Chapter Text
Mr Stark hadn’t been answering any of Peter’s calls, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t been in any form of contact with Mr Stark since the night the Vulture dropped him in the lake, which resulted in him taking the suit. No calls, no texts, no even a scolding for going after a bad guy who was way too powerful for Peter to take on alone and without proper protection (it was only in awful hindsight that Peter was truly able to understand that.)
Peter didn’t expect a parade or anything for taking down the Vulture, but returning the suit or even a thank you shouldn’t have been off the table, and yet it was. There was no way he could think this through to make it make sense. He just ended up confused (and a little bit heartbroken) every time he thought about it. (He didn’t want to think about the fact that maybe it was just Peter who’d driven Mr Stark away, that maybe he was just that irresponsible and unbearable to be around.)
But regardless of whatever Peter Parker was going through, Spider-Man had to be strong and able to deal with whatever New York threw at him, so he boxed up his feelings and went about his life. It was a good thing that he’d barely gotten used to the Stark suit, because now Peter had to use a new costume, no where near as high quality, barely protective and with absolutely no tech support besides a comm that Ned had managed to make for him. At the very least, he’d ditched the hoodie and goggles, and taught himself to sew a new costume (which would have been much easier if he could have told Aunt May, but he had to keep her safe at all costs and the only way to do that was to keep her out of it).
The euphoria of a new costume that he’d made by himself was overshadowed by the fact that the last time he’d gotten a new one he’d been on his way to Germany to fight Captain America and the rest of the rogue Avengers with Iron Man on his side. (Peter still barely knew what they were fighting over, but it had to be bad if it was enough to break up Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and bring in the help of a sixteen year old)
Because of his lack of defence, he found himself getting injured far more often. It wasn’t uncommon for him to return home after a night of patrolling with bruised ribs or a swollen jaw, but at least his accelerated healing took care of most of that before morning so Aunt May wouldn’t freak out. This new influx of injuries led to Peter learning more first aid than he ever thought he’d need (he might heal fast but knowing how to clean and stitch a wound had stopped that knife wound from ripping open his abdomen for three days while it healed, it also came in super handy when helping civilians.)
The other main problem without the Stark suit was that now he’d scaled up to bigger crimes, but his fighting skills hadn’t necessarily improved. Sure the spidey sense helped him escape some of the more dangerous blows coming his way, but that thing certainly wasn’t foolproof (honestly it just worsened his anxiety, which was a hell of a feat given that Peter wasn’t the most relaxed of people before the bite.)
He’d been doing his best to teach himself some moves off of youtube, but he couldn’t learn fast enough, and they were too hard to put into practice since he was afraid of hurting someone with his strength. As such, his primary and pretty much only method of fighting was to web criminals up from afar and then gently knock them out, which had been surprisingly effective. (It would have been easier to learn how to fight with a mentor, but that seemed to be off the table now. Was it ever actually on the table?)
It was on one of his worse nights when he made the mistake. In his defence, he’d been stabbed in the side. It didn’t puncture anything but it sure did hurt like hell (Mr Stark would have been concerned and helped him out, or maybe Peter never actually knew the man and was just projecting his desire for a father figure onto someone who never intended on being that for him) so he’d grabbed the tiny emergency first aid kit in his pocket and stitched himself up as best as possible, just so that it’d hold for the swing back home, where he could do a better job.
He really had been planning on going home. Things would have been much easier if he’d just gone home.
Peter hadn’t meant to end up in Hell’s Kitchen, he really hadn’t. He knew by now that if he stayed out of the way of other vigilantes, they’d return the favour (Mr Stark hadn’t done that, he’d shown up first. Maybe because he was an Avenger the same rules didn’t apply to him.) He’d had a few close calls with the Fantastic Four, but overall, he’d stuck to Queens and other people stayed out.
But tonight, even with the ache of the wound in his side (which he could feel trying to close but he kept reopening it with swinging and fighting) he found himself distracted by small crimes going on around him, and he followed them like breadcrumbs to Hell’s Kitchen.
By the time he came back to himself, unaware of any crimes occurring in the immediate vicinity, he didn’t recognise where he was. The buildings were smaller here, the streets more dimly lit when compared with the brightness of the rest of New York. Recognition only sparked in his mind when a piece of graffiti caught his eye – the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen standing tall and bloody on the side of a building, colours bold and blocky. Not the most appealing of art necessarily, but it certainly looked powerful and imposing.
He got so caught up in admiring the work that it took a minute for the implications of that art to sink in. Dread settled in Peter’s stomach as he realised that if there was graffiti depicting Daredevil, then he had to be in Hell’s Kitchen. If there was one rule Peter had tried to stick to, it was to avoid all vigilantes where possible, especially those with a more violent reputation lest it ruin the good reputation he’d worked so hard to build with the rest of the city (he didn’t need to start getting shot at by cops again, it just made his life more inconvenient.)
Deciding that getting the hell out of there was the better option, Peter swung off the roof. He had to be careful since he didn’t quite know his way back to Queens, but if he travelled towards the Empire State Building he could figure it out from there. He’d barely made it two blocks away before he heard a scream. Despite the apprehension about being caught in Hell’s Kitchen, he couldn’t just let someone be hurt, so he altered his course and headed for the noise.
Peter arrived on a dilapidated rooftop overhanging the shadiest of shady alleyways. A man had been cornered by three other people, all wearing hoods and a similar type of clothing, which Peter assumed must have been a gang uniform. He moved to the edge of the building and started to crawl down when a dark shape caught his attention. It moved fast, hitting the assaulters and moving on immediately, not letting itself get caught or hit. Powerful kicks sent the assaulters stumbling into walls, punches had them falling to the ground and groaning, and at one point Peter could swear he heard a bone snap after the shadow twisted an arm too far back.
Once they were all unconscious, the shadow stopped to look at the cornered man, who was trembling in fear but didn’t appear to be too afraid of the shadow, so Peter assumed it was just leftover adrenaline. The shadow said something to the man, too quiet for Peter to hear, and the man responded in kind. He did, however, hear what the man said to the shadow as it turned away.
“Thank you, Daredevil, for saving my life.”
Oh.
Fuck.
Peter didn’t even have time to contemplate just how royally he might have fucked up in this very specific situation, let alone have time to get away, before the shadow – Daredevil – was up on the roof, standing right in front of him. He wasn’t ashamed to say that he let out a little squeak and nearly fell backwards, because gods damnit this man was terrifying and Peter had no idea what the fuck to do.
Daredevil had his head cocked, seemingly listening to something, which would have been fine if Peter had been speaking or if Daredevil wasn’t staring at him so intently. At least, he assumed he was – Peter knew better than anybody that masks that cover your eyes tend to hide the exact thing you were looking at, which was super helpful in a fight. Regardless of that benefit, he realised now why criminals hated it. It was beyond disconcerting to be on the other side of that blank masked stare when you could never be sure the face behind it was actually looking at you.
The staring could have gone for three days as far as Peter was concerned, and he wouldn’t have even noticed the sun rising or setting, he was that focused on what Daredevil would do next. And yet, despite his intense mental preparation, when Daredevil actually spoke Peter nearly had a heart attack.
“What are you doing here?”
Daredevil’s voice was low, rough and gravelly. It made Peter’s throat hurt just hearing it, and if he’d been anywhere near as confident as he normally was while in costume, he’d have asked if he needed a glass of water. As it was, Peter didn’t feel like getting thrown off a roof tonight, so he kept his mouth shut.
The question didn’t seem like a threat, but Peter wasn’t stupid enough to gauge his safety based on how obvious threats were. It was better to just not answer, lest he give anything away in his terror. Daredevil didn’t quite agree.
“What are you doing here?”
It was repeated with the same intonation, the same tone, it didn’t even seem like Daredevil was angry, but that just made it more terrifying.
Daredevil was still staring at him, clearly expecting an answer, so Peter made himself speak.
“I- It was an, uh, an accident.”
He managed not to wince at how shaky his voice was. Daredevil seemed unimpressed with this answer, and, weirdly enough, he seemed worried. Granted, Peter was guessing emotions based off half a face, but still, that wasn’t anywhere near what Peter had been expecting.
And in typical Peter Parker fashion, when faced with an uncomfortable situation, he chose to ramble.
“There were so many screams, you know? And I was getting worried about them, and I was already in the area, so I figured I should see if maybe I could try and help? I’m sorry if I got in the way Mr Daredevil, I was just trying to do the right thing. Next time I’ll just stay out of the way, don’t worry, you won’t see me again, I’ll just be going now. Sorry again for… being here? I’ll just. Go? Yeah, I’ll just go…”
Trailing off, Peter started to move backwards, not looking away from Daredevil lest he choose to attack. The edge of the roof hits the edge of his knees, making him stumble, and he sees Daredevil take a step forward, concern clearly etched into his jaw. Panicking, Peter makes a snap decision and flings himself backwards off the roof (the spidey sense is no help when stupidity is an option, at least he hadn’t accidentally revealed his identity in his panic.)
He manages to swing onto a building on the opposite street, and starts to dart across the roof, but he sees Daredevil making his way towards him, and, as has become a theme for the night, freaks out. Just as he begins to jump (off the roof again, he was supposed to be smarter than this), the shoddy stitches in his wound tear. Excruciating pain rips up his side, only just faster than his face slams into concrete.
Dazed, it takes a moment for him to roll over. When he finally manages it, Peter finds himself facing Daredevil, and he wishes he hadn’t rolled over and just kept his face in the concrete. That was definitely concern on his jawline now. Honestly, it was more disconcerting than when Peter couldn’t read the man at all. Dragging himself up to lean on a crate, he could almost hear Daredevil thinking, and was super curious, even through the haze of pain. (Was that the edge of his mask or was his vision going dark…?)
“If you go home, and stay home, I’ll help you clean up whatever you’ve just done so you can get away without telling your parents. That is entirely contingent on you never pulling another stunt like this.”
Well, Daredevil had clearly made up his mind about Peter (just like Mr Stark had, except Mr Stark would have yelled more. The ferry incident came to mind.) Despite this, he wasn’t going to take it lying down. No, he was Spider-Man, and he wouldn’t just give that up.
“I’m not just gonna stay home Mr Daredevil. I can help people, and I have to do that. It’s my responsibility. So, with all due respect, I’ll take care of it myself. I’m more than capable of some basic stitches.”
There. That was polite enough but firm enough to make Peter’s opinions clear. He wasn’t going to back down just because another vigilante told him to. Absolutely not.
Peter made to stand up, gritting his teeth against the pain, but stopped at a hand on his shoulder pushing him back down. Daredevil was strangely gentle about it, putting just enough pressure to force him down but not hard enough to hurt him (although the fact that it worked against Peter’s super strength… maybe Daredevil had super strength? Or maybe Peter was just more injured than he thought.) Back to half sitting on the roof, Peter braces himself for the lecture, but it never came. (Mr Stark wouldn’t have waited, he’d have just lectured and lectured and lectured until Peter was about to cry.) Instead, Daredevil asks him a simple question.
“Why?”
Why what? Why did he have a responsibility to help people? Why did he not want to go home and stay home? Why was he refusing Daredevil’s help? Unclear. So, Peter chose to wing it.
“I have the ability to help people. I can take punches people can’t, I can lift trucks, I can heal faster than other people, I can do so much more than most people can, which means I should use it for them. I’ve got all these great powers, so that means I have a great responsibility to help people, and I can do that as Spider-Man. I’m not gonna just give that up because you or anyone else wants me to. What Spider-Man does is important which means I can’t just stop, because who else is going to do exactly what I do? I can’t ask someone else to shoulder that responsibility. That’s not fair.”
Daredevil had stiffened at some point during his speech, every single one of his muscles tensing, and Peter forced himself to keep calm. Slowly, Daredevil relaxed, clearly thinking something over.
“If you won’t stop, then let’s make a new deal. I’ll stitch you up, and you’ll go home for the night.” Peter opened his mouth to interject, but Daredevil spoke louder, carefully choosing every word. “And you’ll agree to be trained by me. If I can’t stop you, I’ll make sure you’re as safe as you can be when doing this. So I’ll teach you to fight and defend yourself, and you’ll stop getting yourself stabbed.”
That… had not been what Peter was expecting. He’d been expecting yelling, a forceful identity reveal, not an offer of training. (Mr Stark hadn’t trained him, just sent him out with fancy tech.) That being said, the offer wasn’t unwanted. Maybe training would make the whole fighting thing easier. Would Daredevil be like a mentor to him?
Daredevil waited patiently, but clearly expected an answer. Peter let out a shaky breath.
“Okay, but you can’t try to find out my identity at any point.” Peter said, trying to keep eagerness out of his voice.
Daredevil accepted this immediately, nodding (he clearly had experience with the whole secret identity thing, so he probably viewed it differently to how Mr Stark had viewed it.)
With their agreement struck, Daredevil moved towards Peter, pulling a needle and thread out from somewhere, as well as some alcohol wipes (were there pockets in that suit somewhere. It seemed too close-fitting. Maybe in the belt?) and set to work cleaning out Peter’s wound. Peter detached the top of his suit using the hidden clips sewn into the seams, and pulled his binder up with it, allowing Daredevil full access to the wound.
“I don’t have any painkillers, so you’ll just have to bite down on something and try not to scream.” Daredevil stated, matter as fact as a medical professional – or just someone who’s done this a thousand times.
The painkillers wouldn’t have had an effect on him anyway, but Peter wasn’t about to disclose the nature of all of his powers to someone he’d just met, regardless of the fact that he’d just agreed to be trained by this person, so he nodded, readying himself for the pain.
The alcohol wipes burned, but he could feel his body already starting to fight off any impending infections, so he supposed it was worth it. The needles passed through his body quickly, Daredevil’s fingers deft and skilled (he’d definitely done this before, which was mildly concerning, but whatever.) Quickly, the edges of the wound pressed together, held together by neat black stitches, already hurting a little less. Daredevil pressed a bandage over it (where does he keep those?), covering the wound to protect it from any bacteria.
Daredevil took a step back, his work on the wound done, and Peter slowly forced himself to stop leaning on the crate, sitting up fully. Taking a moment to breathe, he stretched his legs, then accepted Daredevil’s offered hand, which pulled him up, saving Peter the effort of trying to do it by himself. (Maybe having help would be a good thing. Maybe it’d always be like this.)
Standing more steadily by the second, Peter takes another look at Daredevil. With a shock, he realises that he has no way of contacting him for training. Would they just meet up on random roofs? How would that even work? His internal questioning halted at the sight of a burner phone in Daredevil’s outstretched hand.
“Take this and keep it. My number’s in it, and I’ll send you the details for training on it. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency, I have a secret identity too.” Daredevil’s voice was stern. It was clear this was to be taken seriously, and that it was important. Peter found himself nodding in agreement and took the phone.
He looked back up, and Daredevil was on the edge of the roof. A brief wave, a flash of red, and Daredevil was back to being a shadow in the night. Peter turned to make his own way home, quickly glancing at the time. 2.13 am. Fuck, he had school tomorrow. At least he’d already finished his assignments.
He made it back to Queens in short time (guess he wasn’t as lost as he thought, or maybe that was the blood loss earlier.), with a healing wound, a burner phone and the opportunity to be trained by a fellow vigilante. A successful night, albeit a weird one.
Just as he crawled in through his window, the burner buzzed with a message.
Meet at Fogwell’s gym, Hell’s Kitchen, 9pm Friday night. – Daredevil
Peter grinned, and changed the contact name to DD immediately. It was much better as a contact name, to be honest. Maybe a nickname too, although Peter didn’t want to push his luck right after they’d first met. Maybe later on then…
Distractedly, he checked the other contacts in the phone. There were a few. Claire, Jess, Luke, Danny and Frank. Peter had no idea who these people were, but he could assume they were either friends of Daredevil, or at the very least other vigilantes. He didn’t dare message any of them, he’d wait until he met them in person or it was a desperate emergency.
Finally changed out of his suit, Peter reluctantly slipped his binder off, breathing a little deeper but immediately avoiding looking at the mirror. He threw on some loose clothes, and crawled into bed, staring at the phone.
Daredevil had offered it so freely, as if he genuinely wanted to help Spider-Man. Mr Stark was never like that. He treated helping Peter at if it were a chore, and while Peter didn’t blame him – Tony Stark was a busy man – he wished that Mr Stark were more like Daredevil. At the very least, in terms of actually sending a message, even if it were just a simple check-in.
Sighing miserably, Peter shut off the light, and sent off a quick reply to Daredevil’s message.
I’ll be there. -Spider-Man