’s Kitchen was the absolute safest place to run away from me for the second time , which doesn’t make sense considering how fast I move with my webbing.”
“I saw,” the man noted. “You need to work on your balance.”
“What?”
“Balance,” Daredevil reiterated. “You’re clumsy. You won’t win every fight if you don’t know your own centre of gravity.”
“...Right. Noted,”
“Get out of Hell's Kitchen, Spider-man.”
“See? You can say it with the hyphen!” Peter grinned, already walking backwards to fling himself off the building. “See you next time!”
Peter heard the man say he better not see him back in Hell’s Kitchen again , and chuckled. Daredevil was one thing, but a realist was definitely not one of them. See, Parker luck would have it out for him that he would end up back in Hell’s Kitchen in five working days, if fate allowed him to. There was no escaping him now.
Peter just wished these guys would stop sprinting forty-five minutes to an hour from Queens to Hell’s Kitchen of all places. There are other places you can go, people!
Peter had royally fucked up this time. He’d been patrolling after a nightmare, something May only allowed him to do on weekends, and had gotten distracted. In his line of work, being distracted was a death sentence. Being distracted meant that people could take advantage of his dissociated state, and get the jump on him.
Which had happened. And it had happened in – you guessed it – Hell’s fucking Kitchen, because Peter hadn’t been focusing on the direction he was going in while swinging about in the dead of the night.
These guys had gotten him good, too. His leg was fucking backwards, which wasn’t really a good thing for anyone, but least of all him. He could already feel his bones start to fuse together, and he groaned, realising he’d have to snap it again to make sure it healed properly.
Fuck.
“I thought I heard you,” Daredevil admonished, walking out from behind him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to see you back here, Spider-man.”
“I am aware,” Peter sighed. “I got distracted. Didn’t realise where I ended up.”
“Getting distracted is a death sentence in this line of work. People see that as an opportunity.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Peter asked, voice layered with sarcasm and pain.
“So why did you?”
“None of your fucking business,” Peter hissed. He sat up, yelping out in pain when he moved his leg without meaning to.
Daredevil tilted his head, apparently listening for something. Peter gulped nervously, not really wanting to know what the man was doing. He’d seen first hand how violent Daredevil could actually be, thanks to their first meeting, and he really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.
“What the fuck is that noise?” he asked instead. “It’s…almost like a stitching sound, but internal?”
“How the fuck can you hear that?” Peter asked, incredulous. “And it’s my leg. Fuckers that jumped me snapped my leg, so it’s currently healing backwards, and I’m working up the courage to snap it back around so it can heal properly.”
“What the fuck?” Daredevil whispered, walking around to Peter’s front, where he did indeed find Peter’s leg facing backwards. “Why are your leg bones stitching themselves together?”
“I heal fast,” Peter replied, biting his leg as Daredevil moved it to the left. “Too fast. The broken bones will be fused together about halfway now?”
Peter heard the man mutter an oh my fucking god under his breath, before sighing.
“I’m going to help you stand. We’re going to go to my place, and I’ll help you snap this back into place, despite really not wanting to do that,” Daredevil muttered, his voice sounding much softer than it had in recent meetings.
“Are you kidnapping me?” Peter asked, tilting his head.
“Considering this exact scenario is one of my absolute nightmares, why would I do that?” Daredevil deadpanned. “But you look twelve based on your height, so I’m not just going to leave you here. And putting this back in place in an alleyway is really not a great idea.”
“I am not twelve,” Peter admonished, shaking his head.
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“That’s just cold, Mr Daredevil.”
“Oh, so you do know who I am.”
“Just your name,” Peter admitted.
“Hmm.”
Peter yelped in pain as Daredevil helped him stand, hopping a bit to regain his balance. They started moving, slowly but surely, and after a solid fifteen minutes, Peter was brought into what he hoped and assumed was Daredevil’s apartment.
“Does that light from the billboard not bother you?”
“Nope.”
“Huh. To each their own, I guess,” Peter shrugged.
“Mhm. I’m taking you to the couch, Spider-man.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Peter saluted, hopping his way over to the couch with his arm around Daredevil’s shoulder. It was weird, considering Peter was significantly shorter.
“Alright. How do you…normally do this?”
“I don’t, considering this is actually a first for me,” Peter admitted. “But you might want to hurry it up before I need to go to the hospital, because that’s one awkward conversation I really don’t want to have.”
“Noted.”
Daredevil tilted his head again, and with gentle hands, found the break. It wasn’t hard to spot, in truth, considering anybody with eyes could see where the leg twisted in the wrong fucking direction.
“I’m going to re-break your leg, and then I’ll straighten it, okay?”
“Yeah man, go for it.”
“It’s going to hurt, so do you want any pain meds?”
“Don’t bother,” Peter sighed. “They won’t work. I’d need roughly six times the safe amount for them to work, and even then it would only last fifteen minutes.”
“That is…concerning.”
“I have an accelerated metabolism,” Peter sighed. “Only perk is that I can eat as much ice cream as I want with no repercussions.”
Daredevil hummed, and without warning, snapped Peter’s leg to re-break the almost-fully healed bone. Peter cried out in both shock and pain, taking deep, heaving breaths to get his eyes to stop watering.
“Sorry,” Daredevil muttered, before twisting his leg around to line the bones up properly.
Peter choked on a sob.
“I’ll brace this. Don’t walk on it for about an hour. It’s healing already.”
“Cool, yeah, problem: I need to get home.”
“You can get home in an hour, Spider-man.”
“Whatever,” Peter sighed, too tired to fight about it. “Hey, how can you hear my bones healing, even I can’t do that?”
“Enhanced hearing, and other senses,” Daredevil replied. “It’s a pain.”
“Tell me about it,” Peter huffed. “My senses were dialed up to eleven when I got my powers.”
“You weren’t born with them?” Daredevil asked.
“Nope. I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”
“I beg your fucking pardon?” Daredevil asked, whipping around. “A radioactive spider. Are you fucking with me?”
“Nope,” Peter laughed. “I was actually bitten by a radioactive spider.”
“What the fuck.”
“So Peter,” Tony started, not looking at him. “I saw in the media that you were spotted with Daredevil the other day.”
Peter sighed. He was at his internship with Tony, and it was honestly getting boring. There was only so much he could do to the Iron Man suits and his own suits. He wanted something fun, something that would actually interest him.
May had already told him that if he wasn’t being challenged, he should quit. He had made his web-shooters out of dumpster materials in the comfort of his own home, and while his suit had built-in web-shooters, he still typically used his own. For comfort, and also because he liked to feel the weight of them on his wrists.
“It was an accident,” Peter replied. “I got distracted while patrolling, and ended up in Hell’s Kitchen. No biggie.”
“I think the fact your leg was visibly backwards means it was in fact, a ‘biggie,’” Tony deadpanned. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it was two in the morning,” Peter sighed. “I was in pain and not thinking straight. Besides, Daredevil found me in about five minutes, and helped me out. My leg is perfectly fine, Mr Stark.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Tony sighed, but he put his screwdriver down. Peter knew that meant he was about to get lectured by something – it had happened before. Many times.
“Daredevil is dangerous, Peter,” Tony began. “He’s violent, ruthless even. Who’s to say he wouldn’t hurt you?”
“Because I have met him three times and he hasn’t even gone near me – save for the time he fixed my leg. He seems the type to not want to hurt kids, Mr Stark. I think I’m okay.”
“He knows how old you are?” Tony hissed, eyes wide.
“No, I’m not an idiot,” Peter sighed. “He told me I looked twelve, though.”
“That’s so reassuring, Pete,” Tony sighed. “Just stay away from him, okay? You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“I can make my own decisions, Mr Stark,” Peter replied. “I know what I’m doing.”
As soon as Peter got home, he booted up his computer and typed in Daredevil Hell’s Kitchen. What he found was rather informative, if lacking in information.
He was known as Daredevil, The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and more. He had public fights with the Punisher, as well as Wilson Fisk, and…there was virtually nothing else known about him. The media called him violent, called him ruthless, called him the literal devil sometimes, but they had nothing actually concrete about him.
Peter shook his head. That wouldn’t do. He needed more information. There was a fire burning in his gut, the smoke telling him to find more information. Find out if you can trust him.
Peter went to reddit, and found the subreddit for Hell’s Kitchen, and filtered it to be all about Daredevil. And that was such a smart idea, if he does say so himself, because he discovered so much more about the vigilante in red.
Having super-hearing was the first thing on that list, which he already knew. But he found out more about Daredevil’s personality, based around civilian interactions with him.
He was rough, standoffish, but was gentle if the situation called for him to be. He would protect himself in any way he deemed fit, and one memorable reddit post showed a shaky video, the caption comparing him to an orange cat. Peter could see the resemblance.
But every single person shared a similar story. Every single one. It was almost freaky, how there were so many different experiences, but with the origins of Daredevil’s arrival being almost exactly the same, across the board.
The story went, if you needed help, you would call for Daredevil. And he would come for you, to help you if you were the one who needed it then. That said a lot about the man Peter had come face to face with three times by now, and even helped by personally. And it was something Peter could respect in a person, too.
Peter wanted to find Daredevil. He wanted to see what he was capable of, to teach Peter how to do better. Mr Stark was great, sure, but Mr Stark was an Avenger – and Peter didn’t want to be a part of that, anymore. He wanted to stay close to the ground, to be a vigilante. Mr Stark would never know how much he did out there.
Peter was going to track him down, no matter what it took. He would venture into Hell’s Kitchen every night after patrol, swinging around. He would get his attention even if that took him months to do so.
Peter watched as many videos as he could about Daredevil, did some analysis of his fighting style, and just observed him from the internet’s point of view. Peter wanted to learn. He didn’t want to be as violent as Daredevil, but there was no denying that the man had a lot of skill, and that was what Peter was looking for.
He was looking for a mentor who knew what the darkest corners of New York looked like. He was wanting a mentor who could teach him to be the strongest version of himself, who understood what it was like when shit got dark, and when shit went catastrophically wrong. He needed that, and he’d come to terms with the fact he wouldn’t be getting it from Tony Stark any time soon.
He decided to spend half an hour a night swinging around Hell’s Kitchen. With Daredevil’s insane hearing – the fact he could hear Peter’s bones still sent shivers down his spine – Peter gathered that the man knew he was there. He hadn’t seen him yet, but that didn’t mean anything. Just because Peter hadn’t caught a glimpse of him, didn’t mean that his persistence in Hell's Kitchen wasn’t being acknowledged.
For the first week, Peter saw many men and women alike commit crimes right in front of his face. He didn’t do anything – he knew Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t his territory, so he let it go. It pained him to do so, but he was trying to get Daredevil’s trust. He wanted to do everything right.
That changed when Peter saw a man pull a gun on an innocent woman. He didn’t even think about it, he just webbed the man’s arm to the wall he was standing next to, and then webbed the rest of his body to the wall as well, using multiple layers to really make sure the man would stick.
He panicked, for a brief moment. He wasn’t meant to fight here. He knew that he had no jurisdiction over the events that conspired in Hell’s Kitchen. He knew that.
“I’m surprised you did that so fast,” daredevil hummed from behind him, making Peter jump in fright. Since when did his spidey-sense deem Daredevil a safe person?
“Instinct,” Peter replied, not trusting himself to say more than that. “I don’t like guns.”
“Not surprised,” Daredevil shrugged. “Not many people do.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed.
“So. Are you going to tell me why you’ve been swinging around Hell’s Kitchen for half an hour every night this week?”
“Been wanting to talk to you,” Peter replied, shrugging. “I knew you’d hear me. But I didn’t want to seek you out directly. That’s creepy.”
“And just…swinging around Hell’s Kitchen isn’t?” Daredevil mused, smirking a little.
“Well, not really,” Peter shrugged. “The media caught wind of me interacting with you once already. The worst they could do is see me here again – which is fine. I’m just ‘getting used to the terrain,’ or something.”
“Of course,” Daredevil noted. “What’s the real reason?”
“I want you to train me,” Peter deadpanned.
“No.”
“Can you at least hear me out first?”
“And why should I?” Daredevil shrugged. “I don’t mentor people, and I don’t plan on changing that. I can’t help you. Go ask Stark, or something. Isn’t that who the media says you’re being mentored by, anyway?”
“The media can say shit and still be wrong,” Peter replied. “Just…hear me out?”
“Two minutes.”
“I need a mentor who knows what it’s like to fight in the darkest corners of New York,” Peter immediately replied. “Sure, Mr Stark can teach me basic techniques, but they fight with the underlying intent to look honourable for the media. I don’t need that.”
“And why not?”
“Because I don’t want to be an Avenger, for starters,” Peter sighed. “I don’t want the spotlight, and there’s no way in Hell I want to be famous for being Spider-man.”
“Why are you Spider-man?” Daredevil asked.
“What?”
“Why are you Spider-man?” he repeated. “Why do you come out here, fighting crime? What is your purpose?”
“I want to help people,” Peter whispered after a minute of silence. “I want to help people who have lost all hope in the systems that are actually supposed to protect them, but don’t. I saw how my uncle would come home from work, his eyes glazed over as every day he realised he was a part of the system that was failing people over and over again, day after day after day. I don’t need to fight aliens to have a proper purpose, Daredevil. If I’ve helped at least one person in my life, if I’ve given at least one fucking person some hope in this shitty ass city, then that’s enough for me.”
“So you just want to help people, and that’s it?” Daredevil asked. “There’s no ulterior motive? Not even your powers?’
“My uncle once told me that; with great power comes great responsibility. I have these powers, and they won’t go away. I have the ability to help people like I hadn’t before. And since I can, why shouldn’t I?”
“Noble,” Daredevil noted.
“I’m not aiming for noble,” Peter spat. “I’m aiming for hope.”
“I’ll train you,” Daredevil replied. “If it means you finally stop seeking me out every fucking night.”
“Considering I was only here every night to get you to train me, I can do that,” Peter grinned. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, we haven’t even started,” Daredevil grinned. Peter gulped. “Meet me at Fogwell’s gym at midnight on Friday. I’ll tell you when to meet me next then.”
“Yes sir! Thank you!”
“Whatever. Get out of here, Spider-man.”
Their first training session was a success, Peter thought. They both showed up in their suits, which was fine – expected, even. They had secret identities to keep, after all. It would be weird if they just revealed themselves right then and there.
The following training sessions were even better. They trained every Friday, Sunday, and Tuesday – though earlier in the night on Sunday and Tuesday, and for less time. Peter said he had weekly commitments, and didn’t explain further. He wasn’t really willing to admit he was only fifteen, yet.
Training with Daredevil was difficult. The man worked him to the fucking bone, making sure that every single weakness was either trained out of him, or minimised as much as possible. But he was making progress – Hell, he’d even put on a little muscle, which May and his friends had pointed out to him.
(He’d never heard Ned squeal as loud as he had, when the three of them were hanging out the Saturday Peter had spilt the beans. According to Ned, Daredevil was the vigilante of New York.)
Daredevil had been training Peter for three months now. Mr Stark had found out, and after a debate, he agreed that Peter was seemingly getting less and less injured while patrolling, and had ‘given Pete permission’ to continue their training. Peter didn’t care for that, he only cared that Mr Stark wasn’t trying to control what he did as Spider-man.
Double-D was getting used to Peter’s eccentricities, including the nickname he was given one random Friday. Peter said it was faster, he couldn’t be bothered saying Daredevil all the time. Double-D grumbled, but allowed it.
All in all, the past three months had been the best three months of Peter’s life. So of course, Parker luck had to change that.
He was fighting in Queens. His perp had a knife. One that Peter hadn’t seen, until the man had stabbed his thigh, ripping the knife out on an angle, making the wound much bigger – and much more lethal – than it would have been.
He was bleeding, and he was bleeding a lot. Sure, his healing factor had started to kick in, but this was deep. This wound was dangerous. This wasn’t something Peter could go home and sleep off. He needed help.
Mr Stark was out of the country for work. May was working a double shift. Ned and MJ couldn’t deal with this, and there was no way in fucking Hell he would even consider letting them deal with this.
With a wince, choking back tears, Peter swung through the city, ignoring the fact his vision was whitening at the edges as he hurtled towards Hell’s Kitchen. He had no idea if Double-D was going to be out tonight, but it was his last chance. His leg fucking hurt. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, but the chances of that happening weighed lightly in the back of his mind.
If Double-D was there, how would the man help him? Peter knew Daredevil got injured on his own patrols. Every vigilante out there did – it was unavoidable, an occupational hazard. But Peter didn’t know how the man dealt with his own injuries, or if they were ever bad enough for medical intervention such as this.
He found he didn’t care.
Twenty-five minutes later and in the outskirts of Hell’s Kitchen, Peter swung forward a few hundred metres, before collapsing onto a nearby rooftop. He was breathing hard, his whole body shaking – shock, he realised.
He wondered how he was going to find Daredevil in his condition. How long it would take, and if he would even find him. Belatedly, Peter remembered the reddit posts. If you call his name, he will come for you. No questions asked.
Peter took a breath, and called out for Daredevil. It wasn’t loud. It could barely even be classified as a ‘call.’ More of a loud croak. But it didn’t matter. Double-D had enhanced hearing – he would hear him. He probably already had.
Peter started breathing through the pain. He sat up and put his hands over the wound, vaguely remembering May telling him to put pressure on an open wound, especially if he had been stabbed while out and about.
“Spider-man,” Double-D greeted. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, sniffed, and lunged forward.
“When?”
“When what,” Peter hissed, cringing when Daredevil moved Peter’s hands off of his leg to assess the wound.
“When did you get fucking stabbed, Spider-man,” Double-D hissed back, shaking his head. “Fuck, that’s deep.”
“No shit it’s deep,” Peter snapped. “And about forty-five minutes ago. It’s not as bad as it was, but my healing factor can’t heal this overnight. Not fully, and not safely.”
“Stark?”
“Out of the country.”
“Family? Friends?”
“Aunt’s working, and my friends aren’t fucking doctors.”
“I’m going to call someone,” Double-D reassured. “She’s a nurse, and she helps me out all the time. She can help you as well.”
“Okay,” Peter whispered. “Fuck, this hurts.”
“I am not surprised. You’ve never been stabbed before, have you?” Double-D asked, pulling out his phone and putting it on the ground. “Call Claire.”
“No, I haven’t been stabbed before,” Peter groaned, “and what–”
“You better have a good fucking reason to be calling me at two in the morning on a fucking Wednesday–”
“Spider-man’s been stabbed. He needs medical attention. Definitely stitches. How quickly can you get to mine?” Double-D asked, his voice even and assured.
“Ten minutes. Keep pressure on that wound, if you can. I don’t care if you have to rip that suit apart to do so – yours or his.”
“Thanks,” Double-D said, and waited for Claire to hang up the phone. “Alright Spider-man, we’re going back to mine. Do you want to rip my suit or yours?”
“Mines fine,” Peter whispered. “I’m not the one paying for repairs.”
“Fair enough,” Daredevil mused, ripping the fabric and tying it tightly around the wound. “I’m going to help you stand, and then we are slowly going to walk to my place.”
“Sure, yeah, okay,” Peter nodded, his voice high pitched and rushed.
Together, the two hobbled back to Daredevil’s apartment, and a lady Peter didn’t recognise was already at the door, waiting. This must be Claire, his brain helpfully supplied.
“Get him lying down by the window,” she ordered before Daredevil had even gotten to the door. “I’ll clean the wound and stitch it.”
“Oh that’s going to be awkward to explain to my aunt,” Peter groaned as he was helped to the ground, a tarp being placed as he was lowered to the floor.
“I take it she has no idea you’re here?” Claire asked.
“Nope, she’s at work.”
“Your parents?”
“Six feet under,” Peter hissed, trying his hardest to relax under Claire’s care – she was cleaning the wound, and it fucking hurt.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said genuinely.
“It’s fine, I barely remember them,” Peter replied honestly.
Claire nodded, and grabbed her needle. “Are you allergic to any medications?”
“They won’t work on him,” Double-D replied for him, seeing Peter was getting too tired to answer in a coherent way, not while he was actively bleeding. “Something about his metabolism being insane.”
“Think Captain America, but double the speed,” Peter whispered, staring at the ceiling.
“That’s both impressive and surely a pain in the ass,” Claire noted, already starting to stitch Peter’s leg. “This will keep hurting, but I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”
“Okay,” he quietly replied, trying to relax his muscles.
“You should check his ribs, too,” Double-D spoke up. “I can hear them rattling.”
“They’ll heal on their own,” Peter dismissed.
“I’m checking your ribs,” Claire advised sternly.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Anywhere else I should check?”
“My eye fucking hurts,” Peter admitted. “I’m hoping it’s a general black eye though.”
“Are you comfortable enough for me to check it?” Claire asked. “It means taking off your mask.”
“I…yeah,” Peter relented. “You clearly know Double-D’s identity, and literally nobody knows anything about him – not even reddit, surprisingly enough.”
“I’m mentioned on reddit?” Double-D admonished, sounding disgusted.
“Oh yeah,” Peter replied. “I googled you a while back.”
“Of fucking course you did,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Are you sure you’re okay with me knowing who you are?”
“Yeah,” Peter shrugged. “I trust you.”
“Okay then,” Claire interrupted. “As soon as I finish stitching your leg, I’ll take a look at your ribs and face, yeah?”
“Okay,” Peter nodded.
“Good.”
Peter lay there in comfortable silence for a minute or two, before remembering that Claire was actually a nurse, and hadn’t actually asked about his medical history or anything – probably not necessary, considering he was a vigilante, but the point still stood.
And then he realised that the two adults in the room had no idea how old he was.
“Considering you’re about to find out who I am anyway,” Peter interrupted the silence, licking his lips. “Would now be a good time to say that I’m fifteen?”
You could hear a fucking pin drop.
“I beg your fucking pardon?” Double-D hissed, facing him. “You’re how old?”
“Uh. Fifteen,” Peter replied.
“Jesus Christ, spidey,” Claire whispered. “You’re out there doing this, at only fifteen? Why?”
“Because I can,” Peter replied.
“Why did you take your uncle's words to heart so deeply, kid?” Double-D asked quietly, moving to the couch behind Peter.
“What did he tell you?” Claire asked.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter parroted. “And I didn’t, not for a while. Not until I watched him get shot in front of me, and I didn’t do a damned thing, because I didn’t know how. Not yet, at least.”
Double-D shook his head, and Claire patted his leg in sympathy. They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t really need to.
“I’m not gonna stop, Double-D,” Peter whispered. “I don’t think I can.”
“I know,” he reassured. “I wouldn’t tell you to, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“...Thanks,” Peter whispered.
It was silent after that. Peter let Claire check his ribs and his face, and both adults in the room visibly cringed when they saw his eye. Claire informed him he had probably fractured his orbital floor, but that it wasn’t out of place. Peter said his healing factor would take care of it with some food and sleep, and she left it at that.
Peter was helped to the couch, and then left to rest. He watched Claire walk out the front door, and he sighed, before turning to look at Double-D, and immediately startled.
“You told us far more than I think you bargained for, tonight. The least I can do is take off my mask.”
“Yeah, sure,” Peter laughed. “My name’s Peter. Peter Parker.”
“Matt Murdock.”
Peter hummed, happy enough to have been trusted with this information. They stayed silent for a while, Peter basking in the light from the billboard outside. It was silent for all of five minutes, before Matt broke it.
“Fuck, do you want the lights on? I forgot you can see.”
“Uh, no, I’m good…what do you mean you forgot I could see?”
“I forget most people aren’t blind, Peter. Sue me.”
“You’re fucking blind?” Peter gasped, sitting right up and staring in shock.
Matt, the asshole, just laughed.
It had been a month since Matt and Peter had officially become Matt and Peter. They still trained together three times a week, and every so often, Peter would end up in Hell’s Kitchen, helping him out with some group of people he thought would be a good learning experience for Peter.
All in all, things were looking up.
May and Mr Stark had both cornered him about his stab wound the morning after he had gotten home. They had both lectured him about safety and recklessness, before Mr Stark had asked him how on earth he’d managed to get stitched up and cared for without either of them being available.
Peter had told them about Daredevil, how he had immediately called his nurse friend for help, and even though it was two in the morning, she had gotten up and to them in record time, taking control of the situation.
He let it slip to May after Mr Stark had gone that Daredevil knew his identity, and while she stressed herself out over it, she was comforted slightly by the fact Peter knew his, too. It was the little things like that which seemed to calm May down slightly. She knew Peter needed more people in his corner, more that understood his line of work, and she told him she was okay with it, as long as he felt safe.
Peter had never felt safer.
Today, however, Peter was just downright confused. His spidey-sense had acted up for a second, and Peter then found himself being hidden behind Matt.
“Whatcha hiding there, Red?” a voice asked, playful and flirtatious. “Someone you don’t want me to steal?”
“Someone I don’t want you corrupting, really,” Matt replied with a growl. “Get lost, Wade.”
Peter had heard that name before. If this was the Wade he thought Matt was talking to, then Peter was going to stay hidden. If this was Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool, Peter wanted nothing to do with this.
“Me? Corrupting people? C’mon red, it’s not that bad!”
“Yes, it is,” Matt deadpanned. “Go away.”
“Nope! Not happening,” Wade cheered, moving around.
Peter then found himself being shuffled around in circles, Matt desperately trying to keep him from Wade’s view. Which, of course, didn’t work.
And he was right. It was actually Deadpool. Damn.
“Spiderman! I can’t believe we’ve never met before,” Wade gasped, clapping his hands together. “How could you hide him from me, Red?”
“He’s too young for your bullshit,” Matt hissed.
“I am not!” Peter argued. “And it’s Spider-man, you gotta add the hyphen.”
“Did I…how can you tell?” Wade whispered, his body comically still.
“Phonetics,” Peter and Matt said.
“...Right.”
“Go away Wade,” Matt tried again, a sigh leaving his lips.
“Nope!” Wade replied.
Wade then decided he was going to walk around Peter, sizing him up. He poked at his shoulders a couple of times, humming quietly as he did so. Peter was nervous, but his spidey-sense was calm, so he willed himself to be the same. Cool, calm, and collected. He could totally do that.
“Red, he looks twelve.”
Nope, never mind.
“He’s not twelve.”
“I’m fifteen?’
“You are not helping your case, spider-baby,” Wade replied. “Red, why would you let him do this?”
“Not my problem,” Matt replied. “I only met him five months or so ago. He’s been doing this for a while.”
“How long?”
“About a year now,” Peter shrugged. “Mr Stark got me this suit, which is honestly a good thing, considering my old suit was just cargo pants, a sweatshirt, and goggles I’d sewn into them to decrease the visual sensory input I wasn’t used to getting.”
“Nothing you are saying is helping your case at all, spider-baby,” Wade stressed again, ignoring Peter whining that he wasn’t a baby, damnit!
“Wade, he came to me,” Matt interrupted. “He knew he needed help, so he found me. That’s better than fucking around and finding out on his own, and you damn well know it.”
Peter nodded enthusiastically, moving to stand next to Matt. he rocked back and forth on his heels as Wade just stood there, silently.
“Stark didn’t train you?”
“He gives me tips,” Peter started, “they’re just not all that helpful. I don’t need to know how to fight like an Avenger, I need to know how to fight like a vigilante. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“They’re so noble about it,” Peter sighed. “Don’t hit them like this, you’ll send them to an early grave. Don’t do this, or you’re going to be in shit with the media – like I give a damn what the media could think of me. I just want to help people. I don’t need to be noble about it when the people I fight never will be, either.”
“Okay,” Wade nodded. “Okay. I can see that.”
“We’re leaving,” Matt said, turning around. “See you never, Wade.”
“Bye!” Peter waved, following Matt.
“Don’t be nice to him, Spider-man. He’s an ass,” Matt sighed.
“What, like you aren’t?”
Deadpool clearly did not care what Matt thought of him, because he started popping up more often than not – even in Queens. He wasn’t bothering Peter at all, really, he just seemed to be watching him. And, of course, the media had noticed.
“Peter, you seriously cannot be okay with this,” Mr Stark groaned, his head in his hands. May was sitting next to him, looking worried.
Yeah, they’d staged an intervention, of all things.
“Wade wouldn’t hurt me,” Peter shrugged.
“Of course you know his name,” Mr Stark sighed. “Does he know yours?”
“No, but I don’t really care if he does or doesn’t,” Peter replied. “He won’t hurt me. He’s publically against hurting kids, and refuses to take on cases that involve kids.”
“Cases where he kills people,” Mr Stark deadpanned. “Peter, this guy is a mercenary! A dangerous one at that, too! Why are you okay with this? He kills people!”
Peter was tired. He was so tired of this conversation, and taking one look at May, Peter could tell she was tired, too.
“Mr Stark, you’re being a hypocrite,” Peter deadpanned.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re acting like the Avengers haven’t killed people too,” Peter replied. “They have. As a group, you’ve killed over thirty people in the past four years or so. Sure, they were all accidents, but the point still stands. Your actions ended lives – innocent lives.”
“Deadpool kills people for a living, Peter,” Mr Stark sighed. “It’s different.”
“I know,” Peter agreed. “I know it’s different. But Wade doesn’t end the lives of innocent people from a careless mistake, and he will never harm a child. That’s more than the Avengers can say, even if it was an accident.”
“Tony, I think that’s enough,” May interrupted. “You’ve interrogated Peter enough. I know you are trying to be his mentor, but Peter is his own person. Let him figure out what he wants to do, and who he wants to have around him.”
“Alright, I’m going,” Mr Stark sighed.
“I’ll see you on Monday, Mr Stark,” Peter smiled, waving a little.
“See you Monday, kid.”
“WADE.”
Peter could not stop fucking laughing. He didn’t realise that when Wade and Matt were together, he would get to experience this level of chaos – but he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“C’mon Matty! Let me do this!”
“Get off of me, you freak of fucking nature!” Matt roared, throwing Wade as far as he possibly could.
“That won’t stop me!” Wade grinned, throwing his mask in Matt’s face. “I’ll do this one way or another!”
“If that sharpie comes anywhere near my fucking face, your hand is getting bit.”
“Kinky,” Wade giggled, wiggling his eyebrows. “Didn’t realise you were a biter, Red.”
“Hi, I’m fifteen,” Peter interrupted with barely concealed laughter.
“Yeah Wade, there’s a fucking child present,” Matt admonished. “Keep it PG thirteen.”
“Kid’s fucking fifteen, I can guarantee he’s heard worse in high school.”
“I can confirm, but my point still stands,” Peter shrugged.
“Wait, really?” Matt asked, turning around.
“Yeah? It’s pretty standard to walk past people making out in the hallway,” Peter shrugged. “Did you not?”
“Red over here went to Catholic school,” Wade informed with a grin.
“I was also clinically depressed, so I wasn’t really focusing on my surroundings – WADE.”
Peter collapsed into another fit of giggles, as Wade tackled Matt to the ground.
“Spider-baby, help me draw a moustache on Matt!”
“I like life, no thanks,” Peter replied, gearing up to continue his patrol. “Good luck, though!”
“Traitor!”
“Spider-baby, you good?”
“I’m fine, Wade, just thinking,” Peter replied.
It had been two months since he had met Wade, and seven since he’d met Matt. so much had changed since then, and he was still trying to wrap his head around it.
He’d learnt a lot about both Matt and Wade, which made him feel all warm inside. He was being trusted by these two adults, and that was something he was going to cherish forever. He trusted them a whole lot in turn, and, as of right now, he wanted to tell Wade his identity.
Mr Stark had also – somehow – talked with both Matt and Wade when they were on patrols of their own, though albeit together. According to Matt, he’d had so much fun glaring at Mr Stark, and Wade had just flirted with him the entire time.
When he was brought up, however, Mr Stark told him that the two men had softened slightly, barely, but enough to be noticeable. He admitted that he’d been wrong about the two of them, that they really weren’t as bad as they seemed to be. Mr Stark still didn’t agree with Matt’s methods of vigilantism, nor did he agree with Wade’s career choice, but he agreed that the two of them were protective of Peter.
“About what? Too much thinking will melt your brain, spider-baby,” Wade informed him seriously. While sipping on a capri-sun. Where the fuck did Wade even get that?
Peter stayed silent for a second, and then thought; fuck it.
“My name’s Peter. Peter Parker,” he said, taking his mask off. There was nobody around. He didn’t mind taking it off for a while.
“Oh my god you genuinely look twelve,” Wade gasped, grabbing Peter’s face.
“Wade,” Peter whined, trying to wriggle free.
“No no, Petey, there is no way you’re fifteen!”
“Wade, that’s not the surprising part.”
“Double-D!” Peter grinned, waving.
“Hey, kid – tell Wade how you got your powers.”
“Were you not born with them?” Wade asked. “Oh! Were you experimented on, like in those really depressing comic books? Gasp, was it in an explosion?”
“Did you just say gasp?” Matt asked.
“Why was your first thought experimentation?” Peter sighed. “And none of those. I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”
“What.”
“I was bitten by a radioactive spider,” Peter parroted. “That spider, however, and experimentation. Oscorp, in fact.”
“What the fuck.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Matt grinned.
“Not as weird as finding out you’re a fucking lawyer, Red.”
“What.” Peter deadpanned, turning to Matt. “You’re a fucking lawyer?”
“I am,” Matt responded with a shit-eating grin.
“Oh my god,” Peter whispered. “That’s actually more shocking than finding out you’re fucking blind.”
Wade and Matt just started fucking laughing at him, the jerks.
“We should have a team name!” Wade cried, still trying to climb onto Matt’s back, despite being thrown off seven times already.
“No, we shouldn’t,” Matt growled. “That’s so stupid.”
“What would it even be, anyway?” Peter mused.
“Don’t encourage him, Pete,” Matt groaned.
“No no, let him think,” Wade suggested.
“I got nothing,” Peter shrugged. “All of us have different vibes, guys.”
“TEAM RED,” Wade shouted as he was thrown across the building again. “We all wear red!”
“We do?” Matt asked, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “My suit has blue on it too, though. Wade’s is red and black. Yours is…actually maroon.”
“Maroon is good,” Matt nodded. “It hides the blood well.”
“...Okay then,” Peter replied, nodding his head. “Sure, man.”
As Wade lunged himself at Matt once more, Peter couldn’t help but smile, wide and proud and so, so free. He was so happy he’d met these two people, and had trusted them enough to be in his life. They were crazy, but it was great.
What was life without a little crazy, right?