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There's a baby in this dumpster.
This is Matt's first thought after allowing himself a few moments to reorient his senses.
This isn't true. His first thought was I couldn't have landed just two feet to the left? As it was, he had landed in a shallow pile of cardboard boxes sat unbroken-down next to the dumpster. His second thought was bemoaning the laziness of people for not properly disposing of their waste. Though here it worked in his favor. It didn't hurt half as bad as landing on asphalt. But c'mon, people. The dumpster wasn't even full. He could tell because of the heartbeat echoing between the metal walls.
His third thought was realizing the echoing heartbeat he was hearing was not his own. He is not alone in this alleyway. He sits up slowly, tossing a greasy pizza box out of his lap. The crumbs rustle inside like a mockery of a rainstick. The heartbeat is quick-paced and steady. Strong. Young. Conscious?
There's a baby in this dumpster.
Matt stands, braces his hands on the cool rim, leans over. "Kid?"
There's no answer. He reaches in, waves his hand around until it connects with something hard and round. Shoulder? Matt lightly grips it and gives a gentle shake. Judging by the proximity of the indignant grunt to the heartbeat, Matt takes it to be the kid's head. He feels no hair, though. He doesn't feel skin, either. What he does feel is a slick fabric with a slightly raised pattern of lines that intersect and weave into what seems to be a wonky grid.
Matt racks his brain. He recalls an afternoon spent with Foggy watching videos of a new vigilante on the streets. His partner nicknamed him Web-Head, for the spider web themed suit he apparently wore. Foggy asked if they'd ever teamed up and Matt had told him no. Foggy had told him it would be cool if they did, but when Matt asked why, Foggy's only answer was a shrug and: "I don't know. You both wear red. It's an aesthetic."
"Spider-Man?" Matt takes a guess.
The kid below him jerks and exclaims, "I'm awake."
"Are you okay?" Matt asks, though he can hear the crackle of a broken rib as the kid adjusts his position in the heap of garbage. The scent of iron rises above the stench of trash. It hangs so thick in the air Matt can taste it more than he can smell it. His stomach churns a little.
"Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine. Just... catching my breath." There's a shift in the air pressure that Matt takes to be Spider-Man waving his hand in dismissal. The scent of iron is somehow stronger, now. "Oh shiii- you're the Devil dude. Daredevil."
"I am." Matt gives a small huff of amusement. "And you're bleeding. A lot, it seems."
"It's okay."
"Do you want help getting out of there, at least?"
"No, I've got it. I've got it." There's a commotion from inside the dumpster as Spider-Man attempts to lift himself up to stand. There's a shuffle of bags and debris, a grunt, and a fresh wave of that warm iron scent. A bottle falls to the floor of the dumpster with a sharp clang. Matt thinks either the kid lost his balance, or his leg gave out. Spider-Man sounds breathless and distant when he says, "actually sir... if you just wanna like, leave me here? That would be cool, too."
"I'm not leaving you to bleed out in a dumpster, kid." As Matt spoke, he could hear the kid's breathing grow slower. "Hey. You still with me, there?" There's no reply. Matt tilts his head to listen to the heartbeat. Spider-Man is unconscious.
Matt takes a moment to locate his billy clubs in the cardboard rubble and secure them back into their holster. He braces his boots on the pavement and reaches in to hook an arm behind the kid's shoulders and under his knees. He hoists him out slowly, listening to be sure he isn't jostling the broken rib too much. He hears a pop that doesn't sound promising.
In the bustle, Spider-Man comes to enough to mumble something about "please, no hospitals."
"Trust me, kid. I know."
Matt isn't sure what brought the young vigilante to this side of the city. Queens doesn't exactly share a border with Hell's Kitchen, so they don't run into each other too often. He's grateful to be close to his apartment, though. The kid is heavier than he looks. Metaphorically speaking.
He takes to the rooftops to avoid encountering anyone out at this hour. As soon as he's got Spider-Man laid out on his couch, he calls Claire. She's out of town on a long-overdue vacation and sounds exasperated that he's calling so late. He feels guilty for disturbing her, but it's not for him (this time, anyway... he has to say it twice before she believes him).
Miraculously, the bleeding seems to have subsided on its own. Claire walks him through relocating a shoulder and setting an ankle. He lets her go back to sleep when he's sure he has no further questions.
Matt sets to work stitching lacerations through the gaps in the suit. There were several more wounds he had previously thought were going to need stitches, but that somehow no longer seemed necessary. Maybe advanced healing was part of Spider-Man's abilities. Matt wishes it was one of his own.
He sits in silence for a moment to listen again. The only thing immediately "off" that he could discern is labored breathing. It didn't appear to be coming from within, more muffled through the mask. Matt feels the dried blood caked there and hesitates for a moment before gently removing Spider-Man's mask. He feels bad for it, but he'd feel worse if the kid suffocates on his watch.
Matt pads over to the kitchen to fill the sink with cold water. He presses the mask down below the surface to soak. He's not sure how much it will help in reversing the stains, but if it was red as Foggy had described then maybe it would be fine. He knew the rest of the suit was in no better shape, but he could not do much about that right now.
Matt pulls his own mask from his head and leans back against the counter to contemplate his next move. He doesn't have long.
He can hear the change in Spider-Man's heartbeat indicating he's stirring but it doesn't prepare him for how quickly the kid goes from unconscious to springing to his feet. There's a flurried disturbance in the air that tells Matt if he'd been standing closer, he might have been clocked in the face.
Matt runs for the couch, hoping to catch the kid and settle him back down before he could disturb any of his wounds. His first priority is not getting hit, so he quickly grabs the swinging fists to hold them back. He uses one hand to grab Spider-Man's wrists and the other to gently shove him by the shoulder back down onto the couch.
This, apparently, is the wrong move. Despite Spider-Man's state, the amount of strength behind the hard shove he gives catches Matt off guard. With a deep oof Matt finds himself crumpled on the floor across the room.
"Hey, kid, wait-" Matt wheezes as he staggers to his feet. He expects Spider-Man to make a run for it. He hears frantic movement around his apartment. Matt slowly approaches the source of the noise.
"No. Stay right there." The voice is fierce if not unnaturally deep. Matt pauses.
"I'm not coming any closer. Please stop moving, though. I don't want you pulling on any of your stitches." The movements cease in favor of strained silence. Once again Matt tastes iron in the air. He allows himself a moment to mourn his handiwork. When Claire returns, he decides, he's going to buy her the biggest bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.
"I just want my mask. Where did you put it?"
"It's okay. I've got your mask soaking in the sink right now. I didn't want to let the blood dry any further. Stains are a hell of a lot easier to get out when they're still wet. Speaking of, you're probably going to want to start on the rest of your suit, too."
"Why'd you take it off, man. That's not cool. That's so not okay." Matt hears the rising panic in the kid's voice.
"You were struggling to breathe with it on." The fluttering heartbeat isn't settling at those words. "If it makes you feel better... I still don't know what you look like. I'm blind." For effect, he curtly waves his hand in front of his face. It feels vaguely undignified, but if it helps to get the point across.
"Oh, shit." is the only response he receives.
"Yeah. Oh, shit." Matt agrees.
"Wait. You're the lawyer." There's a note of bewilderment in the kid's voice.
"Have we met...?"
"We - Uh, no. I saw you on the news. About taking down Fisk. Thanks, by the way. I think I did pull a stitch, though, if you can..." He trails off awkwardly. Matt hears the stutter in the kid's heartbeat and a faint smell of sweat. He has no idea why the kid would be lying about such a thing. He can also smell fresh blood, so he decides not to press the issue for now.
"Seems like it. Sit, I can get it." Spider-Man settles back onto the couch and Matt picks up his medical kit. He stops an arms-length away from the smaller figure. "You're not going to shove me across my living room again, are you?"
"I didn't mean to push you. Not that hard, at least. I just, uh... I don't like being touched." The kid says this delicately and again Matt decides not to push.
"Fair enough." Matt pauses again, unable to pinpoint where he needs to be working. "Which one is it?" He loosely holds out a free hand. After a beat, Matt can feel a cold and clammy hand grip his and guide it to a slash in the suit near Spider-Man's right collarbone. He gently presses the pads of his fingertips around the area. To his credit, the kid doesn't flinch back or make a sound to what surely must hurt. Matt wonders if he's Catholic, too. Though the cut is bleeding again, it doesn't seem nearly as bad as it did only an hour ago. He doesn't think it even needs to be stitched at this point. He removes the remaining ones in favor of a butterfly bandage.
"Do your wounds always heal this quickly?" He asks in wonderment. Now that he’s paying attention, even that rib isn’t making as much noise.
"This quickly...? They don't normally take this long." The kid sounds frustrated about this. "It slows down when I'm not - Well, I haven't had much time to eat, today."
"Well, Spider-Man, maybe next time take a break to eat before you go out fighting crime." To this, the kid hums noncommittally.
Matt hears a voice (sounding suspiciously like Foggy) in his head calling him a hypocrite. But he's too busy wondering when he started sounding like such a dad. Is he just old, now?
"I think you're set, kid. Rest will help. You're not planning on going back out, are you? You can crash here if you need to. It's a ways to get home, in the state you're in now."
"I'm not a kid. I can get myself home just fine." Matt can hear the barely contained indignation in that voice.
"What can I call you, then? Besides Spider-Man."
"Ned." The answer comes out suspiciously quick. "I'm Ned."
Matt opens and closes his mouth before settling on a deadpanned, "alright, Ned." Another lie he decides against pressing. He can respect a vigilante's desire for anonymity. He's feeling uncomfortably exposed in this situation, himself.
"Anyway, there's a bus that runs overnight if I need it. I'll Just uh... get out of your hair."
"Give me a second." Matt returns to his room and emerges with a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater he may or may not have stolen from Foggy back in their Columbia days. He throws it in the kid's general direction. The kid must catch it because he doesn't hear it hit the floor. He hears a rustle of fabric as the kid - "Ned" - pulls them on over his suit.
"Thanks, Mr. Murdock. For all of your help."
"Of course. Don't be a stranger."
There's the sound of dribbling water as Spider-Man retrieves his mask from out of the sink and wrings it out. "Good night," Is the last thing Spider-Man says before Matt hears his front door open and close.
Matt sinks down into the vacated couch and listens to the retreating footsteps with an odd twinge of... anxiety? He waits and listens long after Spider-Man is out of his range of hearing. He wonders if they'll cross paths again soon. He finds himself hoping they do.