Chapter Text
"Matt."
Foggy rang the doorbell again.
"Matt!" he said again, this time louder.
Foggy rapped on the door twice again, then sighed.
It was Saturday morning, sure, but Matt wasn't one to sleep in late, and most importantly, he'd told Foggy specifically that he was free this morning so that they could work on an important court case together. The court hearing was next week.
Foggy wanted to smack Matt sometimes.
Often.
Very often.
Foggy set down his box of files and unzipped his bag, digging through it until he pulled out a ring of keys. He inserted one into the doorknob and turned, the door opening with a slight click.
Sure, he could've done that from the beginning, but Foggy preferred to ring and have Matt open for him rather than enter his friend's house uninvited.
He picked up his files again and walked in. The door shut behind him.
"Matt?" he repeated, a tinge of worry in his voice.
"Oh hey Foggy," Matt's voice greeted.
Foggy's initial relief at hearing his friend's voice was short-lived as he walked into the living room and took in the scene.
Matt lay face down on the floor, his Daredevil suit torn. Blood was smeared all over the floor around him.
Of fucking course.
"Oh my God," was the first thing Foggy blurted out.
Annoyance mixed with worry and frustration bubbled together.
"We were supposed to work on the Carston murder, dammit Matt," he snapped, dropping the box he’d been holding with a thud.
"Give me like, twenty minutes." Matt said, unmoving.
"Do I need to call Claire?" Foggy asked, a wave of worry rushing through him. Granted, the amount of blood on the floor wasn't as bad as other times he'd seen, but it was still alarming. Matt was well enough to talk, at least.
"You could've gotten on the couch at least," Foggy added disgruntledly.
"I would've just gotten blood on it," Matt replied.
"Buy a sheet of plastic to put on it or something to keep it clean, then. At least it's better than you passing out on the floor. Honestly Matt, do you care more about how clean your couch is than your own wellbeing?"
Matt muttered something under his breath Foggy couldn’t quite catch.
"No, I don't need Claire," he said. "Got here last night, did a quick assessment of my injuries and concluded I was going to be fine."
Foggy opened his mouth because he had words to say about that-
"Then the kid called me and my assessment skills idiotic, insisted on patching me up and then we both passed out," Matt continued.
Foggy closed his mouth.
"I'm sorry, am I missing something? The kid?? Who's the kid?" he asked.
"Hi," a voice chirped from behind him.
Foggy jumped.
A teenage boy was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. Concentrated as he had been on Matt, Foggy had completely missed him. He wore Matt's black hoodie, baggy gray sweatpants and was barefoot. His tousled brown hair was wet, like he'd just taken a shower. A box of Reese's Puffs and a carton of milk sat next to him. As Foggy stared at him incredulously, he brought a spoonful of cereal to his mouth, which Foggy could vaguely register had come from the bowl the teen held cradled with one arm.
"That's the kid," Matt called.
Foggy spun around.
"I figured," he snapped. "And who is he? What's he doing here?" he threw his hands in the air.
"Yea Red, you should introduce us," the teen agreed, pouring more cereal into his bowl.
"Alright," Matt’s voice was laden with sarcasm. "Foggy, Peter. Peter, Foggy. Boom. You're introduced."
The boy, Peter, raised a spoon in greeting. He seemed to be enjoying Foggy's confusion immensely.
Foggy was a mature and responsible adult and he was not going to smack Matt.
"Matthew Michael Murdock."
Peter snorted. "Your middle name is *Michael*? That makes your initials MMM? That's like Wade's, but upside down. Hey, we can call you M&Ms."
"Don't you dare."
Foggy would not consider himself a genius, but he wasn’t an idiot, either. Peter's use of the nickname Red. The kid’s complete nonchalance at Matt sprawled on the floor in full Daredevil costume.
"You're involved with all this." He gestured vaguely at Matt's suit.
"Yep," Peter grinned at him. He leaned forward on his elbows. "This seems fun, let's see how far you get. Like twenty questions or something."
"We are not playing twenty questions," Matt called.
Foggy ran his fingers through his hair. "So like, you're a vigilante too? Or just involved with them, like Claire?"
How did a teen get involved with vigilante justice anyway?
"Kid, just tell him." Matt told Peter. "I'm going to get enough shit for this without you dragging it out."
"Fine, I'm Spiderman," Peter said casually.
Foggy sat down on the couch, hard. He stared at Peter, comparing the kid with a mental image of Spiderman. Spiderman was a high school student.
Foggy's mind flashed to all the news he'd seen, the clips of Spiderman catching buses and getting shot, staggering away from crime scenes with bullet holes in his suit, records of him stopping rapes and taking out gangs, everything flooded back to him.
"He's a fucking kid ."
"I'm fifteen."
Foggy felt like he was going to pass out.
"Not helping, Parker," Matt told Peter.
"You - he's fifteen- how can you -"
"I was doing this long before Matt stepped in," Peter defended. "He's done nothing but help me."
"If I could stop the kid from doing what he does, I would." Matt told him. He'd finally gathered enough energy to sit up instead of just lying down, which was good, because this was a serious conversation to be had and Foggy could not do it with Matt lying on the floor looking like the victim in a crime series murder scene. Him sitting up wasn’t much better, but it was an improvement.
"Believe me, I've tried to get him to stop. But I can't. He's stubborn as fuck. The best I can do is make sure he gets the shit beat out of him as rarely as possible."
"It only happens like four times a week now."
"Still not helping kid."
Foggy could feel a headache developing. "Why- how did you even meet in the first place?"
He'd wanted to ask why Peter was doing this, at fifteen, but if there was any chance it was something like Matt's backstory, well, he'd rather not ask.
"I pushed him off a building."
"He pushed me off a building."
That did not help.
"I pushed him off a building," Peter clarified.
"Why?" asked Foggy.
"He crept up on me and I reacted on reflex." shrugged Peter. "Then I swung down to apologize and he punched me."
"Why." Foggy repeated, trying not to let any of the desperation creep into his voice.
"Reflex."
If there was anything Foggy was taking away from this it was that vigilantes' either had really good or really bad reflexes. He hadn't decided which of the two it was yet.
"So, after he punched me I apologized and he apologized for punching me and we went our separate ways. Then a few days later I met Wade when he kidnapped me for a hit and mid kidnapping Matt came in and yelled at Wade for kidnapping a kid." Peter continued. "Then Wade let me go and now we're all friends."
He upended the Reese's Puffs box over, looking disappointed when nothing came out.
"Matt, what other food do you have?"
"Peter, you better not eat everything in my fridge again."
"Scout’s honor."
Peter had reached the fridge and was currently making a sandwich with four different types of cheeses. Why did Matt have so much cheese? There were not the questions Foggy should be asking right now. Where had they been? First meetings. Throwing off buildings. Punching. Kidnappings. Wait, kidnappings?
"Who's Wade?"
"Deadpool." Peter had added tomatoes and a single leaf of lettuce to his sandwich.
"Parker, make me a sandwich too."
"Sure. You want a sandwich too?” Peter addressed Foggy.
Foggy did not want a sandwich. Foggy wanted to know what the hell was going on.
"Are you sure hanging around Deadpool is the best idea? He's, well, Deadpool."
Matt was one thing, Foggy knew his friend, and though he knew Matt did some shifty things at night, Foggy knew he would take care of the kid. Deadpool, on the other hand? A whole different story.
"I know." Peter replied. "But it's cool. We're friends."
Foggy looked at Matt pleadingly.
Matt laughed. "You should see them together, Fogs. Wade would do anything for Peter."
All right then. Foggy gave up trying to reason with them.
Matt peeled himself completely off the ground, finally , and headed to the bathroom.
Foggy looked at Peter, unsure what to say now that they were alone. There were three sandwiches on the counter. Was one supposed to be for Foggy? Was Peter going to eat them all? Only God knew how much a teenage vigilante with superpowers would need to eat.
"Do your parents know?" Foggy asked.
"They're dead."
Of course they were. Foggy could've smacked himself. Avoid the tragic backstory, he reminded himself.
He racked his brain for something to say. Honestly, what did a fifteen year old kid do these days?
"Um, so how's school?" he said tentatively.
Apparently that was the right thing to say, as Peter immediately brightened.
"Good! We had a decathlon race last week, and we won! There were people from so many colleges, even MIT came to watch us, but even though they probably only came because Mr. Stark was there, I think they looked impressed at how we did! Afterwards Mr. Stark told me I did good and that if MIT didn't take me he'd personally go there and make sure they changed their mind and I told him it wasn't necessary-"
The more Peter talked, the more he relaxed, and Foggy realized the kid had been ever so slightly tense ever since he had walked in. Foggy was probably the least threatening looking person ever, but revealing something like a secret identity, especially to a stranger must be intimidating, no matter who the person was.
Foggy wondered why Peter had decided to trust him with it.
He looked at the boy, chattering excitedly, his floppy brown hair and felt a pang in his chest, not for the first time.
Inwardly, he wondered how many other vigilantes were that young.
A few minutes later, Matt walked out of the bathroom wearing normal clothing, his dark hair wet and wringing a towel in his hands. He tossed the towel on the floor, rubbing it back and forwards with his foot, until all the bloodstains had disappeared. Satisfied, he picked it up, surveying the scene with amusement.
Foggy winced at the bruises on Matt's face.
"Peter, I need to work with Foggy, so if you could stop talking his ear off, that'd be great. Also, you need to go home."
Peter scowled.
"Your aunt's going to be worried."
Peter sighed, and walked towards the door, disappearing behind the wall. "I don't have any shoes,"
"There should be a pair of sneakers near the door. Take those." Matt told him.
"The black ones?"
"Do I look like I know?"
Peter reappeared, wearing too big black sneakers. Along with his oversized hoodie and sweatpants, he looked quite odd.
He rushed forward, giving Matt a hug. Matt hugged him back fondly.
"You should bring some of your spare clothing here, considering how often you stay here. I'm missing like four of my hoodies."
"They're nice hoodies," Peter mumbled into his shirt.
"Exactly why I want them back. Also, you've eaten about 600$ worth of my food."
"Sorry. I don't have money but I have a coupon for a taco if you want that." Peter said, staring up at Matt.
God, the kid was adorable.
Matt ruffled his hair affectionately. "You keep the coupon."
As Peter stepped back, Foggy cleared his throat. "Peter, if you ever need an attorney, for anything, anything at all, you can.." he let his sentence die off, unsure how to finish.
Peter smiled. "Got it, thanks."
He walked to the door, and, with a last backwards glance and a small wave, left.
Matt smirked at Foggy. "So?" he asked.
"So what?" Foggy replied.
"What do you think of him?"
"He's a good kid. He's really sweet." Foggy said.
"It only took, what, ten minutes? For him to get you completely wrapped around his little finger," Matt teased.
He crossed over to the counter and took a bite of the sandwich Peter had made him.
"You should talk," Foggy retorted. "From the way you act around each other, he might as well be your son."
Matt laughed. "You should see how protective Wade is. Stark too."
"Stark? As in, Tony Stark?" Peter did mention him quite a bit while they were talking, but Foggy hadn't realized they were that close.
"Oh yeah. He'd kill for Peter."
After having met him, Foggy could see why.
Goddamn.