Work Text:
It starts with the copier.
It breaks, as copiers are wont to do. Foggy has resorted to placing it on the ground, staring at it for a while, and then—finally—kicking it. Once. Twice.
When he gears up for a third, Matt decides it is high time to clear his throat. “Uh. Foggs?”
“Mhm?”
“Maybe… maybe you don’t want to—”
“Want to what? Break the copier? Matt, I hate to tell you this, buddy, but it’s already broken.”
“Break it worse. You probably… don’t want to do that.”
Foggy does a very childish, high-pitched parroting of Matt’s words before sighing and sitting on the edge of his desk. “That is the third time this week. If I have to ask Jason again to borrow his, he’s going to start charging me.”
“I can ask,” Matt offers.
Without seeing, Matt knows Foggy is giving him some kind of dubious look. Which is confirmed when Foggy says, “Just so we’re clear, my expression is extremely incredulous right now. Jason knows you’re my partner, and also—oh, yeah—that you’re—”
“Blind? Trust me, I’ve noticed.” He grins and sits back in his chair. “Besides, I copy things sometimes. Just… usually for other people.”
“And I have noticed that, thank you very much.”
“I can do it.”
“Stop trying to piss me off more, Matt.”
Matt holds up his hands in mock surrender.
Foggy sighs deeply and dramatically. He kicks the copier one more time.
Miraculously, it sputters to life.
Foggy and Matt both cheer.
***
The copier technically had a printer, but they bought it used with the knowledge that the printer itself didn’t work for… reasons Matt largely tuned out on. He didn’t understand how this could be the case when the function seemed so similar—maybe it couldn’t connect to… the Internet? Or something? Whatever. Regardless, it meant they had a separate printer (also used).
The printer breaks.
No number of kicks gets it working again.
Foggy muffle-screams into his arms at his desk.
Matt pats his back supportively.
***
Then Matt’s computer stops working, and all of Foggy’s attempts to reboot the screenreader fail miserably and completely. Matt, for the most part, is moping. He’d gotten a pretty nasty concussion last night, he’s pretty sure, and the ebb of frustration and building chaos from the confusion and ransackling of everything is, at best, a complete failure, and at worst, a total fucking mess. He’s miserable. He’d already bumped into the corner of his desk as he walked in, which meant Foggy was suspicious, and while the distraction of a broken computer could be helpful, he honestly just wanted to get on with his day and get some work done.
He can’t do that, really. And he doesn’t want to put the bulk of the work on Foggy and—God forbid—rest, so—
“Can we… call someone? To help?”
Matt must sound just pitiful enough that Foggy ends up agreeing. His strategy of finding someone to help leaves something to be desired—he’s walking outside and looking for ads posted on walls.
“It’ll demonstrate that whoever put the signs up has a working printer, Matty. It’s genius.”
Matt disagrees.
***
Thus… Peter Parker is brought to the office.
His heart is already racing wildly, and he’s tapping his fingers in one-two beats along the strap of his backpack, and Matt thinks, through the haze of his maybe-concussion, that this guy is… young? Earlier twenties at the most. Probably. Focusing on details is a little difficult right now. But rest is still a bad idea, in his humble opinion.
“Matty!” Foggy says, holding the door open, “Say hi to Peter Parker. Peter, meet my avocado at law, M—”
“Matthew Murdock, yeah, I— hi, sorry. Peter.” Peter holds his hand out to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”
Something’s… off. About that. Matt cocks his head, both his hands resting on top of his cane as he grins politely. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Oh, sorry—I’m holding out my hand. To shake. I’m…”
Foggy snorts.
Matt obligingly holds out his own hand to shake Peter’s. “You knew me?” he asks.
Peter’s heart jumps. His hand abruptly leaves, returning to his strap and continuing with that drumming pattern. “I— yeah. Kind of. Yes. I’m familiar with your… work. You’re a really good lawyer.” He huffs a small, awkward laugh, then drags a hand through his hair.
Matt hums. “Thanks, I think. What case did you follow?”
Peter freezes. Again, his heart jolts. “Anyway! Um, I heard there were computer problems. I wanted to help out, y’know. Like Mr. Nelson probably already told you.”
That was probably the shittiest redirect Matt had ever heard, and he’s a fucking lawyer.
It’s harmless, though. Or, rather, Matt’s pounding head isn’t giving a great case for Matt to try arguing the point. “Of course,” he says, tilting his head and grinning. “Right this w—”
“Are you bleeding? I mean— uh. It…” Peter brings a hand to the back of his own head, then back down again.
Matt blinks. Then sniffs the air as subtly as he can manage.
…Shit.
He adjusts his jacket a bit, hoping the stain of red from his side isn’t visible. “I’m alright. This way, Peter. Thanks for, uh, getting here on such short notice.”
Quiet enough for Matt to hear (though Matt consistently tells Foggy that, yes, he can speak even quieter—if Matt can hear subvocalizations, he can hear even the faintest whisper), Foggy says, “You said you were fine.”
“Huh? What was that?” Peter asks.
Foggy clears his throat very loudly, surprised.
Matt wants to roll his eyes. “Here,” he says, gesturing to the computer in a stiff motion. “Feel free to take a look.”
***
Peter ends up coming by again the next day to check up on Matt’s computer.
He also comes the next day when the copier breaks again.
“You guys have, like, the worst luck ever.” Peter’s hands are on his hips about two hours later as he examines his work. “Also, I fixed the printer. I just have to connect the application to your computers and test it, but it means, y’know. Working printer.” He pauses. “You did know your other one broke again, right?”
“I think I’m just going to throw it out the window,” Foggy says.
“There’s people walking on the sidewalk right now. Maybe wait for a lull in traffic, and then you can throw it,” Matt says.
“How… Whatever, one sec and I’m just gonna…” He hovers over one of the computers, clicking and typing, and Matt is fifty percent sure Peter’s sticking his tongue out while he works.
Foggy turns to Matt. He makes an indistinct humming noise.
Matt tilts his head side to side.
Foggy clicks his tongue.
Matt purses his lips. Then he shrugs.
Foggy gestures toward the door, the air whipping against his jacket, then to Karen’s desk, still abandoned since she left for the paper.
Matt sighs. Then he nods.
“Great,” says Foggy.
“Huh?” Peter says, whipping back to face him. Simultaneously, the copier prints a paper for the first time.
“Matt and I were wondering if you may be interested in a job.”
***
Nelson and Murdock gain an intern in one Peter Parker.
Foggy helps him with the paperwork, absently noticing how scant his history is. Foggy’s voice is easy, but Matt can taste the newfound uncertainty: hiring someone with almost no record of existing. There’s even a problem with his social security number, though Peter insists it’s true, and Matt—obviously—believes him. His senses are returning back to normal, enough that he’s noticing his own irregularities with Peter. Namely physical irregularities he didn’t know what to make of—a strange way of his tendons stretching, his muscles flexing disproportionately to what he handled, his heart’s resting rate too fast, a certain wary alertness about him.
Then there were the injuries.
Foggy brought them up first. “He has a— it’s an insane black eye, Matty. Like I— like after you’ve gotten into a fistfight with a horde of zombie ninjas.”
“That is not—”
“You know what I mean!”
He did. Matt could sense the rush of blood toward the area of bruises, not just on his face, but on his body. They never seemed… severe, exactly, and they went away quickly, but Matt still found himself paranoid and concerned. Paired with Peter’s other general oddities—ones that Matt is only picking up on now that his head is doing a bit better, less swimming and more precise—there’s cause for concern.
It’s weird. Matt feels oddly like they’re being mother hens. Peter is a whole adult, even if he sometimes has a naive, childish air about him (which, though Matt isn’t an expert, feels more like a defense mechanism than pure humor. Or maybe he’s projecting, constantly under the assumption that optimism was a lie and everyone who engaged with it was faking for their own benefit).
He pinches at the bridge of his nose as Foggy turns toward where Peter is in the other room, then turns back to Matt. “Well?” says Foggy.
Peter is currently working on Matt’s computer. Upgrading… something. So that he can take full advantage of the accessibility options, many of which Matt knew about but simply never bothered to set up. In part because he didn’t know how. But Peter does, and he’d said as much with plenty of enthusiasm.
“Obviously it’s no Stark tech, but it’s gotten better! Besides, Mr. Stark was more a lot better at making upgrades based on failures he personally perceived or knew about, and sometimes he forgot about accessibility options, so not all of his stuff was actually updated there to the degree it probably should have or that he could have done, but when he remembered, it’s suuuuper well done! It was one of the few like actual intern stuff I helped when I was— uh. Anyway never mind sorry super busy gotta work on this bye!”
Matt hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise. He stood there, blinking, distantly exhausted, especially as he heard Foggy fluttering nervously in his own office whispering, “Matt, Matt! Matt. Matt Matt Matt. Matt, we need to talk. I know you can hear me. Matthew Murdock.”
So Peter went to work. And Matt went to Foggy. And Foggy expressed concern about Peter’s well-being.
“Uh huh,” says Matt, blinking again.
“...Please, like. Clarify that for me, buddy.”
“How about you go get him some ice or something? If you’re worried, you can ask what happened.”
Foggy sputters. “You— that’s— Matt!” Then, more quietly, “Matt.”
Matt sighs. “I know. I… I’m worried, too. But I also don’t want to push his business if he doesn’t want to share. You know how he is. He doesn’t share, exactly.”
“Matt.”
This is very much a Matt-thing. Matt shrugging it off and saying “not my business” isn’t very Matt–like, given he’s king of having everyone else’s business also being his business, if by virtue of his magnified senses alone.
He sighs again. “I’m worried, too. Obviously.”
“Thank you. God, Matt. Was that so hard?”
“Yes. Now go get him an ice pack and ask what happened, so if he does answer, I can find out if he’s lying and potentially in trouble. Yeah?”
Foggy inhales, his mouth hanging open for a second before he finally says, “Ohhhh. Gotcha. Okay. Ice pack coming up.” He pats a stack of files. “If you need to look busy—or, y’know, want to actually get some work done while the computer is out—I printed some Braille files for you here. Potential cases, if you have any ideas. That kinda thing. I haven’t read through any of them yet, so sorry if there’s some bad ones. Anyway!”
Foggy darts off to get some ice, and Matt listens to Peter work for a long moment. He’s humming under his breath, bopping his head as he clicks and types, murmuring things about “light improv” and the sort, which… Matt won’t question. Peter will show him how everything works when he’s done, only forgetting that Matt is blind once or twice as he does so (despite the updates specifically being geared toward the fact that he absolutely is blind, Peter, yes).
Then he takes Foggy’s desk and begins obediently going through the files, reading through the cases and putting them in stacks and piles he’s mentally keeping track of, binning the ones that Nelson and Murdock absolutely will not be taking on.
Then Foggy returns with the ice pack, which he has wrapped in some kind of cloth.
“Hey, Peter,” Foggy says. “Got something for that black eye there.”
Peter’s heart rate jumps. Which is impressive, given his resting heart rate is always something insane. Matt is still a bit too head-fucky to get a good idea of Peter’s metabolic processes, but he’s starting to think those are fast, too. He shakes it off, continuing to listen.
“Huh? Oh! Yeah. I. You know how it is. Black eyes. Clumsy. Uh. Thanks. Ice?”
Foggy pauses for a moment. Then goes, “Yeah, uh. Here you go, man. What happened, anyway? That looks nasty?”
Peter flinches, though he’s unsurprised, it seems. He nods. “No biggie. Like I said. Clumsy. I’m always running into things. Ran into the wrong thing last night, apparently.”
None of it is… a lie, exactly. Which. Matt doesn’t know what to do with.
Foggy presses on. “The wrong… You know, I have a friend who frequently claimed to run into things, too. Black eyes, bruises, the whole shebang.”
Matt tries to hold back a flinch of his own.
“Turns out not all of it was clumsiness. Some other stuff going on, too.”
Peter shifts his footing. There’s a heavy, unspoken question in the air between them.
Then Peter shrugs. “Nothing interesting happening with me. I’m good. But I hope your friend is okay. Was somebody hurting them?”
“Something like that. And don’t worry about my friend.” He can hear Foggy’s encouraging smile. “Hopefully you can figure out some of that clumsiness of yours. We would hate to lose such a good intern.”
Peter laughs, thankfully, some of the anxiety pulling his muscles taut releasing. “Right, dude, of course. Thanks for the ice.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Almost immediately, Foggy is returning to join Matt. When the door closes— “Anything?”
Matt’s jaw tightens. “Well. He wasn’t lying about the clumsiness. But he was lying about the ‘nothing interesting’ part.”
“Shit,” says Foggy.
Matt’s not surprised. He can tell Foggy isn’t, either, even if he’s radiating a kind of disappointment entwined with that same worry and fear from earlier.
“It’ll be okay,” Matt soothes. “If he’s in any kind of trouble…”
It wouldn’t be surprising. Peter, by all accounts, appeared not to exist. Well, not once you looked too deeply into the information that was available about him—and he had been honest when he said he wouldn’t be able to provide any kinds of records on his previous employment, not that it mattered to Matt and Foggy—Foggy’s earlier nerves had even abated once they’d spent even more time with Peter.
Still, it could all mean he was running from something. Trying to hide. It had always been a possibility both Matt and Foggy were acutely aware of, but there was something intrinsically trustworthy about Peter. They couldn’t help themselves.
And now Peter is in trouble of some kind. Maybe. Probably. Potentially. Shit.
“If he is…?” Foggy leans forward.
Matt rolls his eyes. “I’ll check it out. Okay?”
Foggy relaxes, taking a long breath, “Thanks, Matt. Sorry, it’s just—”
“I know. It’s probably nothing. And if it isn’t… I’ll take it from there.”
***
All three of them end up staying late at work—Peter doing so in large part because he wanted to hang out, apparently—and he was starting to take up some of the things Karen used to do before she moved back to the Bulletin. It was strange, how starved Peter seemed for any kind of company, how gladly he took it.
And then they closed out the day, saying their goodbyes, Foggy cursing about how it was already dark out, then giving Matt a meaningful look both of them knew he couldn’t see.
So. When Peter left, Matt followed. At a distance, of course, and while making an effort to be as innocuous as he could, useless as it was.
And then, apparently, he got very suddenly popular, gaining a pair of tails of his own.
He resists the urge to curse, trying to decide how to approach this. Despite what he’d told Foggy before he knew about Daredevil, Matt didn’t get mugged as Matt very often. Some people had a regard of general humanity, and more than once now Matt and Foggy had discussed whether or not choosing not to mug Matt specifically because he was blind was ableism. It was a rather exhaustive discussion.
Apparently, this did not apply to these muggers, as they are continuing to approach Matt a bit faster.
Matt drops all focus he had on Peter and moves it to them. He could go to a quiet alleyway and take care of them himself. Quick work. But at the same time, he has to wonder just how much it is worth it when they maybe wanted the five dollars he currently has on his person and absolutely Nothing Else.
One of the muggers nudges the other.
Then there’s a third.
Who confirms that yes, that’s Murdock.
“Shit,” Matt hisses, instinctively picking up his pace. He can just lose them. Nobody knows the Kitchen like he does, and if he takes a left just ahead there are enough trash bins and boxes to scale the wall and pulley around the other side.
But, well. This is not just a random “hey here is a guy in a place we like mugging people! Let’s go and mug him” situation. It’s a “We are here specifically for Matt Murdock” situation.
Which could mean that there is another group out specifically for Foggy Nelson.
His heart is already jumping to his throat—but maybe Foggy is fine. Maybe they’re only after Matt even if this likely is a legal-related thing, and they just want to take out one and scare the other. It will be fine. Foggy is fine.
Still, Matt’s paranoia has him ducking to lean against a building, all of his senses focused on Foggy Foggy Foggy because he has to be sure that he’s—
Focus, shit, he needs to—
One of them grabs him by the throat, and Matt has the immediate impulse to break his elbow—
An impulse stopped short when he hears Peter say, “Hey, we got a problem here?”
He blinks, surprised, choking slightly, glasses knocked askew, cane on the ground and his hands up in preparation to flip his attacker on his ass while also breaking his arm. But now he isn’t. He freezes, confused because… all three of these guys’ hearts jump in momentary bursts of fear. Of… Peter?
Is Peter intimidating with a black eye? Is that it? It doesn’t make sense.
“This is the Devil’s territory, smartass,” one mugger says. “You’d best get out of here.”
Matt shifts in the chokehold, blinking hard, his footing shifting to better balance out his weight. He tries to say Peter’s name, but it comes out strangled, unrecognizable to his own ears. He wants to tell Peter to get out, that it’s fine, really, but obviously in his eyes it isn’t, and—
“I’m sure Daredevil doesn’t mind getting a tiiiiny bit of backup every now and then. So. Do we have a problem? Or are you going to let this nice man go?”
“Get lost, Spider-Man,” one of the other guys says, but Matt doesn’t sense anyone else near—
Oh.
Shit.
What. Fuck.
Matt wheezes, and then Peter—Spider-Man—is grabbing that guy and throwing him back before webbing him to the wall, then subsequently taking care of the other two as well.
“Mr. Murrrrr— uh, sir I don’t know, are you oka—”
“Foggy,” he breathes, pushing off the wall. “They— I don’t know if others are—”
Peter doesn’t hesitate. He’s immediately webbing off—webbing because he’s Spider-Man—and heading the direction Matt points without question. He moves fast, and he finds Foggy quickly—Foggy who is very surprised to see Spider-Man, who is then taken up by Spider-Man and—
For fuck’s sake, Peter.
—swinging Foggy out of any potential danger, depositing him a few blocks away, checking in on him in a gruff voice, then double-checking in a gruffer voice, then swinging his way back to Matt.
Matt has moved a little bit, but not far. His head is still reeling with the information, which he absolutely doesn’t know what to do with. Because this is Peter. Peter Parker, intern, guy showing up with bruises and—
Matt slides his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. Peter has to double back to find him, and when he does, he lands in front of him silently (well, silently to most people) and clears his throat.
Matt can hear Foggy sputtering gently to himself, take out his phone, say, “Wait you can probably hear me, Matt. I’m fine. Gonna drink, like, six beers, though,” before continuing on his way.
Matt wacks Peter in the knee with his cane. “Spider-Man?”
Peter goes to deepen his voice again with, “Yes, hello—”
“Stop it, Peter. I know that’s you. You’ve been Spider-Man this whole time?”
Peter freezes. Turns behind him, and there’s that tell-tale whoosh of fabric—a mask. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Matt goes to hit him again, and when Peter moves to dodge, Matt sticks out his opposite leg to trip him with his own momentum. Peter says, “Oh shi—” before catching himself with pinwheeling arms. “What the heck, man?”
Matt gets the distant impression that Peter is entertaining this. But he has no idea. “What the fuck, Peter?”
“Can you maybe not say that so loud?”
“There’s nobody within hearing distance in the block. I will be as loud as I want. You’re— Jesus. Is that why you’re covered in bruises?”
“...Foggy told you?”
Foggy didn’t have to tell him. “Of course he did. I…” He puts his glasses back on and sighs. “Right. Okay. You’re… Right.”
Peter shifts awkwardly, his heart hammering differently now, his head at a constant swivel as his weight goes from foot to foot, as one hand taps nervously at his side. “If you… I understand if you want to fire me. I just— but you… I know you tend to support vigilantes and that kinda thing to a degree, so I thought—”
“We aren’t firing you, Peter. Obviously not. We’re desperate as is.”
“Oh. Then… what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you are hurt. The problem is this is dangerous, and you— you’re young. You have a whole life ahead of you. You don’t—”
He can feel the moment Peter scoffs, shakes his head, resigns himself to something. It’s absent animosity—something distant and looming, breaching the surface of Peter’s psyche in a slow-moving wave. “We’re not doing that. I’m not doing this. Not with you, not now, not ever. I’ve already— I— I’ve lost everything I have to lose. This is it. If you're going to tell me to stop, please just… Please.”
Matt’s quiet for a long moment. Peter seems suddenly… exhausted. Like the world has thrown one too many punches, and he knows he’ll win the fight, knows he’ll still somehow lose.
It’s familiar.
Matt turns to the side, a muscle in his jaw feathering.
“I know you’re the friend Foggy was referring to, by the way. If you heard that. Really good lawyer ability. Like catching bricks backward. Or… from backward. From behind. I don’t— I know I’m not making sense. I just—”
“Jesus,” Matt says, if only to interrupt Peter’s litany of words. “I’m not… I won’t tell you to stop. I’m sorry. I…”
Peter drums another rhythm on his side. “Okay. That’s… um. You… did you know what I meant by the whole friend thing?”
Peter’s life is probably a constant misdirection, a circling around the point until everything is organized enough in his own system that he gets there. A system in his own mind that can’t be executed to the external world until it’s done, completed, stable enough for other people to consume and understand.
Matt can… try. This. He can try. “I know what you meant, yes.”
“Are you the friend? Or was I completely off base and was that technically kinda rude of me to presume that you—”
“I’m the friend, yes. And I’m fine.” Relatively. He’ll probably have another religious crisis by the end of the week. “Foggy was worried somebody was hurting you. We both were.”
“Is that… because it… because you were— someone was doing that to y—”
“No.” He thinks of Elektra. “No,” he says again, and decides it doesn’t really count as a lie. “Not that.”
“...Oh. Okay? Okay. Um. Well. I… am Spider-Man, y—”
“Why are you getting hurt so much?”
“Well, that just hurt my feelings, so jot that down.”
Matt tries to give him a Look. “I’m told my handwriting is atrocious.”
“...Oh. Again. I was just making a ref—”
“I want to help you. So you don’t get hurt. You weren’t lying when you said you were somewhat clumsy. Do you have any training in how to fight properly? Have you just been winging it this whole time? With…” What has he heard about Spider-Man again? “Super strength? And strings? And a decent healing factor?”
“They’re webs, not strings. And like… no offense? But how can you help me?”
“Weren’t you with Iron Man at some point? That was… Jesus, that was years ago, you— how old were— did he not make something that would help with—”
“We’re not talking about Iron Man, either. Please.”
Okay. Right. That’s. That’s fair. There are things Matt would prefer not talking about, too. “Okay. Sorry. Just… spandex?”
“I’m working with what most vigilantes work with. I think. I don’t know.” He’s drumming his hands again, and Matt distantly wonders if Peter’s been wearing the suit under his normal clothes this whole time. That had to be a pain. Why not bring, like, a bag or something? Or maybe Peter did Spider-Man shit before he came to work, and that was why he still had the outfit.
“Uh… huh.”
“I mean sometimes other people are better. Ms. Jones doesn’t have, like, any armor anything, and she said having an outfit was stupid, so—”
“You know Jessica?”
“Maybe outfits are stupid, but I’m Spider-Man, y’know, and a lot of other vigilantes don’t have protection, but like I dunno, Mr. Cage is invincible but a lot of heroes aren’t and well I guess some of them wear protection uh not protection like protection but like I mean literally—”
“I know, Peter.”
“I like being able to move, you know. And I have really, really good healing. My eye will be totally back to normal by tomorrow. Promise. I don’t need better armor, and I’m back at my roots, and it’s not like I need to be scary like Daredevil or that Castle guy, so—”
“You have superhealing?”
“Uh huh.”
Jesus. That explained so much. “Super metabolism? Sensitive… senses? Anything else? You’re practically radioactive.”
“I got bit by a really messed up spider, yeah.”
…That didn’t explain anything. “So that’s a yes?”
“That’s a yes. Yes, sir. Mr. Murdock. Um.”
“And the formal training thing. That’s a no?”
“Uh… no formal training, but I’m like—”
“And you’re in pajamas.”
“No! But I also have this really cool like sense thing since you mentioned those where I get this BZZLLLIIIEEEEEE!!!-type feeling in the back of my head and we never settled on a name but Aunt May called it my Peter tingle but like I once had to take down an army of drones with my eyes closed because this guy was making reality really messed up and then he ruined my life haha and I haven’t been able to do the eyes-closed thing since wait shit is that offensive since you’re blind oh my God Matt I mean Mr. Murdock I’m so sorry I can’t stop talking and I’m really nervous and Dr. Strange did a spell where the whole world forgot about me and you were actually my lawyer and you caught that brick—”
“Peter. Can you stop for a minute.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“...Okay. …I want to help you.”
“Oh. And I asked—”
“How I could help, yeah.” He pinches the bridge of his nose again. And then thinks, Why the hell not? “Your Peter-tingle thing is a warning system?”
“Yep.”
“Good.” Matt throws his cane up to get a better grip, then swings it hard at Peter.
Predictably, Peter yelps and ducks, beginning to ask what that was about, only for Matt to wedge the cane behind Peter to bring him close, swipe out at his legs, and as Peter makes the jump to avoid him, Matt is already grabbing at the back of his neck, using the feint to throw his momentum up and around Peter, using Peter’s own weight as a fulcrum that Matt just as quickly whips hard and down fast, laying Peter out on the ground before standing above him with the tip of his cane poking into his chest. “Can you come back from the dead?”
Peter wheezes. “Holy shit. Are—”
“Dead?”
“No, no I can’t— if you plan on killing me can you please be less ominous and just say it so I can stop you from doing that? Also, are you actually— I mean you never—”
“I’m not faking being blind, if that’s what you’re asking.” He pulls his cane back, then leans down and offers out a hand. “Your tingle-thing isn’t specific. It’s just loud. Am I wrong?”
“...I did mention that one time where I—”
“One time, yes. The rest of the time?”
“...Not usually.” Finally, Peter takes his hand and jumps back up onto his feet. “But, uh, what was that?”
“I had someone help me,” Matt says, slowly, “so I am going to help you. Because even if you have decent healing” (it’s obvious now that he’s paying attention, Jesus) “you can still be killed, and that can happen very quickly.”
“Uh… uh huh? Yeah. Um. …How?” Peter’s voice is a squeak, but he quickly clears his throat, and then proceeds to say nothing else.
Matt sighs again. “I’m Daredevil.”
“...wHAt? Shit, sorry, what?”
“It’s really not that—”
“Oh my God the scary experienced old vigilante is wanting to become my mentor oh my G—”
“I’m not that old, Jesus—”
“Still! Oh my God, and you’re like a ninja too so you wanna teach me—”
“Peter. I just want to help you take better care of yourself so you don’t get killed, and hurt so often. Okay?”
Peter nods. “I nodded. Could you tell?”
Matt sighs. “Yes.”
Peter is practically vibrating with energy. “Okay. That’s. Cool. Okay.” He pauses. “Do you have super senses?”
“Other than sight? Yes. Just— I’ll… answer some questions later, okay?”
Peter wrings out his hands. “Okay. I— okay. That’s… okay.”
Peter’s mind was definitely in at least a million places right now. To be fair, so was Matt’s. “Good. Just… come with me.”
Peter is immediately following. “Where are we going? Do you have a secret bat-cave? Are you actually super rich? Were your parents—?”
“My apartment. I’m not rich. I’m just grabbing something and then taking you to Fogwell’s so you can at least—” Don’t rant. It’s fine. No badmouthing Tony Stark, no incredulity. He wasn’t even going to try and tell Peter everything he planned to help with yet. Which absolutely includes the Peter-tingle shit since it’s almost definitely a sense thing, and Matt knows a thing or two about managing senses and organizing them into something resembling usefulness and control.
But.
One step at a time. And he’s… not going to be an asshole about this. He’s going to be normal. And he isn’t nervous. He’s an adult why would he ever be nervous.
“...Do you have other superpowers though? Because honestly you are kind of old to be running around doing parkour if you aren’t at least—”
“Peter, I swear to God I’ll punch you in the face.”