like lead in my heart

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/37712956.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M, M/M
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies),
Daredevil (TV)
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & May Parker (Spider-
Man), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock/Peter
Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Michelle Jones &
Ned Leeds, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page
Characters: Matt Murdock, Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man), Michelle Jones,
Ned Leeds, Peter-2, Peter-3
Additional Tags: The Matt/Peter pairing is Peter-3, just to clarify, Spider-Man: No Way
Home (Movie), No Way Home rewrite, Matt Murdock mentoring Peter
Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Matt didn't sign up for this, except that
he did, No Way Home from Matt's point of view, May doesn't die, the
Peters get stuck in the MCU, a lot of handwaving because magic,
comicbook logic, no beta we die like Peter Parker's parental figures,
Danny somehow snuck into this and stuck around, so you'll have to deal
with that
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-03-13 Updated: 2023-07-18 Words: 53,300 Chapters:
9/?
 like lead in my heart
by Descaladumidera

Summary

NWH Rewrite with a twist.

When Matt went to the Parker residence to tell Peter and May that the charges were off the
table, he didn't expect to catch a brick flying through a window. He also didn't expect his
traitorous mouth to offer his home to the Parkers for the unforeseeable future. He sure as hell
didn't expect to get caught up in a magical, multiversal mishap.

But here they were. And now he wasn't only mentoring one Spider-Kid but also playing
babysitter for two additional Spider-Men who were now stuck in their universe.

Matt didn't sign up for this.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 Chapter 1
Chapter Summary

Matt opens his mouth without thinking. This has consequences.

Chapter Notes

Heya! Yeah, I know, I'm late to the show. I blame it on my depression.

Well, anyway. I wanted to write a Matt and Peter fic for ages ever since I watched
NWH, because. Yes. And then I saw the Hero Hardships Bingo and thought, why not
write a chapter per prompt? So here we are.

If you're here for the romance, you'll have to wait a few chapters until Peter-3 even turns
up. Just saying.

Prompt:
Accidental Child Acquisition

If you asked Matt later why he did it, he wouldn’t be able to give you a satisfying answer,
except that it had felt right in the moment. Not that it made the situation any better, but at
least his heart had been in the right place. And it was not like he could take it back now—he
hadn’t been able to take it back seconds after he had made the offer, his brain very
unhelpfully supplying that he had fucked up.

But maybe it was a good fuck-up? The rapidfire heartbeat to his left and the soft intake of
breath, followed by a barely audible oh across from him made him feel like he had done the
right thing. Maybe not the most logical thing for himself, but the right thing.

“Matt, we can’t accept that.”

He smiled his reassuring smile that he knew made people feel more comfortable. “But of
course you can. I won’t lie, my apartment is not exactly a four star hotel, and my friends say I
have terrible taste in interior design,” he chuckled briefly, thinking about how affronted
Foggy had reacted when he had told him that no, he wouldn’t waste his time with decorating
his apartment if he couldn’t even see it. That hadn’t gone over well and Foggy had only
forgiven him once he had invited him to Chinese takeout the very same day. They had eaten
it on Matt’s couch, sitting shoulder to shoulder, laughing while talking about their college
days.

Before he could reminisce further, getting lost in easier times, when his friendship with
Foggy hadn’t been fractured and mended again, the cracks still visible and raw with sharp
edges, even years later, Matt proceeded, “But nobody will expect you to stay in Hell’s
Kitchen, and Peter’s school isn’t too far from my place. There is also a back entrance to my
building, so you can come and leave without being seen. Oh, and my apartment has direct
access to the roof for any Spider-Man activities.”

Matt wasn’t sure if he should’ve even mentioned the last part, but it wasn’t like they wouldn’t
see it if they took him up on his offer. At least Peter seemed to be interested, judging by the
way his heart beat impossibly faster (Matt was sure this pace wasn’t healthy for a normal
human being, but maybe it was normal for an anxious spider-teenager), and the way his
nervous fidgeting under the table got more jittery. May on the other hand seemed more calm
than before, even though he could hear her opening and closing her mouth several times
without saying anything. Well, he hadn’t witnessed her speechless yet, so this was new and
quite amusing.

“Well, that offer is nice and all, but don’t you think they would be safer in my apartment?”
Mr. Hogan, Happy, asked, an edge to his voice, and Matt turned his head to smile in the
man’s general direction, waiting patiently for him to elaborate. “I mean, it’s state of the art
and has a security system that Tony Stark has designed himself. In fact, the whole building
belongs to Pepper Potts. It can’t get more secure than that, right?”

Matt suppressed a sigh. Happy had good intentions but the point has flown over his head.
“Mr. Hogan, I don’t think you understand what I was getting at. It’s not necessarily about
security, but more about privacy. People would suspect Peter, who has previously been
involved with Mr. Stark and his company to stay in one of Mr. Stark’s—or Miss Potts’ for
that matter—apartment buildings. It’s not even hard to google which places are owned by
Miss Potts right now. The press—and anyone else who has an interest—would find Peter and
May in a matter of hours and they would be in the same predicament as they are now.” Matt
took a deep breath, before he continued, now using his courtroom voice, “They would have
more privacy at my place and they can come and go undetected if we take the right
measurements. At least for the time being I think it would be our best option.”

There was silence, only disturbed by three rapidly beating hearts, but of course Matt was the
only one who could hear that. Or maybe not. Peter had told him previously that his senses
were enhanced, Matt just didn’t know how enhanced. If they were on his own level, Peter
would be able to hear their heartbeats as well, but somehow Matt doubted it.

“That makes so much sense!” Peter suddenly blurted out and Matt had to do everything in his
power not to flinch from the sudden noise. All heads swiveled towards the teen, who shut his
mouth with an audible clack, obviously embarrassed by his outburst. Matt could feel the
change in the air as Peter’s cheeks heated up and he could only imagine the dark red blush on
his face.
Poor kid, he thought, grimacing internally. Teenage awkwardness was the worst.

“If …” May started, way more leveled than Peter, and Matt appreciated it, “if you’re sure,
Matt. We would greatly appreciate it. But we don’t want to inconvenience you, so if you want
us out at any point, you have to tell me.”

Matt smiled. Okay, he liked May Parker. She was a fierce, strong woman, and he could
appreciate that. He had been thoroughly impressed by her standing up to the DODC before he
and Foggy had swept in and had come to her and Peter’s rescue. And to the rescue of Peter’s
friends. And while May and Michelle had fared well enough, Peter and Ned had run their
mouths. It had been a whole mess. Only thinking back about the hours spent in the Queens’
precinct made a headache slither its way behind Matt’s eyes, a nauseous pressure that he
really didn’t need right now. Those had been an exhausting few hours. He’d rather not think
about it.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I thought you would inconvenience me,” he said smoothly, before
he could get lost in his head even more. “But you also don’t have to accept it. It was just a
spontaneous idea as I have the space and I want to help you.”

Happy made a choked noise, barely audible, and Matt doubted that anyone but him had heard
it—or well, maybe not. The way Peter moved his head to look at Happy made it very obvious
to Matt that he had heard as well. Huh. It would be interesting to gauge how heightened
Peter’s senses really were.

But he couldn’t think about this right now, he had to stay focused on the situation at hand.
Especially because he was alone here, without Foggy or Karen to keep track of things.

“We … We will think about it,” May said finally, hesitant.

Matt nodded. “Of course. You still have my card, I assume. Just give me a call when you’ve
come to a decision.”

Maybe they would decline. That would make things significantly easier for Matt, but he also
really wanted to help them and he honestly thought that living with him for the time being
was a good idea. It would give Peter a bit of respite from everything, without the press being
on his tail, without people badgering him every second of every hour. And the kid needed
some downtime, that much was clear. Even without his sight Matt could see—hah!—that
Peter was already stretched thin. This was all too much to put on the shoulders of a teenager.
On top of that he had been rumored to be the next Tony Stark, which made Matt cringe
harder than he had expected. Nobody should’ve asked this of a literal child. Because as much
as Matt disagreed with Tony Stark on numerous things (really, how long would it have taken
for the Sokovia Accords to get expanded to vigilantes as well?), he couldn’t deny that the
man had done a lot of grand things. And to ask Peter, a 17-year-old kid, to follow in Stark’s
footsteps … That was too much. Nobody should bear that burden. Stark had had ressources
and a team. Peter had none of that. Of course he still had connections to Potts and Stark
Industries, but the Avengers were gone and he was basically alone with the hero gig right
now.
No. Nobody should have put the burden of becoming the next Iron Man on Peter. Peter
should have the chance to be his own person. And if Matt could help with that, he would to
the best of his abilities. Right now that meant representing Peter as his attorney and offering
him and his aunt a place to stay.

It also wasn’t like they would be bad roommates. Matt had the impression that they were very
nice people to be around for an extended period of time. May was a force to be reckoned
with, but also very easy to talk to, not to mention hilarious at times, and she always knew
what she wanted. And Peter was simply very likable. Foggy would say that he grew on you
like fungus. Not an expression that Matt liked, but it was the truth when it came to one Peter
Parker. The kid was simply adorable. And far too polite for a teenager. Matt and Foggy had
told him numerous times to call them by their first names, but Peter stubbornly still referred
to them as Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock. It was endearing. And very frustrating.

So yes, Matt was sure it wouldn’t be a burden to live with them. Hence why he had offered,
even if it had been a spur of the moment decision.

“Well,” Matt said, getting up from his chair, and automatically reaching for his cane, “if you
have any more questions or anything else arises, call me. And when you come to a decision. I
want to reiterate that my offer is sincere, I just want to help.”

He nodded in the direction of the table, aiming somewhere between Peter and May’s bodies,
before he turned around to make his way over to the door.

Before he could take his first step, though, he heard the feet of a chair scrape over worn-out
linoleum. May’s perfume wafted over to him as she walked around the table and came to a
stop right next to him. Her fingers brushed his arm in a silent question, like so many times
before, and Matt smiled, before holding onto her arm. He had been to the Parkers’ so many
times now that he knew his way around, but he still appreciated May’s thoughtfulness as she
led him towards the apartment door.

They stopped right in front of said door and he let go of May’s arm, holding his cane with
both hands instead, almost leaning on it, as he waited for May to say whatever she wanted to
say. He could hear her heart rate spiking, her soft intake of breath as she opened her mouth,
her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said silently, the direction her words left her mouth telling
Matt that she wasn’t looking at him but rather at the floor. “You and Foggy have helped Peter
and me so much and we can’t even pay you. How can we ever thank you?”

Ah, that was the problem.

Matt smiled that one smile he knew put people at ease. “It’s alright, May. Really. Foggy and I
couldn’t just sit by and watch the DODC ram their claws into an innocent teenager. Peter just
wanted to help, wanted to do the right thing, and got caught up in a situation way above his
pay grade. Others should have handled the Mysterio situation, but they didn’t, and you and
Peter had to pay the price. It wasn’t fair. People knowing his identity isn’t fair, but there’s
nothing to be done about it. All we can do is clear his name and wait for everything to peter
out.”
There was a tang of salt in the air as tears gathered in May’s eyes, only to be wiped away
immediately as she sniffed slightly. Matt didn’t comment on it. He just hoped the guilt
wouldn’t keep May and Peter from asking for help. Because Matt wanted to help. He wanted
to help them in any way he could, because he hoped that people would do the same for him if
his identity as Daredevil ever got leaked.

After a minute May finally reached out to open the door with one last, wet sniffle.

“Thank you, Matt. Thank you so much. I will call you,” she said and he could hear the smile
in her voice as he nodded at her in turn, acknowledging that he heard her.

With a last smile he was about to set foot out of the door.

“Wait! Mr. Murdock, wait, please!” Peter yelled and Matt could hear the telltale clatter of a
chair that got knocked to the ground in Peter’s hurry to get up. Turning around again he was
pretty sure that Peter had even leapt over the table to get to them quicker, eliciting a startled
yelp from Happy, obviously not wanting Matt to leave. Not that Matt would have made
another step after Peter had called out to him. There had really been no reason for the kid to
rush like this. Matt chuckled quietly.

He waited patiently for Peter to run over to them.

Peter came to a stop right in front of him, barely catching himself on the still open door,
nearly knocking into May in the process. “Mr. Murdock,” he said, a bit out of breath and
Matt cocked his head in amusement, gauging that this wasn’t anything serious by the
excitement in Peter’s heartbeat and voice, “I want to accept your offer!”

The confusion oozing off of May was palpable, as was the sudden shuffling of Happy coming
over as well. Matt sighed and decided to step back into the apartment and close the door as to
not get an audience consisting of the Parkers’ neighbors.

He leaned on his cane once again, his posture relaxed, the smile on his face widening into a
grin. “Come again?”

Peter blushed, heat radiating off his face as he stammered for a second, before repeating
himself, “I—I would like to take you up on your offer, Mr. Murdock. About moving in with
you.”

Peter’s voice was steady and Matt’s grin widened. He felt a bit of triumphant giddiness
running up his spine and making a home in his chest, warmth spreading through his body at
the eagerness of Peter’s words. There was so much trust in the kid and Matt felt warm all
over, because this trust was directed at him.

“Peter!” May chided immediately and Matt turned his head towards her. “We should talk
about this first and you can’t just decide to inconvenience Matt like this.”

Okay, maybe sometimes May’s confidence was an annoyance.

“I don’t want to repeat myself, but you wouldn’t inconvenience me,” Matt replied, trying his
hardest to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

Air moving rapidly and Peter’s hairs brushing against each other told Matt that the kid was
nodding eagerly. “May, just—just listen, okay?” Peter basically begged. “It makes so much
sense! I mean, we don’t have many other options, right? The obvious choices we have are,
well, obvious. Like, moving in with people we know? We would be found immediately. And
that means that people who hate me can find us easily. And I’m not concerned about me, like,
I have superpowers and superhealing and stuff, but I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

The last part sounded desperate and Matt could only relate too well. If he could keep the
people he cared about safe, he would. He would do anything to make sure that his loved ones
never got hurt—especially not because of him. Not because of Daredevil. But Matt had the
luxury of most people not knowing his secret identity. Peter didn’t have this luck and that put
his family and friends at a higher risk of getting hurt. It pained Matt to know that Peter had to
think about keeping everyone he cared about safe at such a young age.

May rubbed a hand over her face, sighing loudly. Matt still waited patiently.

“You’re right, Peter,” May finally said, her voice sounding strained, like she wasn’t
completely on board but didn’t see another way. She wasn’t a woman who liked to rely on
others, but she was also someone who wanted to keep the people in her life safe. And Peter
needed as much protection as she could provide right now. Matt understood that all too well.

When May turned towards him, mouth set in a determined line, Matt only smiled at her.
“Well, I guess that’s settled then,” he said, not completely able to keep the smugness out of
his voice. “When can I expect you?”

There was a moment of contemplation, then May replied, “It’s Saturday now. How about we
pack our stuff on Sunday and move to Matt’s place on Monday?” It was obviously directed at
Peter, who nodded enthusiastically. She turned to Matt, an apologetic tone to her voice, “If
that is okay with you, of course, Matt.”

“Perfectly fine,” he said lightly and made a mental note to call Foggy and tell him that he
wouldn’t be in on Monday. He would need all the time he could get to make sure his
apartment was ready for two guests. He would need two additional beds. Or just a cot that he
could place in his bedroom for Peter, while May could take his bed. He himself could sleep
on the couch. And he would need some curtains. Oh, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Of course he didn’t let any of his mild panic show on his face as he nodded at the three
people in front of him, before giving them his address and exiting the apartment for good.
Three voices wished him goodbye and he replied in kind, throwing one last grin at Peter, who
reciprocated immediately. His teeth rubbing against each other and the skin of his lips
stretching as far as possible were music in Matt’s ears.

Matt made his way down the hall, into the elevator, and out of the building in about two
minutes. He ignored the journalists still lingering around the block to the best of his abilities,
their whispers and the whirring of their cameras grating to his overly sensitive senses.
Gritting his teeth, hell-bent on ignoring the vultures, before he could lose his cool, he briskly
walked down the sidewalk, barely remembering to use his cane. Oh, how he wished he could
just punch them in the face. Preying on a literal child just for a story—it was disgusting. And
Matt knew exactly what that felt like, remembering the time after his accident, hearing his
father turn away journalists who wanted to make his supposed heroism their next big story.
Some of them had managed to catch him after he had left the hospital, hounding him,
cornering him. He had hated every second. And seeing Peter, who was as good as a person
could be, in the same predicament made his blood boil.

When he deemed himself a good enough distance from the Parker residence, he stopped in
his tracks and put on his act of a poor, blind man trying to flag down a taxi. It was degrading
and annoying, but it did the trick and not a minute later he was sitting in the backseat, giving
the driver his address.

As soon as the car drove off, Matt fished his phone out of his pocket and told it to call Foggy.
Better rip the band-aid off immediately instead of stalling until he was at home.

“Hey, Matt. How did it go?” Foggy’s tinny voice greeted him through the speakers and Matt
smiled.

“Well enough. I told them the charges are cleared, but the public is still partially on the wrong
side,” he replied, not wanting to say any names as he didn’t know what the driver would take
away from his phone call. Better not risk anything. “And someone threw a brick through the
window.”

Foggy immediately went quiet on the other end, before bursting out, “Oh shit! Is everyone
alright?!”

“Yeah, it didn’t hit anyone. Everything is fine. But I didn’t call you to tell you that,” Matt
confessed and he knew his voice was far too chipper, an obvious sign that he was about to
say something that would make Foggy want to rip his head off. Most of the time Foggy’s
reaction was justified.

Of course Foggy caught on right away. “What the hell did you do?”

“Language,” Matt chided, amused. “I, uh, might have offered them to live with me until
things calm down.”

“Oh shit.”

“It’s not that bad,” Matt defended himself, rightly interpreting Foggy’s mood as murderous.
“It was really a logical solution to a problem. You can’t fault me for wanting to help them.”

“I’m not faulting you for helping them!” Foggy exploded. “I’m faulting you for being an
idiot! You want to house Spider-Man! You know, Enemy No. 1 as voted by The Daily Bugle!
What were you thinking?”

Matt winced. Of course Foggy had a point—he was painting even more of a target on his
back if anyone ever found out that Peter and May were living with him than he already had
by taking on their case. He knew it wasn’t his smartest move, but he couldn’t just not help!
“Foggy …” he sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired face, “Please, just … Just trust me on
this, okay? Please. They need help and it made sense at the moment. I will explain
everything to you, I promise. Actually, I just wanted to tell you that I won’t be in on
Monday.”

“Because they are coming on Monday,” Foggy deadpanned.

“Yes.”

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line, before Foggy’s strained voice
returned, “Fine, Murdock. I will help you. I will ask Karen to help you. But just because I feel
very, very sorry for the kid.”

A weight he didn’t know he was carrying lifted from Matt’s shoulders and the smile returned
to his face. There was a reason as to why Foggy was his best friend. “Thank you, Foggy. I
appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy said, smug. Then, “Holy shit!”

“Language,” Matt responded automatically. He wasn’t really annoyed by blasphemy, but

growing up in a catholic orphanage and even today still getting chastised by the nuns and the
new priest had ingrained the automatic response into his very being.

But Foggy didn’t care about it, ignored him even, judging by the light snicker Matt could
hear through the phone. Then, “I just realized you have a child now!”

Matt groaned.

Then he hung up.

Fuck.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Summary

Matt panics. Foggy and Karen help. May and Peter move in. All is well.

Chapter Notes

First of all—I have been blown away by how well the first chapter was received?? Like,
guys, you're amazing?? Thank you so, so much, it makes me really happy and I hope my
future writing can live up to your expectations! I also feel immensely pressured now, lol.

Also, I know it has been a while, sorry. I blame this on my unmedicated depression and
anxiety (and maybe other undiagnosed mental issues). Ehem. Yeah. So, please don't
expect regular updates or the chapters to come on a schedule. I write, I edit, and then I
post. *finger guns*

Prompt:
Waiting for It to Be Over

Matt spent the remaining hours of Saturday and a good part of Sunday trying to figure out the
logistics of how to house the Parkers in his apartment. Because he very much didn’t have a
clue. It wasn’t like he had any additional rooms and it felt weird to put both May and Peter in
his bedroom, while he himself took the couch. But it seemed to be the only viable option
right now—only that he also had to get a cot so they wouldn’t have to share a bed. He could
very much tell how awkward it would be for a 17-year-old boy to share a bed with his aunt.
Matt cringed internally.

No, that wouldn’t do.

And apart from that he also had to get blackout curtains, so his guests could actually sleep.
Only that he probably wouldn’t be able to tell if they were thick enough to really keep out the
damn billboard lights.

Matt sighed and raked one hand through his already messy hair, probably making it look even
worse than before. Not that he cared. At all.
After fretting for another hour—it was late afternoon by then and the Sunday was nearly over
—he caved and called Foggy. Who sighed as well and then started to berate him for not
planning ahead or calling him earlier, which was fair, really. Matt couldn’t blame him.

“I will take care of everything and then I will call Karen and we will come over first thing in
the morning,” Foggy said with his don’t-you-dare-to-object-voice and Matt kept his mouth
shut for once in his life. “We will get this done in time—more or less—and you will be
grateful.”

“I will be grateful,” Matt repeated dutifully and he could feel a smile creep onto his face.

“Good,” Foggy said and Matt could hear the smug tone through the speaker. “And now say
that I’m the best friend you could wish for and that you would be lost without me.”

Matt laughed, warmth settling in his chest. “You are the best friend I could wish for and I
would be lost without you,” he repeated again, knowing that the words were true and he
should tell Foggy more often how much his acceptance and friendship meant to him. Matt let
out a silent breath and then added, “Seriously, Foggy. Thank you. I mean it.”

“I know, dumbass. Don’t worry, we will manage, we always do.” There was warmth in
Foggy’s voice and Matt finally relaxed on his battered couch. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Foggy.” Then he hung up and allowed himself to close his eyes,
lay his head back, and drift for a few minutes, just to calm his racing thoughts and the slight
panic that was still eating away at him. Everything would be fine. As Foggy had said—they
would manage, they always did.

It took Matt some minutes, but eventually he got up, discarded his phone on the table in front
of the couch, and walked into his kitchen. He got himself a beer, opened it, and took a swig
before making his way back to the couch to settle in for a quiet evening. Going out as
Daredevil had run through his mind for a hot second, but he pushed the thought away—
couldn’t turn up with questionable injuries tomorrow, not to mention barely getting any sleep.
Foggy would have an aneurysm, Karen would scold him, and the Parkers would ask
uncomfortable questions. No, he would need to keep the Devil at bay for the time being. Or
at least be very stealthy about his nighttime activities. He would probably need to ask Foggy
or Karen to take the suit for now, so Peter or May didn’t accidentally stumble upon it.

He grimaced. Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well. He really hadn’t thought this through. Damn
traitorous mouth, damn traitorous helper syndrome.

Usually he didn’t speak before thinking, not in situations like these, but this time had been
different. Matt had imagined what he would have wanted if he had been in Peter’s situation—
and the answer had been simple. Someone to trust and lean on. Someone to make everything
okay again. And Matt would do his damndest to help the kid.

No, tonight he needed to stay in and put his thoughts in order. He needed to plan his next
steps and how living with the Parkers would affect his life. So he leaned back, nursed his
bottle, and started to think.
True to his word Foggy arrived the next morning at ass o’clock (speak: 6 a.m., so way too
early) at Matt’s apartment and dragged a half-asleep Matt down the stairs to the back-
entrance of the building. Even though he was barely awake, Matt grasped that an equally as
tired Karen was waiting next to a pick-up truck, nursing the strongest cup of coffee Matt had
ever smelled. Unapologetically he snatched the cup out of her hand to take a sip, before
giving it back, after she growled at him like a goddamn guard dog. Which was fair, really, he
probably would have done the same.

“Are you two done over there?” Foggy asked, opening the hatch of the truck and—Matt was
sure—giving them the most unimpressed look he could manage this early in the morning.

He got two synchronized grumbles in response, before Matt and Karen shuffled over to help
him with whatever he had brought with him. Matt assumed it was a cot and a bunch of
blackout curtains, like he had wanted, because Foggy was awesome like that. But when he
reached out with his hands and senses alike, he frowned. There was more than just a cot on
the truck bed, and the other things were definitely no curtains. There were curtain-rods,
though, he was sure, but he couldn’t point out what the other stuff was.

“Foggy …” he started, unsure, eyebrows drawn together in confusion, “What is this?”

“This, my dear friend, is me being awesome,” Foggy responded, not very helpful, but
sounding smug as all hell.

“I know you’re awesome, never doubted it, but that doesn’t answer my question,” Matt said
around a yawn, craving another sip of the strong coffee Karen held protectively close to her
chest, knowing fully well that Matt would snatch it again if he got the chance. God, he
wanted it so badly. But he also didn’t want to piss off Karen, because a pissed-off Karen was
not good company. And he also didn’t want to risk her leaving, because they would definitely
need her help—not that he thought that she would actually leave, but why take the risk?

As if Karen sensed his desire, she took a step back and held the cup impossibly closer. Matt
sighed and turned more towards Foggy, lifting an eyebrow in the hopes to get an actual
answer.

Foggy hummed, far too chipper this early in the morning, and said, “I’ve got a cot here—like
you asked—and the blackout curtains are in the car. Karen can take those, while we carry the
other stuff. And don’t you dare play the I am blind and helpless card, because I know you’re
not. Well. Helpless. I know you’re blind. You know what I mean.”

Okay, that was still not what Matt wanted to hear, because there was something else on the
truck bed, and Foggy was evading his question. If he did it intentionally or not, Matt couldn’t
tell, but it was annoying him. “Foggy …” he said lowly, making sure to let the annoyance
bleed into his voice, “What else is on the truck bed? That’s not just a cot there.”

“Oh, I know. There are also curtain-rods here. The other stuff are the parts of a room divider
—it’s, like, half an office cubicle? So, two walls in a frame. It even has a sliding door! Oh,
and I brought a tarp. Believe me, it’ll make sense. No teenager wants to share a room with his
aunt. Well, no male teenager—I speak from experience, believe me. Aunty Melissa was not a
good roommate,” Foggy replied with a shudder. And yes, that was what Matt had thought as
well, but he hadn’t come up with a solution. Well, at least that wasn’t a problem anymore.

But then another thought occurred to him. “Uhm … Care to explain where you want to put
the room divider? Because my bedroom is not big enough for that and I fail to see why we
would need … half a cubicle? So, two walls?”

“O ye, of little faith,” Foggy said and hefted the cot off the truck bed with a strained grunt.
Matt immediately moved to the other end to grab it, before it could slip to the ground. It was,
indeed, quite heavy. Foggy hadn’t gotten something cheap, it seemed. “Just let old Foggy do
his thing. I have a whole Plan—with a capital P. And you can thank Candy for the cot, she’s
kindly lending it to you for the time being.”

Matt made a mental note to do exactly that at the next Nelson get-together.

Karen had been suspiciously quiet the whole time, watching them and sipping her coffee. Or
maybe she was just tired. But now she came a few steps closer, standing right next to Matt.
He could smell her usual perfume on her, soothing his senses, a familiarity that calmed him
down immediately, as she leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t know about
the plan, either. He called me last night and told me he would come and get me at 5:30 a.m. I
didn’t really have the choice to say no.”

“I can hear you!” Foggy sing-sang and took a step forward, effectively pushing Matt back
towards the back-entrance of his building. “Listen, we’re only here, because you’re hopeless
and need help. Stop stalling. And Karen,” he added, voice way softer and more friendly, Matt
noticed, “would you please get the curtains from the floor of the passenger side? Thank you.”

Karen snorted, but nodded, before throwing her empty cup in a nearby trash can. Matt shortly
grieved the coffee that hadn’t been his to drink, before shuffling over to the door, pushing it
further open with his hips, before starting his journey up the stairs. And a journey it was. He
was sure he had never bumped into this many walls in this very building during all the time
he had lived here. But, alas, he couldn’t complain as Foggy and Karen were doing him a huge
favor. He also knew that Foggy wasn’t shoving him against the walls on purpose, the man
had just too much energy this early in the morning.

It didn’t take too long to get everything into Matt’s spacious apartment, but they still had to
walk up and down the stairs several times. The components for the room divider hadn’t been
too heavy, but there were a lot of them and it had taken the three of them two more trips to
get everything into Matt’s apartment. Luckily no one had spotted them, despite people
leaving for work or coming back from a night shift or just being around, because New York
never slept. This was a relief, really. It would have been quite awkward if someone had seen
the blind man just carrying around heavy things without guidance. Yeah, no. Matt had no
desire to search for an excuse at—he let his fingers run over his watch—6:53 a.m.

Now all three of them were standing in his living-room, various things lying in front of their
feet. Matt put his hands on his hips and turned towards Foggy, while he could hear Karen
walking into his kitchen to fumble with his coffee machine. Oh, well. Right now he would
even take Karen’s shitty coffee—as long as it kept him awake.

“So, what’s your Plan with a capital P?” Matt asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Well,” Foggy started and walked over to the cupboard under the stairs, opening it and
dragging out the box Matt kept his Daredevil suit and his father’s things in.

Now the other eyebrow joined the first and they crept even higher on Matt’s forehead. What
the hell was Foggy doing?

“What the hell are you doing?” he voiced his thoughts out loud and licked his lips. The suit
was a problem in itself, he knew it. May and Peter could not, under any circumstances, find it
in his apartment.

“Language!” Foggy chided, snickering. “I wanted to say that to you for ages. Thank you for
giving me the opportunity.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Foggy.”

“Yes, yeah, okay. So, your suit needs to go,” Foggy said and dragged it out of the box. “We
can’t risk your guests finding it. And that will happen if it stays here, because this”—Matt
could sense Foggy gesturing around himself—“will become young Peter’s new room. Or as
much of a room as we can make it with the divider and the tarp.”

Hmm. Matt cocked his head and tried to imagine what Foggy was getting at. “So … You
want to close off the part of my apartment … between the stairs and the wall with the metal
door?” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was what Foggy was getting at, but it was the only
logical way they could set up the room divider in the space Foggy was indicating.

“Exactamundo, my friend!” Foggy replied enthusiastically, before taking a cup of coffee from
Karen, who had generously decided to join them and offer them both a hot, caffeinated
beverage, courtesy of Matt’s kitchen. Matt took a sip and decided it was actually drinkable.

“That sounds like a plan,” she said and her hair made a soft sound as she moved her head
from left to right, assessing the situation. “Foggy, this is fantastic! And the tarp will work as a
makeshift ceiling?”

“Yes!” Foggy sounded incredibly happy that Karen had caught on so quickly. Matt smiled,
but buried the evidence in his cup, basically inhaling the strong coffee, which seemed to be
the only thing keeping him from falling into a sleep-induced coma right now. “I don’t think
the kid would like for people to be able to look into his room from the top of the stairs. Even
though I hope”—and Matt could tell that Foggy was giving him A Look™—“that a certain
someone won’t use the roof access for anything else than getting some fresh air. Not for, like,
parkouring as a moonlighting vigilante.”

Matt snorted into his coffee. “Not that I could actually look into this makeshift bedroom
anyway,” he said, which drew an unison groan from his friends. “But don’t worry, I’m not
exactly keen on them finding out about Daredevil.”

While Matt and Foggy were nursing their coffees, Karen walked through the space Foggy
wanted to convert into a teenager’s temporary bedroom. Matt knew that the cogs in her head
were turning, trying to piece together everything that would need to be done in order to make
this makeshift room a possibility.

“We will need to cut holes in the tarp for the lamps and we will need to put the ladder
somewhere else if we don’t want to cut a hole for that as well. Maybe we should just place it
on the ground under the windows. And we need to put the cot in here first, before we put up
the divider,” she said and took another few steps, before stopping again. “He can use your
cupboard for his clothes—which reminds me. If Ms. Parker is taking your bedroom, I assume
she will use your wardrobe for her clothes, so where do we put yours? I don’t think Foggy
brought another one for you, and neither did I.”

Ah. Yes, that was another problem Matt hadn’t thought about. Next time something like this
happened, he really needed to think before he invited people to live with him. Not that this
was a thing that happened frequently—if it did, he would be more prepared!

Matt scratched his head and placed his half-empty cup on a table as he sighed. “It’s not like I
have many clothes, really. I think I can just shuffle them around in my wardrobe to make
room for May and take the ones I need out every evening and put them in the bathroom. It’s
not ideal, but it will do.” And it was also the only solution he could come up with right now.
It wasn’t like he could use the box where he stored the Daredevil suit in, because his dad’s
memorabilia were in there, which didn’t leave enough room for many additional clothes.

Foggy groaned, predictably. “I will see if I can find a drawer or a big box or something. I’m
sure someone in my family will have something they can lend you. You’re lucky that they
love you more than me, so they will jump at the opportunity to help you.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied immediately. “I really don’t know how to thank you two. I know I
messed up, but … I could not not offer.” He sighed, tired. “Just don’t go around advertising
that Spider-Man is staying with me.”

“Wouldn’t think about it,” Foggy said. “I’m rolling my eyes, by the way.”

“I’m sure you did.” Matt smiled.

“Oh, he did. It was very impressive. I think he perfectioned it over all the years he has known
you,” Karen laughed and walked back over to them, placing a hand on Matt’s arm. Her palm
was warm and comforting and he smiled at her.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” he admitted, out of a deep need to verbalize his
thoughts and let his friends know again and again how much they meant to him. After
everything—Daredevil, The Hand, Fisk, the Blip—Matt had made a conscious effort to let
them know that he wouldn’t be here without them. They had saved his life—in more ways
than one. And even if he was “emotionally constipated” (Foggy’s words), he could at least try
to tell them from time to time.

Karen’s grip on his arm tightened and Foggy’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Matt knew
that they appreciated his words.

“Let’s get to work, shall we?” Foggy asked after a few minutes of silence, far softer than Matt
had anticipated. There was a squeeze to his shoulder, before both hands left him to start
dealing with the mess on the floor.

But the first thing they did was hide the Daredevil suit in the car to be taken to Karen’s later.
Matt would need to visit her to change into it in the foreseeable future, which was still better
than Peter and May finding out. Very impractical, but still better. Maybe they could store it
on some rooftop or somewhere else, where it couldn’t be linked to either of them if someone
found it.

Matt was balancing precariously on a stepladder, trying to put the curtains on the newly
installed curtain-rods with Karen’s help, when it knocked on the door. He could hear Foggy
shuffle and curse in the living area, where he was busy putting together the room divider by
himself.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Foggy said loudly and Matt heard his heavy steps moving
towards the door.

It were probably the Parkers, Matt determined and threw a vague gesture towards Karen,
indicating that he had to get down as to not appear suspicious. She gave him the go-ahead
and he left her there, walking out of his bedroom, one hand on the wall, as he heard Foggy
open the door and ushering in his guests.

“Hey,” he greeted with a smile, making his way over to where May and Peter were nervously
waiting in the hallway, Foggy next to them. “Sorry, this must look like a warzone, but I was
utterly unprepared when I made the offer to you and Foggy and Karen are saving my ass
now,” he laughed and gestured for May and Peter to come further into his apartment.

It was awkward at first, everyone acting a bit stilted as they got used to the situation at hand.
May and Peter put down their suitcases, placing them against the wall in an obvious effort to
not disturb Matt’s apartment too much, so he wouldn’t accidentally stumble over the new
things lying around and hurt himself. Quite thoughtful. If they only knew it was utterly
wasted on him, but he appreciated the gesture.
Foggy had made his way over into the kitchen, offering coffee, water, or beer to their guests
—the beer obviously only meant for May. At 9 a.m. Maybe the early morning was catching
up to Foggy now—or Matt being completely unprepared for everything made his brain shut
down.

Luckily May and Peter were gracious to their messy attempt at hosting them and laughed it
off and Matt remembered May’s failed attempt at baking banana bread as a thank you for him
and Foggy for helping them. He had come to their apartment one day to hash out more details
of Peter’s upcoming hearing when he had smelled the burned bread, which had been probably
charred black and smoldering away in the trash can by then. The stench had assaulted his
sensitive nose and it had taken all his willpower to not throw up then and there, while also
being kind and polite as May apologized to him for the smell and the failed gift.

Maybe they were not so different after all. Just a bunch of human messes. The thought nearly
made him smile.

“The curtains are up,” Karen suddenly exclaimed, coming out of Matt’s bedroom and
immediately spotting their guests. “Oh, hey! I’m Karen. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” And
with that she came up to them and shook May and Peter’s hands, who introduced themselves
in return.

While Karen was gushing over Peter and apologizing for not being present during the whole
mess of a case, Foggy was brewing fresh coffee, which would hopefully taste better than the
sludge Karen had deemed drinkable. It was quite obvious that especially Peter took to Karen
immediately, smiling and happily conversing, while May was amused at his behavior, her
merriment clearly bleeding into her voice whenever she spoke.

When Foggy came back over to them, he handed May and Peter a cup of coffee each, before
excusing himself back to the room divider that was stubbornly refusing to be put together by
a single person. Maybe Matt should help. He could … hold … something, while Foggy
worked.

Okay, pretending to be rather helpless in his own apartment was annoying, Matt had to admit.
Of course he was used to playing the blind man part most of his life (not that he wasn’t blind,
but he had abilities that helped him, so he was pretending to be more helpless than he was,
which was exhausting), but since Foggy and Karen had found out about him, he at least had
had the luxury of being able to be himself when he was around his friends. Well, now he had
to take the Parkers into consideration, who were now sitting down on his couch, looking
around awkwardly, while sipping their coffees.

He couldn’t blame them, he felt rather awkward himself letting his friends do all the work.
Karen had joined Foggy a minute or two ago, and the two of them were busy discussing the
best way of putting together the divider, which was giving them quite some grief.

“Oh, maybe I can help?” Peter offered suddenly, his voice laced with uncertainty, as he set
down his cup with a quiet clink. Matt could hear Foggy and Karen’s heads swivel around
immediately, the soft swishing sound of their hair a telltale sign.
Foggy cleared his throat, apparently unsure of how to react to the offer. And Matt could
understand this. On one hand, help would be appreciated, but on the other hand … Peter was
a guest.

But Karen didn’t seem to have these hangups, her voice happy when she said, “That would
be nice, thank you! Can you hold this? That would be a great help.”

And with that Peter joined the other two in their combined efforts to set up a makeshift
bedroom for him. Not that the kid knew about this—nobody had bothered to explain Foggy’s
plan to the Parkers yet, so maybe Matt should get started on that, while he was perched in one
of his armchairs, right across from May.

“You’re probably wondering what we’re doing here,” Matt started, amusement seeping into
his voice as he chuckled lightly. He raked a hand through his hair, dishevelling it more than it
already was, and aimed his face in May’s general direction. “Uhm. This”—he gestured
vaguely towards Foggy, Karen, and Peter’s combined efforts—“is going to be Peter’s
bedroom.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” Yeah, okay, May sounded dumbstruck and unsure and confused, and Matt
couldn’t blame her.

He chuckled again and licked his lips, his hands playing with the sleeves of his oversized
hoodie. “I … didn’t really think things through when I invited you and Peter to stay with me,
so I was panicking slightly by late Sunday afternoon and called Foggy. And Foggy … Well,
he organized everything and made a whole plan on how to house you two in my apartment,
which is, really, just one big, open space. I don’t exactly have spare rooms for guests and I
can’t, in good conscience, ask you to sleep on the couch. It was all a bit messy.”

Was he embarrassed to admit all of this? Yes, maybe a bit. But considering that May and
Peter were actually seeing the mess in his apartment right now, he decided that the truth
would be the best way.

May was quiet and he could hear her head moving from left to right, assessing the space
around her. The fingers of her right hand were tapping against her cup. She sighed. “I don’t
think I quite understand, Matt. Why would you invite us if it only complicates things for you?
We could’ve stayed at Happy's place, even if it wouldn’t have been ideal. We really don’t
want to trouble you.”

At that Matt laughed and couldn’t help but quip, “Right now you’re only troubling Foggy and
Karen.”

“They sure aren’t!” Foggy immediately yelled back, sounding a bit strained and Matt tuned in
to make sense of what his friend was doing. It seemed like he was trying to put the sliding
door into the frame of the divider. And it also seemed to take a lot of effort, judging by the
laborious grunts coming from Foggy. “And instead of being a smart-mouth, you could help
me!”
Matt grinned. “And how, pray tell, could I do that? It’s not like I can see what I need to do. I
don’t even know what you’re trying to accomplish right now.”

He was sure Foggy was glaring at him, while he could hear Karen suppressing a snicker. But
what could he do? He had to play up being the blind man here—it didn’t matter that he
enjoyed it, because it allowed him to poke fun at Foggy. And Foggy couldn’t even retaliate
without giving Matt’s secret away, which only widened his shit-eating grin towards his best
friend.

“Oh, I can do that, Mr. Nelson!” Peter said and Matt heard the teenager’s light footsteps
approaching Foggy. “I have, like, superstrength? I mean, I can lift a lot. A lot a lot.”

“Knock yourself out, kid. And call me Foggy,” Foggy replied, defeated, and a few seconds
later there was the sound of the sliding door snapping into place and Karen whistling
appreciatively. Matt could hear the telltale sound of someone rubbing their neck with slight
embarrassment and he assigned it to Peter, who was probably blushing as well. The kid was
damn adorable.

“Guess I’m gonna know who to ask if we need some heavy lifting, huh?” Foggy joked and
clapped Peter on the shoulder.

“Oh! Uhm, yeah, sure, Mr. Nelson. I would be happy to help!”

Foggy groaned and Matt and Karen chuckled. “Please, for the love of god, call me Foggy.
Mr. Nelson is my father.”

“No, your father is Edward,” Matt retorted automatically, which earned him another groan
from Foggy, an outright laugh from Karen, and a careful chuckle from Peter. He was very
pleased with himself right now.

“Shut up, Murdock, and tell me where you’ve put the double-sided tape that I saw you
grabbing from the car,” Foggy demanded and Matt let out an amused breath.

Yeah, this felt right. This felt good.

He cocked his head, thinking about where he had put it—it had been a few hours, okay? “I
think I put it in the bedroom? On my nightstand, but I’m not sure. What do you need the tape
for anyway? If you’re thinking about applying it against any surface in my apartment, don’t.”

He listened to Foggy walk into his bedroom and exclaim a triumphant hah! when he found
the tape, before he emerged again, stopping right behind Matt’s armchair. “Don’t worry, I
won’t desecrate your state-of-the-art apartment. It’s for the divider frame, to attach the tarp to
it. I should’ve probably gotten something more permanent, but this stuff is so strong my sister
and her husband still aren’t able to detach my niece’s drawing from the wall. So I think this
will do.”

Matt frowned. “Didn’t she stick it there … five years ago or so?”
“Ten by now. It survived the Blip period,” Foggy answered, distracted, while he tried to use
the stepladder to administer the tape.

“Oh, wow. That’s some strong tape,” Karen said, nursing a fresh cup of coffee, all the while
watching Foggy doing his balance act without any offer to help. Maybe that was her petty
revenge for having to get up early, even though it should be aimed at Matt.

Meanwhile Matt kept listening to Foggy, hoping he wouldn’t fall doing … whatever he was
trying to do. He wished he could help, but, well, with the Parkers here—

“Oh gosh, Mr. Nel—Foggy, let me do this!” Peter yelped and there was a thwip, which Matt
assumed was the kid’s webshooter at work. He just hoped the webbing was easy to clean, he
didn’t exactly desire to scrub leftover, sticky web stuff off his walls. Or his ceiling. Or
anything else, really.

There was a gasp from Karen and Foggy, and a murmured, “Oh shit, he’s on the ceiling. He’s
upside-down on the ceiling!”

“What?” Matt asked in an attempt to make it look like he was completely clueless as to what
was going on, while he knew exactly what was happening. He could pinpoint Peter hanging
from the ceiling by the subtle sound the string of web was making as it was holding the kid’s
weight. Nonetheless he was cocking his head, trying to make himself look confused.

Karen cleared her throat, now quite amused. “Peter is hanging upside-down from the ceiling
on one of his webs, Matt. And he is applying the tape to the frame. This is really useful!” she
laughed.

“Thank you, Ms. Page! I would just stick the tarp to the frame with my webfluid, but it
dissolves after two hours, so that wouldn’t be very useful,” Peter said and cut off the tape
when he was done. “Uhh … should I attach the tarp, too? I’m already up here anyway and I
think it’s easier for me than for you. And, uh, this is, like, for me, so I think I should be doing
this and help as much as I can? I’m so sorry for bothering you like this after all you’ve done
for me,” he rambled, fidgeting with the tape and nearly dropping it, catching it at the last
minute. Peter winced.

Matt had observed this before—whenever Peter got nervous, he started to ramble. It was
endearing in a way, but also very exhausting after a while. So he put a stop to it.

“No,” he said, “I am sorry. You are my guest and you shouldn’t even have to help.” Matt
shook his head and got up, making sure to carefully feel his way around, lest he stumbled
over anything discarded on the floor. When he determined that he was close enough to Peter,
he looked up and smiled. “Thank you for helping, and I truly am sorry for the mess. If it
wasn’t for Karen and Foggy, I would’ve simply organized a cot and offered you and May my
bedroom. So you’ll have at least some privacy.”

“Uhm … Thank you, Mr. Murdock,” Peter said sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “This is all
really kind of you and I appreciate all of this.”
“You’re welcome. Now, why don’t you give the tape to Karen or Foggy and we will hand you
the tarp? Let’s get this all over and done with and then we can order some takeout. There is a
great Chinese place just down the street. I can go and grab the food while you guys finish up
here,” Matt offered with another comforting smile and he could feel the shift in the air, could
hear Peter’s muscles moving as he finally relaxed and smiled as well.

“That sounds awesome, Mr. Murdock.” And he sounded relieved, too.

“It’s Matt, kid.”

“Thank you, Matt.”

In the end May accompanied Matt in his quest to get their food, which he didn’t mind at all.
May was enjoyable company, and he appreciated that he didn’t have to go alone.

“Are you sure this is okay? I really don’t want to put you out of your bedroom,” May said for
the nth time since he had told her that she would get his room, while he would sleep on the
couch. “I really wouldn’t mind taking the couch.”

Matt sighed. “Honestly, you probably would. I have been told that sleeping on my couch is
nearly impossible, thanks to the billboard right outside the windows. And it doesn’t bother
me, I’ve probably slept more on that couch than in my bed,” he replied with a smile and
rubbed his thumb over her biceps in an effort to show her that it really was okay.

It had been unexpected but nice when she had offered her arm to guide him, and he was
comfortable enough with her by now to accept it. Of course he didn’t need her help, but it
was a kind gesture and he liked her—he surely wouldn’t mind keeping some sort of
friendship after this whole debacle was over.

“Fine,” she sighed, defeated. “You get your way, but I’m buying lunch.”

“We can agree on that.”

They were back at the apartment about twenty minutes later, spreading the food containers
over the table, while Karen and Foggy grabbed some drinks from the fridge, and cutlery and
plates from the cabinets. They had finished up while Matt and May had been gone to get their
lunch, and Matt needed to get used to the new feel of his apartment. There was suddenly less
space, occupied by the makeshift room, which could be deconstructed rather easily if the
need arose, according to Foggy. But Peter seemed very happy about his own place in Matt’s
apartment, and Karen told them about how he had hopped up to the ceiling again, after they
had been done tying the tarp to the stairs’ banister with zip ties, to cut holes in the tarp.
“Why holes?” May asked after swallowing a mouthful of fried duck.

“Oh, so we could put the lamps through them. Kid needs some light, right?” Foggy said and
Matt could feel him gesturing to the lamps hanging from his ceiling. “He also put new bulbs
in—I kinda raided your cabinets for them,” he said, addressing Matt.

“That’s fine,” Matt replied and shrugged. He could determine from the buzzing sound his
lamps made if a bulb was broken or not, but he never turned on the lights in his apartment
anyway, so he didn’t care. He still kept spare bulbs in his cabinet, though, in case Foggy or
Karen stayed over and the lamps were broken. “That’s what I keep them around for.”

“Thank you, really,” Peter suddenly piped up around a mouthful of noodles, only to be chided
by May. He swallowed, embarrassed, before continuing, “I don’t know how to thank you.
Like, you are doing so much for us and … I don’t know how to pay you back.”

Matt smiled. Yeah, the Parkers couldn’t pay them, but 90% of their clients couldn’t, so that
was alright. He just wanted to help the kid. Especially because he didn’t want to imagine how
he would feel if his identity got revealed to the world. It would be a whole shitshow and hif
friends and clients would become collateral damage. It would be bad and he didn’t want to
think about it. “It’s alright, Peter, you don’t need to pay us back. We’re just glad that we can
help you.”

“Yeah,” Foggy agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “You really shouldn’t worry about this. I
mean, we got your charges dropped, which is good, but the public opinion is still split. That
will keep you occupied for the next few weeks, until some other drama pops up and people
start to forget about you.”

Matt winced. Maybe that wasn’t the best way of phrasing this—which didn’t mean Foggy
wasn’t right.

Peter went quiet. And Matt knew he had to say something.

“Listen,” Matt said and licked his lips. He needed to be delicate about this, but there wasn’t
really a way to phrase this nicely and without sounding incredibly blunt. He sighed and put
down his plate to turn towards Peter completely, his hands folded in his lap. “Things will get
worse before they get better—that’s the bitter reality right now. You shouldn’t have to go
through this, but there is nothing to be done about it right now, so you don’t have a choice.
For now you’ll have to sit this out and wait for it to blow over.”

“And with the human nature of chasing the next big thing, it will blow over,” Karen added.
“You just need to give it some time, grit your teeth, and smile through it. Even if it’s hard.”

Matt nodded. “She knows what she is talking about, Peter. Karen worked for the Bulletin a
few years ago as a journalist, so she has first-hand experience about how sensationalist
people are. And we have all been in our fair share of crossfire from the media, so we have
first-hand experience and can help you through this.”

“Oh yes, I remember that!” May said. “The thing with Wilson Fisk, right? And the Frank
Castle case. That was around the time Peter started running around as Spider-Man.”
“Castle nearly killed our careers,” Foggy grumbled, still a bit sore about the whole ordeal,
and Matt couldn’t blame him. A big part of that had been his fault and he still felt guilty
about it. But before his mind could drift back to the time he had been a terrible friend and an
even worse partner, Foggy spoke up again, “But that’s an idea! We need to get the public on
your side, Peter, so how would you feel about an exclusive interview, telling your side of the
story? Karen still has connections to the Bulletin and they are far better than the Daily Bugle.
And fairer.”

“I’m sure Ellison would be on board,” Karen nodded thoughtfully. “I can ask him tomorrow
if you want to do this. He is good people and will give you a fair shot to share your version of
events.”

“Oh, uhm. I. Uh …” Peter stammered, clearly overwhelmed with the sudden change of
subject and Matt felt another surge of sympathy for him. The kid had been through a lot these
past few weeks, not to mention this past year, with coming back from the Blip, losing his
mentor, and then being outed to the world. And it didn’t stop there, now he had to deal with
the fallout as well.

He is only seventeen, Matt thought and his heart hurt for Peter.

“You don’t have to,” he said, pitching his voice comfortingly low. “It would possibly help
with the public’s perception of you, but you shouldn’t feel pressured.”

“Oh, absolutely! It was just an idea!” Foggy hurried to agree with Matt and he could hear the
soft smile in his voice.

Karen nodded hastily. “Think about it. Just tell Matt when you make up your mind, so he can
let me know. I’ll arrange everything then—or drop it. Whatever you want.”

“I … Thank you,” Peter mumbled, still taken aback. “I will think about it. I … uh … will tell
you at the end of the week?”

“Sounds good to me,” Matt replied before Foggy or Karen could say another word,
effectively shutting down the subject, lifting the pressure off of Peter.

The rest of their lunch was spent talking about more lighthearted topics, Peter telling them
some funny anecdotes from his patrols, making Karen gasp from laughter and even tearing a
heartful laugh from Matt. All in all, Matt thought, this had been a good morning. Exhausting,
but very rewarding, and the Parkers seemed to settle in rather well. The thing was, May and
Peter were very likable people, and the same was to be said about Foggy and Karen, so he
never had had a doubt that they would get along.

Matt felt at ease.

 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

Things are domestic. And then they get emotional.

Chapter Notes

This fic was titled In Too Deep before! I changed the title, because I wasn't happy with
it and I like this one way better.

And before you read this chapter, I have a few things to say!
First of all, there will be a short panic attack, so please take care of yourselves.
There will also be talk about how Tony did a lot of things wrong regarding Peter. I love
Tony, I do. *gestures to the other fics I've written* But I have always been someone who
can admit the faults of their faves and. Tony fucked up. Please keep in mind that this is
not character bashing in any form and any comments berating me for something like this
will absolutely get ignored. I'm too old and out of fucks to give for petty fandom drama.
Thank you.

Prompt:
Building/Maintaining a Good Public Image

Living with the Parkers was … less exciting than Matt had anticipated. Of course there was
the occasional day when May came barging in through the door, fuming at the mouth,
because some idiot had dared to approach her about Peter. Or the first time Matt came home
to one certain Spiderling sitting upside-down on his ceiling, and having to pretend that he
didn’t know, only to get a pen dropped on his head for his troubles. Peter had apologized
profusely, flustered even roughly an hour after Matt had told him that everything was fine
and that it hadn’t even hurt (it really hadn’t—Matt was just annoyed that he couldn’t catch
the damn pen without giving his secret away). What followed had been an interesting
conversation about how Peter was able to concentrate better when he was upside-down, so he
usually did his homework that way. In response to that Matt had put himself upside-down on
his couch and decided after not even five minutes that, no thank you, this wasn’t for him.
They had come to the conclusion that it was probably a spider thing.

The next time Peter had made himself at home on the ceiling, Matt had been prepared. It
became the new normal after the first incident—and no more pens were dropped.
It was weirdly … domestic. And Matt didn’t mind.

Most of the time they didn’t even see each other. They would get up in the morning, roughly
at the same time, and then Matt would head to the office, Peter to school, and May to
F.E.A.S.T. And then they would maybe see each other in the evening, but more often than not
Matt was working late or—like every Friday—going out for drinks with Foggy and Karen.
Or he would go out as Daredevil, giving believable excuses as to why he came back late at
night. Neither Peter nor May asked any questions and just accepted it. Matt was an adult,
after all, living his own life. He didn’t owe them any explanation.

And Peter and May had a life outside of his apartment as well. Peter would meet his friends
(Matt had made it perfectly clear that he was fine with Peter inviting his friends over as well,
but that happened rarely) or be out as Spider-Man, while May worked her ass off at
F.E.A.S.T., which Matt respected the hell out of.

On the rare occasion that they were all home in the evening, he and May would cook—he
mostly made sure that she didn’t burn down his apartment if he was being honest. She wasn’t
exactly a terrible cook, but she was prone to burning dishes and his nose could only take so
much assault in a week. And from what he could tell Peter was grateful as well.

Yes, it was all weirdly domestic and Matt felt a bit out of his depth, but he took it in stride. It
wasn’t bad, just … unfamiliar. That didn’t mean he didn’t like it.

Things with Daredevil got more complicated since the Parkers had moved in, but he was
happy to take on the additional burden of changing into his suit elsewhere if it meant he
could help them. Peter was a lot more relaxed than before, even though the Bugle was still
running a hate campaign against the poor kid, and people on the streets yelled profanities at
him. But at least they didn’t know where he currently lived, so he could get a bit of downtime
whenever he needed.

Matt had even briefly entertained the idea of seeking out Spider-Man while he was out as
Daredevil, but the fear of Peter putting the puzzle pieces together kept him from doing so. He
wasn’t opposed to another vigilante in his neighborhood or even to working together on some
more PG things, but Peter was scarily clever—and his girlfriend even more so. She would
probably suss him out in minutes if she ever got a closer look at Daredevil.

No, better not risk it. Even though he desperately wanted to help Peter. The kid definitely
didn’t know how to fight in close-combat, relying mostly on his webs and his superstrength
from what Matt had witnessed from afar when he had followed Spider-Man one night. It
brought him physical pain hearing the wrong punches and how the bones in Peter’s fists
connected with their targets. There was no doubt that the superhealing was the only thing that
prevented Peter from breaking his fingers, because all the fractures luckily healed overnight.
Someone really needed to show him how to punch. Or how to fight in general.

And Matt was itching to do so. He really didn’t know where this urge came from. He didn’t
exactly like children—he could barely tolerate Foggy’s nieces and nephews at the Nelson
family gatherings, even though he loved them dearly. But children were a lot of work, and
young children even more so. Also. They were sticky and snotty and loud and they got dirty
and … no. That still didn’t mean he hated children. His senses just got overwhelmed with
them—the same could be said about animals, basically the only reason why he didn’t
particularly like those, either.

So he waited until at least children were a bit older and calmer. Peter was older, of course,
nearly of age, and Matt didn’t have a problem with teenagers (most of the time). That didn’t
mean Peter didn’t make dumb decisions (there was a little voice in Matt’s head that
whispered hypocrite). Besides, Daredevil worked alone. That was his modus operandi. No
one he needed to take care of or protect.

But Peter … He tugged at Matt’s bleeding heart persona. He had wormed his way into Matt’s
life in the few weeks he had gotten to know him, had made a comfortable home in Matt’s
head and heart with the intention to stay. It was weird and new and … Matt didn’t mind.

Deep down he had already adopted Peter as his own, his charge.

Foggy had been right. The kid really had grown on him like fungus.

Damnit.

The one time Peter had fallen asleep on him had sealed the deal for Matt. They had been up
late on the first Friday the Parkers had stayed at his place, right after Peter had reluctantly
told him that he would do the interview for The Bulletin. Matt had, of course, immediately
contacted Karen, so she could talk to Ellison and set something up.

Peter had been a nervous wreck, though, so Matt had opted to stay in for the night instead of
going out to Josie’s with Foggy and Karen. Especially considering that May had been out
with people from F.E.A.S.T. and Peter would have been alone with his anxious thoughts.
They had talked. A lot. Peter had been especially chatty, airing all his worries and fears about
the interview, talking himself into a frenzy of what ifs.

What if people hated him even more after the interview?

What if Ellison was like Jameson and slandered him?

What if he accidentally incriminated himself?

What if this painted an even bigger target on the people he loved?

What if, what if, what if …

Matt had been understanding, had listened and tried to soothe his worries. He had even
offered to call Karen and tell her the interview was off the table if Peter had wanted him to do
so. But Peter had said no. He wanted to do this, knew that it was a good thing, that this would
paint a sympathetic picture of him.

“I have a responsibility to at least try to make it right for my friends and May, you know?”
Peter had said and he had sounded so small, while simultaneously sounding far too mature,
showing just how much responsibility rested on his shoulders. It had made Matt’s heart ache
and there had been an urge to just drag Peter into his arms and give him a reassuring hug. But
they weren’t there, yet. They barely knew each other. He was his lawyer, damnit!
Don’t cross the boundary, Murdock. He is just a client you’re helping. Nothing more.

In the end Matt had offered to be there for the interview to make sure Peter really wouldn’t
incriminate himself. And Peter had lapped up the opportunity like it had been water in a
desert, asking with what Matt assumed were his famous big doe eyes (Foggy’s words),
“Really? You would do that?”

And Matt had smiled and answered, “Really.”

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Peter, and so time had run away from them without any of
them noticing. It had taken for Peter to fall asleep against Matt’s shoulder for him to check
his watch, which had read 2:26 a.m.

And then Matt had been faced with the cruel reality that he had been trapped. If he had
moved, Peter would’ve woken up and Matt would’ve been responsible for that. No, couldn’t
do that. Nope. Not happening.

What had followed had been a very uncomfortable night with one very much asleep teenager
leaning against him, snoring softly, while Matt had done his damnedest not to move. He had
also been subjected to an amused snicker from May when she had found them after coming
home about an hour later. But much to Matt’s chagrin she hadn’t said anything, because she
had surely assumed that Matt was a grown-ass man who could handle this alone. Matter of
fact was that Matt was not a grown-ass man and could not handle his own shit. At least not
when it came to human interactions. And on top of it all had been a very flustered and
apologetic teenager in the morning and Matt … He couldn’t be mad. Even though Peter
hadn’t been able to look at him for the rest of the day, even going so far as to stay out as
Spider-Man until Matt had gone to sleep.

At least on Sunday everything had gone back to normal.

And then the interview happened.

It was Tuesday and Matt was probably even more anxious than Peter, even though he tried to
project calmness as they sat in his apartment—him, Peter, and May on the couch, and Karen
and Ellison in the chairs across from them. Karen and Ellison did their best to reassure Peter
that nothing would be printed without his consent and that he would even get to read the
article before it would make its way into the papers. Which wasn’t the usual way these things
were handled, but Ellison had taken one look at a clearly upset Peter and Matt had been able
to pinpoint the exact moment the man had melted.

Maybe Peter didn’t only have spider powers. Maybe he also had the power to make people
like him immediately—which was instantly debunked by the fact that they needed to do this
interview in the first place, because people hated the kid.

It was a right mess.

And now they were waiting for Peter’s friends to arrive—as moral support and to supply
even more information. They should be here any minute now and Matt had been listening
intently for the past half hour to be able to spot when they entered the neighborhood. They
had arrived in Hell’s Kitchen about fifteen minutes ago and were now enroute to his
apartment. About five minutes out if Matt wasn’t mistaken.

Next to him Peter was shaking.

Matt gently placed a hand on Peter’s bouncing leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The leg
immediately stopped, staying still, and then Matt could hear how Peter’s muscles relaxed and
the kid let out a nearly inaudible sigh.

“You don’t need to do this,” Matt murmured, concerned. He wanted to help Peter, and he
knew this article could help, but if it caused the kid so much distress, it wasn’t worth it.

Peter swallowed drily. “I do.”

Ellison sighed from across the table and took a very audible sip from the coffee Matt had
brewed for them earlier, before he folded his hands over his notepad. “I won’t hold it against
you if you back out, but keep in mind that The Bulletin has published positive articles about
vigilantes before. And we’re not exactly a small newspaper—people will read it. And they
will have an opinion. It’s on you to sway them in the right direction.”

Matt could feel Peter nod, the air shortly disturbed by the jerky motion, and he squeezed his
leg again. Peter relaxed.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said, licking his lips, “I will do it. I’m just … nervous, is all.”

Which was understandable, really.

Before another word could be said, though, it knocked on the door, and Matt got up to let in
Ned and Michelle (“You’re okay, I guess. You can call me MJ.”), who both made their way
over to Peter in an instant, hugging him like only close friends could do. Matt smiled. The kid
had great friends—they reminded him of Foggy and Karen. Always sticking with him, even
if the situation was dire and they would be better off leaving.

But they didn’t.

They never did and it had taken Matt an awful amount of time to accept that this was their
decision. Not his. He couldn’t make that decision for them. Karen and Foggy decided to stick
around, even after everything. Even after Matt had tried to push them away time and again—
they had come back. Sure, it had been rocky and the cracks in their relationship were still
healing, carefully filled with crumbly mortar over cheap drinks and drunken laughter, over
long nights at the office and tired sighs. But they were healing.

They were better now. Stronger. Had started to accept the parts of each other that were hard
to accept. No one said that friendships were easy. They were work, like every relationship.

But Matt found that he would gladly put in the extra hours to make this work. To keep them.
They were his family and he couldn’t bear losing them, be it to his enemies or … because
they finally saw what a mess he was and left. The thought alone made his insides churn and
his heart burn. After everything they’ve been through, he had realized that they were a part of
him and that he couldn’t push them away. It would destroy him, kill him.

It would destroy them.

Because for reasons unknown to him, they actually liked him and wanted to stay in his life. It
was wonderful and terrifying, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

What he would change was apparently the place he would sit in during the interview as Ned
and MJ had claimed his seat on the couch. So Matt resigned himself to hopping up onto the
windowsill and making himself at home.

What followed was … exhausting. Emotionally. It took every ounce of willpower for Matt
not to storm out of his apartment and go looking for the remnants of the Avengers to tear
them a new one. The person most responsible was dead anyway.

But it made a rage simmer under his skin, ready to break free like an erupting volcano, as he
listened to Peter telling his whole story. How he had been bitten by a radioactive spider, how
he had lost his uncle (Matt’s heart hurt), and how he had decided to don his homemade suit
and help and save people because of this—until Stark had come along. And then he had
fought in Germany against Captain America, who had dropped a whole damn boarding
bridge on him.

Matt was fuming inside, gritting his teeth as to not show how furious he was. It was bad
enough that Stark had recruited a child to fight in a war that should have been prevented
anyway. Let alone a child who had, at that point, probably still grieved the loss of his uncle,
with May suddenly becoming the sole provider of their little family, while still mourning
herself. Not to mention that Peter had prior issues, because of losing his parents. It was a
whole mess.

And then there were the Sokovia Accords and the whole shitshow surrounding them that
Peter had inevitably been dragged into. Once everything had been made public, Matt had
formed some strong opinions on the whole affair. For one, he thought that the fight about the
Accords had been utterly stupid. Not to mention that the main conflict had been about Barnes
—which had been stupid as well. Everything could have been resolved by talking it out
instead of throwing fists and dragging everyone and their mothers into it. The Accords were
bad, even from an objective point of view and not Matt’s biased one, but the solution was not
to ignore them and just do whatever they wanted to do, like Rogers had done. The solution
was to amend them (he had vented his frustrations about everything surrounding the Accords
more than once towards Foggy and Karen).

Of course Matt was well aware of how hypocritical his thoughts were. That didn’t mean he
acknowledged it. At least his law breaking was on a smaller scale. Yeah, okay, admittedly not
his best defense, really. But this wasn’t about him. This was about grown-ass men dragging a
teenager into their mess and nearly getting him crushed by a damn boarding bridge! What if
Peter didn’t have superstrength? What if someone from the opposite side had attacked to kill?

There were crescent shaped indents in the palms of his hands. Matt was clenching his fists so
hard, wanting to punch something, and in exactly that second he decided to go to Fogwell’s
that night. He needed to let out some steam in a controlled environment.

Before he could get sucked more and more into his head, thinking of all the things he would
do to the people who hurt Peter, he tuned back in. Right in time to hear Peter tell them in
excruciating detail about Chitauri weapons and a building dropping on him (What the hell?)
and how he stopped a plane by crashing it on the beach of Coney Island. Matt had, of course,
heard about it, but realizing that a literal child had been involved made his blood boil.

How was Matt supposed to keep calm during this? How was he supposed to not walk right to
someone like Doctor Strange and demand he take him to the afterlife, so he could punch
Stark right in the face for endangering Peter like this? It didn’t matter that Peter had done
dumb shit before. It didn’t matter that he had deserved consequences for his actions. What
mattered was that Stark hadn’t communicated with a literal child, whose brain was and is still
developing. What mattered was that Stark hadn’t bothered to stick around after he had
basically coerced Peter into joining him in Germany (Peter had been adamant that they
should not print that—he liked Stark and didn’t want him to be dragged through the mud). It
didn’t matter that he had changed after the fact. That he had invited Peter for a real internship
and not just some farce to be Spider-Man. It didn’t matter, because Peter could have died.

Matt was … Well, mad didn’t do his feelings justice. He was angry, upset, and he wanted
nothing more than to protect this kid. By taking on his case Peter had become one of the
people Matt would go to war for.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He needed to keep a clear head to
tell Peter what would incriminate him and his friends. Which … would be everything, really,
but Matt was banking on the sympathy of the people who tended to treat sob stories like they
were the newest drug, ready to get addicted. Besides, Jessica, Luke, and Danny were still
running around and they were doing illegal vigilantism as well. So … it would be
hypocritical to lock Peter away but let them run free, right?

God, Matt needed to get his life in order.

And he needed to get his head out of the gutter and keep listening.

Luckily the next thing was as tame as it could get in vigilante terms. Stark took the kid under
his wing after the plane incident and guided him as well as he could (redeeming himself at
least a bit in Matt’s eyes). That meant Peter was mostly stuck with getting cats out of trees,
catching petty bike thieves, and helping old people cross the street. All the things Daredevil
would probably never do. Things that were too PG for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but
perfect for a teenager who shouldn’t be doing all these things in the first place. But it wasn’t
like anyone would have been able to physically stop Peter.

It got harder for Matt to keep himself in check, though, as they went on to the topic of
Thanos. It got harder to breathe, thinking about Peter getting involved, thinking about a child
being dragged into space, fighting a madman who tried (and succeeded—don’t think about it,
don’t think about it, don’t think about the screams and the smell and the sudden feeling of his
whole body disintegrating—) to erase half the universe’s population.
It had been hell here on Earth—hearing the screams, the helplessness, smelling dust and
death, and tasting the sudden decay of bodies on his tongue (don’t think about it). Hearing the
cries and sobs of Karen right next to him as Foggy was panting in horror and panic (don’t
think about it). And then both of them were gone, gone, and Matt had been alone (don’t think
about it). And then he had felt it, had felt the tingling in his skin, how it crumbled bit by bit,
starting at the tips of his fingers, his nails disintegrating, then the rest of his hands in one
fellow swoop as the weird and terrifying sensation had crawled up his arms, leaving his
nostrils full of dust , full of his own body’s particles, and then … nothing, everything gone at
once and no feeling left (don’t think about it). He couldn’t—he—he—

Matt took a shuddering breath.

Get a grip, Murdock.

He had blacked out, being caught in his own head so much that he had missed Peter’s story,
had missed everything about their time on Titan, had missed all about the aliens they had met,
had missed the fight itself. He had only been able to catch the last bit, when Peter described
the feeling of vanishing, of being disintegrated, and it made his breath stutter in his chest,
made his whole being feel tight and—don’t think about it!

“Matt? Is everything alright?” Peter asked, and—damn this kid.

“I’m fine,” Matt choked out—and convinced exactly no one.

Karen suggested a break and Matt glared at her as best as he could. But he couldn’t deny that
he could use some fresh air to calm his racing heart and some time to wipe his clammy
hands. So he decided to go to the roof for a few minutes, only to be joined by Karen, because
that woman couldn’t leave him alone for just five minutes. She cared so much and it made
him feel bad for wanting her to leave him alone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, carefully positioning herself next to him, as close as possible
without touching.

He sighed. “Got reminded of the Blip,” he admitted, his throat dry. “I mean, obviously, Peter
was talking about it. It just … triggered something.” No more secrets. Everything out in the
open. That was what their friendship had become and it worked. They trusted each other
again, had worked hard on this, and it had paid off. They were completely open with each
other and it had improved their relationship so much.

It had taken poking and prodding by Karen and Foggy at first, even though Matt had
promised that he wouldn’t keep any secrets from them anymore, but … Well, it was hard. It
was hard for Matt to open up, hard for him to get the thought out of his head that they would
leave if they got to know the real him.

They had proved him wrong. And he was so glad.

Before they went back inside, Karen enveloped him in a tight hug. And if Matt’s breath
stuttered in his chest and his eyes were slightly damp, none of them mentioned it.
After going back inside, it turned out that everyone else had been fine with the break. They
used another few minutes to order some pizza from a family owned business down the street
that Karen swore had the best cheese in New York, and that would hopefully arrive before
they were done with the interview.

Matt had gotten himself under control again and reclaimed his seat on the windowsill, far
more relaxed than before. The tenseness had subsided and his heart was back to a steady and
healthy pace again, instead of trying to beat out of his chest and pushing him into a full-
blown panic attack.

Peter, too, seemed way calmer than in the beginning, his heart beating its normal quick
staccato that Matt had gotten used to and that in no way should be any kind of normal or
healthy. Fucking spider powers. Matt could deal with Jessica’s superstrength, Luke being
bulletproof, and Danny being able to concentrate his chi in his fists, but Peter? Peter had a
whole other set of freaky superpowers that affected his physique. None of the other
superpowered people Matt knew could stick to walls. At least the kid didn’t actually shoot
webs out of his body. That would be really weird.

Okay, but he really couldn’t keep thinking about this—he would shuffle himself into a frenzy
again and it would be embarrassing. He could be glad that no one had mentioned his weird
behavior from before.

But Peter had already picked up again where he had left off, talking in painful detail about
coming back from being dusted, fighting against Thanos and his army, and … watching his
mentor die. And there went the calmness, lost in sadness and the all-encompassing pain of
not being able to save a loved one.

And with a sudden, heart-gripping agony Matt realized that … Stark had been a father figure
to Peter. To the kid who was currently sitting on his couch, seeming way smaller than he was,
desperately trying to hold back tears. There were quiet sniffles, his voice getting choked up,
and his little staccato-heart pausing in his chest from grief.

Matt was painfully reminded of losing his own dad, about the feeling of being lost and alone
and so, so helpless. He could only imagine how Peter must be feeling—the kid had not only
lost his father, his uncle, but also his father figure all in the span of his short life. There was
too much grief and hurt in a too small body to contain it all and Matt wondered how Peter
hadn’t gone insane yet. The kid was so much stronger than him.

And he soldiered on, talking through his clogged throat, telling them everything about
Mysterio and how he had led him on and made him believe that he was his friend and could
be his mentor, and how Peter had, in his grief, believed him. The kid blamed himself for
being stupid and naive, and said how he shouldn’t have fallen for Mysterio’s farce.

Matt had heard it before, when he and Foggy had represented Peter and gotten his version of
the story. But it still made him angry, made him want to grab Beck by the throat and make
him pay for what he had done to Peter. For all the emotional and mental trauma he had
caused him, for all the pain and hurt. For making him the pariah of the whole world by lying
his ass off even in death.
The worst thing was that Peter was blaming himself and Matt wanted to shake him and tell
him that, no, it’s not your fault, he did it to himself! Please, stop blaming yourself, you’re just
a kid who wanted to do the right thing and got dragged into something way above your
paygrade!

He really needed to get his anger under control. Fogwell’s. Yes. He would probably spend the
whole night there, just so he wouldn’t put anyone in a coma. Pummeling a punching bag into
oblivion was way better than nearly killing the thug of the week.

Deep breaths. He needed to remain calm and collected. And considering that they were at the
end of the interview and Karen and Ellison were only asking a few more clarifying questions,
Matt thought he was done with the worst part. Well, except that he wasn’t. There was still a
very upset teenager on his couch, cushioned between his friends and his aunt, who were all
trying their hardest to calm him down and validate his feelings. Please give the kid a break.

It took about another hour of eating pizza, calming Peter down, and getting everything
together, before Karen and Ellison left and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed like
the hardest part was over, even though Matt knew that the real trial would be waiting for the
reactions of the public once the article got published. But until then? They couldn’t do
anything but wait.

“Do you really think it will help?” Peter asked some time later, voice still small, sounding
incredibly tired and exhausted.

Matt hummed in consideration. Did he really think that? Well, he knew Karen and he was
certain that she would do her damn best to make Peter look good, so he said, “Yes, I really
think it will help. That doesn’t mean that everyone will magically start to love you, though. It
will still be hard, and people won’t forget—they rarely do. But it will help your public image
as it will make people sympathetic to you.”

There was a sigh. “It feels manipulative.”

“Telling the truth is not manipulative, loser,” MJ said with certainty in her voice and Matt
could hear her hand brushing over Peter’s. “And if your top-notch lawyer thinks this will do
the trick, maybe we should trust him.”

Ouch. That girl had bite. Matt liked her.

In the end they could quell Peter’s anxiety. And Matt could finally breathe.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Summary

There is bonding. Matt hadn't planned to bond. Alas, it's happening.

Chapter Notes

I'm crawling out of my depression hole, which is really just a pile of blankets, to shove
this chapter over to you. It wasn't planned. None of this was planned. But it happened.
So here. You can have a little Matt-Peter-Bonding. As a treat.

Obligatory disclaimer: I have no clue how you punch right. Everything Matt is saying
here is me bullshitting stuff, because I can't be arsed to do my research. Certain research
makes writing unfun for me. This is one of those researches.

Prompt:
Mentorship

Matt had known that the interview wouldn’t be a magical cure, but he was absolutely
delighted by how much good it did for Peter. A lot of people had changed their stance once
they had been able to read about his version of events, which, quite frankly, made much more
sense than anything Jameson or Beck had thrown out into the world.

Of course there were still people who had an open, unbridled hate for the kid, who cursed and
shouted at him and—in one particular case—had thrown green paint at him. The fact that
Peter hadn’t been able to clean his suit since then was currently the bane of Matt’s existence.
The pungent, piercing stench of the paint clung to everything in his apartment and made his
eyes water. He was this close to offering to clean the suit for Peter, but then other things
begged for his attention and he forgot all about the permeating smell until he came home
again, only to be welcomed by it. But by then he was too exhausted to care.

Their successful defense of Peter had brought more and more potential clients to their
doorstep and he, Foggy, and Karen were currently swamped with work. At least Matt didn’t
need to worry about food (Peter was eating a lot, courtesy of his fast metabolism) as their
clients still kept paying them in various food items, even after all these years. Even Foggy
had by now given up any hope of making their law firm big and prestigious, so people would
actually pay them in cold, hard cash.
But Matt wouldn’t have it any other way. He would take being paid in food over working for
a soulless big name corporation any given day. Of course this didn’t make life easier, but at
least he was happy—well, as happy as he could be, doing what he loved with his friends by
his side, and beating up thugs at night.

Daredevil had taken a backseat for the past few weeks with Peter’s case, and then the Parkers
moving in, and now … well, work was exhausting. But that didn’t mean that Matt had
shelved his nighttime activities completely, he just had to downsize them a bit. Which
worked actually quite well, because apparently Daredevil returning from being blipped after
the Avengers had fixed things as best as they could, had struck enough fear into the hearts of
the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen to keep them on the down low. That pleased Matt greatly.
Less work, more time to focus on Peter.

The Parkers still weren’t out of the woods and Matt had resigned himself to living with them
for the next few months. It really wasn’t bad and they all had adapted pretty well, considering
the circumstances.

And also. Matt had fallen hard for the kid. Foggy joked permanently that Matt had gone into
full-on dad mode since Peter had started living with him, and the annoying part was—Matt
couldn’t even deny it. He was weirdly protective of the kid, going so far as to keeping an ear
out for him during the day and during his Spider-Man time. Karen thought it was adorable
and teased him mercilessly about his now very domestic life, even hinting at him wanting to
date May, which—no. Matt was not interested. Don’t get him wrong, he adored May, but he
had also learned—since his attempt with Karen, and his burning, destructive love for Elektra
(it still pained him to think about her, and he knew it would never stop hurting, never could,
they had been two sides of the same coin, forged in the unyielding flames of Stick’s training
and abuse)—that love and romantic relationships weren’t meant for him. He had made peace
with the fact that he would be alone in this regard, but it was okay. It would be okay. He was
fine.

(He shouldn’t have started to think about Elektra, because she now occupied his thoughts, her
nails digging into his flesh, possessing him, not letting go. She was like a parasite to his
mind, feeding on his emotions, his pain, and he wanted to rip his heart out and scream,
scream, scream. But he couldn’t, he was in his apartment, listening to case files, Peter right
next to him, doing his homework. He couldn’t. No, no, no.)

A split-second decision later he was standing, his laptop slapped shut, and he was panting
heavily. The mind controls the body, the mind controls the body, the mind—

“Is everything alright, Mr. Murdock?” Bless this kid.

Matt breathes.

“I’m fine. I’ll be going out tonight, will you be okay on your own?” he asked, turning slightly
towards Peter, his breathing perfectly under control once again. He could feel the concern
radiating off the kid, his heartbeat a constant staccato in his chest, his hands playing with his
pen, tap-tap-tapping it on his textbook, and it took every ounce of willpower for Matt not to
flinch.
“I will be fine,” Peter replied after what felt like hours to Matt, but had probably only been a
few contemplative seconds. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Matt sighed. Damn this kid. “I’m good, thank you for asking. It’s just been a long week.” It
was Wednesday.

Not even half an hour later Matt found himself perched on a rooftop in the midst of Hell’s
Kitchen, sporting his red suit, head tilted as he listened to his city, while also keeping one ear
tuned in on Peter. Who was currently cussing out his Spanish teacher for giving them too
much homework. Apparently the kid didn’t like Spanish very much, which amused Matt for
some reason. Maybe he could offer to help him with that some time.

But for now he wanted to find some assholes to beat up and make the Kitchen a safer place,
so he put Peter to the back of his mind and concentrated on the noises around him.

It did take quite some time for a scream to reach his ears—it seemed to be a slow night and
he had, more than once in the past few minutes, contemplated just running off to Fogwell’s to
burn off his anxiety by pummeling his favorite punching bag. But there was a scream and
Matt wasn’t one to turn his back on someone in danger, so off he was, parkouring like
nobody’s business over rooftops and fire escapes, making his way over to the victim and their
attacker in minutes.

Just … there was nothing going on. Well, not anymore. The woman whose screams Matt had
heard was sniffling quietly while being comforted by none other than Spider-Man himself,
and whoever had attacked her was stuck to the wall of the alley. Matt sighed. Peter was
effective—and should be doing his homework right now! Not that Matt could blame him for
wanting to stretch his legs and getting his mind off of … whatever he had been working on
after Matt had tuned out.

With an aura of annoyance, because, well, he had really wanted to punch someone in the face
tonight, Matt made his way down the fire escape at the side of the building, right down into
the alley that had seen some action not too long ago. He didn’t even spare the man webbed to
the wall a second of his time, walking right over to Peter and the still distressed woman.

“Spider-Man,” he said, voice pitched low.

Maybe he had just been a bit too silent or maybe Peter and the woman were just too
distracted, because once Matt had opened his mouth, Peter jumped. And if Matt didn’t have
his heightened senses, he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to dodge Peter’s webs, which
had been single-mindedly aimed at his feet.
“Holy shit! You’re Daredevil! I am so sorry!” Peter squeaked and immediately jumped down
from the wall he had been sticking to, landing nearly silently right between Matt and the
woman, whose fight or flight instinct had finally kicked in. Within seconds she had
abandoned the alleyway and was out of their sight—Matt could hear her running down the
street, right towards Hell’s Kitchen’s precinct. Good.

He turned his attention back to Peter, who was absolutely vibrating with excitement right
now.

“I’m so sorry, I know Hell’s Kitchen is your turf and you’re kinda territorial, but I had to
relocate recently, you know, because of the whole secret identity reveal thing? Yeah, so now I
might set foot in your neighborhood, but I can absolutely leave, I don’t want any trouble, Mr.
Daredevil, Sir!” Peter rambled, not even giving Matt a chance to get a word in. And maybe
that was good, because he still had the nagging feeling that Peter could suss him out in
minutes. He should have never left that roof. Spider-Man had had everything under control
with the woman and her assailant, after all.

Damnit.

“So, if you want me to—to leave, I’ll be gone faster than you can say Hell or whatever
equivalent the Devil would use—not that I think you’re the actual Devil, even though that
would be awesome! But it would be cool if we could work together some time, you know,
like networking? I can be useful! And I know how to work in a team—I was part of the
Avengers, after all! So if you would be up for that, that would be so cool and—”

“Stop,” Matt interrupted and held up a hand. He knew if he didn’t stop Peter now, the kid
would be able to go on for another ten to fifteen minutes and Matt was already on edge as it
was. There was a headache creeping up on him—he could feel it. And he didn’t need Peter to
exacerbate the symptoms.

Peter immediately shut up, his whole body snapping into a rigid stance. Matt breathed a sigh
of relief.

And then he did something extremely stupid. He ran his mouth. “Your form is bad.”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

Matt sighed. He shouldn’t have said anything, but this had been screaming at the back of his
mind since the first time he had followed Peter around and observed his close combat skills.
“Your form is lacking. Your punches are terrible, your stance is a catastrophe, and if it
weren’t for your superstrength and your healing factor, you would lose any close combat
fight and would break multiple bones—especially in your hands.” He really should stop
talking. With every word he said the chance of Peter figuring out his secret identity got
bigger. But, damn it, Matt was weak and he wanted to help.

There was no response. Peter was just standing there, staring at Matt—and Matt was staring
back. Or, well, do his best expression of a stare.
“Wow,” Peter finally breathed and his shoulders slumped, “that was rude.”

The thing was—Matt had expected anything but that. He had expected for Peter to just leave,
for him to argue, even to ask for a few pointers or for Matt to train him. But he hadn’t
expected the sass. Maybe he should have. Living with Peter had shown him that the kid had a
smart mouth and wasn’t afraid to use it.

And now he actually felt bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so harsh.

“Fine,” he growled, more annoyed with himself and his pent-up frustrations than with
anything else. “Come with me.”

He turned around and walked towards the fire escape he had used earlier to descend into the
alley, without waiting for any response from Peter. He also ignored the assailant, who was
still webbed to the wall and would be collected by the police shortly—Matt could already
hear them coming, so it would be even better if he got out of here as fast as possible.

And luckily Peter just followed him. Of course he asked questions, running his mouth a mile
a minute, but Matt was an expert in ignoring unwanted rambling, so he kept silent and
tracked on. Their way led over several rooftops, Peter reverting to parkouring just like Matt
did, probably because he would be too fast with swinging by his webs. His parkour skills
were also lacking, but he kept up well enough, so Matt didn’t say anything.

Really, he should revert to not saying anything at all while he was around Peter as Daredevil.
No need to give the kid any more hints that his temporary roommate was also a moonlighting
vigilante.

Peter kept prattling on during the whole journey, though, and Matt asked himself if the kid
ever ran out of air. The constant chatter was annoying, but calming at the same time. Matt
had the nagging feeling that he had gotten way too used to Peter’s permanent rambling
around his home, the kid talking excessively about everything and anything that caught his
attention. And Matt was nothing if not a good listener.

“Aww, have you gone soft, Matthew?” Foggy’s teasing voice entered his mind and Matt grit
his teeth.

Before he could imagine any more teasing from his best friend regarding his new charge,
who had caught up with him a second ago, Matt stopped in his tracks. They were right across
the street from Fogwell’s and Matt turned towards the fire escape at the other side of the roof,
gesturing for Peter to follow him. And, of course, Peter did exactly that. Not without
questioning everything, though, but he apparently didn’t expect Matt to answer. Maybe he
should have a talk with Peter about following strangers, even if those strangers were fellow
vigilantes. Or maybe because the stranger was a fellow vigilante. Peter didn’t know if
Daredevil had any powers.

What if Matt also had superstrength?

What if he had sinister plans?

What if he was leading Peter right into a trap?

Karen, Foggy, and Claire always complained that Matt didn’t have any self-preservation
instincts, but Peter was worse! And yes, Matt was well aware that his thoughts sounded like a
petulant, whiny child, but he was right! Peter was worse! And maybe he should tell his
friends about that someday to get them off his back.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he wouldn’t do that. They would laugh at him
mercilessly anyway.

With another sigh (and he sighed a lot tonight, he was aware), he hopped onto the fire escape
and made his way down, Peter’s light steps right behind him. At least the kid could walk
quietly—not that it did much for him as he kept running his mouth most of the time. But Matt
counted his blessings as Peter had finally decided to shut up. Small victories.

As they crossed the street, Matt could feel the curiosity oozing off of Peter, who was turning
his head like an overly excited puppy in a new environment. His breathing would change a
few times, like he was about to say something, but in the end he stayed quiet—not that Matt
wanted to complain. It was just unusual.

Stopping in front of the door, Matt contemplated if he should use the key or if he should
break in to keep up appearances in front of the kid. Not many people had a key to Fogwell’s
these days, and considering that his dad’s old posters were still hanging on the walls, it would
be easier to figure out for Peter that Matt was Daredevil, if he just connected the dots. He
didn’t have much time to think about this, though, as Peter was radiating nervous energy right
behind him, fidgeting like he had inhaled a whole pot of espresso only five minutes ago.

Matt made a mental note to never give Peter even an ounce of caffeine. Not even if his life
depended on it.

With a heavy heart he drew back his fist and smashed the glass, like he had done back in
college to let Elektra and himself in. (Don’t think about her. Not now. She is the whole reason
you’re so worked up today. Don’t.) He would need to replace it later, but that was a problem
for future Matt. Present Matt just wanted to punch something and Peter had effectively
stopped him from doing so by taking over the only assault in the Kitchen tonight. Not that
Matt was mad about Peter stopping a crime—no, he just had this restless energy in himself,
the nervous tickle of the Devil clawing his way out of the depth of his soul. He wanted
violence, wanted to release that bloodthirsty energy, wanted to punch, break bones, make
someone regret their poor life decisions. Alas, he wasn’t so lucky tonight, so the punching
bag needed to do.

He walked over to the bag hanging from the ceiling, right next to the boxing ring, with a
singlemindedness of a man ready to break something. He didn’t even wait to hear if Peter
was following him, or even had followed him inside by now, before he stopped right in front
of the bag and started pummeling it in quick succession, his fists connecting with the old
leather, making it bounce back and forth. There was a familiar ache starting to burn in his
knuckles and lower arms and Matt grinned, the Devil crawling further to the surface, making
his presence known with one final hit that sent the punching bag flying, so Matt had to
sidestep it to not get hit.
There was a slight feeling of satisfaction, even though Matt had only hit the punching bag a
handful of times. He was already feeling better, more leveled. His head was clearer than
before, the buzzing behind his eyes had lessened. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned
around, giving the impression of looking at Peter, who was still standing in the doorway,
obviously unsure if he should enter.

Matt gestured for him to come inside.

Peter hesitated, taking a step forward, but then faltering. “Uhh … Mr. Daredevil? I’m not
sure breaking and entering would look good on my résumé, if you know what I mean? I
mean, I’m currently not exactly New York’s sweetheart and having another crime in my file
doesn’t help my case.”

Matt frowned. The kid wasn’t wrong, but there was also no chance that anyone would find
them here at this time of the night. Matt was basically the only one still frequenting Fogwell’s
after the Blip, and definitely the only one coming here after dark.

“Nobody will know. I promise,” Matt finally grunted and gestured again for Peter to come in.
And this time the kid reluctantly did as he was told, the fabric of his suit rubbing against his
skin as his head was swiveling around as he was taking everything in. Of course Matt knew
that it was rather dark in the gym, but he wasn’t going to turn the lights on—that would be
suspicious from an outsider’s perspective. And usually the light from the streetlamps that
shone into the gym from outside was enough. Peter would need to deal. The kid had
heightened senses anyway, this would be a good time to see how much he was using them.
Matt grinned.

Peter stepped up right next to Matt, gently touching the punching bag that had stopped
swinging while Matt had lured Peter into the gym.

“Why did you bring me here?” Peter asked, voice unsure, as his fingers danced over the used
leather. And maybe he should’ve asked this question earlier. It was painfully obvious to Matt
how stupid it had been for Peter to just follow him without asking questions. They really
needed to have a talk. Or maybe he should talk to May so she could put the fear of god into
Peter. Matt was certain that she was very good at that.

“As I said, your close combat skills are lacking,” Matt repeated himself and searched for the
right words, so he would need to talk as little as possible. Don’t give him any more evidence.
You’re playing a dangerous game already. “Your punches are all wrong. Stand here.”

And with that he grabbed Peter by the arm and positioned him right in front of the punching
bag. Peter, good kid that he was, just let himself be manhandled. He was probably still too
starstruck that Daredevil of all people had decided to take him under his wing. And Matt
regretted every single life decision that had led to this point in his life.

No, he didn’t.

With a suppressed sigh he rearranged Peter’s stance, pushing his legs further apart, until he
was satisfied that the kid wouldn’t keel over. Then he pushed and shoved, but Peter wouldn’t
budge, standing there like he was supposed to. “You need a safe stance. If your feet are too
close together”—with that he pushed them back together into their earlier position—“you
easily lose your footing.” With that he pushed Peter again, but this time the kid didn’t keep
his footing, instead he stumbled with a yelp, only to be caught by Matt again, before he could
get acquainted with the floor.

Matt was pleased to see that Peter immediately jumped back into action as soon as he had
fumbled himself into an upright position again, regaining his earlier, wider stance. Matt only
had to adjust the position of his feet a bit, until he nodded with a satisfied smirk. Then he
went to lift Peter’s arms, showing him how to hold them if he wanted to punch someone—
which was the whole reason they were here, really. And then he adjusted Peter’s fists and
how he held them, so he wouldn’t hurt his fingers and wrists—every time Matt had heard
Peter punch someone in the last few weeks, he had winced at the, to the human ear, inaudible
sound of cracking bones. It had been grating and he hadn’t known how to address this. Well,
here they were now.

“You’re using your arms to deliver hits,” Matt started, more concentrated than ever before
that he had to use a deeper voice as to not give himself away.

“Uhm …” Peter started and Matt could hear his lashes rubbing against the fabric of his mask
as he blinked in confusion. “Isn’t that how you do it? You draw your arm back and then …
punch … someone?”

Do not sigh again, Matt. You already hit your quota of sighs for one night.

“You use your body. Keep your arms close to your body and use the movement of your upper
body to deliver a strike. Otherwise you give yourself away and your opponent can easily
dodge your attack,” Matt explained, digging deep to find the patience he needed for this.
Maybe tonight wasn’t the best time to teach Peter how to be a better fighter. But it wasn’t like
Matt could back out now, so he grit his teeth and surrendered himself to powering through
this whole mentor thing. “Apart from that, it’s easier to grab your arm and topple you. You
don’t want that.”

Peter nodded in understanding and kept his arms close to his body, testing out Matt’s tip by
turning here and there and delivering jabs to the air. “Huh. This is also less exhausting!” he
exclaimed with a happy note in his voice and Matt had to stop himself from smiling, pleased
that he could help Peter at least a bit. “Thank you so much!”

As soon as Peter stopped moving and put himself back into the position Matt had arranged
him in, Matt corrected his fists and wrists again. “Don’t put your thumb under your fingers.
You will break all your bones like that. And keep your wrists and hands aligned like this or
you will break your wrists,” he explained, letting his gloved hands wander over Peter’s lower
arms, then wrists, until he was touching his curled fingers. “And hit with your knuckles, not
your fingers or you will—”

“—break them. Yeah, I got it,” Peter said, a bit impatiently, and nodded again, but there was
some hesitation in the movement. Matt waited for whatever would come, and Peter didn’t
disappoint. “I have a healing factor, though. I mean, complete breaks still take a week to heal,
but fractures kinda heal over night? It’s no big deal, really. Sure, this is cool and all, but I
don’t think it would be too bad if I kept doing it like I did before.”
Matt sent a brief prayer towards heaven, before he started to explain to Peter why this line of
thinking was utterly stupid and he should stop. “If you keep fracturing and breaking your
bones again and again and again, they will weaken over time. It can also lead to all kinds of
pain. Just ask people who had a broken bone before and they might tell you that they are
hurting during the colder months or that the pain never really leaves, especially if they put
strain on a healed break,” he said slowly, each word oozing hardly earned patience. “This
might be different for you with your healing factor and your spider powers or whatever you
have, but do you know that?”

There was a slight hesitation and Matt could hear the scrape of fabric as Peter opened and
closed his mouth several times, before mumbling, “No, I don’t. Never thought about this to
be honest.”

Matt nodded. After everything he knew about Peter he had expected exactly this. The thought
of how Stark should’ve tested this crossed his mind for a second, but then he internally made
a face at himself. Peter was not a lab rat. He was not an experiment. He shouldn’t be treated
like one. And as much as it would be useful to know the extent of Peter’s healing factor, Matt
knew all too well that he, personally, wouldn’t want to undergo several tests. He wouldn’t
like to be poked and prodded and to be forced to do certain things just so others could get to
know his enhancements. So if he wouldn’t like that—why should Peter? He was a human
being, someone worthy of making his own decisions about his own body. Someone worthy of
respect.

Before he could get lost in his head, Matt said, “So better safe than sorry. Hit the bag.”

And Peter did. Careful at first, aware of his superstrength, but then he got bolder. He
delivered some nice jabs and punches to the poor bag, making it swing on its squeaking
chain, making the hook it was hanging on groan under the movement. The form looked quite
good to Matt, who was now tuned in to Peter’s body, tracking his movement with all his
senses, correcting his stance and how he held himself now and again, but all in all … Peter
was doing fine.

It wasn’t a surprise to Matt that Peter had picked up on this immediately. The kid was clever
and naturally inclined to learn, which seemed to extend to how to fight. Which pleased Matt
greatly. Not that he would ever admit it. If it were for him, Peter wouldn’t be out there
fighting crime, putting himself in danger. He was still a child, just turned seventeen. Matt had
his own trauma, his own problems concerning someone trying to make a child soldier out of
him (don’t think about Stick—DON’T). And he knew he was projecting. Peter wanted to do
this. And he was nearly an adult. Matt was also deeply aware that nobody would be able to
stop Peter if he really wanted to go out and fight crime—the kid was clever and strong. And
the only thing that would keep him from helping people would be to lock him away.

And Matt didn’t want to think about Peter being locked away in a cell in the Raft. He didn’t
want to think about Peter being treated like a criminal, forced to wear some power blocking
collar. He didn’t want to think about Peter being examined, so some sicko could study his
enhancements.

No.
Suddenly Matt was keenly aware of the fact that he was clenching his jaw to the point that it
was painful. It took an enormous amount of willpower to relax once he realized this, but he
managed. After a few minutes.

“This does hurt less,” Peter said, after he stopped the bag with his bare hands, having
punched it one last time. “And it feels like my hits are stronger with less effort!”

Matt breathed out, relaxing his muscles, which had tensed upon his short dive into what if.
“That was the goal. Keep it in mind. This knowledge will help you in the field.”

He was talking too much, he knew that. Peter would recognize his voice at some point. But
Matt couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to teach the kid, wanted to make sure he was safe and
could defend himself. This was more important than keeping his identity secret from Peter.
Who would probably not even dare to tell anyone if he found out, after all he had been
through with his own involuntary identity reveal. If anyone knew how important the mask
was, it would be Peter. And Matt was mad at himself that he couldn’t trust him enough to
reveal his own face. It would help Peter to know that Matt was Daredevil. But Matt was
selfish. This was his secret. And he would rather die than drag Peter and his loved ones into
his mess as well. It was bad enough that Foggy, Karen, and Claire knew, he didn’t need to
add more people to the list. (He was putting considerable effort into ignoring that other
people knew or figured it out as well—Brett, Maggie, probably Marci … not to mention all
the other nuns … as well as Jessica, Luke, Danny, and Colleen (who could at least defend
themselves) … and Frank (who was the last person that needed any protection). It wouldn’t
do him any good to spiral right now, thinking about everyone he was putting in danger
already. No, he needed to concentrate on the here and now. And here and now he couldn’t tell
Peter that he was Daredevil.)

Matt was getting lost in his head again, he knew it. And a little voice that sounded
suspiciously like Foggy was whispering, “You need therapy.” And he knew it, he knew he
needed help, especially since Father Lantom … Well, especially since he couldn’t confide in
his priest anymore. He never had managed to gather the courage to even walk into Clinton
Church again since the funeral, had never managed to meet the new priest, even though
Maggie had told him that Father Jordan was a wonderful man. And Matt didn’t doubt that, he
just … couldn’t.

And therapy was out of the question anyway. It wasn’t like he could walk in, sit down, smile
at his therapist and say, “I’m Daredevil, so you can imagine the shit I’ve witnessed. New
York is fucked up on a good day and I put all the suffering of the people there on my
shoulders. Yes, I’m pretty much fucked in the head, why do you ask?” Even if the therapist
wouldn’t run to the press immediately, Matt didn’t think he could do it. Opening up was not
something he did. It had cost Foggy and Karen years wearing him down until he had
reluctantly agreed to share everything with them. No more secrets.

God, he needed to hit something.

Which brought him to his next idea.

“Go in the ring,” Matt said, turning towards Peter, who had obviously silently waited for him
to do … something, while Matt had been lost in thought. He pointed towards the very
obvious boxing ring in the middle of the gym and didn’t even waver when Peter let out a very
dignified uh while pointing at himself questioningly. Matt nodded.

And so they ended up in the old, worn boxing ring, the floor beneath Matt’s feet comfortingly
familiar, as well as the rope surrounding the ring. It felt like home and he smiled wistfully.

“Attack me.”

“Excuse me?” Peter piped up, unsure.

“You heard me right,” Matt said, getting into a fighting stance, “Attack me. Come one, we’re
sparring. I want to see how you will incorporate what I showed you into a real fight.”

Peter still hesitated and Matt grew impatient. There had been an itch gnawing under his skin
for weeks now and he was tired of suppressing it. He needed a real workout. And Peter, with
his enhanced strength and his healing factor, was perfect for letting out some steam. Only that
the kid was good to a fault and probably wouldn’t want to hit Matt.

“I’m not going to break,” Matt sighed in annoyance.

“Did you forget the part where I have superstrength and, no offense, Mr. Daredevil, Sir, but
from what I’ve heard and seen … you do not.” Peter was fidgeting nervously at the other side
of the ring and Matt grit his teeth. “I really don’t want to hurt you. I mean, I can hold back
and all—I do it all the time, you know, no mugger deserves to end up in the hospital with
multiple broken bones—” he winced so obviously that even Matt could easily pick up on it,
“Not that there’s anything wrong with how you handle things! Spider-Man is just … more
PG? And you’re kinda R-rated? And leaving people with broken bones will not exactly help
my reputation right now, so I try to be as gentle as possible. Which I have been before, but
now people pay even more attention to my actions and it really, really sucks. I have to watch
my every step. And when it gets out that I, I don’t know, broke Daredevil’s arm or something
like that … I don’t think the people of Hell’s Kitchen would be too impressed and they’re
kinda the leading defenders of vigilantes in New York. Thanks to you, by the way.”

The kid was rambling, which usually Matt found endearing yet exhausting, but right now he
could only feel the exhaustion part. Which really didn’t do much to help his patience.

“Stop talking, start fighting,” Matt simply replied and before Peter could go on another
tangent as to why he didn’t want to do that, Matt launched at him. And the kid dodged.

Good, Matt thought and a toothy smile graced his face as he started to deliver blow after
blow towards Peter, who kept flipping around, trying to avoid him. And Matt had to give it to
him, the kid was limber and fast. But Matt wasn’t slow either. Sure, he didn’t have the
advantage of enhancements (well, at least not this kind of enhancements) on his side, but he
had experience and he knew exactly how to keep Peter on his toes.

The kid also seemed to fight with some kind of code. He didn’t stick to the walls or ceiling,
but stayed in the ring, and he also didn’t use his webs. Which Matt counted as a win, really.
Because Peter seemed kind of trigger happy when it came to his webshooters, wanting to use
them in every fight, so as to not hurt his opponents. Matt could respect that. He really could.
But right now he wanted to see what Peter could do. And that would only work if Peter
started to fight back!

“C’mon, Spider-Man!” Matt yelled and delivered another jab, this time catching Peter’s ribs.
First hit he landed, really, and considering how good Peter was at dodging blows, he was a bit
proud of himself. Even if he was hitting a child.

A literally enhanced child. He has superpowers. He is way stronger than you are and he
heals faster. That little bruise will be gone by tomorrow, Matt tried to reassure himself. He
couldn’t throw in the towel because his conscience decided to be vocal right now. He just
wanted to make sure that Peter could hold his own, even without his webshooters. What if
they broke? What if his webfluid ran out? Peter had admitted that it happened far too often—
once even mid-swing. Matt had winced as Peter had told him that only a well-placed
dumpster had softened his fall.

He kind of wished he could have told Peter that he intimately knew that experience. Alas, he
didn’t.

“Fight back!” Another kick.

“Seriously, I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Peter yelped—and there it was. He was sitting
on the ceiling.

Matt resisted the urge to put his hands on his hips in disappointment as he turned his face
towards Peter, pretending to look at him. That stance would be far too recognisable. Karen
called it his disappointed-dad-pose and Foggy had only been too eager to agree with her.
Matt, alas, did not. He didn’t have a disappointed dad pose! Or did he? Maybe he did …
Damn it!

“Come down! You can’t win a fight by sitting on the ceiling,” he said, clenching his hands
into fists.

“But I can sit it out!”

Smartass.

“I’m trying to help you here,” Matt sighed and raked one hand over his face. This night really
didn’t go as planned and now Peter didn’t even want to cooperate. “I promise you won’t hurt
me. And I promise that I won’t hurt you. We’re only sparring—didn’t you spar with the
Avengers?”

There was a beat of silence. “Not really, no. I was mostly tinkering with Tony in his lab,”
Peter admitted and suddenly the air was heavier than before.

Shit.

And with that all fight had left Matt. He felt weary and tired and his shoulders sagged. He
sighed. “Come down. We don’t need to spar,” he said, and then added, hesitantly, “We can
talk. If you want.”
Slowly, carefully, Peter hopped down again, landing right in front of Matt in the ring. “We
can?” he asked, hopefully.

“If you want,” Matt repeated and resigned himself to a night of talking. Which wasn’t so bad,
really. Maybe it would do some good. Maybe it would even be good for himself. Who knew?
 Chapter 5
Chapter Summary

There is crying involved. And Matt doesn't know what to do.

Chapter Notes

Oh hey, look at that. A new chapter already. Don't ask, I don't know how it happened.
Maybe my guilty conscience wanted to compensate for the long wait last time. Oops.

Prompt:
Free Space

When Matt had gone out tonight, he hadn’t thought that he would end up with Spider-Man
sitting next to him at the edge of the boxing ring in Fogwell’s. Well, but here they were, their
legs dangling and both of them kind of hanging onto the ropes. Matt hadn’t sat there like this
since he had been a child—it felt weird after all those years. Like a sweet melancholy was
taking over his body and his heart ached a bit. It was a known pain, but one that got to him
every time. There was just no escaping it.

But that was not important now. Important was Peter sitting right next to him. He had taken
the mask off sometime in the last few minutes and was now fidgeting with it, rubbing it
between his fingers.

The whole evening Matt had been too pent up to fully register the pungent smell of the paint
still clinging to the suit, but now it assaulted his nose in full force. The fact that Peter was
literally rubbing over the paint and spreading its stink didn’t make this any better. It took a
serious amount of willpower to push the smell back and not gag. And Matt was doing his
best.

After the paint incident Matt had asked Peter why he was still wearing this suit instead of the
nanite one Stark had made for him. Peter had just shrugged and said that it was a pain in the
ass to keep the nanite suit charged. He always needed to remember to put it back in its
housing, so it would be fully functional when he wanted to wear it next.

“And the fabric suit is just more comfortable when I’m flipping and swinging around,” he
had said. “The nanite suit is kind of … stiff? I mean, it works just fine and moves with me
perfectly, but it feels weird.”

Matt didn’t know if he should be grateful or not. On one hand—the fabric suit just smelled
awful, but that could be dealt with by cleaning it, on the other hand—the nanite suit was an
assault to all of Matt’s senses. It was constantly whirring and he could hear the nanites rub
against each other and rearrange themselves and … It just wasn’t a pleasant experience. Not
to mention that tuning all of this out took a lot out of Matt, making him feel exhausted. Of
course he could also hear the electricity of the hud in the fabric suit, but that one was more
like … a computer. Like a really silent, high-end laptop. It was okay. He could ignore it.

But right now he wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t prefer the nanite suit over the stench that was
burning itself into his nostrils.

Before he could ponder the pros and cons for each, Peter finally took a deep breath and his
fingers stilled. Matt perked up. “It’s … It’s hard, you know?” Peter said, voice tiny. “You get
it. You get why we do this, why we need to do this. My aunt and my friends, they … They try
to understand, they support me. But they don’t get it. Not like you do. Or like people like
Luke Cage or Jessica Jones or Iron Fist do. Not even Tony fully got it. He was always in the
limelight—he was an Avenger! That’s … That’s different to what we do. They deal with
aliens, we … we deal with people. I know it sounds stupid, because I did fight Thanos, I was
in space, I am an Avenger—or at least I was, I don’t know anymore. But it … It feels wrong.
I don’t even know why.”

The kid sniffled and Matt tactfully kept his mouth shut. Peter obviously needed to get this off
his chest and he was right—Matt got it. He understood. He probably understood better than
anyone else ever would. And he was honored that Peter decided to open up to him, even
though he didn’t know that he was talking to Matt right now. He also understood. Daredevil
was a well-known vigilante, so for Peter to assume that Daredevil had similar problems as
Spider-Man made sense.

“It’s weird,” Peter started again after a few minutes in which he had composed himself again,
even though Matt could still hear the clogged throat and taste the salt of tears in the air. “In
the beginning I wanted to be an Avenger so bad. Tony took me to Germany to fight Captain
America of all people and I thought it was so cool. And then I waited for him to call me for
another mission. I wanted to be useful, wanted to play in the big leagues. I was so tired of
saving cats from trees and helping old folks cross the street.” He sniffled again and Matt
could hear the disgusting sound of fabric being dragged over a runny nose, which told him
everything he never wanted to know.

Matt waited patiently. Of course he knew all of this already, had heard it when Peter had told
Ellison and Karen about it, so they could write his story. But he wasn’t Matt Murdock right
now, he was Daredevil. And Daredevil didn’t have this intimate knowledge, because some of
these details hadn’t made it into the article.

When Peter had himself under control again, he kept talking, obviously desperate for
someone to listen, for someone who knew what it was like to be in this world. “I mean,
there’s nothing wrong with helping the small guy, you know? But I wanted to be an Avenger
since I was a little kid. Tony—Iron Man—was my favorite superhero and I wanted to be like
him. I idolized him. I … I still do. But now I know the man behind it all and it makes him so
much more approachable and human. It makes the whole thing more real. And it makes me
admire him even more.”

Matt wasn’t sure, but he thought that Peter was smiling wistfully. “My uncle even took me to
the Stark Expo back then. The one that got blown up by drones. He bought me one of these
Iron Man masks and I had a glove with me that looked like Iron Man’s repulsor—I made it
myself with my uncle’s help. I felt like the real thing, like I could be a superhero as well. And
then the expo got attacked and I lost my uncle in the commotion, drones were everywhere.
And I … I thought I could fight them. I was seven. Of course it was stupid. But there was this
one drone that landed right in front of me and I … I lifted that fake repulsor and wanted to
blast it. I was scared shitless, but I also thought I could be a superhero and superheroes fight
the bad guys, you know? Superheroes are not afraid, so I shouldn’t be afraid as well.

“And then Iron Man landed in front of me and blasted the drone, because I couldn’t do it. But
he told me good job and I was so in awe, because he had really talked to me! I know it’s the
dream of a child, but that was one of the best days of my life, even though I nearly got killed.
Gosh, my aunt and uncle nearly had a heart attack. I don’t think I got ever hugged as much as
on that day,” Peter chuckled wetly and started to fidget with his mask again, breathing deeply.

Something told Matt that he should just wait and not say anything. He didn’t know if Peter
wanted advice, but to him it sounded like the kid needed to just say everything out loud, to
get it out there. Maybe, just maybe, Matt could offer some advice in the end, but not now.
Now he needed to listen, because that was what Peter needed right now. So he didn’t
comment on anything, just kept his head tilted in Peter’s direction, all attention on him.

“So, yeah. I … uhh … did worship the Avengers quite a bit,” Peter said and now Matt could
hear the smile in his voice.

And, honestly, he couldn’t blame the kid. A lot of children—a lot of people, really—looked
up to the Avengers. Especially Iron Man and Captain America back then. Hell, he himself
had had a Captain America action figure when he was a child. His dad had gotten it for him
one day, had surprised him after a fight as he had come home with it. Matt had been ecstatic
as they hadn’t been able to afford much, so this had been a rare treat. And, like a lot of
people, he had grown up with the stories about Captain America and how he was a hero.
Being a child Matt had lapped it up.

To his dismay he had lost the action figure at one point between his dad’s death and being
shoved into St. Agnes. Back then he had been devastated. Now he only felt a creeping sorrow
whenever he thought about it, mostly because his dad had gifted it to him, not because it was
a Captain America figurine.

These days he didn’t give much of a damn about the so-called heroes. They might be heroes,
but … as Peter said, they dealt with world ending stuff, not everyday citizens. And Matt
appreciated what they did, but it was hard to fight the resentment he felt towards them,
because once they were done and saved the day, they washed their hands off everything. The
people who got caught in the crossfire? They had to deal. No heroes to save them. No heroes
to lend a helping hand. At least Stark had built the Maria Stark foundation to help the
victims, but that was about as much as you could expect.
No, it were people like him, and Luke, Jessica, and Danny, who had to pick up the pieces and
deal with the outfall. And yes, that bred resentment. Matt liked to help, he wanted to help, but
this hurt his very self. He was hurting for the people being wronged. And there was not much
he could do to help them—neither as Daredevil nor as Matt Murdock. But he did his best.

But yes, he got the hero worship. Just that he had grown out of it. There were no heroes who
had helped his dad. No heroes to whisk him away from life at the orphanage. No heroes in his
life. Just Stick and Elektra and the pain they brought.

Matt didn’t believe in heroes anymore. But he believed in helping people. So he did.

But this wasn’t about him. This was about Peter.

“When I got my powers, which, really, was a freak accident—who would’ve thought that
radioactive spiders existed? But then … aliens have attacked Earth just a few years prior, so
there’s that,” Peter said and, yes, Matt had heard about the radioactive spider bite before, but
it still freaked him out. What were the odds that Peter got his powers through radioactivity as
well?

Instead of saying anything, though, because, no, he would not tell Peter how he got his
powers, thank you very much, he just nodded.

“Anyway, when I got my powers, I was scared, but then I thought that I could be like my
heroes and fight the bad guys. But the reality was that I became the friendly neighborhood
Spider-Man, which was, at that time, boring as hell to me. Yeah, okay, I stopped a bus, but
that and stopping muggers was as much action as I got, which, to me at that point, wasn’t on
par with the Avengers.” There was a sigh and the sound of fabric moving through hair as
Peter raked his hand through his curls, the other still clenching his mask. “I wanted to do
bigger things. And then Thanos happened and I did. And then the whole thing with Mysterio
—that were all Avengers level threats. And … it made me realize that I don’t want that.”

The kid let out a shuddering breath and Matt had to resist the urge to put a reassuring hand on
his shoulder. Matt Murdock might know Peter Parker and do exactly that, but Daredevil had
met Spider-Man for the first time tonight. They weren’t there yet.

“I just don’t want to lose anyone else,” Peter suddenly sobbed and the air was thick with salt
from his tears. Matt could hear them running down his cheeks, dripping into his lap, being
soaked up by his suit. “I know it’s stupid, because people can die even without the superhero
stuff. Tony is just the most recent one and his death is tied to a big fight with a fucking alien.
My parents and my uncle didn’t die because of superhero stuff. Well. Maybe my uncle did,
because that was my fault and it happened shortly after me getting my powers and … And I
think, what if I didn’t run away that night? What if I hadn’t been a bratty teenager? Ben
would still be alive, and I think May might hate me for causing his death and maybe, if I had
tried a bit harder, Tony would still be alive as well. Or if I had begged my parents to not go
on that trip, they would’ve stayed and they wouldn’t have been in that plane crash and …
And I know it’s stupid and so many what ifs and I know it’s not my fault, but I still think it is
and that I could’ve changed things and they would still be here and—”
Matt couldn’t bear it anymore, his heart hurt for Peter and his body acted on its own. Within a
second he had grabbed Peter and dragged him into the most awkward hug known to mankind.
It was uncomfortable with their suits and the still biting scent of the paint, but Peter didn’t
seem to care. He buried his face in Matt’s chest and cried his heart out, sobs wrecking his
body, making him shake and tremble, as his hands tried to find purchase on Matt’s suit. It
hurt to see the kid like this, nobody should have to face so much pain, especially not at such a
young age.

And the worst thing was—Matt didn’t know what to do.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do and do well—he talked. “It’s not your fault. It’s
your survivor’s guilt speaking and believe me, I know how that feels,” Matt said, laughing
humorlessly. “It sucks. But it’s not your fault. It will do you no good to dwell in what ifs and
blame yourself, particularly when you’re not to blame.” He made sure to emphasize this.
Peter had enough on his plate as it was, he didn’t need to add a whole load of guilt to the
menu. Matt knew the feeling of blaming himself intimately well, so he knew exactly what
Peter was going through. He also knew that no amount of reassurance would help with these
thoughts and the feeling of dread and guilt coming with them. Peter needed to realize himself
that he was not to blame. And Matt would stay by his side until he got there—be it as Matt or
as Daredevil.

Peter had quieted down, but he was still crying, his tears staining Matt’s suit. Not that he
cared about that. He cared about Peter and wanted to make sure he was alright. What Peter
had just unloaded on him was heavy and Matt wished he could just take a tiny bit of the
burden off of his shoulders.

“I know it’s not my fault. I just wish they were still here,” Peter hiccuped and his fingers dug
deeper into the kevlar of Matt’s suit. “I just … I … If I weren’t Spider-Man, maybe things
would be different. Maybe they wouldn’t have died.”

“Remember how many people lived because you are Spider-Man. You helped bring half of
the universe’s population back,” Matt said, voice quiet, and he dared to put one hand on the
back of Peter’s head, hoping it would be calming. “You helped bring me back. And I’m
eternally grateful for that, because now that I am back, I can keep helping people. You don’t
need to be a big shot at this. You don’t need to be an Avenger to do what’s right. You don’t
even need to be Spider-Man. If you don’t want to be Spider-Man anymore, that would be fine
—it’s not your job to make everything right.”

Matt was keenly aware of the hypocrisy of his words, but he excused it by telling himself that
Peter was still a child and that it was different from his own situation. (It really wasn’t. And
Foggy, Karen, and Claire kept chanting hypocrite in his head, which was … deserved,)

It was silent for another minute or two—who could tell?—and then Peter sniffled again and
pushed out of Matt’s embrace. He was clearly embarrassed, but Matt didn’t say anything, just
sat back, his hands behind him on the floor of the boxing ring. Peter, meanwhile, angrily
wiped his face, the suit covering his hand scratching over his skin in a way that made Matt
clench his teeth.
“I can’t stop,” Peter finally said, voice still heavy with tears. “When you can do the things
that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you. I can’t
just stop being Spider-Man, because Spider-Man is me and if I stop, people get hurt. But they
also get hurt if I don’t stop and—”

“Peter,” Matt interrupted him, before he could go down that path again, because Matt could
hear the impending panic attack. And the kid’s words also struck a nerve. It was the same
reasoning he had given Foggy back when his friend had found him nearly dead in his
apartment. He had just used different words, but it had been the same sentiment. And he got
it, he did! So, damn him. He could hardly be mad at Peter for doing what he did if he himself
wasn’t any better. “I get it. I’m doing this because of the same reasons—if I don’t, people get
hurt. But you know what I had to learn over the years? That I am not alone in this. And I’m
not talking about the other vigilantes—I’m talking about friends and family who support
what I do. And it took me a really embarrassing amount of time to realize that it’s their
decision to stay by my side. Not mine.

“Peter, you have people in your corner. Your aunt and your friends chose to be with you.
They know what they’re getting into—don’t assume they don’t! And don’t take their
autonomy away from them. Don’t tell them what to think or feel. Let them make their own
decisions.”

Matt’s words were met with silence, only interrupted by Peter stretching and crumpling up
his mask for a few minutes, as well as his feet hitting the ring as he started to swing his legs.
There was obviously energy building up, but Matt didn’t mention it. For now Peter needed to
sort his thoughts and for that he needed quiet and time.

“You’re right,” Peter finally sighed and his whole body stilled. “I’m thinking too much and
I’m anxious and I know it. I just … I have lost so many people—I don’t want to lose anybody
else. I mean, I barely remember my parents, I was five when they died, but my uncle Ben …
He was like a dad to me and he died because he went looking for me when I ran away. And I
know it wasn’t my fault—not per se—but it still … If I hadn’t run away that night, he would
still be alive. I miss him.”

Another sniffle. Matt kept silent.

“And then there was Tony—funny enough I only started to call him by his first name after he
died. He nagged me for years, because I couldn’t shake the habit of calling him Mr. Stark,”
Peter chuckled wetly. “I know he did a lot wrong and he didn’t treat me right in the
beginning, but … he became my mentor and … kind of like … a father figure to me. I miss
him, too.

“In a way it feels like I lost three dads.”

That was something Matt could painfully relate to. Losing his dad had been the single worst
thing of his life. Not Stick’s betrayal, not losing Elektra, not nearly dying. Losing his dad.
The thought alone made his heart sting and made his lungs contract, breathing becoming
increasingly harder. But it was a known pain, honed and ingrained into his very being for
more than two decades.
And before he could stop himself he said, “I lost my dad, too, when I was still a child. I know
the pain.” And then, “I’m sorry, Peter.”

A smaller hand covered his and he could tell that Peter had turned towards him and was
looking at him now. “Thank you,” the kid said, and it sounded so honest, so vulnerable, that
Matt couldn’t help but turn his hand around and squeezed Peter’s gently.

Silence stretched from there, both of them content to just sit next to each other, hands still
touching for comfort. Matt knew that Peter needed this time to process their whole
conversation, to sort out his feelings and his pain, and, quite honestly, Matt did, too. Peter
opening up to him like this, opening up to Daredevil, had been heavy. Matt had his own
sorting out to do, his emotions all over the place. At least Stick’s training kept him from
showing any of this from the outside, but on the inside there was a storm that got perpetually
stronger.

Peter had already lost so much at such a young age, but he still saw the good in people,
wanted to help them. He was a genuinely good person. There was an inkling, deeply buried
in Matt’s mind, that his desperate urge to help Peter stemmed from the fact that the kid
reminded him of himself. Matt, too, believed that people could be good if just given the
chance. He, too, believed in helping as much as he could. But he had become a tad bit bitter
about the whole ordeal, had let darkness and doubt into his heart. Yes, nowadays he was
better, but there was a black hole somewhere deep inside of him, one he had buried with his
decision to not kill—murder—Fisk. But it was still there, gnawing at him from time to time,
reminding him that he was broken and damaged. He couldn’t get rid of it. It was a part of
him, much like the Devil. And Matt had made peace with that.

Yes, Peter reminded Matt of himself, but the kid was so much better than him. He was pure
and good-hearted and didn’t deserve everything the world had thrown at him. Matt
desperately hoped that all of this wouldn’t destroy Peter one day, like it had Matt. Peter was
so good. He would grow up to be the best of them one day. He was the future, and Matt
wanted to invest in it.

“Thank you,” Peter whispered suddenly. What had it been? Ten, fifteen minutes? More? Matt
couldn’t tell and, quite frankly, he didn’t care. “For listening. I … I can talk to May and my
friends about it, but … you understand on a different level. This really helped.”

Matt smiled. “You’re welcome. We do look out for our own.”

Peter nodded and his shoulders sagged as his body finally relaxed. Matt took it as a positive
sign and kept smiling, not knowing if Peter could see it in the dimly lit gym, but he was sure
the kid could sense it, at least.

“So …” Peter started again and now there was a smile in his voice, Matt could hear it. And it
wasn’t sad or self-deprecating, but genuine and good. It made his heart swell. “You said
something about sparring?”

Oh, you’re on!

Matt didn’t go home that night—it would have been too suspicious to turn up shortly after
Peter got to his apartment. And it was also 3 a.m. Which only left him the option to crash at
Foggy’s or at Karen’s place, and considering that Karen’s apartment was closer to Fogwell’s,
he made the short trek there.

Upon arriving and forcing his way in through the window by the fire escape, though, he was
met with a gun pointed at his head and a very pissed-off Karen at the other end of it. He had
to do a lot of apologizing and promise to buy her breakfast (“The good bagels, from the shop
across from Mrs. Alphonso’s apothecary, Matt! Don’t be a cheapskate.”), before he could
finally take off the suit and crash on the couch. He would never say it out loud, but his couch
was way more comfortable than Karen’s—especially for after-patrol-crashes. And for I-got-
hurt-and-need-to-be-patched-up-crashes. The latter got him more heat from his friends,
though, which was kind of understandable. Matt wouldn’t want to see his friends get hurt,
either.

But the most important thing right now was that he could sleep somewhere that was semi-
comfortable, even though he had to forgo his silk sheets. He really missed his silk sheets.
Karen’s bedding felt uncomfortably scratchy on his sensitive skin and it took him longer than
usual, due to this, to fall asleep.

Before he could drift off, he made a mental note to store some silk sheets at both his friends’
apartments, so he would have something more comfortable to sleep in if he crashed on their
couches. This was the last thought before sleep took him, but it didn’t prevent him from
remembering in the morning.

Two days later Foggy’s and Karen’s apartments were equipped with nice silk sheets, stored at
the bottom of their drawers, ready for Matt to use.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Summary

Matt just wants to help. He hates everything.

Chapter Notes

Heeeeyyy! *comes in, shooting awkward finger guns*

It's been a while. *coughs* 11 months. *coughs*
Don't mind me being a mess. I'm so very sorry about the wait. And now you'll get this
shitshow of a chapter and I'm even more sorry. I swear I tried. Alas. I could give you a
bunch of excuses and explanations, but nobody wants to read that, so … *shrugs*

Anyway, I'll reply to comments soon and it will be super awkward, because it has been
nearly a year. Oops. Just know that I treasure every single one. I'm just. Bad at fic
commitments.

Right when Matt thought that things were getting better, everything went down the drain.

Suddenly Peter opening up to him and the article in the Bulletin didn’t seem to matter
anymore, because, apparently, it hadn’t helped. At least not with Peter’s mental and
emotional health. Especially after rejection after rejection had trundled in from the colleges
Peter had applied to, and Matt hadn’t been able to offer more than a shoulder to lean on and
an I’m sorry, Peter. And meanwhile Peter was still waiting for a reply from MIT.

Which had apparently come in the mail today. Not that Matt knew about it.

Matt was sitting in their cramped office, still, to his dismay, located right above the Nelson’s
butcher shop. It was more like a closet, really, with him and Foggy sharing one desk, while
Karen was huddled away in another corner with her own desk that could barely fit her laptop.
Every day, when he wormed his way to his seat, he wondered how they had even managed to
fit all the furniture in here, complete with five chairs (three for them, two for their clients)
and their printer, Matt’s embosser, and—the most important thing—their coffee machine.
(Matt was sure that without this coffee machine they would have murdered each other
already. It was a lifesaver.)

But the worst thing wasn’t the limited space for Matt. It was the smell. As much as he loved
the sandwiches Theo made, he absolutely hated every minute he had to inhale the scent of
everything going on downstairs. It was as much an assault on his senses as Peter’s paint-
covered suit.

Which reminded him that he should do what he had done every day since their night together
at Fogwell’s—keep an ear out for Peter. Just to make sure the kid was doing alright. It was
already a bit late for him to do that as he would usually listen out for Peter before noon,
making sure he was doing alright at school, but he and Foggy were currently working on a
time sensitive case that had taken up their whole morning and by now it was afternoon
already. Not too late, but not early either.

Well, better late than never, Matt thought and closed his eyes, not that it did anything vision
wise, but it helped him concentrate.

“Are you spying again?” Foggy asked when Matt leaned back in his chair, hands folded in
front of his chest. There was a slight note of amusement in his voice and Matt smiled in turn
and nodded. “Okay, I’m going to shut up then.”

“Appreciated.”

Karen snorted in the other corner of the cramped room but quickly silenced herself, finally
giving Matt the opportunity to check in on Peter—without Peter’s knowledge. Which was a
whole other can of worms that Matt didn’t want to touch right now. Or ever.

It took a lot of concentration for Matt to zone in on Peter, which was harder than most other
days as it was later and Peter had already left school. At least Matt couldn’t sense him there
anymore—and it seemed that Peter had left Midtown completely by now. Matt frowned. This
wasn’t unusual, but it made this whole process much harder.

He took a deep breath and relaxed, forcing his body into a meditative state. All his senses
aimed at locating that familiar staccato heartbeat, honing in on Peter’s very being. The
sounds of Peter’s body had become more than familiar over the past few weeks, ingraining
themselves into Matt’s brain and making it easy for him to pick out the kid in a crowd. But
trying to find him from so far away without knowing where he was, was way more difficult
than Matt would’ve liked. Nonetheless he tried. Because he felt like he owed it to Peter.

Another deep breath and it felt like Matt was leaving his body, searching, flying, all over
Manhattan … until he finally found Peter, who was way more south on the island than he had
expected.

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the neighborhood, and he nearly lost Peter when Karen cursed at
her computer, followed by a hastily murmured apology. Matt paid it no mind, latching onto
Peter’s unique heartbeat, which was even faster and louder than usual, hinting at mounting
excitement or panic. If he thought about everything that has happened lately—it was
probably the latter. He suppressed a wince, not wanting to break his concentration now that
he had finally found Peter.

On top of this Matt could hear quiet murmuring as Peter talked to himself. Just a reassuring
mantra.

Please don’t do anything stupid, Matt thought and he gritted his teeth, knowing the signs far
too well. He did this himself. Talking himself into doing things and then being reckless. And
considering that Peter’s heartbeat was more frantic than usual, it wasn’t far from possible that
Peter was planning something reckless. Now that Matt was experiencing the other side of
this, unable to do anything about it, he understood why Foggy and Karen reacted the way
they did whenever he did something they deemed stupid. He absolutely owed Foggy and
Karen multiple apologies—and thank yous for putting up with his bullshit.

“You can do it, Peter. This is the only way.” And, oh, how that made Matt’s alarm bells ring.
Nothing about this seemed right and he wanted to yell for Peter to drop it and to come back
home immediately.

Not that this was feasible, because Peter couldn’t hear him. At all. Of course Matt could call
him, play it innocent, asking Peter if he would like to grab some food, because Matt could
leave work early. Spinning a lie to keep him from doing whatever he was planning to do.

In the end Matt did none of that, because Peter entered a building and then it was radio
silence. It was like Matt had been cut off, like Peter had entered another dimension,
completely vanishing from Matt’s radar. He concentrated further and to his horror he couldn’t
breach the building’s walls with his senses—everything inside was kept from him. Like a
black hole that sucked everything in but spat nothing back out. No feedback at all.

It was highly disorienting and Matt pushed, was determined to get through, to follow Peter
wherever he was going, because wherever it was—it had to be dangerous. If Matt couldn’t
hear him anymore just because he entered a building, something was very, very wrong.

Nonetheless, Matt kept pushing, kept trying to follow Peter, and it felt like vertigo, making
Matt’s insides churn and his lunch nearly reappear. It was like holding your breath
underwater for far too long and not being able to reach the surface in time, panic enveloping
him, making his limbs shake and his movements erratic.

He was clutching his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, ripping, nails digging into his
skin. Breathing was hard, no air entering his lungs, and he tried, tried, tried, so desperately,
but it burned, like frostbite.

The mind controls the body, Matty! Stick’s voice exclaimed mockingly, and Matt nearly
threw up.

“Wowowoooow, buddy, you okay?” Suddenly Foggy’s hand was on his back and it made
Matt breathe just a little easier. He leaned into the touch subconsciously, taking deep breaths
as his lungs expanded like they should. No more breathing underwater. It was quite the relief
and Matt could feel how his hands began to stop shaking.
Foggy started to rub soothing circles over Matt’s shoulder blades, keeping up a monotone
murmur—Matt didn’t make an effort to distinguish the words, still too shaken up from the
sudden silence Peter had entered.

It took some minutes, but finally Matt could take a deep breath without fearing that his
stomach would empty itself right in front of him at any second. He sat a bit straighter and
tried to smooth down his hair, tousled by his own hands earlier, before licking his lips. “I’m
fine,” he said and didn’t sound fine at all. His voice cracked on the second word and sounded
far more rough than he had anticipated. Alas, his words were only partially a lie as he could
already feel the nausea and dizziness ebb away with every deep breath he took. He would be
fine, he just needed a few more minutes.

“Jesus, Matt, what happened?” Oh no, even Karen sounded concerned. Matt grimaced and
didn’t even jokingly scold her for her blasphemy.

No more lies. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand, before pinching the bridge of his
nose. “I found Peter—he’s somewhere further south in Manhattan, I don’t know where
exactly. He entered a building, but when I tried to follow him with my senses, I got
completely cut off. Like he vanished. It was like the building’s inside doesn’t exist. I couldn’t
hear anything from inside. It was like … I was intentionally shut out. It disoriented me and I
was so honed in on Peter that my body didn’t like the sudden change, I guess,” he tried to
explain and licked his lips again. A nervous habit that he should curb at one point, but he had
failed to do so for years, so he didn’t have much hope. He shrugged helplessly. It wasn’t like
he had a satisfying explanation for all of this—hell, he didn’t even have an unsatisfying
explanation, or any explanation at all. He didn’t understand it himself, so he could only
imagine how weird it must’ve sounded to his friends.

Matt frowned. This was all way too suspicious. With gods and aliens and magic around …
Did someone kidnap Peter? It could be possible. With how the world had turned out in the
last two decades, Matt wouldn’t be surprised if something sinister had happened.

Foggy and Karen seemed to think so, too, as they were suspiciously quiet. Matt had learned
long ago that this meant they were exchanging meaningful glances that he wasn’t privy to at
all. They had become infuriatingly good at this, communicating without saying anything.
Usually this eye contact was about him, though. Which wasn’t the case now and he would
prefer it if they talked to him instead.

Before he could voice his annoyance, though, Foggy spoke up, “We’re done with most of our
workload for today anyway. Go and check on him, we know you want to.”

And that was when Matt finally breathed a sigh of relief and got up from his chair. Still a bit
wobbly on his legs, but regaining composure rapidly. He smiled gently. “Thank you,” he said,
quietly, and put one hand on Foggy’s shoulder, squeezing in gratitude.
Matt had made his way over to Karen’s apartment in record time after he had calmed down
enough, and put on his Daredevil suit, before climbing up to the rooftop. Now he was
standing at the edge, head cocked, listening. He had zoned in on Peter’s last location, hoping
that the kid would reappear as suddenly as he had disappeared, but he hadn’t had any luck
yet.

Until—

Peter left the building again, doors slamming shut like a bomb, and his staccato heartbeat like
a jackhammer in Matt’s ears. Matt’s heart picked up its own speed and without a second of
hesitation he started to run, using the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen as his gateway to get to Peter
as fast as possible. Peter might’ve been out of the building, but whatever had happened still
had Matt on edge. Was Peter hurt? Did something happen? He couldn’t really tell from this
far away. All he could do was listen.

And so he kept his ears on Peter the entire time, hearing the murmur of, “Come on, pick up,
pick up, pick up, pick up …”

Who is he calling? Matt wondered but didn’t slow down at all, straining his ears, so he
wouldn’t miss anything that would give him a clue as to what Peter was up to. To his
annoyance he couldn’t hear the recipient of the call once the phone was picked up, but he had
Peter’s side and that had to be enough.

“Flash, where’s the MIT mixer?”

Matt knew that Flash was one of Peter’s classmates, but he also knew that Peter didn’t get on
with him, so why was he calling him? Well, apart from wanting to know a party location,
which confused Matt even more. He shook his head and kept going, listening to Peter’s
phone conversation. Maybe it would make more sense in a few minutes.

“Because I need to come and talk to someone. I’m trying to get Ned and MJ a second chance
at getting in.”

There was the sense—and it didn’t even take long. Apparently Peter wanted to talk to a
representative from MIT to help his friends. Which was very much like Peter. Matt let out a
sigh and came to a stop on the next rooftop, rolling into a standing position. He cocked his
head again, ears still trained on Peter, but the next few exchanges didn’t hold anything useful.
It sounded like Peter was negotiating with Flash about … something.

“Flash, please come on, help me!”

And then—

“Okay, I’ll tell everyone that you’re my best friend.”

Matt grimaced. He couldn’t blame Peter, really. The kid wanted to help his friends get into
college and he was prepared to do anything. And who was Matt to judge? He would do the
same for Foggy and Karen.

A few exchanges later and it seemed like Flash had accepted Peter’s offer.

“Okay, perfect. Where is she?”

Whoever she was—presumably the MIT representative that he assumed Peter wanted to talk
to, but that was simply an assumption—Matt didn’t find out. He also didn’t find out where
she was and where Peter would be headed with this information. It was frustrating enough for
him to grit his teeth and get going again. It wasn’t like he could just go wherever Peter
intended to go, because he didn’t know where it was!

If Matt was taking more aggressive and dangerous jumps to get to Peter, he wouldn’t mention
it to anyone. And if anyone found out, he would blame it on the difference in buildings as
soon as he left Hell’s Kitchen. Because Peter, it seemed, was done in the south of Manhattan
and was moving up north again at breakneck speed. Which meant he had gotten out his
webshooters and was swinging wherever he needed to go.

Matt was not having a good day.

With a frustrated groan he skidded to a stop, only to turn around and run right in the other
direction, trying to keep up with Peter’s webswinging. To further his annoyance, they even
entered Hell’s Kitchen again, which meant he had just wasted time and energy in tracking
Peter down. He just hoped that nobody had seen or taken photos of him. He didn’t need the
publicity of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen running around the rooftops like a headless chicken.

You’ve gotta be kidding me! Matt thought, coming to a stop a block away from his apartment,
where Peter had just entered through the roof access door. He could hear the metallic clang of
the door snapping shut and Peter jumping down the stairs, before vanishing into his
makeshift room to … get changed? It sounded to Matt like Peter was discarding his clothes
and shimming into fresh ones.

Matt realized he was sighing a lot today, but it didn’t stop him from doing it again, while he
slid down to the ground, sitting with his back against the rooftop reiling, and burying his face
in his hands. He could hardly follow Peter and enter his apartment. It wouldn’t be fun to
explain why Daredevil would just set foot into Matt Murdock’s home.

He groaned again. This kid was going to be the end of him. And Peter didn’t even know how
much anguish he caused Matt, because he didn’t know that Matt was Daredevil!

It was a mess and Matt wondered briefly if he should come clean and just tell Peter about his
secret identity. Maybe it would do both of them some good to work together and this way it
would be easier to keep an eye on Peter—so to speak.

Before he could entertain this thought more thoroughly, though, the roof access door snapped
open again and the telltale twhip of Peter’s webs echoed in Matt’s ears.
Here we go again, he thought, before he got to his feet and followed Peter again—north, this
time. Matt was not having a good day.

It was easy to keep track of Peter now, who was making his way along the Harlem River, so
Matt kept following him, using a different route. It might be objectively better for Peter to
swing between skyscrapers to get from one point to another, but Matt had to find another
way, keeping to lower rooftops that supported his parkouring and the occasional swing with
the help of his billy clubs. Oh, he definitely hated being Daredevil outside of Hell’s Kitchen.

Of course he could never catch up to Peter while he was swinging and Matt knew that, but
that didn’t mean he couldn’t catch up to him and help him once he stopped. Which he did, to
Matt’s relief, soon enough, only a few miles ahead of him. Matt couldn’t exactly pinpoint
where Peter was right now, but he could hone in on him even more and follow his very
unique presence.

If Matt concentrated even more, without losing too much focus on his surroundings, he could
even hear Peter talking to someone—probably the person he had been looking for. Why else
would he have stopped otherwise? And the kid sounded nervous. Matt frowned and caught
the word MIT, which confirmed his suspicion that Peter had found the person he had been
looking for. Someone from MIT to get his friends a second chance.

By now Matt was only a few blocks away, so he picked up his pace. He needed to know what
happened when he had been cut off from Peter. And he needed to know what Peter had tried
prior to talking to whatever MIT person he was talking to. With everything that had happened
to the kid recently, Matt was sure he was about to make some stupid decisions to try and get
his life and the lives of his friends back to normal.

Before Matt could even start to think about what Peter could’ve gotten himself into, screams
reached his ears—exactly from the spot Peter was at right now.

Matt cursed under his breath and dropped down the next best fire escape into the alley below,
landing right next to a trash can that reeked of week old waste and burned fish. But Matt
didn’t stop, his feet carrying him along the alleyway and out into the street, which led right
onto a bridge crossing the Harlem River. Matt couldn’t tell exactly which bridge it was,
neither did he care.

People were passing by him, running, screaming, while the sounds of a fight lay right ahead
of him, on the other end of the bridge. It made all his hairs stand on edge, made energy thrum
beneath his skin. So Matt didn’t waste any more time, running right towards the chaos,
dodging cars and people, vaulting over car hoods and roofs to get to Peter as fast as possible,
heart pounding in his ears right next to Peter’s voice, who was trying to reason with someone
who was obviously not responding to reasoning right now.

Keep on fighting, kid! Matt thought as he slid behind a car to dodge another one whose parts
were flying right by him.

As he made his way over to Peter and his opponent on quick feet, Matt’s senses painted a
clearer picture of who—or what—the kid was facing. It seemed to be a man, but he had …
mechanical appendages? Something like tentacles or mechanical arms, protruding from his
back—the humming, smooth movement like a swarm of bees in Matt’s ears.

He was still debating on how to interfere, when the man grabbed Peter with his tentacles,
right over Matt’s head on what was most likely a street sign, lifting him up, up, up to one of
the news helicopters hovering over the scene. The sound of chopper blades was cutting
through Matt’s head as he concentrated on Peter’s struggle, who was getting dangerously
close to said blade.

“Oh no, you don’t!” And with that he threw one of his billy clubs, hitting the man’s temple
straight on, throwing him off balance in less than a second. As predicted, Peter was dropped,
landing on his feet right next to Matt, while their opponent held his head, groaning, while
trying to regain his footing. Within a second Matt had retrieved his billy club, positioning
himself slightly between Peter and—he really needed a name for the man. Tentacle Guy
would have to do for now, even though this was more Peter’s way of thinking. Matt had to
admit that the kid was rubbing off on him. Not that he minded much.

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Daredevil! Thanks for the save!” The kid sounded far too excited after a near-
death experience and Matt suppressed the nth sigh today.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied instead and kept his focus on Tentacle Guy, just in case he
tried something while they were talking. “Who is that?”

Matt sensed Peter shrugging his shoulders, the motion setting off the microscopic nanites in
his suit, making them hum and follow the movement. “I don’t know—really! Dude just came
here and started to throw cars and talk about some kind of sun in his hand. I—I think he is
looking for somethi—”

Before Peter could finish his sentence, they both heard a scream, coming from a car that was
teetering precariously over the edge of the bridge. Matt cocked his head, ears trained on the
car, which was on the brink of sliding over and falling right onto the train tracks below. And
if Matt wasn’t mistaken, a train was coming right this way. What a bothersome timing.

“Peter—!”

“On it, Mr. Daredevil!”

And before Matt could move, Peter had already jumped into action, webs zipping out of his
webshooters and attaching to the back of the car, just as it slid over the edge, plummeting to
its demise with its passenger inside. But Peter got it, holding on for dear life as additional
arms emerged from his suit, pressing into the concrete of the bridge with a grating sound that
hurt Matt’s ears, stopping Peter from hurtling over the edge as well.

As soon as Peter’s footing was secure, Matt allowed himself to breathe again and focus on
Tentacle Guy, who, by now, had stopped caring about his billy-club-induced headache.
Instead he was on his way towards Peter again, getting faster on his mechanical arms.
Meanwhile Peter was busy getting to the woman, who Matt thought might be the MIT
representative, and getting her out of the car, which was now hanging from the bridge by
Peter’s webs.
Here goes nothing, Matt thought and ran towards Tentacle Guy, intending to stop him from
attacking Peter and the woman, despite not being sure if he would be able to manage that. At
least he could distract him until the kid got them to safety. Taking out both of his billy clubs,
he threw one towards the man, the wire connecting the clubs wrapping around one of the
tentacles. Matt kept a strong hold on the other billy club, his heels digging into the concrete,
trying his hardest to keep Tentacle Guy from following Peter over the edge of the bridge.

But the mechanical appendages were too strong, dragging Matt with them easily, his feet
skidding over the torn up ground, making him stumble and his legs ache from the strain. But
Matt kept holding on, hellbent on stopping him and giving Peter enough time to help the
woman out of the car and back onto the bridge. Matt could hear them, could hear Peter
opening the door and grabbing her, before slinging a web towards the bridge and getting the
both of them up and on solid ground.

Meanwhile Matt had decided to go into the offensive, stopping trying to hold Tentacle Guy
back, but running towards him instead. A smooth jump and a swift kick later and Matt was
dangling upside down, one of the tentacles having caught him mid-attack, snatching his ankle
with the claw attached at the end of it, before hurling him away, right into a cluster of cars.
And Matt couldn’t do anything but curl up and protect his head, before the impact knocked
all the air out of his lungs. It all happened so fast, giving him no time to react, so the only
thing he could do was minimize the damage.

Matt lay there, motionless and groaning, while buried under car parts, trying to regain his
breath, feeling every bone in his body. But he couldn’t afford to take a break, couldn’t afford
to waste precious time. His ears picked up on Tentacle Guy again. He was approaching the
familiar staccato of Peter’s heartbeat and there was nothing Matt could do to stop him this
time. He could barely move, his body protesting each little shift—muscles, bones, and nerves
screaming at him to stay still.

But Matt was nothing if not stubborn, so he pushed himself, ignoring the pain flaring up all
over his body, like a thousand swords slicing through his flesh, as he shuffled out from under
the car parts that had fallen on top of him. His only thought was to get to Peter, who was,
from what Matt could hear, in dire need of help.

The sound of a body hitting concrete, underlined by mechanical whirring and teenage moans
of pain, spurred Matt on even more. He willed his beaten and broken body to move, willed
himself to crawl out of the debris, even though he was hurting all over. He couldn’t let Peter
get hurt even more—and if it killed him. He had a responsibility to the kid and by God, he
would do anything in his power to protect him. So when he heard the unmistakable whoosh
of a mechanical arm aiming right at Peter’s chest, his heart stopped.

“No!” Finally he managed the strength to drag himself out of the rubble, getting to his feet in
an instant, ignoring the flares of pain wrecking his body as he ran over to the struggling duo.

“Suit compromised.” That was the voice of Peter’s suit if Matt wasn’t mistaken. And he
didn’t like what it was saying.

“Nanotechnology. Ah, you’ve outdone yourself, Peter,” Tentacle Guy said, seconds before
Matt put all his strength into tackling him off of Peter—which worked, to Matt’s complete
surprise. He had expected to be grabbed by one of the tentacles again, but nothing like that
happened. Instead the man stumbled under Matt’s force and both of them crashed to the
ground.

Ignoring the pain shooting through his back and ribs from the tumble he took—one, two,
three cracked ribs, his senses supplied—he immediately started punching the man, aiming at
his head in the hopes of knocking him out. Matt didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait for a chance for
Tentacle Guy to strike back. But he was weirdly unresponsive, trying to shield his head with
his arms and hands, but not using his mechanical arms. Not that Matt was complaining, but
he thought it was odd.

“Mr. Daredevil, stop!” Peter suddenly shouted, dragging him off of the man by his shoulders,
which made another pang of pain shoot through Matt, all the way down his spine. He had to
grit his teeth so he didn’t make a sound, but, damn, it was close. “He can’t do anything
anymore! I’ve got it under control.”

Matt was breathing hard. He cocked his head in the hopes of being able to determine what
had happened to negate the threat, but he came up empty. “What?” he asked instead, voice
rough, turning towards Peter to pretend he was looking at him.

“Uhh … he absorbed some of the nanites of my suit into his tentacles, but the nanites are still
connected to my suit’s system, so I control them now,” Peter explained awkwardly, but Matt,
even if not very tech savvy, understood what he was trying to say. “I can restrain him now
with his own tentacles, so … he is not a threat anymore.” Peter shrugged.

Matt let out a deep breath, shoulders sagging, whole body aching. “Good,” he said and licked
his lips, still not completely at ease, but getting there. Stark may have been a lot of things, but
his tech was immaculate. For the most part. Matt trusted it enough to relax at least a bit
around the now seemingly harmless threat.

There was the faint sound of whirring mechanics as Peter commanded the tentacles to wrap
around and restrain the man, who was wiggling and trying to free himself to no avail.

“You don’t listen to him, you listen to me!” Tentacle Guy shouted and Matt thought that he
might be losing his mind. Talking to his mechanical arms as if they were sentient? That was a
new one. And of course the tentacles didn’t react to his enraged shouting—not even when he
tried a second time, “Hey—Hey! Listen to me! No, not him, me!”

At this point Matt decided to ignore the shouting, but he still kept an ear on the man, in case
he managed to free himself somehow. Matt wasn’t overly concerned about that, though, so he
walked over to Peter, who was standing by the woman, who was visibly shaken—even more
so to Matt’s attuned senses, with her heart beating way too fast, sweat on her skin, and hands
trembling.

“Ma’am, are you okay? Come on, you could still make your flight,” Peter said, Spider-Man
suit retracted again, the sound of fabric on skin catching Matt’s attention.

But she didn’t even really react to Peter’s words, who was now fidgeting, visibly
uncomfortable. She just said with awe evident in her voice, “Peter … you’re a hero.”
Matt, who had now reached the duo and was standing next to Peter, had to agree. The kid
really was a hero. Still learning, still a bit too idealistic, but a hero nonetheless. A small,
secret smile played over Matt’s lips, before he schooled his face a split-second later.

“No, well, I’m—No. I’m—” Peter stammered in reply to her praise and Matt chuckled on the
inside at the obvious discomfort, mixed with embarrassment. The kid wasn’t used to praise
and he sure as hell wasn’t used to plain gratitude when the people knew him as Peter Parker
rather than just Spider-Man. The antagonistic behavior towards him in the last couple of
weeks had left its mark.

But it seemed like the woman wasn’t having any of it, interrupting Peter’s stuttering, “I’m
gonna talk to Admission about your friends. And I’m gonna talk to them about you.” Ah, so
she really was an MIT representative. Matt was pleased to at least know the identity of one of
the, to him, unknown people on the scene. Tentacle Guy would come later.

“No, but, ma’am, this isn’t about me,” Peter protested immediately and Matt’s heart broke all
over again for him. Putting himself last all the time—it reminded Matt of himself and he
knew how much it hurt. Peter shouldn’t have to do this. The kid deserved the world.

But Matt also knew he couldn’t say anything right now, had to keep quiet, lest he
compromised his own secret identity. So he kept his mouth shut and kept listening to the
conversation going on between Peter and the woman. Which was less of a conversation and
more her steamrolling the kid for his own good.

She reiterated, “I am going to talk to them about your friends and you. Okay?”

“Really?” Peter sounded so hopeful and Matt wanted nothing more than to place a hand on
his shoulder in reassurance and say that he deserved to be happy, that he deserved to be given
a chance as well. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. It had been a long time since he had to show so
much restraint and it hurt. Instead he vowed to himself that he would treat Peter to his
favorite takeout tonight. The kid deserved a treat.

“And if you keep your noses clean, maybe you’ll have a fair shot,” she finished and
straightened up, clearly done with the conversation.

Peter just stood there, speechless, while Matt felt a warmth in his chest regarding the woman,
who was now stalking over to Tentacle Guy, who was still struggling in the hold of his own
mechanical arms. Matt and Peter made the decision to follow her, just in case the guy
managed to break free and cause chaos again.

“Hey! You! I see you. Come here!” the MIT representative yelled, marching up to Tentacle
Guy and putting her finger in his face. “That was not okay! Unbelievable!”

And with that she stormed off—not that Tentacle Guy had paid her any mind, still occupied
by his attempts to free himself, which seemed more than futile. Matt lifted an eyebrow under
his mask at the pitiful display, which was accentuated by labored grunts and the sound of a
wriggling body in restraints.
“Hey! Hey, hey, hey—until you stop trying to kill me,” Peter walked up to the man and lifted
his jacket away from his body, pointing at something that seemed to be hidden inside. If Matt
had to guess, it had something to do with his nanite suit, the humming of electronics like the
buzz of a mosquito in his ear. He seemed to be right as Peter kept on saying, “I’m in control,
buddy. Of this whole tentacle situation you got going on here. Okay?! Now, who are you?
What is going—”

Matt would also very much like to know who the guy was—just so he could put a name on
him instead of referring to him as Tentacle Guy in his head—but Peter suddenly stopping in
his speech as if interrupted, had Matt on high alert again. His head swiveled around, trying to
take in his surroundings all at once. And he could beat himself up, having been too focused
on their current problem that he had ignored everything around him. Rookie mistake. What a
fucking idiot he had been!

There was no time to prepare as a sudden explosion set everything around him alight, his
senses shattering from the shockwave. It had caught him by surprise—which it shouldn’t
have, if he had just been more alert—blasting him away. He lost his orientation, didn’t know
where either Peter or Tentacle Guy were, everything jumbled and a mess in his head as Matt
was flung through the air, the detonation wrecking his hearing, beating his body, and making
him crash into the same pile of cars he had been smashed into earlier. There was nothing he
could do about it, his hearing busted, his sense of smell overwhelmed by blood and smoke
and fire, blood and gasoline on his tongue, and everything just being too much.

His back hit a car door, glass shards slicing through his suit’s weak spots, right into his flesh,
knocking all the air out of him. He could feel his cracked ribs breaking, could feel his beat up
body colliding with unyielding car parts and rough concrete. Nausea was swimming at the
top of his conscience, his whole body caught by vertigo, neither knowing up from down. It
was sensory overload, just ten times worse with his eardrums busted and his bones broken.

He wasn’t even able to protect his head, too slow to put up his hands. And his cowl could
only do so much in situations like this.

When his body finally came to a rest, rubble falling all around and on top of him, everything
went black.
 Chapter 7
Chapter Summary

Matt is hurt. Luckily he has people who care about him.

Chapter Notes

Aye! Still a relatively long wait, but at least not nearly a year, huh?

Anyway, this is more of a filler chapter and I completely blame Matt. He wasn't
supposed to be caught in the explosion, but here we are. So it's completely his fault that
I couldn't just drop him off at home and hop onto the next plot point of NWH.

Edit: I had to make some changes to this chapter as I fucked up the timeline in my head
and upon double checking I banged my head against the wall. It's only two quite minor
changes, which will be listed in the end notes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Don’t!” Matt rasped and managed just in time to grab the unfamiliar hands that were all
over his body and about to remove his mask. His muscles protested immediately, causing him
to suppress a groan as his whole body ached. At this very moment Matt thought if he never
had to feel an ounce of pain again in his life, it still wouldn’t be enough. Alas, as he was
Daredevil, there would be a lot more pain in his future, he wasn’t deluding himself. He just
wasn’t looking forward to it.

The person, whose hands were still in Matt’s iron grip, said something in response, but Matt
couldn’t hear them, his hearing shot to hell from the explosion earlier. They probably were
some kind of first responder, looking for anyone who had been caught in the crossfire of the
shit show that had gone down here. Matt recalled what had happened before he had passed
out—the fight against Tentacle Guy, the explosion … Not exactly his favorite memories.
Especially not with the painful reminders all over his body.

Matt shook his head and sat up, said body screaming bloody murder at him at the sudden
motion. He didn’t need the … paramedic? He smelled antiseptics, disinfectant, and a whole
slew of other health related things as soon as he got closer to the person trying to check on
him, so he was probably right on his money. Anyway, he didn’t need the paramedic to assess
the damage done to him. He knew perfectly well that he had a concussion, three broken ribs,
two cracked ones, a sprained ankle, and a fucked up wrist—probably sprained, too. On top of
that his back was aflame and he hoped that nothing was wrong with it, because he really
couldn’t deal with the implications that could arise from a serious back injury right now. Or
rather—not ever.

He also didn’t need anyone to tell him that neither Peter, nor Tentacle Guy (he needed to get
his real name somehow, this was getting ridiculous), nor whoever had caused the explosion
was still on the bridge. Peter wouldn’t have just left him there, so someone had probably
taken him away—and Matt hoped it hadn’t been Tentacle Guy—or he had had to leave in a
hurry for whatever reason. Both scenarios left a bitter taste in Matt’s mouth. Not that he
thought that Peter didn’t have the situation under control, but then there was the person who
had caused the explosion and Matt having been out for the count and all bets were off.

Matt licked his lips. He needed to find Peter. But he also needed to get himself fixed up first,
because right now? He was of no use. In his current state he wouldn’t be able to find Peter,
which was frustrating in itself. And normally Matt would push himself and do it anyway, but
with his hearing gone he was more likely to get hit by a car than to make it to Peter in time to
help him. If he even needed help—which Matt still didn’t know.

This sucked.

He ignored the frantic babbling from the person in front of him, breath hitting his
bloodstained face. And instead of staying put, which was most likely what the paramedic
wanted him to do, he let go of their hands and got up. It was staggering and slow, but he
managed to get to his feet without falling on his face or throwing up and he counted that as a
win. Damn it, he was nauseous—which was to be expected from a concussion, but it still
sucked.

“I’m fine,” he snapped when he was approached again, and started to walk away. Not his
proudest moment, but he didn’t have time for niceties right now. It was also still light out (the
late autumn sun was warming his itchy skin) and he was rather far away from Hell’s Kitchen,
so he should get going. People would talk enough about this weird behavior of the Devil of
Hell’s Kitchen—he didn’t need to add to that by giving them even more ammunition by
getting patched up in view of everyone.

Matt didn’t know how long he had been walking, keeping the sun on his right side and the
smell of the river on his left, following it further south, so he would at least get close to Hell’s
Kitchen. With his hearing being shot to hell he was disoriented, couldn’t even call Foggy or
Karen or anyone else to come and get him—not that he thought that his burner had survived
the fight and the explosion. But at least he would’ve been able to secure another phone and
get some help. As it was, though, he was out of luck.
He was truly and utterly fucked. And still dizzy and nauseous. He counted it as a win that he
didn’t empty his stomach onto the side of the street yet, though. Somebody would surely have
gotten that on video or would have taken a photo and it would be in the papers tomorrow.
Probably even in The Daily Bugle and Matt didn’t know what he would do to the person who
okayed it if this happened, considering what Peter was going through thanks to the Bugle
(and Beck, but if the Bugle hadn’t published—Matt was digressing). Maybe he would even
be tempted to give Jessica a call and let her handle it, if she was so inclined. Which was
always a gamble with her.

Matt sighed and kept going, walking unsteadily. He would know when he was close to Hell’s
Kitchen, the smell of his home unmistakable, even with his nose currently clogged by the
smell of smoke and ashes and blood. But until he was there, he still had a long way to go and
the sun was setting already. He could still keep the river on his left, but veering away from it
would leave him without a point of reference—he didn’t even know how many blocks he had
walked already and how many there were still to go. He should’ve started counting upon
leaving the bridge, but he had been and still was too out of it for that.

And then there were the people, walking behind and around him, passing him, throwing
looks his way like only New Yorkers could. New York never slept, and needing the river and
sun as orientation meant that he couldn’t stick to dark alleys most of the time. He could feel
the judgemental stares, could sense the whispers around him when people caught sight of
him. He had to be looking quite a mess or they would’ve just thought him a cosplayer or one
of the actors from Times Square. Not surprising, considering the fight he had been in.

Matt could still taste the coppery blood in his mouth, on his teeth, could feel it on his face,
running from his nose, could smell it on his clothes. He could also smell smoke and ashes
and everything else he associated with the damn explosion and his only saving grace was that
he could smell anything at all.

Yeah, no wonder people were spooked by him. He was probably looking like he came right
from a fight with the Punisher—and even Frank wouldn’t mess him up that badly and leave
him half-dead to fend for himself.

When the pain finally got too much, though, when the breathing got too hard, his broken ribs
moving and aching inside his body, his ankle protesting another step, Matt had to stop. He
wanted to keep walking, but he knew he would probably keel over if he tried. He needed a
break. So he leaned against a wall, hand propped up against his side, holding his smarting
ribs, his wrist protesting the movement. It was too much and he was tired and hurting and he
just wanted to sleep.

So he took the last of his strength, stumbled his way into the next alley, and slid down the
wall, sitting on the cold ground. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get up again once he sat
down, but he didn’t care right now. Couldn’t care. He just wanted to rest. And he wanted his
hearing back. He needed his hearing back!

Matt wanted to cry and scream in frustration, wanted to see if he could hear anything at all,
but he kept himself at bay. He suppressed the urge and took a deep breath instead, knowing
that anger and panic wouldn’t do him any good, wouldn’t help him at all. And he couldn’t let
his guard down, needed to assess his surroundings as well as he could. Couldn’t risk anyone
getting too close to him.

It was pure agony. And he didn’t know when it would end.

He was so tired. But he couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep. Instead he had to think about
ways to get back home without his hearing and with his other senses partially muted, his
uncooperative body refusing any more movement.

Think, Murdock! Matt told himself, gritting his teeth. He knew he couldn’t keep going like
this, but he also had no means of communication right now, his burner as busted as his
hearing, his fingers slipping over the cracked plastic in his pouch. Couldn’t even text anyone.
And walking? Well, that didn’t end so well for him, did it? With his bones hurting and his
muscles protesting and his whole body screaming at him that this day had been too much.

At this moment, right now, Matt felt his age.

Aren’t as young anymore, huh? No wonder Stick went for children, he thought and barked a
bitter laugh. Yeah, Stick and his child soldiers. What a fucking sick asshole he had been. And
still—sometimes Matt missed him. Even if it was fucked up. Stick had been a father figure to
him, even if not for a very long time. But the bond had been there—one-sided, but … Well.

Matt sighed and banned all the thoughts of Stick from his mind for now. Getting lost in
memories wouldn’t do him any good. Nor would wallowing in self-pity. He needed a
solution, and that solution was probably to get his ass up as soon as the sun set completely
and keep walking. He would mess up his ankle even more, but that was something he would
have to live with. It was just a sprain. A few additional days of pain and he would be alright
again. He would just meditate a bit more whenever May and Peter were out of the apartment.

Oh god, Peter, Matt thought and blinked. He had nearly forgotten about the kid. I need to find
him and make sure he is okay. If I’m this banged up, there’s no telling how he—

With a start he realized that someone had entered the alley, was dangerously close even. He
could smell them, feel the vibrations of their footsteps—two people.

Stupid! Matt chided himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Letting your guard down—that’s what
you didn’t want to do! Idiot!

In an instant he got to his feet, barely suppressing a groan from the pain shooting through his
body all at once. He couldn’t show weakness, didn’t know who was approaching him, didn’t
recog—

No! He knew the smell of the person who was now standing right in front of him. Her
perfume had been one of the first things he had memorized upon meeting her for the first
time. And he wanted to cry and laugh at the same time as a soft hand cupped his cheek,
caressing it gently. And there was air hitting his face as she was talking to him, the vibrations
of her voice palpable through her hand on his skin.
And now he did laugh, soft and measured as to not startle her, but still relieved. Matt leaned
into her hand, turned his head and kissed her palm, before he said, “Claire, I can’t hear you.”

She stopped talking, but her thumb kept stroking his cheek and he took comfort in the
gesture. But his legs threatened to buckle beneath him, so he leaned back against the alley
wall, making her follow him.

This prompted the other person to step closer as well, footfalls far heavier than Claire’s had
been, the vibrations reaching Matt’s very core. But as the other person came closer, he could
recognize their scent as well. Sure, they had only met briefly and had only worked together
for a few days, but still—

“Luke?” Matt said with a smile in his voice and reached out to put his hand on Luke’s arm,
jostling his own ribs in the process. He hissed and steadied his side with his other hand, his
wrist protesting with a twinge. Again his legs threatened to buckle, but this time strong hands
held him up.

Luke got him.

This coincidence of Claire and Luke finding him outside of Hell’s Kitchen in some dingy
alleyway … God had to be watching out for him. There was no other explanation. Matt
laughed and leaned against Luke, Claire’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him tethered to
reality.

“I got pretty busted up. Can’t hear, can barely smell anything, was in an explosion,” he
explained, voice raspy. “I can’t go home like this, either. Can you help me get to Karen or
Foggy?”

He didn’t expect an answer, just hoped they’d help him. And why shouldn’t they? Matt had
enough trust in them that he would put his life in their hands—well, he kind of did that just
now. He was so tired. In fact he was so exhausted that he was leaning completely on Luke
now, his feet barely touching the ground while the other man held him up.

And then Claire took off one of his gloves and took his hand in her own. Her touch was
always so sure, but also incredibly gentle, soft fingertips ghosting over his palm. It took him
a moment until he realized that she was writing something. So he concentrated, his drowsy
brain catching onto the single letters being written on his hand.

M–Y–H–O–M–E

“To your apartment?” Matt asked, not sure if he understood correctly. “Karen’s or Foggy’s
apartment would be fine. I could take some time to rest there.”

F–I–X–Y–O–U

Matt wanted to cry. He didn’t deserve her—not after everything he had put her through.
Claire had had every right to leave him back then, but she had come back. She always did.
She shouldn’t have—he was no good for her. And now she had Luke, even though it was
complicated between them from what he had heard. But Luke was bulletproof. She wouldn’t
have to worry about him as much.

Claire deserved the world. And Matt couldn’t give that to her. But maybe Luke could.

“Thank you,” he croaked and was about to leave it at that, but then one thing crossed his
mind. He just needed this one answer. “How did you find me?”

S–A–W–Y–O–U

F–O–L–L–O–W–E–D

Matt chuckled and sighed—and that was the moment his legs finally gave out.

Matt came to with his (mostly) naked body plastered on a very soft couch and his head
pounding like he had lost a boxing match with a red kangaroo. Not that he actually knew
what that felt like, nor was he inclined to find out, but he assumed it had to feel exactly like
this. And he didn’t like it. Lucky for him, he would probably never be in a situation where he
would have to actually fight against a red kangaroo.

Banning the thoughts about kangaroos from his mind, he was about to sit up when a soft,
familiar hand pushed him back down. It was a gentle, careful push, but he felt that little jolt
all the same, his body obviously beaten to shit. What he also felt were sutures and bandages
and he knew that Claire had patched him up to the best of her abilities—like she always did.

God, he didn’t deserve her.

“What’s the damage, doc?” he tried to joke, but it fell flat when he realized that his hearing
still wasn’t back. He hadn’t realized in the initial daze of waking up, but now the silence was
deafening.

The same hand that had pushed him back now took his and began to write, like Claire had
done back in that alleyway. Matt remembered it now.

H–E–A–R–I–N–G–G–O–N–E

“Yeah, I know that,” he replied, maybe a bit impatient. But could you blame him? Probably.
Matt took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. “Sorry.”

Claire brushed one hand through Matt’s hair, telling him that it was okay with that one, little
gesture, and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. It felt just like before. Before he had
pushed her away. Before she had left (and she had been so right to do so, but he would be
lying if he said he wanted her to keep staying away).
R–I–B–S–B–R–O–K–E–N–/–C–R–A–C–K–E–D

Matt nodded. And regretted it immediately as a sharp pain shot through his skull, making him
hiss in pain, his hands flying up to grab his head on instinct. And again there were Claire’s
hands. Always so soft and gentle, but determined nonetheless. She pried his hands away and
smoothed down his hair, before she continued to write on his palm.

S–P–R–A–I–N–E–D–A–N–K–L–E–/–W–R–I–S–T

“Yeah. I gathered as much,” Matt sighed and licked his lips. He tasted blood. He had hoped
that his wrist was only bruised, but no such luck for him.

C–O–N–C–U–S–S–I–O–N

Matt waited, but nothing else came. So, it was everything he had noticed himself. Well, at
least it wasn’t worse. The thing was, he could hide most of this from the Parkers—okay, not
the bruises and the stitched up wounds if they were anywhere not covered by his clothes, but
most of it. The problem occurred with his busted hearing. He assumed his eardrums were
done for and he didn’t know when they would be healed enough for him to hear again, even
with meditation, which was a problem. And he needed an explanation for that. It wasn’t like
he could just stay away and claim he was going on vacation or something like that (maybe he
should go on vacation—Foggy always said he needed to take some time for himself).

But then Claire tapped his palm again and he focused on her, before he could get lost in his
head even more. He turned his head towards her, showing her that he was paying attention.

Claired touched his ear with her finger, gave it a gentle tap, and then started writing in his
palm again.

N–O–B–L–O–O–D

T–E–M–P–O–R–A–R–Y

2–D–A–Y–S

M–A–Y–B–E

Matt wanted to cry. His eardrums weren’t busted? This was the best news that could have
happened to him right now.

“Are you sure? Two days and I will be able to hear again?” he croaked, his voice betraying
his emotions. He grabbed her hand in his, holding onto it, but she pried it away and started to
write again.

E–S–T–I–M–A–T–E

N–O–T–1–0–0–%–S–U–R–E

“That’s enough for me. Thank you,” Matt said, took her hand in his once more, brought it to
his lips, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. There was not much else he could do, with his
body hurting and his head being dizzy. But he had to ask one last question, “Do you know
what happened to Peter? Spider-Man? He was there with me.”

There was a moment of hesitation, before Claire started to write again.

D–O–N–T–K–N–O–W

S–O–R–R–Y

Matt nodded, his foggy mind having forgotten about the pain it caused him mere minutes
ago. He regretted it immediately and stopped moving abruptly, which only made things
worse, a groan slipping past his lips.

Claire caressed his head once more and then he felt soft lips against his forehead, her mouth
forming one word. And as much as he couldn’t hear it, could barely make out the movement
of her lips, he knew that she told him to sleep. And he was tired. So very tired.

So he closed his eyes and did as he was told.

Waking up again hours later had Matt confused about the time and where he was, until it
slowly filtered back in. He was at Claire’s. She had patched him up. The sun had been setting
when she and Luke had found him. He had broken and cracked ribs. A sprained wrist. A
sprained ankle. His hearing was bus—

He could make out the faintest of sounds. It wasn’t like he could actually hear something
specific, but … there was sound. Muffled and barely audible and he didn’t know what it was,
a low humming all that reached him. But it was progress. And far earlier than Claire had
expected. And for Matt to hear anything right now probably meant that the sound had to
come from inside Claire’s apartment, most certainly from the same room Matt was currently
in, and it had to have a decent volume.

“Claire?” Matt croaked, throat parched. He couldn’t hear his own voice clearly, couldn’t
make out the word he spoke, but the sound was there and it made his heart feel lighter. It at
least showed him that this wasn’t permanent. Regardless of what Claire had told him earlier
—the fear had been there.

Immediately there was a hand in his hair again, lifting his head up gently, before someone
pressed a glass to his mouth. Cold water hit his lips, running down his throat, giving him the
slightest bit of relief.

Matt drank slowly, not wanting to choke, but he emptied the whole glass in one go. He didn’t
even remember the last time he had had something to drink. But he knew it was high time
that he got some water into him.

“Thank you,” he said, licking his lips, before resting his head back onto the pillow someone
had so graciously placed there at some point.

Claire said something. Matt couldn’t make out the words, but he was sure she said
something. It wasn’t just the air moving around her mouth, but actual sounds that reached his
ears.

“I still can’t hear you,” he said, trying for a joking tone and failing miserably. “At least not
clearly. There’s sound, though. Should there be sound? Am I hallucinating? Is it the
concussion? Please don’t tell me it’s the concussion.”

Immediately Claire grabbed his hand and started to write again.

F–O–G–G–Y

“Foggy’s here?” Matt’s heart swelled in his chest as a different hand, one he knew just too
well, found its way to him, gripping his shoulder reassuringly. Foggy’s hand was warm and
secure and familiar, and Matt leaned into the touch. That Foggy was here, right now, did
more for Matt’s recovery than he would ever admit.

But the hand left its spot too soon, only to get ahold of Matt’s own and starting to write as
well.

I–D–I–O–T

I–W–A–S–W–O–R–R–I–E–D

“Sorry. Kid was in trouble, had to help him,” Matt explained and shot his best puppy eyes in
the direction of Foggy’s face. Or, rather, where he hoped Foggy’s face was. Having his senses
dulled like this sucked. “How is he anyway? Did he get back alright?”

Claire didn’t have answers for him earlier, his dizzy mind supplied, so asking Foggy was the
next step. He desperately needed to know if Peter was okay. He wouldn’t be able to calm
down before he knew for sure.

Foggy tapped his finger against Matt’s palm two, three times, before he started to write.

A–T–Y–O–U–R–S

F–I–N–E

W–O–R–R–I–E–D–A–B–O–U–T–D–D

“Oh,” Matt just said and felt the tiniest bit of guilt. The kid shouldn’t worry about him—Peter
had enough on his plate as it was. Matt licked his lips and said, “Thank you. I didn’t know
what happened after the explosion and after I passed out.”
Foggy squeezed his hand in understanding, before he gave it back to Claire, who started
writing again.

H–E–A–R–I–N–G–?

Matt licked his lips and tilted his head. It sounded like Foggy and Claire were talking to each
other, but frustratingly enough he couldn’t make out a single word that was spoken. He
frowned. “There’s sound, but it’s muffled and I can’t make out specifics. Can’t even hear
words. I know you two are talking to each other, but I don’t know what you’re saying.”

G–O–S–S–I–P

Matt snorted. “Liar.”

Y–O–U–S–T–A–Y

“I can’t. I should go ba—”

S–T–A–Y

“But—” Matt couldn’t finish his protest a second time, before someone (Foggy, it was Foggy,
the traitor) pinched his ear. “Hey!”

S–T–A–Y

4–A–M

G–O–H–O–M–E–L–A–T–E–R

Matt swallowed another protest and said, “Fine.” But not without pouting and doing his best
to sound like a petulant child. If they wanted to treat him like a child, he would act like one
and they would’ve no one else but themselves to blame.

And with that he took his hand back, dragged the very soft blanket Claire had tugged around
him up to his shoulders, mindful of his wrist, turned around and closed his eyes. He was sure
there were synchronized eyerolls and sighs behind his back, but he didn’t care. If they wanted
him to rest, they’d have to deal with his bad mood.

Matt knew that he needed to rest. He was exhausted beyond belief. But it just irked him that
they treated him like he couldn’t be trusted—that they had reason to do so from earlier
experiences was something he deliberately ignored.
The next and last time Matt woke up at Claire’s, he already felt better. According to Luke—
Claire was at work, and probably far too tired for her shift thanks to Matt (he did feel bad
about it)—it was 2 p.m. already. Which meant that Matt had been out for ten hours after his
nighttime rendezvous with Claire and Foggy. He wondered if he had dreamed up Foggy’s
visit, though.

“No, he was here. Was pretty worried, too, but he seems like the guy to always worry,” Luke
replied to his inquiry and Matt nodded, while nibbling on the sandwich Luke had gotten him
from the deli around the corner; ham and cheese, not Matt’s favorite but he wasn’t about to
complain.

It was a relief to be able to make out the words Luke was throwing at him, even though Matt
had to ask him to speak loud and clearly for the time being. He had woken up to sounds being
more clear and not as muffled anymore. He had been able to understand the words spoken on
the TV Luke had had running at that time, and he had heard very muffled sirens from outside
(and knew that they would usually hammer through his head at this distance, but he wasn’t
about to complain—he was just glad that his hearing was coming back as fast as it was).

All in all his hearing still wasn’t back completely yet, but he was getting there. The only
caveat was when he had tried to go to the bathroom by himself after waking up, the world
had tilted around him, his balance shot by not being used to being halfway deaf. Nothing bad
had happened, just him bumping into a drawer in the hallway, before Luke had helped him to
the bathroom to relieve himself—the last part without Luke’s help, he wasn’t an invalid,
thank you very much.

While he finished his sandwich, with Luke sitting next to him on the couch, Matt had to
admit that he had been lucky. It could’ve been much worse, his deaf spell after Frank had
shot him coming to mind. Or the time after Midland Circle—better not think about that (only
bad memories lurked there).

Now he only needed to think of an explanation for the Parkers—for where he had been
yesterday and how he had sustained several injuries and a partial hearing loss in that short
timespan. He thought about just going with an accident and telling them that he had had to
spend the night at the hospital, which was probably the route he had to go to avoid any
suspicion. Not that he liked it, but nothing else was coming to mind, short of telling the truth.

Matt sighed.

“You good, man?” Luke asked, and despite sitting right next to Matt his words still didn’t
sound right. But being able to hear this much already after such a short amount of time gave
Matt hope that this whole thing wouldn’t last too long.

He rubbed one hand over his face, before he replied, “Yeah. I just need to get home somehow.
Walking isn’t an option and I don’t have money on me—and neither do I have regular clothes
—”

“I’m calling Danny. He can drive you,” Luke interrupted him before Matt could go on a
tirade about his messy situation. Like if he knew if he didn’t shut Matt up now, he would
 have to endure a slowly building ramble about how much Matt didn’t have things under
control. Not that he was wrong, but Matt didn’t have to like it.

He also didn’t have to like Luke’s solution. It would mean asking for even more help and
Matt had taken up too many people’s time and energy already. He frowned. “That’s really not
nece—”

“Yeah, it is. Don’t worry about it, man. Danny is like an overeager puppy—he’ll be happy to
help you.”

And that was it, really. As much as Matt protested, neither Luke nor Danny would hear it.
And before he could make an even bigger fuss than he already did, Danny had come by with
fresh clothes, dropped him off at home, and even helped him up the stairs and right to his
door, refusing any invitation to come inside, citing his need to be back at the dojo to help
Colleen. He had also offered to drop off Matt’s Daredevil suit at Karen’s and Matt was just
too tired to protest.

He just had to accept it. Not that he was happy about it, but he vowed to make it up to Danny.
And to Luke. And especially to Claire. And he would have to spring for the good muffins
from the bakery on the corner of 9th Avenue and 47th Street for Foggy.

But for now he just wanted to sit down on his couch and not do anything for a while. Just rest
and recover and give his body and mind some time to calm down. God, he was hurting all
over.

But of course even this small wish wasn’t granted to him.

Chapter End Notes

The changes made to this chapter:

1. I changed Matt finally waking up from 4 p.m. to 2 p.m.

2. And I deleted the part with May at the end, where she asks Matt what happened,
'cause she shouldn't even be at the apartment.

I misremembered that all of the stuff in NWH happened in, like, two days or so. I
thought I had a whole additional day between the fight on the bridge and Peter trying to
cure the baddies. But. Uh. I didn't. So I had to adjust the timeline a bit, which lead to
these changes,
 Chapter 8
Chapter Summary

Matt needs a landline. Desperately.

Chapter Notes

Hello there!

So … As we've established, this fic is not following my orders anymore, so it got

derailed quite a bit. It was never planned that Matt would get hurt so badly in the bridge
fight. It was also never planned that he would lose his hearing. So I had to work around
that. I've also done about zero research into medical stuff, so none of this is accurate and
if you don't like it, there's a neat li'l x that will close this tab. You're welcome. The only
thing I looked up was the time it would take for a busted eardrum to heal. And as that
would take too long, Matt only had to deal with a temporary deafness spell. (I'm not
doing much research for my fics anyway, because it sucks the fun out of writing for me.
The only research I did was using this nifty neighborhood map of NYC the last few
chapters, because my small town European ass doesn't know shit.)

I'm kinda sorry that the last chapters focused on Matt so much, and this chapter isn't
much better. It was initially planned to cut it off at a later point, but that would've
probably ended with this chapter being, like, 12k words long or something like that. And
I'd rather turn that into two chapters—for my own sanity. But next chapter you'll get
some Peter and Matt found family action again, I promise!

Another thing: I had to edit two little things in the last chapter, 'cause I fucked up the
timeline. Yeah, this makes me probably more unhappy than you, but it is what it is. I
changed Matt finally waking up from 4 p.m. to 2 p.m. and I deleted the part with May at
the end, where she asks Matt what happened, 'cause she shouldn't even be at the
apartment. So. Oops? I'm sorry?

Okay, this was a lot. I don't blame anyone who didn't read this, lol. Enjoy this mess of a
chapter!

Matt just wanted to rest, maybe meditate a bit to give his battered body a healing boost. And
being all alone in his apartment for once should be the perfect opportunity to do so without
raising suspicion from May and Peter. Which was the whole problem, really, because May
and Peter weren’t there and Matt desperately wanted to know if they were alright.
Usually at least one of them would inform Matt about things that had happened (because he
still considered Peter his client and had assured him and May that he would stay their legal
counsel and, thus, needed to know what was going on; and because they considered each
other friends by now), like the fight on the bridge. Which Matt shouldn’t know of, except for
news coverage. Peter didn’t tend to contact Matt and only gave updates if they saw each other
in the evenings, but he had a habit of telling May, who would then call Matt or at least shoot
him a text (if Peter told her anything and if Peter even had the chance to tell her, which was a
thought that made Matt quite uneasy). Or she would have Happy message or call Matt,
because May could be a bit disorganized, while Happy was the complete opposite. It was
quite endearing. And gave Matt pause. Because, yes, someone should have told him
something.

And then he realized that he had left his phone at Karen’s when he had grabbed his suit.

“Idiot!” Matt scolded himself and rubbed a hand over his face, tired to the bone.

He should really go over to Karen’s apartment and get his things—he had inconvenienced her
enough already, she shouldn’t have to house anything else of his on top of his suit—which
would mean leaving his couch. Which would mean changing into other clothes and waving
down a cab. Which would mean he would have to drag his hurting body all the way out of his
apartment, over to Karen’s, and then back. Which would take a lot of time. And then he
didn’t even know if Karen was home and his key to her apartment, much like his phone, was,
well, still at Karen’s apartment. So he might not even get in.

It would be so much easier if he could just call her. But no, his burner was broken and his
private phone was at Karen’s.

Matt groaned in annoyance. He would have to do that, huh? Foggy had most certainly
informed Karen already, so she would probably come by tomorrow and drop off his things,
but that would be too late. So his only option was to really hop over to Karen’s apartment and
get his phone and clothes.

Or he could try and see if his hearing was back enough to locate Peter and May. Or at least
Peter. Matt was still concerned about him and his whereabouts, while he assumed that May
was simply at F.E.A.S.T., doing her thing, like every day at this time.

Rubbing a hand over his face again, Matt sighed. No time to waste. He had to at least try.
And if he failed, he could still get up and get into a cab to collect his phone. Not that he
wanted to, but he was too agitated and worried to wait until Karen might drop off his things.
He wasn’t even entirely sure if she would. It was just highly likely as she had done so in the
past.

This was all a mess.

Matt closed his eyes and leaned back, taking a deep breath that jostled his ribs in a terribly
unpleasant way. But he gritted his teeth and breathed through it, relaxing his body gradually
until he was basically melting into his couch. He turned his focus inward, let his senses float,
felt the city around him. And with the next breath he let it all go, his whole being tuning into
his hearing, tuning into the sounds of the city.
But as much as his hearing had improved since the explosion, he couldn’t, for the life of him,
hear further than his own apartment building. He could hear Mrs. Brown scolding her cat on
the other side of the building, could hear Timmy two stories down trying to persuade his
parents to let him stay up just a bit later today, so he could watch a movie he had been
looking forward to, could hear the pigeons on the roof … But not much further.

His hearing wasn’t back to perfect and Matt was angry at himself for hoping it would’ve
gone back to normal in about a day. Claire had said two days and had been surprised that it
had progressed so fast already. Matt should be grateful. But right now it was more than
inconvenient.

Because even if he went to Karen’s apartment and got his phone—if Peter was in trouble,
Matt wouldn’t be able to operate at full capacity to help him. He would probably be a liability
instead of the support he should be. It was frustrating.

Of course he could ask Danny or Luke—or maybe even Jessica for help (not Frank, never
Frank—Matt didn’t even know if he was currently in New York anyway), but this was really
not their problem. Besides, they weren’t that close. It was more of a “if we get caught up in
the same shitshow, we will work together” kind of thing between them. And Peter—and
whatever he was currently facing—wasn’t their shitshow. It was Matt’s. And he had taken up
enough time and resources from Luke and Danny (and Claire, oh god, Claire) already. Not
that they would mind helping him. Luke and Danny specifically would do so without giving
him a hard time. Jessica would help him, too, probably. After bitching about it for an hour
and a half and giving Matt a hard time for months to come. Frank … Matt didn’t want to
think about Frank. But he knew that Frank had a soft spot for kids and Peter was, by all
definition, still one. So he would help—Matt just wasn’t sure if he would like the kind of help
Frank would offer. That said, he still didn’t want to involve any of them.

No, this was his problem. And he had to find a solution by himself.

Matt took another deep breath, forcing his body to relax again, forcing his body to take focus
away from all the small and big pains (and the thoughts inside his head, which just wouldn’t
shut up) and turn it towards his senses. Again he let himself drift, let his body feel the city
around him; the Metro shaking the area beneath the concrete of the streets, the buzzing that
went through his body from millions of feet, the smells of a city that never slept, from the
deli around the corner to the hair salon four streets down, the taste of car exhaust that came
through one of his open windows, the squeaking of rats in the alley next to his apartment
building, the crying of a baby in the neighboring building—

Matt’s eyes shot open, his body jolting forward, breath getting stuck in his throat as his ears
screamed in pain from sudden internal pressure—and then—

Pop!

The pain was receding. No more pressure. Only the assault of the city’s music, hammering
into Matt’s ears like an excited heartbeat. Alive, alive, alive. From Timmy, who had finally
convinced his parents to let him watch the movie, to the couple listening to a true crime
podcast five blocks away. It was all humming and buzzing and alive. And Matt could hear it
all.
There were tears on his face as he leaned back and smiled.

Useful again, Murdock, Matt thought and closed his eyes again. Now let’s find Peter.

One last time Matt relaxed his body and focused all his senses outwards. But this time he had
the advantage of his full hearing, making it far easier to find his targets—especially if he
knew where to look. He didn’t exactly know where Peter was, but he had an inkling that May
was at F.E.A.S.T., so he decided to start there. Maybe Peter was with her after his spectacular
fight on the bridge? Maybe he was hurt and May had decided to keep an eye on him (after
she probably tried to reach Matt and couldn’t)? Not that Matt thought that Peter would be
thrilled by this, but May was a force of nature, so this was definitely a possibility.

So F.E.A.S.T. it was. And it didn’t take Matt long to shift his focus all over Manhattan and
towards Queens, his hearing not encompassing all of the burough, but going far enough to
catch F.E.A.S.T.

But as he kept his concentration on the building and its insides, he could make out neither
May nor Peter—maybe they weren’t talking right now, but even ten minutes later Matt hadn’t
heard a lick of them. Which would be very unusual if any of them were there, because both
of them were very chatty people. Sometimes it gnawed on Matt’s nerves when they didn’t
shut up in the evening, while he was trying to wind down after a long workday, but they were
both quick to catch on if they were being too much.

So when Matt couldn’t hear May or Peter, he shifted his focus to the other people mingling
around. And not even a minute later he caught one of the volunteers telling another that May
had taken one of the trucks earlier, together with Peter and a man none of them knew.

All of this sent Matt into a bit of panic, but he remained as calm as he could (on the outside—
on the inside he was panicking spectacularly), hoping that neither May nor Peter were in any
danger. At least he now knew that Peter was alive and at most minorly injured to be able to
run around and visit May at F.E.A.S.T. Matt envied the kid’s healing factor. That sure would
be useful, considering how banged up he usually got when he jumped right into things. Most
of the time he could power through the pain, but having a healing factor like Peter’s would
help immensely afterwards. But as it was, Matt had to resort to meditating, which took a lot
longer, especially for more serious injuries.

Like he had now. A twinge in his ribs reminded him rudely of the state his body was in and
that he should definitely fit some meditation into his schedule at one point. Probably sooner
rather than later. But as it was, he had more pressing matters to attend to than his body vying
for his attention.

Matt frowned. Yes, Peter was alive and, at least, mostly well—physically, to say, mentally
Matt was sure the kid needed a lot of therapy (if Foggy could hear Matt’s thoughts and
musings, he would say something akin to, “Pott, kettle, black, Matt.”)—but it still begged the
question who that man was who was with them. None of the volunteers seemed to know him,
so it was safe to say that the guy wasn’t working at the shelter in any capacity. From what
May had told him, everyone knew at least everyone else’s name there. So this was some
random man that both Peter and May trusted enough to take somewhere with them. Or at
least they hoped or knew that Peter could keep him under control should he turn out to be
someone dangerous.

But where did they go?

Matt was at a loss, but he couldn’t give up now. He raked his brain as to where else they
could’ve gone and came up empty.

Well. Mostly.

The place Peter had visited the day before came to mind. The building that had shut out all of
Matt’s senses so vehemently that he had had a short freak-out. What if Peter went back there?
He had called that Flash kid after coming out of the place, and he had followed the lady from
MIT to the bridge where they had fought Tentacle Guy, and he had succeeded in convincing
her to give him and his friends another chance. So maybe he really did go back to that place
to … well, inform someone about his accomplishment?

It didn’t make much sense, but it was at least a starting point. It wasn’t like Matt could go
through all of New York with a fine toothed comb to go and find Peter, who was, apparently,
more slippery than the goo stuff the neighborhood kids were making these days in their
parents’ kitchens and that Matt had unpleasantly and nonconsensually been exposed to once.
That hadn’t been a fun experience. It hadn’t come out of his suit jacket yet.

So the building in … Matt didn’t know which neighborhood it had been in. He knew it was a
bit south of Hell’s Kitchen—maybe around SoHo. Most certainly not in SoHo specifically,
but somewhere around there. Maybe Greenwich Village. Yes, that sounded more plausible.
And gave Matt a reference point as to where to focus.

He stretched his senses, going back from Queens and skirting over the island of Manhattan,
until he had moved in closer towards where he remembered Peter being the day prior. Before
Matt had gone on a wild goose chase after him. Which he didn’t want to repeat anytime soon,
thank you very much.

The location being closer to Hell’s Kitchen made all of this a bit easier on Matt. While he had
to navigate through nearly too much input by extending his senses so far that he could reach
Queens, it was laughably easy to focus on the area of the Village without getting distracted
and overwhelmed. Especially after he had been deprived of his full hearing for over a day.
Adjusting after a deaf spell like this was never a fun thing for him, but he didn’t have much
of a choice right now. So he dealt.

But the location being closer and, thus, easier to monitor, didn’t mean that Peter, May, and
their mysterious travel partner were actually there. So Matt honed in on the people, hoping to
catch a familiar heartbeat or voice—voice would be so much easier at this distance. So he
prayed that either May or Peter would start talking at one point—which still didn’t mean they
were in the Village at all, so even if they talked, if they weren’t in the Village, it wouldn’t
help Matt at—

“Happy?”
Matt grinned.

May seemed to be on the phone, because Matt couldn’t hear the other party. And he would
definitely recognize Happy’s voice.

“I have a request. Could Peter and I come by your place?” May asked and it sounded like she
was tapping on something with one finger. Like a nervous habit. It was distracting and Matt
wished she would stop, but no such luck for him. Why did this have to get harder instead of
easier with each little thing? He attributed it to his still adjusting hearing.

Focus! he scolded himself and trained his ears on the conversation instead of the incessant
taptaptap of May’s nail against … something. Really, how would he know what she was
tapping on? Just because he had enhanced senses didn’t mean he could identify everything by
sound.

It was probably the steering wheel. Yes, it was most likely the steering wheel if she was still
sitting in the truck. It made the most sense.

Matt shook himself out of his musings, angry that he did get distracted in the end. Again. But
he didn’t seem to have missed much, because May continued with, “Thank you. We just want
to give Matt some space—I think we have been crowding him.”

Okay, he needed to bring this up with May somehow. Because as much as he wanted to sleep
in a real bed again—he liked having her and Peter around. Yes, it made his life a bit more
difficult, but knowing them was worth it. They were good people and Matt liked their
company. Peter was bright and so, so good it hurt sometimes. And May was a genuinely kind
and fierce person and Matt had a lot of respect for her. And maybe—just maybe—these
feelings were reciprocated.

“No, no, you don’t need to come back to your apartment. We will be fine. Bye!” May hung up.
She had sounded a bit nervous there at the end, which Matt didn’t like one bit. It was hard to
discern from this distance, and he hadn’t been paying attention to her heartbeat (hadn’t been
paying as much attention as he should have at all), but he was quite certain that she had lied
to Happy about … wanting to give Matt space? Most likely she had lied about the reason as
to why she, Peter, and probably the unknown man wanted to go to Happy’s apartment.

Which begged the question as to where Peter and the man were, because they weren’t with
May, who, as Matt had concluded, was most likely still in the car. And this in turn made Matt
nervous.

And he had every right to be nervous as Peter emerged not even a minute later from the very
place Matt couldn’t follow him into with his senses. This building was giving him a headache
and he itched to check it out in person at one point, just to sate his curiosity as to why his
senses got cut off as soon as he tried to extend them to the insides of the place.

But that would have to wait as Peter wasn’t just accompanied by one man when leaving the
mysterious building, but five. And Matt had no idea who these people were—wait. One of
them sounded familiar and Matt jolted up from his couch, jostling his various injuries in the
process, as he realized that Tentacle Guy of all people was following Peter right to the truck
May was waiting in.

“I’m so sorry, we only have this truck. You will have to hold on to something while we drive,
but I promise it won’t take long,” Peter said and Matt heard him clear as day. “And then we
will find a way to cure you, send you back to your dimensions, and you will get another
chance.”

“That easy, huh?” one of Peter’s companions asked, sarcasm oozing out of his voice.

But Peter was … well, Peter, so he wasn’t deterred at all. Instead he was his chipper self (and
Matt was oh so grateful for that, because it meant that Peter was fine) and replied, “Yes. That
easy. C’mon now!”

Holding his smarting ribs and ignoring the pain in his wrist and ankle (and his head, oh god,
his head was pounding and not at all happy to be used that much right now), Matt slowly
sank back into the couch. Peter was with them by choice. Which didn’t calm Matt down one
bit. Because at least Tentacle Guy was still dangerous, even though it could have been a
misunderstanding on that bridge (who was he kidding? That guy had ripped up a whole
bridge, including cars and two vigilantes, with mechanical tentacles), but Matt wouldn’t even
bet a cold cup of coffee on this.

He should change into his Daredevil suit, which was compromisingly stored in a bag at his
feet and had to be out of his apartment before May and Peter came back, and hop over to
check on them. And usually he wouldn’t waste a second and do it, but his whole body was
screaming at him to rest (and so was Claire in his head—he really didn’t want to invoke her
wrath). But how could he, knowing that Peter and May were in potential danger? And
considering his hurting body—that danger wasn’t even potential anymore. It was very much
real. And if these other men were even half as capable as Tentacle Guy, Peter and May would
most likely be dead sooner rather than later.

Matt just couldn’t risk it.

And then there was the weird thing of Peter telling these men that he would send them back
to their dimensions—which Matt didn’t understand at all. Did that mean that they had come
here through some magic bullshit? That would tie in with the weird building that cut off
Matt’s senses. Magic had always been something he was not comfortable with—the Hand
and their resurrection magic having a lot to do with that. But it would explain, well,
everything.

But who could have done it? As far as Matt knew—and he didn’t know much regarding this
topic—Earth hadn’t seen many magic users. There were Thor and his brother Loki, but as far
as Matt knew none of them was on Earth right now. And then there was this Doctor Strange
fella, who he didn’t know anything about, except that he had been involved with defeating
Thanos somehow.

And then something tickled at Matt’s brain. Didn’t Doctor Strange live in Greenwich
Village? It was like Matt had heard about this at some point.
Which would explain the building keeping Matt out. And of course Peter would know Doctor
Strange! They had fought together against Thanos—in space!

Matt groaned. Yeah, it all made sense now. The building keeping his senses out, Peter talking
about other dimensions, the Tentacle Guy (and probably the others) suddenly popping up
without Matt having heard anything prior to their fight on the bridge …

This was above his pay grade.

And all of a sudden he canceled his plans to personally check out the building that had kept
out his senses. He would like to stay away from magic as far as possible, thank you very
much.

He still didn’t have a choice but to get involved. It wasn’t like Peter had any superhero help
since Stark had died—and the kid desperately needed someone more experienced. He was in
over his head, Matt was sure.

He just wasn’t sure if his body was ready for the inevitable fight that would come from this
mess. Because, if he was honest with himself, there was no way this would end without
anything going sideways. It just wasn’t how these things worked if the past decade had taught
him anything.

And Peter should know this! But he was also a teenager and needed guidance, which had
been ripped from him so cruelly.

Peter needed Tony Stark, not Matt Murdock.

Or maybe Peter just needed Daredevil.

The sound of May starting the truck and leaving the Village kicked Matt into gear. He
ignored the protests his body was throwing at him and shimmied out of the clothes Danny
had borrowed him, only to wrangle his mutilated body into his damaged Daredevil suit.

Matt paused. It was pretty banged up, but would still grant him more protection than his
black outfit (which, coincidentally, was also stored at Karen’s apartment, so it wasn’t like he
had much of a choice). It would have to do. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t need to do anything
at all, because for now he would simply follow May, Peter, and their merry band of misfits,
and listen to them. Maybe he was lucky and they would just go along with whatever Peter
was trying to do and then shuffle back into their … dimensions. Whatever that meant. If that
happened, they weren’t Matt’s problem anymore, because as far as he knew, other dimensions
weren’t exactly around the corner (hopefully).

And if shit did hit the fan, he would be there to intervene. Or at least help.

Matt wasn’t kidding himself. At least Tentacle Guy was way out of his league and that didn’t
give him much hope for the rest of the strangers Peter had gathered. If it came to a fight
between them, their chances were rather slim. Not exactly something he wanted to think
about.
And then there was whoever had caused the explosion on the bridge. It was possible that this
person was currently with Peter as well, but if not—well, that problem would have to wait.
Right now Matt’s only concern was to keep May and Peter out of trouble and alive. Which he
couldn’t exactly do from the safety of his home, so he should get going.

This whole situation gave him a bad feeling.

Matt put Danny’s clothes on the couch, folding them neatly, before heading to his roof access
door. Once outside he stopped, taking in the late afternoon bustle of his city, deep breaths
filling his lungs with the familiar smog and smells of Hell’s Kitchen. His body relaxed. This
was his element and he wouldn’t let some minor injuries get in the way. He had his hearing
back, his other senses worked like intended, and he was ready to help Peter with whatever
was going on.

He licked his lips and got going, leaping from one roof to another, following the sound of
May’s truck and the chatter inside.

But before he could get too far, he stopped. May was driving up north from the Village. And
she had asked Happy if they could go to his apartment—Matt didn’t know exactly where
Happy lived, but he knew it was somewhere in Queens. Which would be a very long walk.
Especially with his fucked up ankle.

Pondering his options for a few minutes, while keeping an ear on the truck, which was
making its way slowly through the Manhattan traffic, Matt came to the conclusion that he had
only one viable option. Calling Danny.

Sure, he could walk, but considering that he couldn’t ignore his body’s pains forever, this
seemed like a bad idea. And walking to Queens, which wasn’t exactly the smallest borough,
and then to Happy’s apartment once he knew where it was located, wasn’t very appealing. It
would also take far too long and anything could happen while he was still too far away to
help.

He could take a cab, but that would require him to go to Karen’s and get his wallet, which
wasn’t completely out of the question. But he didn’t like taking a cab as Daredevil. Too much
could go wrong—and they would be stuck in traffic, like May was right now (she was still
making good time, considering that everyone and their mothers were heading home from
work right now).

He could also take the Metro, but that would also either require him to get his wallet or cling
to the roof and hope he wouldn’t get shaken off. And the risk of hitting his head—again—
was quite high, even though there should be enough room for him to lie flat and make it
through the subway tunnels unharmed. Which was still not very appealing. Not to mention
delays during rush hour.

No, he would hop down to the street and ask in the deli around the corner to use the phone.
Luckily he had Danny’s number committed to memory, much like those of the other
vigilantes. Just in case. And the case seemed to be now. Sure, it would take a bit longer to
wait for Danny to pick him up, especially in the always terrible New York traffic, but it
would also mean that he had Danny as backup should anything go south. Yes, he didn’t want
to involve Danny and the others in his own problems (he had just thought about this not even
half an hour ago), but the horrifying feeling of something going wrong was getting stronger
with each second. Something just wasn’t right with these strangers and Matt would rather be
safe than sorry. Even if he would owe Danny a favor afterwards.

This was getting too complicated for his liking. Deep down he wanted to go back to the time
when his biggest problems were undead ninjas.

With a sigh he took the fire escape down to street level and walked around the corner to enter
the deli. As soon as he opened the door and stepped through, though, the voices inside fell
silent. It wasn’t like Matt could see the expressions of the people inside once he entered, but
he sure as hell could hear their stuttering heartbeats and the collective intake of breath upon
them laying their eyes on him. He knew he didn’t look too fresh right now, with his suit
singed from the explosion, but it was more his overall entering of the establishment that got
this reaction from his audience, considering the “Holy shit! It’s Daredevil!” someone
whisper-yelled that also reached his ears.

But he didn’t have the time to stop and be considerate. It wasn’t in the Devil’s nature to
coddle and be nice to the couple behind the counter and the three customers waiting for their
orders. Especially because he was in a bit of a hurry right now—and also not in the mood to
ruin the image of Daredevil being dark and unapproachable.

“I need to use your phone,” he said, voice low and calm, but urgent in his delivery.

As expected, nobody questioned him and the woman behind the counter waved him over and
pressed a phone into his hands immediately, telling him with a heavy southern accent to take
his time. And, also as expected, this particular phone still had keys to press, like so many
others in Hell’s Kitchen in little hole-in-the-walls like this. Matt didn’t know what he would
have done if they had given him a smartphone or anything else of that sort that only operated
with a screen. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

Alas, this phone had keys and it wasn’t hard at all to hit the right numbers and then the green
phone button after entering the number.

Please pick up, Danny, Matt thought, heart pounding in his throat as he listened to the dialing
tone. Come one, time is running out! Matt could hear that May was slowly approaching the
Queens Midtown Tunnel (smart choice—Queensboro Bridge would be packed by now) and
he would hate nothing more if something were to happen to her or Peter while he was waiting
for Danny to get his ass in gear—

“Rand.”

“Finally,” Matt sighed and turned away from the deli owners and their customers.

“Matt?” Danny asked haltingly, obviously not sure if he was correct in his assumption.

“Daredevil,” Matt replied pointedly. “I need you to pick me up.”

“I just dropped you off, dude! Why didn’t you tell me you needed to go somewhere other than
home?” Danny asked, his tone accusing. Even though Matt could very well be mistaken, as
Danny basically never sounded accusing. Well, there was a first time for everything and in
this case Matt couldn’t even blame him. Danny did drop him off not too long ago. The
annoyance was warranted.

He wanted to apologize, but was very well aware that everyone in the deli was currently
listening to his phone call—he was just glad that they couldn’t hear Danny through the
speaker. His secret identity would be toast if they could. He would have to have a coming to
Jesus conversation about this with Danny at one point to stop this from ever happening again
—who knew who was listening in on his phone call next time Danny dropped his secret
identity? But that wasn’t the reason why he didn’t want to apologize. He didn’t want to
apologize, because he didn’t want to give the people in the deli the wrong impression.
Daredevil wasn’t nice. And Daredevil didn’t apologize. It was bad enough that he had to ask
to use the phone. Maybe he should get a landline in his apartment.

Licking his lips he said, “I know. Plans changed. Can you pick me up? It’s urgent.”

There was a second of silence, and then a sigh. “Sure. Are you still at home?”

“No,” Matt said and rattled off the address of the deli. “I’ll wait on the sidewalk. You will see
me.”

And then he hung up, knowing that Danny would turn up as fast as he could. If any of them
was as vague as this, they usually knew that things were serious and that the other couldn’t
talk openly for some reason. So Matt just hoped that Danny would connect the dots and hurry
up.

He gave his thanks to the deli owners and left, waiting outside in the warm evening sun for
Danny to arrive. There were murmurs around him, wondering why the Devil of Hell’s
Kitchen was standing on the sidewalk in broad daylight, but he decided to ignore them. It
wasn’t important. It was not like his reputation would be in shambles because of this (he
would need to do a bit of rebuilding, though).

No, instead of listening to the chatter around him, he trained his ears on the F.E.A.S.T. truck
once again. It had now reached the Queens Midtown Tunnel, which was, apparently, as
packed as the Queensboro Bridge. Matt got to this conclusion, because May was cursing
behind the wheel, which, in turn, made Matt smirk. That woman could curse like a sailor and
didn’t have a filter in situations like this. Matt thought it was hilarious. Peter thought it was
shocking. It should really be the other way around, considering how painfully catholic Matt
was and how painfully teenager-y Peter was.

But maybe that was the reason they got along so well—they were just different enough to be
interesting to each other instead of pissing each other off. It was a fine line to walk, but they
managed it with a laugh and good humor. And this—this getting along with each other to the
point they had become friends in a very short amount of time—this was why Matt was so
concerned about the strangers in that truck. And what would happen once they were at
Happy’s apartment.
Matt didn’t want anything to happen to May and Peter. He didn’t. And he would do anything
in his power to keep them safe. Just like he did for Foggy and Karen. And Claire. And
everyone else who had wormed their way into his heart, despite his best efforts to shut
everyone out. He still didn’t know if he should be grateful that they were even more
thickheaded than he was. For now, he decided, he didn’t want to change a thing.

A car stopped in front of him, windows down, someone leaning out. “You asked for a ride?”

Matt smiled. “That was fast.”

“I was still around the neighborhood. It’s not like I dropped you off too long ago and the
traffic is insane,” Danny replied, while Matt got into the car with him. “I had to give Colleen
a quick call, though, or she would rip me a new one as soon as I came home after my detour.”

Matt snorted and buckled himself in. “I appreciate that you came back,” he said sincerely. “It
really is urgent. Or maybe it isn’t and I’m just paranoid. But I’d rather be wrong and do
something than be right and do nothing.”

“Makes sense,” Danny nodded and merged into the ongoing traffic, before closing the
window. “So, what happened?”

Matt sighed. He knew he owed Danny an explanation, but it was hard to put into words what
exactly was going on. He licked his lips and started with, “My hearing is back completely.”

“I figured as much, considering that you’re running around in your Daredevil suit in the
middle of the day.”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips again. “You know that Peter Parker—Spider-Man—and his aunt
live with me?”

Danny nodded and said, “Yes, Karen mentioned it to Castle, who told Jessica, who told Luke,
who told me. What about it?”

Matt frowned. He knew that this wouldn’t breach the confidentiality of their little group, but
he still didn’t like it that so many people became aware of the situation in such a short
amount of time. And also … “Frank is in New York? I haven’t seen him around.”

Danny hummed. “Came back, what? Two weeks ago? Listen, I’m not close to the guy and I
don’t care as long as he keeps away from me and my people. I only know that he ran into Jess
while she did her P.I. thing. It’s not like I asked for details.”

Matt still kept that frown in his face, but said, “Okay. Anyway, just don’t tell anyone. They’re
living with me, because people were harassing them while they were still living in their
apartment. This was the safer option.”

“Matt. We only share this stuff between us, so we know when to step in if you get in trouble.
Especially because you tend to keep it to yourself when shit hits the fan,” Danny replied. And
Matt could be wrong, but he thought that Danny sounded like he was smirking. The ass.
“And, apparently, you are in trouble now. With the whole bridge fight thing and you calling
me right now from a … Did you call me from that deli you were waiting in front of?”

“Yes,” Matt admitted, defeatedly.

“Why?” Danny asked.

“Because my burner didn’t survive the explosion on the bridge and my private phone is at
Karen’s apartment. This was faster,” Matt explained and wondered for the first time if it had
really been a smart idea to ask Danny for help.

Because Danny, right now, was turning into a smug asshole with his next words. “Oh, at
Karen’s apartment, huh? Did you two finally figure yourselves out?”

Matt groaned. “It’s not like that!”

“Of course it’s not.”

“It’s really not,” Matt reiterated. “I’m storing my Daredevil suit at Karen’s, while Peter and
his aunt live with me, so they don’t find out that I’m, well, Daredevil. And something
happened, so I went to Karen’s right from the office, to put on the suit, and I left my clothes
and my phone at her apartment. There’s nothing going on between us, we’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. Of course.”

“Fuck you, Danny.”

Danny laughed. At that point Matt decided to put him right under Frank on his favorite to
least favorite people list. Frank was very far down.

“Sorry, sorry,” Danny amended and waited to take a turn, before he continued, “So, what’s
the emergency?”

Right. They had derailed the conversation.

“Yes. Right,” Matt said. “Anyway, Peter and May—his aunt—are living with me. And that
makes me feel responsible for them.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah.” Matt was pondering on how to explain what happened, but considering that Danny,
of all people, was familiar with mysticism and magic, he went with the straightforward
approach and just hoped that he didn’t sound too looney. “I have been keeping an ear on
Peter since he started living with me—to make sure he is doing alright with everything going
on. But when I checked in on him after you dropped me off today, I heard some concerning
things. Namely that he and May are taking some strangers from other dimensions to … a
friend’s place. To help them. But one of those strangers is the guy we fought on that bridge
yesterday, so I’m obviously concerned for their safety.”

“That’s … a lot,” Danny admitted. “And you’re right, that is concerning.”

Matt nodded. “I know that this friend of theirs lives in Queens and it was just too far for me
to walk. And as my wallet, together with my phone and everyday clothes, is at Karen’s, I
could neither call a cab or use the Metro. You were my only other backup plan. And it’s
reassuring to have you with me should things go south.”

Danny nodded again. “Makes sense. So, what do you want me to do?”

“For now? Follow them. They just managed to cross the Queens Midtown Tunnel and I don’t
know where exactly they’ll be headed after that,” Matt said and sank into his seat a bit more.
May was just done cussing out a delivery boy who had cut her off with his bike and nearly
ended as roadkill.

“Okay. And after we caught up with them?”

“I don’t know,” Matt admitted quietly. “I will wait and listen in on them and only interfere if
anything happens. You’re free to stay or leave—I don’t want to keep you.”

Danny shook his head, his hair brushing against the seat as he took another turn. “Dude, I’m
not leaving you alone with interdimensional visitors. I don’t have any experience with other
dimensions, but this sounds dangerous. I’m staying.”

“Thank you.”
 Chapter 9
Chapter Summary

Matt is in pain. Peter is in more pain.

Chapter Notes

Hey, ain't I glad that I split this chapter and the last one in two? Because, look, this got
longer than expected, okay?

Anyway, I don't know why, but Danny somehow slipped into this, which wasn't planned.
So. He's here. And probably very OOC, because I've only watched the Netflix show and
forgotten a lot of that already. Sorry about that, I guess? He is being a good friend,
though, so … yay?

And I want y'all to know that the last scene in this chapter is the whole reason this fic
got written in the first place. I'm very proud of how it turned out!

It took a while, but Danny managed to follow May after she had left the tunnel—with the
help of Matt's directions, of course. It turned out that Happy lived in a condo right at the East
River, a place that Matt wouldn't even be able to afford in his wildest dreams (Foggy would
disagree and tell him that they just needed to do less pro-bono work and the money would
flow, but by now they would both feel uncomfortable abandoning their current client pool).
Besides, he wouldn't be able to appreciate the view anyway.

But Foggy would. And Matt would love for Foggy to live in a penthouse like that, but he also
knew that Foggy would never leave Hell’s Kitchen. There might’ve been a time in the past
when he would’ve pondered it, but that was long ago. It was a moot point to think about the
what ifs anyway.

Matt and Danny had stationed themselves about two blocks away on a rooftop. It was far
enough away, so Peter wouldn't spot them with his heightened senses, but close enough to
intervene, should the need arise (Matt hoped that there would be no need for them to step in).
It was also the closest building that allowed them to sneak up and onto the rooftop.

And now they were waiting, Matt’s ears trained on whatever was happening in Happy’s
apartment right now. Not that he understood any of the science talk that was going on
between Peter, Tentacle Guy (whose real name was, apparently, Doctor Otto Octavius, which
would be quite hilarious to Matt if the man wasn’t so dangerous), and someone named
Norman Osborn. None of the names rang a bell, and neither did the other people scuttling
around in Happy’s place.

It seemed like there were four people in the condo with Peter and May, and one who had
stayed behind in the truck. The one in the truck was the least of Matt’s problems right now, as
he was far enough away to not be an immediate cause for concern. But he was weird. When
he talked he had somewhat of a hiss to his voice, and there was a swooshing sound
accompanying his … behind. Like a tail (Matt knew exactly what dog tails sounded like
when they were wagging, and this was not the same but similar enough). Not to mention that
his heartbeat and whole physique was weird. Matt would rather not know any details.

The others were less weird in that sense, but caused Matt even more reason for concern. One
of them seemed to be made of electricity and could siphon it through his body, which was
fascinating, yet terrifying if one thought about it for too long. If he could just access all of the
power around them by tapping into a power outlet or something similar, that could be
catastrophic, and Matt would rather not have to deal with that. It would be above his pay
grade (everything he was dealing with right now was above his pay grade, but he ignored that
like an absolute professional) and he didn’t want to end up like roast chicken.

And then there was the guy, who was, seemingly, made out of sand. As weird as that
sounded, it was what Matt had gathered from their conversations. He also seemed like the
calmest out of the bunch. He didn’t want to be healed, he just wanted to go home. Matt
wondered why Peter wouldn’t just send him home if he wanted to go so badly, because from
what he had gathered throughout the evening—Peter had the means to do so. Matt didn’t
know how, but he assumed it had something to do with Doctor Strange (him being involved
in this made the most amount of sense to Matt, so he was sticking with this assumption), who
should really be here and help Peter.

Matt could feel himself getting irritated with the alleged superheroes in Peter’s life once
again. They all had failed and abandoned the kid when he had needed help the most. He
completely disregarded that he didn’t know for sure that Doctor Strange was involved, but for
now he was the only person Matt could direct his ire at. Well, apart from the strangers who
were with Peter and May right now. And all the Avengers who had dropped Peter like a hot
potato once Stark had died.

But at least the strangers seemed to behave themselves, as weird as it sounded. Max (the
electro guy) was still passive-aggressively antagonistic, Octavius was making his displeasure
verbally known, while, apparently, still being restrained by his own tentacles, courtesy to
Peter’s nano tech, Flint (the sand guy) was considerably calm and just waiting things out, and
Osborn was helping Peter develop some … cures. From the things that had been said by
Peter, Matt assumed that he was trying to de-power these people, which could be framed as
curing them, but they probably didn’t see it that way.

All of this was giving Matt a headache.

This was above his pay grade. This was so much above his pay grade. People like Doctor
Strange or any of the Avengers (if there were any left, really) should be here and deal with
this. Not Matt. And especially not Peter.
“Everything alright?” Danny asked and chucked a sandwich in Matt’s direction, which he
caught with ease. Danny had left the rooftop for a quick food run (“I need energy in case I
need to use the Iron Fist,” he had said and explained how concentrating his chi drained him)
and had come back with two sandwiches and a couple of water bottles for them. Matt wasn’t
exactly hungry, but he was grateful nonetheless, especially because he knew that his lack of
appetite was due to his ever-growing anxiety regarding the situation.

Matt unwrapped his sandwich, took a bite, swallowed, and said, “Peachy.” Maybe he was a
bit snippy right now, but he was stressed. Not that this was an excuse to treat Danny like shit
after he had driven Matt here, gotten him something to eat, and was staying to help. Matt
licked his lips, feeling awful for his reaction. “Sorry.”

Danny just shrugged, munching on his own sandwich, before he replied with his mouth full
of bread, “It’s fine, dude. You’re tense, I get it. This situation sucks.” He finally swallowed
and kept talking, “I just don’t understand why nobody else is helping Spider-Man. Isn’t he,
like, an Avenger? Shouldn’t there be other Avengers who can help him? Because I think all of
this is a bit out of our league, if you catch my drift.”

Bless Danny and his calm attitude.

Matt nodded. And sighed. “When was the last time you heard anything about the Avengers?
Since they defeated Thanos and Stark died, they haven’t been in the public eye much. Who
even is left? Stark is dead, and so is Romanoff. Rogers is allegedly dead as well. Barton is
retired from what I’ve heard, and Banner has vanished. Thor is off-world—not even in New
Asgard, he left Earth. And I lost track of everyone else who got involved with them.”

Danny swallowed the last of his sandwich before he replied, much to Matt’s relief—chewing
sounds were really not his favorite thing to listen to. “Warmachine? But I think he is back in
military stuff and not working on Avengers things. Then there was something about
Maximoff altering reality—I heard something about that, but it’s nothing the Iron Fist has to
deal with. That’s more the area of the Sorcerer Supreme.”

For a second Matt wanted to ask what the hell a Sorcerer Supreme was, but with everything
going on he decided he really didn’t want to know right now. Instead he just nodded along
and let Danny keep musing.

“There’s Sam Wilson, though. Isn’t he the new Captain America?” Danny asked but didn’t
wait for Matt to answer that question, before continuing, “I heard he worked with the Winter
Soldier.”

Right. Matt had heard about this and, of course, about Wilson becoming Captain America. It
had been a big thing and, from a legal point of view, everything surrounding this ordeal had
thrown people off guard. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had followed the case of the Flag Smashers
and the whole debate it had kicked off after the fact—of people being displaced by the Blip,
of people who didn’t have a home before being kicked to the streets after everyone came
back, instead of looking for a solution for everyone. It had been infuriatingly unfair and of
course Karen had taken to The Bulletin and written a scathing article, defending the cause of
the Flag Smashers. Meanwhile Matt and Foggy had put in more hours to help people get
adequate housing. It had been a hectic and long few weeks and the work still wasn’t done yet.
And Matt had no illusions that if he wasn’t busy with Peter right now, he would still work on
helping people secure housing.

Danny had been talking the whole time Matt had been caught up in his own head, zoning out.
He, most likely, had listed all the other heroes affiliated with the Avengers that should still be
out there, and Matt had completely ignored him. As well as he had neglected to keep
listening to Peter, May, and the four dangerous people, who were currently with them!

Matt cursed internally and trained his ears, once again, on Happy’s condo. But to his
immense relief nothing indicated anything going amiss. Peter was, apparently, attaching
something to Octavius against the man’s will at this very moment. And then he was getting a
bit panicked when Octavius fainted and didn’t react anymore—Matt could still hear the
man’s heartbeat, so at least he knew he wasn’t dead. Which showed itself a few moments
later by Octavius waking up again and … being a changed man. He even thanked Peter. Matt
blinked.

“Matt? You still with me?” Danny asked, while putting away an empty water bottle, ripping
Matt from his eavesdropping.

Matt grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, I zoned out and then panicked, so I listened to Peter again.”

Matt couldn’t see it, but he could definitely hear the pout when Danny said, “So you didn’t
hear anything else I said about the Avengers?”

“I zoned out around the Sam Wilson and Winter Soldier part,” Matt admitted and grabbed a
bottle himself to take a sip, his throat parched. “I appreciate that you kept going, but what I
was trying to say is—the Avengers aren’t here. And they should be. Peter shouldn’t be doing
this—and especially not alone. He is just a kid.”

There was a beat of silence, which was more than uncommon for Danny, before Matt felt a
hand being placed on his shoulder. Danny squeezed once, and then said, calmly, “But we are
here. And we are going to help him. You are going to help him—you have been helping him
the whole time. He doesn’t need the Avengers if he has such a good support system.”

Matt smiled. Leave it to Danny to be ever optimistic. “This could prove to be too much for
us, though,” Matt said quietly, cocking his head to get a better grip on what was going on in
Happy’s apartment. Peter had just given something to Max to depower him and was now
going back to whatever lab-like thing Happy kept at his place.

But Danny wouldn’t have his negativity, it seemed. “It could. It could also be that Peter just
needs a little help and we’re here to provide it. Seeing the worst in things won’t help us,
Matt.”

“Being prepared always helps,” Matt countered and emptied the bottle he had been playing
with for the past few minutes, before he put it away. “I fought one of them and I’m still beat
from it. They’re dangerous.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it. Listen, I can give Luke and Colleen a call and Luke
will probably call Jess. You can call Karen, so she can tell Frank to come, too. They can help,
but they’re no Avengers. If you have a direct line to whatever Avengers are still around, call
them, but we have to work with what we got,” Danny said, a bit more forceful than before.
Matt had to admit that he was right—he just didn’t like it.

With a sigh Matt nodded. “You’re right. I’m just worried.”

“And you have every right to be,” Danny replied immediately and squeezed his shoulder one
more time, before taking a step back and plopping his ass on the ground. “But there’s no
reason to worry over potentially catastrophic what ifs.”

Matt chuckled. “There’s always reason to worry.”

Danny groaned. “You’re terrible. Should I call Luke and Colleen?”

Matt shook his head and took the water bottle Danny was holding out to him. “No. It would
take them too long to get here anyway. And it’s bad enough that I got you involved. No need
to drag the others into this as well—especially not Frank. What were you even thinking
saying he should come, too?”

Danny shrugged and said, “He is useful to have around. You know him better than me,
though.”

“Fair enough. Let’s not involve Frank,” Matt replied and then went still.

Something was going on at the apartment. Matt cocked his head again, holding one hand up
to signal for Danny to stay silent, while he trained his ears on the situation at hand.

“May … RUN!” Peter yelled and Matt jumped up when a bout of crashes followed Peter’s
words.

“Danny, come!” Matt shouted and took off at once, right in the direction of the commotion
that had already left the confines of Happy’s condo. Matt didn’t wait for Danny nor did he
make sure Danny followed him as he jumped down the fire escape and ran towards the
apartment building at full speed, all while listening to the fight that had broken out between
Peter and the strangers.

In this very moment he cursed his decision to station their stakeout two blocks away—too far
away to intervene immediately to be precise. Even though his initial thought had been that
they were just close enough. Turned out he was wrong (he had been wrong too many times in
his life, but rarely has he cursed himself as much as he did now) and Peter couldn’t handle
these strangers a few minutes without Matt and Danny’s help (even though he had
superstrength and his webs and could stick to fucking anything, but that simply didn’t beat
numbers and experience).

Stupid! Matt chastised himself while running along the streets, skirting around people and
pushing others out of the way, ignoring the surprised shouts of strangers around him. Behind
him Danny’s feet were pounding on the asphalt in Matt’s ears, even though he was barely
touching the ground—Danny had so much control over his body that Matt shouldn’t be able
to hear him so clearly. But adrenaline and panic made his senses even more acute, tuning into
everything around him, absorbing the entirety of his surroundings like a black hole. And it
should catapult him straight into sensory overload, but his mind was only focused on Peter,
Peter, Peter, while his senses were all over the place. He had to get to the kid and May and he
had to do it now.

Meanwhile the fight was going on, glass shattering, floors caving in, May’s feet skidding
over the stairs, taking two at a time, Osborn laughing, the others fleeing, and Peter fighting,
fighting, fighting for his life.

And Matt was too slow, always too slow, his breath catching in his throat, air burning in his
lungs, muscles screaming in agony, as he rounded the corner towards the apartment building,
Danny right at his heels. They were nearly there, so close, it was all Matt could think about as
he started to run towards the building. But an earth shattering explosion stopped him in his
pace, knocked him and Danny off their feet, threw them to the ground.

His ears were ringing, explosions all around them, but the only thing on Matt’s mind was that
May and Peter were still in the building. He barely even noticed Osborn flying away on a
glider (didn’t care much about him right now, his mind repeating Peter, May, Peter, May,
Peter, May like a broken record), ignored the DODC S.W.A.T. teams arriving on the scene,
drawing their weapons. Because it wasn’t important, the bad guys were already gone and the
only people left—he hoped, he prayed, he felt tears stinging in his eyes—were May and Peter
and he had to get to them, had to save them, had to help them.

Matt was on his feet again, heart pounding in his throat, Danny by his side as they passed the
DODC teams. There was yelling, people shouting at them, a bullet flying past him, nearly
hitting him, but Matt didn’t care. The staccato heartbeat had left the building, had fled,
probably scared out of his mind, but another heartbeat was left. Weak and stuttering, and
Matt knew, he knew he had to hurry or it would be too late, so he kept ignoring the shouts
around him, ignored the gunfire, and just hoped Danny would deal with it.

With sweaty hands and tears in his eyes Matt scrambled over the rubble, adrenaline washing
away the pain of his injuries, following that weak, pathetic heartbeat, following the labored
breathing, following the scent of tears and blood. And when he finally reached her, reached
May’s beaten, abused body, he sank to his knees, his body trembling, his legs too weak to
carry his weight. It was like all the sounds around him got sucked away and only the rhythm
of May’s dying body reached him now, filling his whole being with dread.

A whole different pain took over his body, a sorrow he was too weak to carry.

Matt did the only thing he knew to do. He took May’s hand in his own, leaned forward, and
pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You can’t die. He—he needs you. Please. Please don’t die.
Please.” Tears were running down his face, sliding out from beneath his mask, dripping down
onto the dusty floor, leaving wet tracks in their wake.

May couldn’t hear him.

“Daredevil! Where are—Shit!” Danny came crashing through the rubble, stumbling to a stop
right next to Matt. He smelt of gunpowder and gasoline.
Matt didn’t lift his head, clutching May’s hand, while her breathing got slower and slower.
“She’s dying,” he choked and gripped her hand just a bit tighter. “I w—was too slow and now
she is dying. And P—Peter is out there, all alone, and he knows she will die and I don’t know
what to do, Danny. I don’t—”

“Shut up,” Danny interrupted him with a certainty in his voice that made Matt close his
mouth with a snap. “I can heal her, but you need to shut the fuck up and let me do my thing. I
can’t promise anything, but if you don’t think she’ll make it to a hospital, this will be our best
shot.”

Matt didn’t say anything, because, yes, he was sure May wouldn’t survive long enough for
any doctor to help her. So Danny was her only chance. There was a traitorous spark of hope
glimmering in his chest as he let go of May’s hand, staggered to his feet, and took a step
back, while Danny took up more space next to her.

Matt could hear Danny take a deep breath, air whistling along his teeth, filling his lungs,
slowing his heartbeat, going absolutely still. His eyelashes were brushing against each other
in the softest of whispers as he closed his eyes in concentration. And Matt didn’t make a
sound, was standing there, stone silent, not wanting to disturb him in whatever he was doing.
Whatever it would take to save her, to make sure she pulled through. Because, Matt was sure,
Peter wouldn’t survive losing another loved one. He had gone through too much already in
his short life and Matt’s heart ached for him.

Matt’s heart ached.

Oh God, please! Please let her live! She doesn’t deserve this. Thoughts were running through
his head like scared rabbits, leaving him dizzy and panicked. The last time he had felt this
much fear had been when Fisk had threatened to kill Foggy and Karen—and that had been
years ago, before the Blip, before the world had moved on without them for five years.
Before they all had to rebuild everything they had lost, because someone had decided to play
God.

But all of that was in the past and not important right now. The only important thing was May
slowly slipping away and Danny doing his best to save her.

The silence around them was deafening.

Which made Matt stop. “What happened to the DODC?” he asked, not really caring, but
itching deep down to know, so he could be prepared if they decided to ambush them.

“Let’s say I owe them some money for their cars and guns,” Danny said. “And now shut up, I
need to concentrate.”

Matt snapped his mouth shut and kept quiet. He didn’t want to be the reason May didn’t
make it. He didn’t want there to be any reason May wouldn’t make it, honestly. She deserved
to live life to its fullest—and she had barely even started yet. A vocal feminist, her in-laws
and husband dying, raising her not even blood-related nephew on her own … She didn’t have
it easy, but she had pulled through and made the best of it, and she was a genuinely good and
compassionate person, who didn’t take no shit from anyone. And Matt wanted her to be able
to keep living like that.

Once again Danny had fallen silent, redirecting all his willpower towards his own body,
exhibiting an inhuman amount of control. Matt could feel the energy around them crackling,
could feel the subtle change in the air, could feel the pull that came from Danny’s hand,
balled into a fist, ready to accumulate all the chi in his body in one small spot. And then all of
this fully controlled power was distributed into May’s body, right through her chest, Danny’s
hand pressing down, holding her convulsing form, while Matt had to will himself to keep
standing where he was, to not intervene. Because, in the end, him jumping in would be
infinitely worse than letting Danny just do his thing and letting May go through a whole
shitton of discomfort, which she probably wouldn’t even remember, considering that she was
unconscious.

It was still hard.

And Matt was standing there, praying to God, begging on his knees for a life that wasn’t his
own. Like he had done countless times before. Like he had done all his life. Like he had done
every night since he had donned the suit, when his city had screamed in pain and agony.
When he had barely had any hope left to give. When the situation had been dire. When
people had died. When Thanos had taken away everyone he had ever loved. But God had
been benevolent back then—had the Blip take Matt, too, so he wouldn’t be alone.

And now Matt was praying, begging again. This time for May. This time for someone he
knew, someone he was close to. He had rarely had to beg for the lives of people he knew, but
every time the sorrow of what could come had ripped right through him, had sunk its claws
right into his chest, scratching at his bleeding heart.

And so he prayed. Silent, hands folded, sinking to his knees and hoping God would hear him.

“Ma—Daredevil.”

Matt snapped to attention, his focus on Danny in an instant. He didn’t even have time to
finish his prayer.

“She will pull through. I promise,” Danny said, and he sounded so terribly tired. Exhaustion
was coloring every syllable coming out of his mouth as he formed the next words, “Go and
find Peter. I’ve got this. You can trust me.”

And wasn’t that always the problem with Matt? Trust was something that was incredibly hard
for him to extend to anyone but himself. It wasn’t like he didn’t believe people were capable
—he knew what Danny could do, had witnessed it before on several occasions, hell, had been
there when Danny had healed Jessica who had gotten fatally injured once—it was just …
Matt had trust issues. He knew that. And he knew he had to work on this. But now wasn’t the
time. He didn’t—May didn’t have time!

“Danny—” Matt choked, his throat closing on this one word, stopping him from talking. He
tried again, but his mouth kept moving without making a sound.
And Danny, tired to the bone, words slurring, but still awake, still here, kept saying, “It’s
gonna be fine. Go. I’ll deal with this. Go.”

And before Matt could overthink it any further, he got to his feet, having them carry him over
the rubble and out of the destroyed lobby of the apartment complex. He snuck through a hole
in the wall, on the side of the building, most certainly left there by the explosion they had
witnessed earlier.

It felt like that had been hours ago. In reality it had probably been ten minutes at most.
Maybe fifteen. Not more or the DODC would’ve reorganized themselves and arrested them
already.

Not important right now, Matt thought and kept walking, his legs heavy and uncooperative.
Nothing of his usual grace was left, only exhaustion and fear and the one single thing he had
left to do—find Peter. And so he made his way down the alley between the tall apartment
buildings, away from the chatter of the DODC, who were calling for backup, relaying that the
Iron Fist had demolished their entire squat. Danny would deal with it. Matt was sure Danny
would deal with it.

He couldn’t stay and see if he could help in any way—the most likely outcome would be that
he would get arrested, considering that the DODC had been cracking down on vigilantes and
superpowered individuals since Stark had died. Matt knew that they had been up Jess and
Luke’s asses, knew that they had approached Danny at one point (but money did a lot of
things—one being that it kept assholes away and at bay—and Danny had a lot of money),
knew that they had had a shootout with Frank, who had crashed through Matt’s roof access
door with three gunshot wounds and several lacerations, raiding Matt’s first aid kit. Matt had
called Claire and together they had patched Frank up and situated him on Matt’s couch for
the night. He had been gone before Matt had woken up in the morning.

The DODC couldn’t do much about the last of the Avengers, who were still under Nick
Fury’s or Colonel Rhodes’ protection, but they could crack down on the vigilantes running
around the city. And with Peter operating on his own and falling more into the vigilante than
Avengers category … Well, the DODC had latched onto him like they were bloodhounds and
he was their prey.

So Matt couldn’t stay. Danny would have more chances to get out of this relatively unscathed
if Matt wasn’t there and complicated things by wearing a mask. And May would survive.
They had an obligation to get her to a hospital. And Danny would be with her, he wouldn’t
leave her alone, would make sure someone trustworthy would be with her at all times, until
Matt would be done with helping Peter with everything that was going on.

Matt could trust Danny.

He could.

It was just … hard.

But that didn’t mean he could just give up and let his emotions get the better of him. He had
to find Peter and help him navigate this chaos. And he had to do it fast. Because right now he
didn’t know what exactly was going on, he only had a vague image of what had happened—
and Peter was out there, alone, maybe even hunted by those strangers from another
dimension (which still seemed so far-fetched for Matt, even with everything that had
happened in the past two decades). Matt had to go and look for him, calm him down,
detangle this shitshow.

He took a deep breath and let his feet carry him away from the apartment complex that now
lay smoking and in ashes behind him. Danny and May’s heartbeats (her heart was still
beating, she was still alive) got quieter and quieter with each step, even though Matt could
keep concentrating on them, keeping it up in his head, his senses enveloping those two
humans and their surroundings. But he had to shift his focus, had to find that fluttering
staccato heartbeat that had become so familiar to him. He couldn’t keep thinking about May
when he knew she would be fine—which he didn’t know about Peter.

As soon as he could, Matt climbed up onto a roof, making it easier for him to concentrate, to
get into a meditative state that let his senses float further, made them more accurate, let him
map the city like no one else could. He wouldn’t be able to do this down on street level, with
the hustling and bustling of humans and animals all around, distracting him from his goal. Up
here there was only the occasional bird that would fly by, but that was easy enough to ignore.

He sat down onto the cold concrete that covered the rooftop, legs crossed, hands loosely on
his knees, the unwelcome chill seeping through his suit and into his skin, making him shiver
in the evening air. Matt closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, until his heart was
calm and no longer jackrabbiting in his chest, ready to burst out of his ribcage. Until his
lungs were filling and emptying at a set pace. Until his whole body became a place of quiet
calmness, unmoving and at one with its surroundings.

Whenever Matt got into this meditative state, it was so much easier for him to pick out his
target. In this case a frightened teenager, who, luckily, wasn’t too far away from him.

Matt had stumbled upon Peter’s unique heartbeat in a matter of minutes. It was beating even
faster than usual, accompanied by sobs that wrecked the small body that kept this big heart
contained. It made Matt’s own heart hurt to hear Peter like this, like fire-hot needles were
stabbing away at it with each sob the teen let out. This was a kid who should have a happy
life—instead he had been bombarded with hardships beyond most people’s comprehension.

What did it feel like to have lost more at the age of seventeen than people in their sixties?
Matt could relate—to a certain point. But most people couldn’t. They would never
understand Peter, would never understand this scarred child who just needed someone to
make everything okay again.

Matt got to his feet, disturbingly calm, after he had made sure to locate the exact spot Peter
was in right now. To Matt’s relief he wasn’t moving at all, had sat down on a rooftop on the
other side of the East River. And if Matt wasn’t entirely mistaken, that rooftop was located in
Midtown—and not very high up. Of course he didn’t get an exact address, but he had an
inkling as to where Peter had run off to.

Matt just hoped that he was right about his hunch.

He climbed down from the rooftop that he had claimed for his search and made his way back
over to the Queens Midtown Tunnel, always careful to dodge anything DODC related (the
backup had arrived from what he could tell, but he had to trust that Danny would handle it).
And when he arrived at the tunnel, he managed to hitch a ride on a truck without the driver
noticing. Which was really all Matt could hope for, because he didn’t have time to explain
himself right now, especially not to a truck driver who might not want to help him out.

As soon as the truck had left the tunnel, Matt was off, swinging his way up onto rooftops
with the help of the wire in his billy clubs, to make his journey faster. His injuries, mostly his
wrist and ribs, made themselves known once again, after being shelved in the wake of his
worry for May. But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let the pain dictate his next moves. Not when
he was getting closer and closer to Peter, who wasn’t that far away now, who was still in the
same place, still crying, his heart still beating in his chest like it wanted to escape and run far
away to never return (but it was beating, and Peter was alive—but his heart was hurting and
in pain and it needed someone to make it whole again). Matt hadn’t stopped listening to Peter
since he had located him, had made sure to not get distracted—not this time—couldn’t afford
to get distracted. He had to get to Peter as fast as possible and make sure he was safe and
uninjured.

While Matt was making his way over the rooftops of Midtown, several other heartbeats
joined Peter in his solitary spot. Some of them seemed familiar, but Matt couldn’t pinpoint
who it was, until he heard their voices—Ned and Michelle. And two others, but Matt didn’t
know who they were, couldn’t tell, was sure he had never encountered them before. But their
heartbeats were similar to Peter’s, were jackrabbiting in two strong chests, far faster than any
normal human heartbeat had any right to be. Which told Matt that they were most likely
enhanced as well, their physique similar enough to Peter’s to exhibit the same rhythm, maybe
a bit slower, maybe a bit louder—which could be because of anything, really, but most likely
they were a few years older. Much like an adult’s heart rate was slower than a child’s. And
Matt had no reason to assume it would be different for people with Peter’s physique.

All of this didn’t make Matt any less nervous about their sudden appearance, though. Even
though they didn’t seem to be a threat right now, trying to calm Peter down, talking to him
like they knew what he was going through (Peter thought May was dead and, oh god, Matt
had to get to him fast and tell him that May was alive)—Matt didn’t know them. Matt also
hadn’t known the strangers Peter and May had taken to Happy’s place and getting entangled
with them had ended in an apartment complex getting blown up and May nearly dying. And
in this case Peter didn’t seem to know the new strangers, either. The kid and his friends—Ned
and Michelle had come to look for Peter with the new strangers (and Matt had the sudden
urge to give them a stranger danger talk, even though they were far too old to need one)—
simply didn’t seem to have any self-preservation instincts. Which was really hypocritical of
Matt to think, considering that he was launching himself from rooftops, only secured by the
wire of his billy clubs, with a sprained wrist and several cracked ribs—not to mention his
concussion. Yes, his body was in a less than ideal state for doing any moving, less fighting,
right now. And he was scolding Peter in his head for the bad decisions the kid had made
today and was still making.

At least Matt’s bad decisions only endangered himself and nobody else. Most of the time.
Oh, who was he kidding? He was as irresponsible as Peter more often than not.

You’re being quite unfair to the kid, he thought to himself and grit his teeth. Peter just wanted
to help. He just wanted to do the right thing—isn’t that what you tell Foggy every time he
brings up your bad decisions?

But Matt making bad decisions all the time didn’t negate the fact that these people could be
dangerous, that they could be about to attack Peter next. And this time Danny wasn’t with
him, couldn’t heal someone in a pinch. This time Matt could be too late. He didn’t want to
think about it, didn’t want to think about losing Peter—or Peter losing Ned or Michelle. It
hurt too much.

Matt … Matt wasn’t sure he would survive losing the kid.

He was getting very close now, most of his focus aimed at the conversation Peter was having
with the strangers, who were talking about people they had lost. They tried to show Peter that
he wasn’t alone, that they knew what he was going through (even though May was alive, but
Peter didn’t know that yet). And even before they mentioned Uncle Ben, Matt knew, with all
the talk about different dimensions before, that they had to be … Spider-Man. They were
both Peter Parker. Just … not his Peter Parker. They were the same person from a different
universe, who got sent here by accident, much like the other strangers.

All of this made Matt’s head hurt. And this time it wasn’t the concussion’s fault, he was sure.

That said, just because these people were some form of Spider-Men, didn’t mean they were
good people. They could be trying to gain Peter’s trust and then stab him in the back. And
Matt couldn’t risk that, wouldn’t risk that.

With his heart beating in his throat and his whole body aching, Matt picked up his pace.

It only took him another few minutes (in which nothing happened to his immense relief) to
reach the Midtown School of Science and Technology. Matt was glad that his hunch had been
correct—Peter had taken refuge on the roof of his high school. And Ned and Michelle were
still with him, as were the other two Peters (Matt was reasonably certain that he was right
about the alternate Spider-Man versions, he wasn’t entirely sure, though, if they were also
named Peter Parker).

Matt flexed his hands, willing the slight tremble that had overtaken them away. If he was
about to comfort Peter, he wanted to appear as put together as possible.

May is alive, he told himself, and Peter is alive as well. They are both fine.

He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart, which was rivaling Peter’s at this point, the
calmness he had felt on the rooftop upon finding Peter gone already, and made his way over
to the front door. He tried to be as silent as possible, didn’t want to alert anyone to his
presence, just in case he needed the element of surprise on his side (luck was on his side,
though, as the group on the roof was still talking, not paying attention to their surroundings).
Licking his lips he walked up the steps to the door, tried the handle, and—had to take another
way up, because the door was locked. As it should be.
Matt decided that he didn’t have time to walk around the school to test other possible ways
in, even though he knew there were at least three other doors that could grant him entrance.
He would have to scale the wall, which was annoying, but not impossible. And probably way
faster than looking for a way up from inside—if he could get inside at all. His only concern
was that he would be noticed before he made it up there. It wasn’t like he had webshooters
like Peter did (and probably like the other Peters did as well, considering they had to have
gotten up to the roof somehow, with Ned and Michelle in tow), making it far easier to silently
swing up to high places. Meanwhile Matt was bound to either scale the wall by climbing it or
by using the wire in his billy clubs, which always made a certain amount of sound.

The thing was, that climbing could be too slow—if the strangers noticed him and decided to
attack Peter and his friends, Matt had to be able to get up there as quickly as possible. And
that simply couldn’t be done by climbing, especially if he needed all his limbs to stay
attached to the wall and couldn’t use a hand to get out his billy clubs in time to swing up. He
also wasn’t enhanced in a way that would allow him to just … somersault up there or
something similar—he didn’t have superstrength that allowed him to jump very high, and
neither could he stick to every surface on the planet. He also couldn’t fly. Flying would be so
useful in his night job. Alas, he couldn’t.

In the end, which was really only a few seconds later as he didn’t have much time, Matt
decided to use his billy clubs to swing all the way up. Yes, it wouldn’t be completely silent,
but it would be quick and he would still have a certain amount of surprise on his side.
Especially because they were still talking up there and probably not paying too much
attention to their surroundings (if they did, at least Peter would have noticed him by now—
Matt had been lurking around the school for too long already). Which was really damn stupid
if you asked Matt, considering what had happened to Peter not even an hour ago.

But he could also acknowledge that emotions were running high and that Peter was just a
teenager. A child. Too damn young. He was bound to make more mistakes in his life and
learn from them. The thing was, usually the stakes wouldn’t be as high as they were right
now, which was really what made Matt’s stomach churn. But now he was here to help Peter
avoid making more mistakes, would do his best to be there to guide him—if he had any say
in it. Matt wanted to be there to guide him.

He pulled his billy clubs out of their holster, where he had put them again after leaving his
rooftop route, and aimed for the railing he could sense surrounding the rooftop. He could
hear the wind whistling through the gaps, could make out the shape, even from the ground.
With a bit of concentration Matt would be able to wrap one of his billy clubs around the
railing and hoist himself up by the wire fast enough to reach the rooftop, before someone
could do anything about it. He just had to be clever about it and choose a spot that was far
enough away from the people up there, so they wouldn’t immediately attack him, but also not
too far away so they wouldn’t recognize him. The last thing he needed was Peter mistaking
him for an enemy and attacking him by mistake.

With a few steps Matt made his way around the corner of the building, placing him just far
enough away from the group once he landed on the rooftop. His nerves were rubbed raw at
this point and he didn’t want to waste another second before he could be close to Peter again,
to make sure he was alright, to tell him that May was alive and that he would help him deal
with everything that had happened.

He just needed to get up there first.

A well-aimed throw later and one of his billy clubs had wrapped around the railing. Matt
gripped the remaining one as hard as possible with his non-injured hand, before he pressed a
hidden button, resulting in him shooting up as the wire recoiled itself inside his weapon. The
momentum of his ascent helped him detangle his other billy club from the railing, before he
landed safely on the rooftop, weapons in his hands, now detached from each other, stance
ready to fight if necessary.

Five people turned towards him all at once, Peter (heart beating, beating, beating incredibly
fast in his chest, too fast to be healthy, faster than usual) stepping in front of Ned and
Michelle, getting into his typical fighting stance. The two strangers hopped down from their
perch on the tower of the school, right next to Peter, getting into a similar position, which
only manifested Matt’s assumption of them being Spider-Men from other universes. They
were all ready to defend the two non-powered people on the roof, were ready to fight Matt in
an instant.

But Matt didn’t want to fight them.

He forced himself to relax his stance, his shoulders slumping, billy clubs wandering back into
their holster, which could be a foolish move, but Matt was ready to take the risk. And all the
while they were watching him. He could feel their scrutinizing gazes in the few seconds it
took him to put his weapons away, could feel them studying him, could feel them judging the
situation.

Matt was about to raise his hands in a placating gesture, hoping none of them would web him
up (he still remembered the one time he and Peter had sparred at Fogwell’s and the kid had
webbed his hands, making Matt cry foul at the poor sportsmanship). But before he could take
a step towards them and say anything, Ned blurted out, “Daredevil?!”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“Who?” one of the other Peters asked, which hurt only a bit. Because who knew if the guy
had a Daredevil in his dimension?

He never got his answer, though, as Michelle had to be the smartass that she was and chimed
in with, “This isn’t Hell’s Kitchen. Did you get lost?” Her tone was incredibly dry. And if
Matt hadn’t gotten to know her over the past few weeks, he would be offended. But now he
knew that she was probably just nervous and overwhelmed and he couldn’t blame her. It was
a fucked up situation altogether.

Michelle didn’t get her answer, either. Not that Matt thought she genuinely wanted one.

“What—what are you doing here?! You shouldn’t be here!” Peter said and got into an upright
position again, abandoning his signature fighting stance, while simultaneously taking a step
towards Matt. “This—this isn’t your mess! I’m dealing with it. Go home! I dragged enough
people into this—I don’t want you to get hurt because of me!”

Peter knew Matt. He didn’t know Daredevil. At least not well. So it hit Matt even harder that
the kid cared about him so much that he wanted him to be safe.

The air was heavy with the salt of Peter’s tears. Matt could taste them on his tongue, could
feel the heaviness in Peter’s voice and heart. The kid was gesturing wildly, while trying to get
Matt to leave, his hands and arms disturbing the air around them, sending waves of gentle
gusts of wind into Matt’s direction.

“Go!” Peter yelled, finally, when Matt didn’t move, pushing forward, trying to crowd Matt
away. Like he wanted to shoo him away like some animal. “Enough people got hurt because
of me already, I—I don’t need you to get hurt, too! This is not your fight!”

Matt wanted to scream that this was his fight, because Peter was his family by now, and he
wouldn’t let him do this alone. But he didn’t, kept his mouth shut, pressing his lips together
in an effort to not let anything slip out.

More tears were streaming down Peter’s face now, distorting his voice, dropping to the
ground with soft splats. He was standing close to Matt now, only about two feet between
them, his whole body vibrating with suppressed emotions. Too much pain in such a small
body.

Matt yearned to touch him, to wrap him in his arms and tell him everything would be alright.

So he slowly, ever so slowly, raised his hands up to his head, making sure not to startle Peter
with any sudden movements, grabbed his mask on both sides, and lifted it, until it wasn’t
covering his face anymore. He then moved it into one hand, lowering it, until it was hanging
casually by his side. The cool night air was caressing his sweaty face, wafting through his
hair, which was in all amounts of disarray, stinging his eyes, still wet from the tears he had
cried for May, from the tears he was holding back for Peter.

Three people were holding their breaths.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt muttered, low enough that only Peter could hear him.

“Holy shit!” Ned whisper-yelled, but Matt ignored him, all his focus on Peter, who was
standing stock still, two feet away from Matt, mouth agape.

“I’m here to help, Peter,” Matt said further, the willpower it took him to keep his voice steady
nearly breaking him. “I’m here to—”

“M—Matt?” Peter’s voice cracked.

And before Matt could say anything, do anything, not even nod in acknowledgement, he had
an armful of crying teenager. He dropped his mask to the ground, arms wrapping around
Peter in a desperate hug that he needed as much as the kid sobbing into his chest. Small,
strong hands were holding onto Matt’s suit, digging into his back with inhuman strength, like
Peter was drowning at sea and Matt was his lifeline.

Holding Peter like this, pressing him against his chest, one hand in wet, messy hair, Matt
realized how small he was.

Just a kid. A kid in pain and in need of an adult to make the bad things go away.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Matt whispered, knowing they were empty platitudes, but
feeling the need to say them anyway. “It’s going to be alright.”

“No!” Peter sobbed, his voice distorted by his crying, and muffled by the fabric of Matt’s suit.
Tears and snot were flowing freely, but Matt didn’t care about that, only cared about the lithe
body in his arms, the trembling form that pressed against him in a desperate need of comfort.
“It’s not going to be o—okay! She’s d—dead, Matt! She’s dead and it’s all my f—fault! It’s
my fault—I—I wan—wanted to help them! I—I wanted to d—do the right thing! A—and
now May is dead because of me! It’s all m—my fault! I—I … Matt … May is dead. She—
she’s dead. I killed her!”
End Notes

If you wanna chat, you can find me on Tumblr as descaladumidera. *finger guns*

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