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“This deserves a drink!” Cheered Peter, holding up a bottle of brown alcohol. Not for him of course, he’s stopped drinking a while ago, and he’d rather keep clean. No, this was a celebratory drink for Matt, Foggy and Karen, who put Wilson Fisk away for good this time. There was no chance he was getting out.
“Woohoo!” Cheered Karen, as she sipped her drink, Thai on the counter in front of them.
Matt had wanted to celebrate the victory with Peter, and Peter was more than happy to come. So, there he was.
Foggy gripped the back of Peter’s neck, squeezing it tightly, “fucking finally, huh? Only took... forever.”
Matt laughed, taking the drink from Peter, “I’m just glad it’s permanent now, and he’ll never be back. Ever.”
“Honestly, for a while I thought you was gonna kill him,” joked Peter, as he grabbed his Monster Energy Drink - Pipeline Punch, it was amazing - and cracked it open, taking a gulp.
“I was seriously contemplating it,” smirked Matt, taking a swig of his drink, before stabbing at the food with a fork like a heathen. “And, now that Fisk is taken care of, I can pull back on patrolling some more,” he tilted his head with a smile, “if you wouldn’t mind Peter?”
“You kidding? I’m more than happy to look out for Hell’s Kitchen, see how bad the crime is,” grinned Peter. He always felt touched whenever Matt specifically asked him to patrol Hell’s Kitchen, he felt trusted, he felt like an actual protege, but not just “Daredevil Jr”.
Matt grinned, and rubbed his knuckles against Peter’s, making the adult grumble annoyed, as his brown hair was all rustled. “Atta boy,” grinned the blind man.
Crime dropped in Hell’s Kitchen rapidly. Yes, there was still crime, but Peter didn’t have to be in Hell’s Kitchen 24/7, and sometimes no vigilante was out in that part of the city. Matt enjoyed his nights in with Foggy, while Peter patrolled Queens before heading home.
Hell’s Kitchen remained quiet from crime most times, too afraid now that Fisk was away for good, or they had given up their life of crime since Fisk was away and they had no need to continue. Of course, there was still crime, but not nearly as bad as before.
It was a good life now, and it was smooth sailing.
Matt had gone to the bakery a few blocks from his apartment, as they sold delicious croissants and Peter had finished his final thesis ever and the man deserved a treat from him. It doesn’t matter how old Peter is, the man will always be his boy. He stood in line, taking in the smells of buttery baked goods, before he heard the clicking of a gun's safety being turned off. Now, the thing is, Matt was still Blind Matt Murdock so he couldn’t do much besides act dumb, and equally, he thought it was just robbery. How wrong was he?
One moment everything was fine, with quiet chatter filling the air, the cash register opening and closing, the sound of batter mixing in the back, and the next, there was a loud bang, the smell of gunpowder and a piercing pain in his side, making him yell in agony and fall to the ground with a thud, his hand clamping down on the afflicted side, feeling sticky liquid on his hand. If the pain from his side was less, he’d have probably felt the pain in his old knees from falling to the hard ground.
There were hurried sounds of running, screaming, and yelling. He vaguely heard someone yell “call 911”, and he had no energy to tell them no hospitals. Well, what a day.
Peter rushed into the Metro-General Hospital, with MJ and Ned hot on his heels. He hated hospitals, the last time he was in one Uncle Ben had died, and they were bright and smelled of antiseptic, the waiting room quiet besides a few voices here and there, and the ringing of the phone. Honestly, it made Peter a little sick. He rushed to the front desk, pushing past people in the line to talk to the receptionist, not caring about who he offended, not caring who cursed him out or yelled, “Matthew Michael Murdock. I’m his son, Peter Murdock.” Peter said quickly, feeling sick to his stomach and his heart racing, his hands shaking from worry.
The lady at the front desk stared at him in worry and confusion, as she glanced around the room, “uh — ”
“Look, my Dad was just shot in a bakery!” Peter slammed his hand on the desk, “is he alive or dead!” He snapped, his voice getting gravelly, as if he swallowed glass and rocks, and washed it down with barbed wire.
The women threw apologetic looks to the angry former line of people, who Peter had shoved to the side. “He’s alive, he was shot and he bled a lot, but it hit nothing vital, but...” She trailed off, tensing up.
Peter knew he looked angry, damn it he was pissed. “But?!” He would look back on this in the future with shame, and he’d send a gift basket to the lady as an apology for scaring her.
“He’s in a coma.”
Peter’s whole world froze in that one sentence. Matt, his mentor, his Dad, the strongest person he’s ever known, is in a coma. “Which room...?” He asked, the anger draining out of him, now just defeated, voice hollow and distant, he felt like he was having an out of body experience.
“Room 333,” said the lady.
Peter turned and rushed off down the hall, leaving Ned and MJ behind. The three had gone out for coffee, it was a Sunday, and they had the day off, so when he got a call from Foggy who explained Matt was in the hospital, his girlfriend and brother followed him to make sure he didn’t kill anyone. They’d forgive him for being rude right now.
Peter slowed down in front of the room, and pushed it open, pausing in the open door. Matt was laying in bed, with wires hooked up to him, a monitor beeping, and to his side was Foggy, holding his hand.
This was wrong. Matt shouldn’t be in a hospital bed, not yet at least. Not until he was old and grey.
“Peter...” Said Foggy softly.
“Is he...?”
Foggy swallowed, “he’s stabilised... they’re not sure if he’ll make it though...” He looked down, tears in his eyes and his voice choked up.
Peter tensed up at that, feeling a hot burning anger course through him, as a slight tingle danced across his fingertips, and his hairs stood on end. His heart raced and his teeth were grinding together.
Foggy frowned, “Peter, whatever you’re thinking he wouldn’t want you to — ”
“Foggy, I don’t give a shit what Matt would want right now,” Peter warned through gritted teeth. “Is the bullet here?”
“Still in the lab for safe keeping...” Foggy said, sounding cautious. “Peter, what are you going to do?”
Peter paused for a moment, thinking about his next move. “I’m gonna hurt someone.” He turned and walked out the hospital room. Get to the lab.
He walked down the hall, eyeing up the rooms, before he spotted the lab. He peered in, not seeing anyone and walked in, grabbing a white coat which a doctor had left behind and threw it on. He made his way to the shelves, and began looking at the labels, skimming past the first twelve letters of the alphabet before coming to the M’s.
Moore, Martin, Miller, Murdock!
He pulled on blue latex gloves and grabbed the beaker, taking off the plastic wrap, and used tweezers to pick up the bullet, clean of blood. He set it under the microscope, and peered into the magnifier.
Peter scowled looking over the details, it was a 45 calibre 300-grain cupronickel wadcutter bullet, the bullets were best used for revolvers or in specially designed semi-automatic pistols. He thought back to all the lessons he had with Frank, it was years ago now though so his memory was a bit fuzzy, his mind went through guns that could be used — Smith & Wesson Model 52!
The Romanian Gangs in Hell’s Kitchen sells them, but still it won’t narrow it down... unless...
Peter got up and rushed off, ripping the doctor's coat off and rushed to the waiting room. He saw Ned and MJ sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, talking quietly to Karen. Peter didn’t even know Karen was here, and... Sister Maggie, Matt’s Mother.
“Peter,” said Sister Maggie, standing up and moving over to Peter.
Peter looked away, “not now Sister.” He went to walk away, but Sister Maggie took hold of his hands, and he paused.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” warned Sister Maggie.
Peter pulled his hands from Sister Maggie’s hands, he had met her a handful of times, and their relationship was strained. He moved to Ned, “Ned, I need your help.”
Ned and MJ shared a look, silently conversing. Peter scowled, and Ned’s heart skipped as he stood up.
“What do you need me to do?” Ned asked, seriously.
Peter pressed a kiss to MJ’s lips, and led Ned out, leaving behind Karen, Sister Maggie and MJ. He led Ned out the Hospital, and through the parking lot, “I need you to hack into the camera’s at the bakery, so I can find who shot Matt.”
“And what’s the plan from there?” Asked Ned, looking at Peter.
Peter glanced at his friend, and saw the concern. The fear that Ned had felt temporarily from seeing Peter’s face, full of anger and rage, laced with the need for revenge, turned to concern about what Peter was going to do. “Don’t give me that look, Ned. I want to see his face, print the picture off, and then I’m going to go find him and figure out who put the hit out on Matt.”
Ned frowned, “Peter...”
“I know what I’m doing Ned,” Peter said, hands clenched.
Ned glanced down and frowned, “your hands are glowing.”
“I’m studying magic,” reminded Peter.
“Just...” Ned stopped walking, making Peter stop as well, “stay safe.”
Peter held the printed out picture of a bald man with brown eyes, and thick bushy black eyebrows. He was thin and tall, and had a few tattoos, and Peter considered it lucky that the man's face was clear in the picture.
He peered through the dusty and cracked window, and eyed the Romanian Gang as they packaged and boxed up weapons.
Scowling, he slammed into the glass as it shattered like bells, and he swung in. He didn't care how many people were there, and he didn’t care what they’d do.
“SPIDER-MAN!” Yelled a voice, as the gang opened fire.
Peter dodged the bullets and shot his webs out, pulling the guns out of their grasps, before he rolled and hid behind a crate of weapons. Okay, so maybe he should have thought of a plan —
His hand fell on his gun and he paused. No... no he’s not stooping to Frank and Wade’s level... he uses the gun to hurt people, to shoot out kneecaps, not to kill... but these bastards sold a gun to someone who tried to kill Matt...
Peter didn’t kill... the only beings he killed were aliens, but even then, that was KAREN, his... his former AI, holy shit he hadn’t thought about KAREN in years. Anyway, KAREN was the one who controlled the mechanical spider legs and killed the aliens, and all Peter had done is say “activate instant kill mode”. This would be different. The gun would physically be in his hands, he would actually be pulling the trigger... he’d have blood on his hands...
He was conflicted. He didn’t know what to do —
Suddenly, there was a gang member in front of him and Peter acted on instinct, he pulled out the gun and shot the gang member in the head, as blood and brain matter covered the wall and crate, and the body fell with a thud.
Holy fucking shitballs...
Matt would never forgive him, but... he didn’t have time to waste. He scowled and stood, peering out from behind the crates and began shooting, every lesson from Frank came into play.
He webbed guns to him and shot at the gang members, he aimed at their chests, not wanting them to suffer at least. He moved out once the gang numbers dwindled and he jumped up to the metal walkway, and slammed his fists into the men, dodging bullets. He perked up and pulled out his katana and stabbed at a person behind him, and dragged the blade up.
Peter watched the gang members run - good. They should be scared, but he didn’t let them all run. No. No, he brought his hands out and threw them up, and years of practice with magic shot came to play, as tendrils of magic shot from the ground, and through the chests of gang member, before he pulled down, pulling out the tendrils, as the bodies dropped to the floor.
He jumped down and landed on the main floor, his eyes landing on the leader of the gang, and he stormed up to him. The remaining members, upon realising Peter was there for one person and one person only ran off or moved to the side, giving up their boss immediately.
“You.” Growled Peter, voice sounding like he swallowed glass and nails, washed it down with rocks and gargled back a glass razor blades for good measure.
The leader tried to rush off, but Peter shot a web, and pulled him back. The leader - Peter didn’t bother learning his name, hell he didn’t fucking care - yelped and slammed into the table.
Peter gripped the leader's shoulder, digging his fingers into the man’s skin, and felt the bones splinter under his finger tips, and heard the man scream out. “You sold a Smith & Wesson Model 52, which used 45 calibre 300-grain cupronickel wadcutter bullets!”
The leader was grimacing, and whining. “Y-yeah, we deal i-in those! I-I’m s-so sorry!”
“You sold it to this man,” Peter pulled out the picture, and shoved it in the leader's face. “Who is it?!”
“I-I don’t know!”
“Stop fucking lying and give me his goddamn name!” Snarled Peter.
“N-no! S-Spider-Man, I-I — ”
The aura in the room changed, darker, tenser, colder even. Peter grabbed the man’s calf, and pulled up quickly, snapping the man's leg, and an agonising scream filled the air. Suddenly, the leader knew what the bottom of his foot looked like, his kneecap broken, his leg broken, his shoulder broken.
“TELL ME!”
“I CAN’T!”
Peter grabbed the man’s hand, and didn’t bother with his fingers, moving to the wrist and twisted his hand at 180°, fracturing the man's hand, making him scream. “TELL ME OR YOU LOSE THE OTHER HAND!”
“DENNIS CARRADINE!”
Peter froze. He knew that name, in every other dimension Dennis Carradine shot and killed Uncle Ben. That never happened in his dimension; Uncle Ben died in The Battle of New York.
He threw the leader down and rushed out, and began messaging Ned on his burner phone.
Spider-Man: Dennis Carradine. Find him.
Guy In The Chair: Understood.
He climbed up to a rooftop and began pacing, shaking his hands. He messaged Foggy, hands shaking - either on the verge of a panic attack or full of rage, Peter had no idea.
Spider-Man: Does everyone else know DD’s been shot and in a coma? How’s he doing? Is he okay?
F: He’s fine, he’s steady and the others don’t know. Are you okay?
Is he okay? No, he’s not. He’s angry. He didn’t answer Foggy, moving onto the vigilante group chat, well the close knit group.
Vigilantes Assemble!
Spider-Man: DD’s been shot, in a coma. He’s at Metro-General Hospital.
Instantly the messages started coming in, with a few notifications from Foggy asking him if he was okay, wondering why Peter wasn’t responding. Then, there was a notification from Ned.
Guy In The Chair: He lives in Hell's Kitchen, 17th and 18th. Two floors up, furthest to the left. Gets coffee everyday at 10 at Nancy’s Diner. At 12 he does a drug pick up on the 20th and 5th, back alley between Marges Pizza and Danny’s Bowling. Disappears from 4-9, then comes back from wherever.
Peter scowled and nodded, pocketing his phone. He walked off, heading to Matt’s apartment. He might not be home right now, but he would be at Nancy’s Diner at 10 O’Clock. He might as well get rest and food.
Peter was dressed in his Spider-Man outfit, and was hiding out in the alley of Nancy’s Diner, as he watched customers enter and exit. He scowled, and his face darkened as he saw Dennis Carradine. He had enough sense to not get the guy in front of people, and thus he shot a web at the man, pulling him into the alley, making him yelp in shock.
“What the...? Spider-Man?!”
“Dennis Carradine,” greeted Peter with fake pleasantries. “You shot Matthew Murdock, remember?”
Carradine frowned, “w-what?”
Peter snarled and slammed Carradine against the wall, and dug his thumbs into Carradine’s collar bone, breaking it, “MATTHEW MURDOCK!”
“WHAT ABOUT HIM?!”
“YOU SHOT HIM!” Yelled Peter, “WHO?!”
Carradine frowned, and shook his head. “No... no, I-I can’t... I can’t! They’ll kill me!”
Peter began smiling behind his mask, it was dark, “what do you think I’m gonna do to you?”
Carradine paled and shook his head, “please... I can’t...”
Peter slammed his fist into Carradine’s face, making it snap to the side painfully, as blood sprayed up the wall. “NAME!”
Carradine whimpered, “I can’t...”
“It’s not so easy is it? It’s not easy when you're cornered,” snarled Peter, as he wiggled his fingers, and magic wrapped around Carradine’s neck, tightening and choking the man. “You’re gonna give me the name, or else I’ll kill you myself, after I break you.”
“F-Fisk... okay?!” Carradine choked out in agony. “It was Fisk!”
Just as Carradine said this, the man’s phone began ringing and Peter reached into the man's coat pocket and answered, hearing a familiar voice.
“Are you laying low? Clear out your apartment and leave New York — ”
“Fisk,” greeted Peter darkly.
It fell silent on the phone, and Fisk asked, “who is this?”
“Your worst fucking nightmare. Your fucking end. Spider-Man.” Peter hung up and crushed the phone, dropping Carradine, watching him fall. He stepped over the man, and walked out of the alley, and down the street, ignoring the confused stares he got.
It must have been a sight, Spider-Man on the street, a dark aura around him and looking like a man on a mission.
Peter stood in Matt’s apartment, and threw his gun and katana onto his old bed, now a spare room. He didn’t need it.
Ryker's Island was a high security prison, and Peter broke in that night. He stopped outside of the mess hall, noticing a guard with blond hair, and the guard frowned.
“Spider-Man...”
“You like Fisk?” Peter asked instead of greeting.
The guard shook his head.
“Then whatever happens in there, you let it happen,” warned Peter.
The guard looked down, “understood.”
Peter had a feeling Fisk had already paid the guard off. The guard opened the gate, and Peter walked in, as the cell door shut. He walked forward, ignoring all the prisoners in orange suits, and there in the middle of the room was Wilson Fisk, dressed in an all white suit, with a cane topped with a diamond.
“As far as ambience is concerned, this isn’t what I had in mind. Something more... gladiator. But, as for an appreciative audience, I’d say it’s well.” Fisk grinned with a dark look as he looked at Peter, eye to eye.
Peter said nothing, merely stared at Fisk, who kept on monologuing.
“As I look at our audience, I see rapists, murderers, thieves and thugs,” said Fisk with a grin. All teeth. “But no matter how deprived they are, they’ll always look down on one man. The chump. The chump who believes in hope, the greater good! Ha!”
“But you... here... all because I shot a blind lawyer,” hummed Fisk, amused. “Why is that? All because I made an omelette after breaking a blind man — ”
One second Peter was 10 steps away from Fisk, the next he was in front of him, throwing punch after punch, slamming his fists into Fisk’s face, over and over again, and Fisk’s head was snapped back each time, as Peter slammed his foot into Fisk’s face, which knocked the man back.
Fisk glared at him, teeth grit, his eyes bruised, his reflection appearing in the eyes of Peter’s mask, and the younger man stayed silent, staring Fisk down.
“No humour, or carefree attitude... making a mockery of the man he used to be, the only thing you have left is revenge - how sad — ”
Peter uppercut Fisk’s jaw, hearing his teeth smash together as they broke, and slammed a fist into his nose, breaking it, then into his cheek, then chest and neck. Again and again and again. Fisk tried to fight back, but each time Peter moved, slamming his fists and legs into his body.
Fisk stumbled back, but suddenly, there was a sharp whip on his back, making him fall forward, as he glanced behind him. Peter didn’t even realise an orange, sparkly whip had appeared and he clenched his hand, feeling the soothing tingle of magic at his fingertips.
“You said you were here to kill me,” growled Fisk, wiping his bleeding nose, which coated his white suit. “So, get on with it. Kill me.”
Peter glared sharply, the light catching the whites of his mask.
“Say something, damn it!” Snapped Fisk, snarling.
“All right,” scowled Peter. “Why try and kill a blind lawyer? That’s rhetorical - I know why and you know why... he’s my teacher... and my Dad...” Peter glared at Fisk, and took off his hat and coat, dropping them to the ground and threw his sling ring to the ground. “And I’m not here to kill you, Fisk.” He took off the top half of his suit, tying it around his waist, revealing his muscles and tattoos, which covered his arms completely, as well as the dragon tattoo that travelled from his bellybutton to his neck, displaying the moon cycles tattooed down his spine. He pulled off his mask and dropped it to the ground as he glared at Fisk, his brown hair messy, his brown eyes hard, a sneer on his lips with too many teeth.
“I am.”
Peter ran forward, a glare in his eyes and slammed his fist into Fisk again, and Fisk fell to his knees. The prisoners roared, as Peter slammed the heel of his palm into Fisk’s mouth, and then picked him up by his shirt and slammed him into a metal table, breaking it, before slamming his foot into Fisk’s face.
This was no longer a man. But a target.
He slammed his fists into Fisk, and ribs, and broke his arms, ripping the man of his suit, the clothing torn and ruined, and each hit, each kick, Peter felt Fisk’s bones break and splinter. Legs, arms, ribs, knees, fingers, ankles... broken.
He grabbed Fisk and threw him across the room like trash, and Fisk crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his nose and mouth.
“There’s something you forgot Fisk,” warned Peter, walking forward slowly, as he glared down at Fisk, “something money can’t buy, something those gangs can’t give you, all that big talk and cruelty... you don’t have any real power. You can’t stick to walls, or lift 50 tons, you can’t run fast or fly, you can’t regrow limbs or come back to life. You can’t even heal fast. You’re just a man in a suit.” He said, tone dark and sinister. “You’re a balloon, waiting for someone to stick a needle in it. And me?” He glared, eyes dark, “I’m the needle.”
With a loud yell, Fisk jumped at Peter, and threw a punch - Peter moved to the left, dodging. Another punch - Peter moved to the right. Another - Peter bent backwards.
Suddenly, Peter gripped his hands together and slammed them into Fisk’s face, making the man spin and fall to the ground in a heap of broken bones and blood.
“... kill you... swear to god... kill you...”
“Get up Fisk, I’m not done with you.” Peter said, calmly, tone dark.
“I’ll get up when...” Groaned Fisk.
“I SAID GET UP!”
“Go to hell! I’ll get up when I... when I...” Fisk looked down, head pressed into the cold ground, his face and body bruised. “Can’t...”
Peter wanted him up... so, he’d make him. He had no clothes, fine. Peter grabbed Fisk’s skin and pulled him up, making Fisk yell in pain suddenly, and Peter brought the man close to his face, before slamming his fist into Fisk’s face, again, and again, and again, and again, blood flying around the room.
“Balloon. Needle. Now. Here’s how it’s going to happen,” said Peter, and shoved the heel of his hand against Fisk’s mouth, forcing it open. “I pour a stream of webbing down your throat, into your oesophagus, all the way into your lungs, filling them completely. The only way to remove it is surgery, which won’t be possible before you die from a lack of oxygen. I turn your respiratory system into a lump of solid, useless muscle and webbing. It takes three seconds.”
“One.”
The prisoners eyes widened and gasped.
“Two.”
Peter sneered.
“Three.”
Fisk’s eyes widened. But, nothing happened.
“What?”
Suddenly, Fisk was thrown into a wall, as it crumbled around the elder man. “I-If you’re going to kill me, g-get on with it...”
“Oh I will, I said I was going to kill you.” Assured Peter, looking down at the man in disgust, his eyes hardening. “I never said it was going to be today.” He bent in half, shoving his face into Fisk’s space. “See, I’ve learned a thing or two about cruelty... about the correct punishment for fucks like you... and timing...” He smiled darkly, “I’ve done something worse than kill you, Fisk.” He had too many teeth on show, a dark look in his eyes, it was the look of Daredevil mixed with The Punisher, but 100% him, all Spider-Man. “I’ve beaten you .”
He rested his elbow on his knee, and noticed as the prisoners looked down. “And every man in here has seen me beat you. And they will tell their pals, and their pals will tell their pals, and so on and so on.” He said menacingly.
“And soon, the whole city, the whole fucking country will know what you already know. That I beat you, in public, one on one. And this will be the most painful thing in you entire fucking existence, and I want you to live with that knowledge, I want you to burn . For now.”
Fisk was looking down, bleeding, bruised.
“So, here’s how it’s going to happen.” Peter said darkly. “You’re going to start praying, not that it’ll fucking help you, because no god will listen. You’ll pray that Matthew Murdock will wake up and make a full recovery. Because, if he dies, I’ll come for you. If he dies, I’ll start counting. One... Two... Three... and then, you’ll be dead.”
Peter stood up, towering over Fisk. “And I swear to you, on my life, on my Dad’s soul, on everything I hold dear... you’ll be dead. Meanwhile, you’ll live with this moment, this humiliation, and the fucking message.”
“Which is directed to the rest of you!” He turned to the audience of prisoners and snarled. “If any of you go after my family, after my loved ones, even if you glance in their fuckinf direction, if any of you tell people what I look like! You will experience first hand what happened here today,” snarled Peter, a dark look in his eyes. “You touch them, you die. Painfully. Slowly. Definitely.” He growled out through gritted teeth.
Peter turned from Fisk who was crumpled on the floor, and picked up his things, “you ordered his death Fisk, it’s only appropriate you die when he does. If he doesn’t, you’ll live... or hell...” He smirked darkly, “I might get bored and kill you anyway.” He walked off, as the prisoners parted like the red sea for him. “See you around Fisk, I count on it.”
He was gone.
By the next day, word spread about Spider-Man and Fisk, about how Fisk was thrown around like a ragdoll, about how Fisk was beaten black and blue, his bones broken and all bloody.
Nobody said anything about the man behind the mask.
Peter walked into the hospital, and moved to the front desk.
“Matthew Murdock.”
He stayed by Matthews' side for days, with Foggy at his side.
Peter was in Matt’s apartment and sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. He wanted Matt to wake up, it’d been five days since Matt went into a coma, and three days since Peter broke Fisk.
“Wanna tell me about what you did to Fisk?”
Peter glanced over at the voice - Wade. Wade was standing in the apartment, his face wasn’t judging, he wasn’t menacing. Just two adults who made choices, talking.
“He’s alive Wade, just broken...”
“Word is you killed a few Romanian Gang Members to get the answers,” said Wade, eyebrow raised.
Peter looked over from the kitchen counter, away from the black coffee he had been nursing. “Yeah, but I never killed Fisk...”
“Yet... unless Matt dies... or if you get bored.”
“If you or anyone is waiting for an apology, you’ll be all waiting for a long fucking time.” Warned Peter.
Wade walked over and squeezed the back of Peter’s neck, “Ellie’s been a hell of a lot safer since you said that shit to Fisk...” Wade sat next to Peter, “I can never repay you for that... I am so proud of you.”
Peter looked at him, thinking of Ellie, Wade’s four year old daughter due to a one night stand. “Is it normal? To feel guilt about killing a few people.”
“Yeah, it’s normal...”
“I’m not gonna do it again, Matt was a special occasion,” Peter said, sniffing as he looked down, wiping his eyes which had slowly begun tearing up.
Wade patted the back of his head, “don’t worry, baby boy. I get it... Matt’s your Dad, your mentor, your family, I would’ve flipped too.” He assured, messing up Peter’s hair. “You did good Peter, and the Underground is talking... I know it’s never been about power for you, never been about fear. But fucking hell, the underground knows not to fuck with you or your own...”
Peter looked at him and nodded, “good.”
Peter was at work, head of the Research and Development Department of Rand Industries, when he got the phone call from Foggy.
“Foggy?”
“Matt woke up.”
Peter rushed through the doors of the hospital, again pushing through people to get to the receptionist, “Matthew Murdock.”
“Peter,” smiled the receptionist, Jules, having gotten her apology gift basket, “you know which room.”
Peter rushed down the hall, and came to halt outside of Matt’s room. He heard Matt’s heartbeat, a lot stronger than previously, talking to Foggy and... Jessica.
“ — he beat the shit outta Fisk... like, Peter had to pick him up by his skin because he couldn’t get up...” That was Jessica, talking to Matt in an uncomfortably soft tone.
“And — ”
“Fisk is alive,” assured Jessica. “Peter said he’d only kill Fisk when you died... or if he got bored, but I think that was an empty threat... maybe.”
“I was going to ask how Peter was,” Matt said, tone serious. “Is he okay?”
“He’s stayed off the alcohol, and he’s doing... okay.” Jessica said.
Peter pressed his hand to the door, and pushed it open, walking in. “Dad?”
Matt smiled and looked over, “Peter...”
Peter relaxed, for the first time in about a week and walked over, taking Matt’s hand as he sat down. “How you feeling?”
“I’ve been worse,” assured Matt, “my boy... the most feared Vigilante in the Underground...” He said suddenly with pride, which meant that Jessica told him everything.
Peter smiled, realising Matt wasn’t angry, even though it was the first time Peter had even fully lost control, it was the first time Peter used his abilities to seriously hurt people.
“He’ll never hurt you again,” Peter said, softly and gently. “I promise.”
And Fisk, and the entire Underground knew then and there that Spider-Man had been holding back for years, and if anyone came after Spider-Man’s people again, they’d be broken into pieces before Spider-Man killed them.