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Your vigilante suit is very predictable, and that pisses you off. It's red, with purple armored areas, and has a flame symbol in the middle of your chest. You're a mutant, with the power of producing and manipulating flames. There are so many red-themed vigilantes, some that don't even make sense. Especially Spider-Man. You have a bone to pick with him if you ever see him. You weren’t a popular vigilante, but honestly, there was no way he wasn’t copying you.
You're on patrol now. You help in all areas of New York, but particularly the borders where there is not much help. When crime rates -especially against women- rise, there you will be, burning people's faces off.
You spot a man in layered clothes in an alleyway. You watch from the shadows as a woman, less than five feet away from you, is whistled at like a dog.
Your blood boils. The woman skitters away from the man. You hear a jingle in her pocket as she stays nearer the alleyways. The man does not approach her, just watches her.
You watch her walk, to make sure she will be safe.
You watch her get pulled into an alleyway, opposite the man. You run to her, heat forming in your hands. It's second nature.
She's struggling against the hands of a tall man. You see her keys, and she jams them into his arms, kicking wherever she can find. You jump towards her, and you see a flash of recognition in her eyes. Her moment of hesitance made her get pulled flush against the man's chest. You grit your teeth and pull her off of him with one hand, a burning hand on his cheek. He screams and drops the woman, who was dead weight, and claws at your hands, which are clutching both his cheeks.
You smile at him sweetly and increase the heat of your palms. Tears fall from his eyes, and sizzle against your hands. You wait for about five more seconds and drop him. You kick him in the stomach, and he is unconscious. You lock eyes with the woman. Her black purse is clutched against her chest.
“Thank you,” she says in a hoarse voice. You just nod at her and give her a quick smile. You look at the man. He has an angry red burn in the shape of your hand on both his cheeks. It is sort of your thing, like how Spider-Man leaves his criminals webbed up. You leave them red and burned.
It is what they deserve.
You pull off your work clothes, swapping the tight clothes for the even tighter clothes you use to fight crime. It’s cold, so you wear a puffy jacket over it. It looks silly, you think as you look in the mirror, but it doesn’t matter. You climb down the fire escape and warm your hands so you don’t freeze against the cold metal. It is times like this that you wish you were impervious to the cold.
You have no destination in mind. Crime is relatively low. You have felt cooped up lately, so you decide to just walk north-east, and climb up a random fire escape. You watch the dark street with a hawk’s eye.
It is about an hour until you see anything besides floating plastic bags, cars, and the occasional civilian braving the cold. It’s an organized fight, that much is obvious. It seems to be five people versus two, if you are counting correctly. You run across the street, and shoot fire at a big guy. He falls over to extinguish himself. The men see you and start scattering. Before they go far, you hear a quiet mechanical click, and a slight figure that blocks them from exiting the alley.
Spider-Man.
You sprint over and stomp on the big guy’s hand. You pump your legs harder and manage to grab the wrist of a guy lunging after Spider-Man. He twists around to punch you, but you kick him in the crotch. He groans, and drops.
Spider-Man is skillful, but slightly sloppy. He ducks a punch, and throws one guy to the wall. He sticks them to the wall, while chiding them. You kick the guy on the concrete in the stomach for good measure, ensuring he won’t get up. Four men are still after Spidey, so you throw a flame at two of them. One drops immediately, rolling out the flame. You throw a few more at him. The other one doesn’t seem to notice, and goes after Spidey. You kick him in the back, hard. It isn’t hard enough for him to go down, but he does slow enough for you to grab him, and punch him in the face. He’s out like a light.
Spidey handles the other two, and they are webbed up quickly. He looks at you.
“Hey,” you say a little awkwardly.
“Hi!” He says cheerfully. He picks up the people on the ground easily, and webs them up. You hear him talking, but you think he’s talking to his suit. You’re pretty sure that Stark made his suit, he probably has a feature to call the cops. Once he’s done, he looks at you.
“Hey Spider-Man, did you steal my suit idea?” You gesture at your suit.
Spider-Man splutters. “No! I mean- sorry if it seems that way…”
“It’s fine. What spiders are red, though?”
“The spider that b- um? It’s a stylistic choice.”
“I see.”
Spider-Man crosses his arms, then drops them. “The police will be here soon. Gotta go! Bye! Nice to meet you!” He climbs up the wall, attaches a web, and swings away.
Spider-Man is weird.
You seem to see him more often, and that is weird. Sometimes he will have a criminal all webbed up before you can get there. You really wish you could fly. The two times you’ve teamed up, he does not talk, besides quips at the criminal. They’re funny, in a childish sort of way, and you find yourself smiling.
One day, you are in Hell’s Kitchen, when Spider-Man drops next to you. You don’t notice it’s him, and you almost have a heart attack.
You look at him. His white eyes are wide.
“Are you stalking me?” You ask.
“No? I just wanted to ask for some help. There’s a drug ring not far from here, and I saw some guys with burns. I assumed you were around here somewhere.”
You touch your temple. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”
Spider-Man looks like a cat about to spring before he straightens. “We have to walk?”
“Um, yeah. Like every person ever.”
“Get on my back.”
You put your hands on your hips. “I’m not in the mood to die.”
“You won’t,” he says in a petulant tone. It strikes you that he sounds young.
“Fine. If you drop me, I will kill you.”
“Noted,” says Spider-Man, and he mockingly salutes you. You give him the finger, and jump on his back. He does not buckle under the weight at all, just fires a web, and you’re midair. The wind is sudden, and as you yelp, it fills your mouth. You clamp your mouth shut, and you close your eyes. You do not want to see the height. You focus on your hands, digging into Spider-Man’s collarbone. It seems too long when you feel him stop moving. You open your eyes, and slide off his back. You smell of wind, and your body is shaky.
“Augh,” you say eloquently.
You stand there for a moment, and brush yourself off.
“Alright, what do we have?” you finally ask in a high-pitched tone.
“Nothing,” a gravelly voice says from behind you. You and Spider-Man both yelp and jump back.
It’s fucking Daredevil. Of course.
Spider-Man presses a hand to his chest. “Mr. Daredevil, what do you mean, nothing? ”
“It’s taken care of. Get out of Hell’s Kitchen.”
You stare at him dully.
“I live in Hell’s Kitchen,” you eventually say. “So, unless you wanna pay for a new apartment…?”
Daredevil shakes his horned head. “I’ve got it handled.” He pauses, and adds, “in terms of crime.”
“What’cha gonna do?” Asks Spider-Man cockily. “Stop us?”
Daredevil sighs. You can relate to that. Spider-Man is sometimes childish.
“Look kid-” Daredevil starts, but is interrupted.
“Kid?” Spidey protests. “I’m not- I’m not a kid. I am over eighteen.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am.”
He's digging a hole.
“No, you are not.”
“Well, if I was, how can you tell?”
“Your heartbeat.” If that isn’t creepy as hell, I don’t know what is.
You start to tune them out, as they passionately argue. You’re wondering how old Spider-Man is, of course, but you don’t want the headache.
“Can you guys shut up?”
They stop arguing.
“Literally nobody cares. Blah, blah, there’s no drug ring, I’m leaving.” As you start to walk away, you look back at Daredevil.
“Hey, D, let me know if you wanna team up.” You say in a sarcastic tone, but your words are genuine. You wink at him, and as you walk away, you hear Spider-Man’s high pitched voice.
“She never asked to team up with me!”
You have a stalker. He has stupid red horns. Actually, you do not see the red because he is too busy being a shadowy silhouette. As of now, every time you went after him, he was gone before you could find him. Finally, he showed himself when you were outnumbered. It was four versus you, and Daredevil jumped into the fight. When everyone was smoldering and out cold, you rounded on him.
“Hey asshole, stop following me, unless you're gonna talk to me. It’s creepy. ”
“Did I not just save you?”
Your face and fists are equally hot. “What kind of bullshit is that?” His mouth twists downward, and you continue. “I don’t need to be saved.” You turn on your heel and don’t look back at his red eyes.
Spider-Man is helping you beat up the mob. That is a sentence you never thought you would think, but it’s true. He dodges a bullet, and you burn a bullet mid-air, and it melts to the floor. Tiredness is making you sloppy and less observant, so it takes you a minute to notice that Daredevil has joined. Uninvited. He kicks one man, and hits another one hard on the head. You hear Spider-Man call a word of warning to you, and you twirl around before a man can hit you over the head. You elbow him hard, and let hot flames hit him in the face. You don’t have time to think, and a man hits you in your side. You grab him, straddling his midriff, and punch him, one, two, three. You hear a loud groan, and look over. Daredevil is outnumbered. You stumble off the man, and trip over his hand.
Daredevil is almost in a pile of men. Six, Seven, Eight. You manage to knock one out, but elbows hit you, and you’re punched in the face hard. A dull ache spreads through your head. Eventually, you manage to get to Daredevil with Spidey assisting you.
“D?” You ask. He’s unconscious, and cold fear spreads throughout your body.
Blood is under his head. His lip is split in at least four places. His helmet is dented.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, and turn to Spidey. His eyes are wide.
“Okay, you take him to a building close by, I’ll call the police. That building over there!” You say, and point to an abandoned warehouse. Spider-Man nods, lifting Daredevil with ease and supporting his head. He swings away, and with shaky fingers, you dial the police. When you hang up, you run to the building, your heart pounding.
Daredevil is lying on the ground. Spidey nervously hovers over him. You run to him.
You shake him. He doesn’t respond. “Okay, I need to take off his mask.” Spider-Man doesn’t respond, but you think he nods. Your trembling fingers lift the mask off, and you see him. Blood travels like rivers down his face. He’s pale, too. He would be pretty if it weren’t for all that. He has long eyelashes, but they are congealed with blood. You realize that you don’t have the faintest idea what to do. So you search for the wounds, while you try to wake him up. He’s breathing, thank God.
Your hands are sticky with blood when his eyes open slightly. “Cl-” he croaks. “Call- C-Claire.” His hands reach for a pocket, but before he can reach it, his hands drop. You open the pocket, and find an old flip-phone. You open it, and desperately search for a Claire. You don’t know who she is, but you hope she will help. You find her name, and almost die of relief. You dial the number, and after four tones, a female voice answers.
“Matt?” It asks. Your heart plummets, because that must be Daredevil’s name.
“Um- Daredevil is hurt? He said to call you.”
You hear her curse in both English and Spanish. “I’m on my way. Where are you?” You look to Spider-Man, who spouts out an address, and you repeat it.
“Alright- where is he hurt?”
“The head.”
“Okay. Oh shit, you need to keep him awake. Wake him up.”
She continues to give orders, and you follow each of them. DD wake up, but he’s groggy, and the only thing he does is complain that you took his mask off. You respond “Okay, Matt.” Eventually, Claire hangs up, telling you she’s here. Sure enough, a woman with dark hair and a bag slung over her shoulder walks in. She immediately leaps into action, and you step back. She continuously berates Matt, and you and Spidey giggle from behind his back.
It’s odd. You know so much about Matt. So, when Claire leaves, and Matt is there, looking grumpy, you tell him your actual name, and take off your mask. You look back at Spider-Man, whose white eyes are kind of wide.
“Sorry for taking off your mask,” you tell him, crossing your legs.
“It’s okay,” he says, pausing, then uses your name.
It’s silent, but kind of nice. Matt has big brown eyes, and floppy brown hair. He's, dare you say, cute.
Eventually, Spider-Man joins the circle, crossing his legs.
“My name is Peter,” he says, pulling off his mask. “I’m sixteen. You guys were right.”
Peter has brown eyes and brown hair. He looks younger than sixteen in some ways, but also much older. You can see it in his eyes.
“Hi Peter,” you say.
You, Peter, and Matt. It’s almost a good joke. Three red themed vigilanties walk into a warehouse.
Peter dodges Matt’s hit, and Matt stumbles, and you laugh. Your muscles ache from sparring with Matt. He’s better than you at hand-to-hand, but you are quicker and can burn. So, it’s pretty evenly matched.
Your trio had made it a point to meet up every so often. Matt had dropped his territorial act, and it made you like him a lot more.
Peter dives to drop a hit, which Matt would berate him for, and he grabs your ankles. You yank them out of his grip, and laugh. “What, me and Matt versus you?”
He shakes his head, but his wide grin is telling.
“No flames!” Matt calls. You boo him, but oblige, jumping over Peter and grabbing him. He webs you, and you trip. Matt catches you, steadying you, and runs for Peter.
“Child abuse!” Peter calls, and throws webs all over. It’s messy, and brilliant, because Matt gets all tripped up. It doesn’t stop him, and before you know it, he has Peter in a headlock.
You wheeze with laughter.
It’s nearing midnight. The air has some bite to it, but even an abandoned warehouse provides some shelter from the cold.
“It’s late,” says Matt, releasing Peter. “We can stay at my house if you want?”
You nod because you are very exhausted, and apparently, Matt’s apartment is very close.
“Okay,” Peter says cheerfully. “I’ll text my aunt. I think she’s okay with me staying with you guys, because she is like, your biggest fan, y/n. I talk about you guys all the time. She told me to invite you to dinner.”
“I’m honored,” you say, and mean it.
“Not me?” Asks Matt.
Peter just gives him a look.
His phone dings. He looks at it, and laughs, “She said only if we all have lunch tomorrow.”
“Done,” you say.
The three of you exit the warehouse. Peter says he can swing you there. You tell him that if he does, you’ll swing him to the next continent.
Matt’s apartment is really nice. It has stained glass windows, and high ceilings. The apartment is lit by a billboard outside, and Matt apologizes for it. He sets up camp for himself on the couch, and makes a bed out of comforters for Peter. In gentlemanly fashion, you are the one to take the bed.
You wake to the sounds of New York, and blink the sleep out of your eyes. You smell breakfast. You go to the living room slash dining room and see Matt at the stove, and Peter at the dining table fiddling with his mask.
“Good morning!” Calls Matt. Peter looks over to you and waves.
The scene looks like a family breakfast, and that makes your chest tighten uncomfortably. You sit down at the table. “What are you doing?” You ask Peter, pointing at his mask.
“I’m getting rid of the cameras in the mask. Mr. Stark installed them, and they’re disabled… so, just in case.”
You narrow your eyes. “Does he like, not want you to hang out with us?”
Peter places down the mask, and puts his chin in his hand. “I guess not. He kind of warned me against vigilantes.”
“Aren’t you a vigilante?” Matt asks, placing a plate full of pancakes on the table.
"Yeah-"
"Stark's an idiot," you say, piling pancakes on your plate. Peter looks like he wants to protest, but he stuffs a pancake in his mouth instead.
When you walk into Peter's apartment, your trio looks disconcertingly normal, average. You are wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with a long jacket, and Matt is wearing a nice shirt and dress pants. Peter has a white shirt and khakis. A person would never guess you were a trio of vigilantes. You could be a young family, for God's Sake.
Matt puts on round red sunglasses, and heads to the door. He unfolds something that looks like a long white stick, and you narrow your eyes.
"Is that- what-"
"I'm blind," says Matt, and walks out the door. You and Peter gape at each other.
You're greeted at the door by a harried red-headed woman with an apron on.
"Hello!" She says brightly. "I'm May. Sorry, I'm cooking. Peter, help me," she says with exaggerated wide eyes. She leads you to the living room, and tells you to get comfortable. When you and Matt are left alone, you lean over to him.
"Aunt May is hot," you tell him seriously. His ears turn a little red.
"Jesus, you better not-"
"I'm not gonna! Calm down. It's a comment. I don't want to be Spider-Man’s stepmother." That makes Matt laugh, and he does not stop laughing at your comments until May and Peter come out, holding a bowl of pasta.
"It's a little bit burnt," says May mournfully, shaking her head at the bowl.
"It's good," Peter counters, "and there's sandwiches too!"
You stand up. "This looks amazing. Thank you."
May brushes off your compliment, and her and Peter busy themselves by handing out food. May is effortlessly charismatic, and seeing her banter with Peter makes you laugh. As you eat, you get the same feeling. Family.
You don't know who Deadpool is, but apparently Peter does. He said he met him once, and he's a little weird, but also oddly nice. You think he's crazy. Currently, he is talking about Matt to an invisible person because Matt stopped him from murdering someone.
"He literally has a leather feti-"
You tune him out. There is no polite way to ask if someone's mentally disturbed, so you stay quiet. His insults are kind of funny anyway.
"Deadpool," you say. Matt's sulking in a corner in the weird casino place that is also a human trafficking ring. "We got the girls out safely, we'll take this guy to prison." You kick the man hard in the stomach. His face is already burned beyond repair.
Deadpool crosses his arms. He probably rolled his eyes under there.
"I suppose," he lets up. You thank him, and tell Peter to call 911.
You're kind of the leader, if you say so yourself.
You keep meeting Deadpool. One time, you and Matt were just hanging out on a roof as he listened for crime, and Deadpool fell from the roof opposite you, and landed to the ground with a sickening crunch. That was when you learned his powers. It was safe to say that both you and Matt scattered.
You had contacted the X-Men about him. You were in the school when you were young, but you didn't need the help many young mutants did, so you went to a human school. You had a few contacts, and you called Colossus. He was apparently a friend of his, and he said that he's just like that.
Whatever.
Deadpool just started to show up. Matt made him promise very seriously not to kill anyone, no matter how bad. He said the legal system was worse. You said, yeah, you're a lawyer, you'd say that, and that was how Deadpool knew Matt was a lawyer. He crossed his heart while making fun of him.
Currently, Deadpool jumps down from the second floor motel balcony. He's riddled with bullet holes, and you have the urge to reach out to them, mend them, but they heal as you watch them. It's fascinating how the skin knits itself together, but also a bit disgusting. Peter also has a healing factor, but not to that extent. His healing is like the speed of a fingernail growing quickly. You still have to patch him up, it just heals quicker than most.
"Thanks for the assist, man," says Peter. He thinks Deadpool is cool. You nod along with him, and smile. Matt is stoic, as he always is with Deadpool.
Deadpool salutes.
"No probs. See ya later, Team Red."