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Chapter Text

"Of course they'd want to get to know you! You're a- well, not a superhero but something of the sort. You guys are clearly on the same page."

"It's a movie night, Foggy. What the hell do I need to participate in a movie night for?" Matt angles his head to give the impression that he's fixing his best friend and partner in fighting crime with a gaze to emphasize his point. 

Daredevil has recently been invited by the Avengers for a, what they call, "bonding session". After all, it was only a matter of time, Matt figured, until the superhero team would have enough of a break from their alien battles to take an interest in Hell's Kitchen's local vigilante. 

"Ugh, it's not about the movie! That's just a subterfuge for spending time with you. Unless it's really just a thing they do weekly. But that doesn't matter because guess what? You'll have the Avengers as your friends, man! It's gonna be awesome!" Foggy insists, clearly far more enthusiastic about the prospect of him meeting the Avengers than Matt himself is.

Matt purses his lips and frowns.

It's not that he doesn't admire them. Without them, Manhattan as a whole would have most likely been eradicated not long ago. And really, who else would be suited to fight gigantic alien armies from space? Certainly not him. They are good people and actual heroes, even if Matt doesn't always agree with their methods. But just because he appreciates what they do doesn't mean he wants to get in touch with them.

Truth be told, he has no interest in getting to know them. As far as he is concerned, they should all just stay in their respective territories; Hell's Kitchen being his and the rest of New York – or the world, or even the galaxy, he doesn't care – being theirs. Why do they have to meddle with his few dozen blocks on top of everything else?

And besides, he knows that he works best on his own. He can rely on himself and is aware of his strengths and drawbacks. And so far, he's been able to deal with all the threats in Hell's Kitchen without much help – except post-battle of course. But he doubts that the Avengers would agree to let him do the work and potentially just help patch him up afterwards. 

"They've never been missing in my life. And since when are you a fan of them? I thought you disliked superheroes. Or does that only apply to vigilantes?"

"Well, I might have somewhat changed my mind since finding out that my best friend runs around in a mask at night. And don't get me wrong, I'm not a fan of them. I just think that having friends this powerful will come in handy at some point. If only it means that you turning up half-dead on my doorstep becomes the exception instead of the rule..." The accusation lingers in the air as he gives Matt a piercing look. 

Matt only presses his lips together in response but Foggy certainly knows that he's just made a very convincing argument. Anything to make his friends worry about him less is a win.

"Look, I don't want you to join them or even fight alongside them because I'm pretty sure their battles surpass your proverbial pay grade and I don't want to find out what effects fighting alongside people who actually kill will have on your Catholic conscience but having friends is something Daredevil sorely lacks. He could use some help from time to time. What do you have to lose?" 

At least a dozen things immediately jump to the tip of Matt's tongue. From the way Foggy's muscles tense Matt knows that the same thoughts have just crossed his mind. But he voices them anyway. "My identity, subsequent anonymity, my integrity as a lawyer, as well as yours of course, all our cases and clients and above all else, the safety of my friends. Namely you and Karen."

Foggy holds up a hand to stop him but actually waits for him to finish before speaking. "Okay, point taken. But the thing is, you never have to take off your mask when you're with them and if you don't reveal any information that's too personal I think you should be fine. Be Daredevil on the outside and otherwise just be yourself. Your- your Matt self, I mean, not your intimidating, scary, ruthlessly-beating-on-people Daredevil self. You can be charming."

Foggy is right, of course. Matt may not want the Avengers to join his fights, much less vice versa, but there is no real reason not to hang out with them. And if it helps Foggy and maybe also Karen to be less concerned about him, who is he to deprive them of any more peaceful nights when an opportunity to prevent that presents itself to him?

"So, you think Daredevil can't make any friends?"

"Well, I'd like to see him try. Your choice of course. By the way, what do they mean by 'We sincerely hope you can make it this time'?" He points at the passage in the letter. "This time? How often have they invited you?" 

"This is the… sixth time, I think?" 

Foggy's jaw drops before he holds his hands to his head in a flabbergasted gesture. "The sixth time?! What are you doing, Matt? Don't pass up on this once in a lifetime opportunity."

The Talking Heads faintly start playing in the back of Matt's mind as he shrugs his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "More like once a week, really," he says matter-of-factly as he takes a moment to ruminate on the encounters of the past few weeks.

~~~

The first time he received an invitation, he was completely unsuspecting, simply minding his own business in Hell's Kitchen. Well, technically the business of everyone who needed help or caused others to need help, depending on who of them was louder or faster in making themselves known.

Matt had just stopped a robber from getting himself into more trouble than was worth the almost empty kiosk register, when his hearing picked up a female voice fearfully shouting his name and the words, "Help me, please," which was all the reason he needed to rush to the scene. Quickly realizing that the fastest way to her was over the rooftops, he climbed a nearby building and started his parkour, leaping over various obstacles, sliding down slopes and jumping from rooftop to rooftop with the occasional flip. The entire repertoire.

Before even reaching the alley the screams had come from he sensed that the woman was alone and apparently not getting attacked by anyone which he confirmed for good as he loomed over the edge of the closest building. Of course, the idea that this might be a trap was the first thing on his mind. But there was no one else around, and no suspicious objects or weapons, so he decided to give the woman the benefit of the doubt, though not the chance to get the jump on him, which is why he swiftly climbed down the fire escape to land behind her.

She didn't flinch, even though her back was turned to him, hands on her hips, and her heartbeat was steady, not the faintest hint of fear or even discomfort detectable. Something was fishy. 

Matt's muscles were tense as he rose to a menacing stance, head lowered and a frown on his face. 

The woman chuckled lightly before gracefully spinning around to face him. "Oh, hi," she said, sounding surprised. As if she hadn't just called for him. Then she approached him, tugged something out of one of her pockets and held it out to him. Flat shape. A whiff of cellulose, ink and a hint of lignin.

Paper. Writing. Probably an envelope. "This is for you," she said sweetly. He tilted his head and hesitantly accepted the paper.

Not waiting for a reply from him, she swiftly slipped around the corner, making impressively little noise. 

Matt stared after her for a moment before opening the envelope and unfolding the piece of paper inside. He slipped off a glove and ran his fingers over the words, relieved to find that they were handwritten, otherwise he'd have had to wait for Foggy to read them out to him. The handwriting appeared to be quite round and small, making him assume she probably wrote the letter herself. And if that was the case...

Then this had just been his first encounter with an Avenger. And apparently they didn't want it to be their last. He actually considered accepting their invitation this first time but came to the conclusion that it would have no added value to him. In hindsight, it had been a little naïve of him to think they'd just accept his decision. He had hoped that ignoring their invitation would just make them shrug and go, "Well then not." But no, the Avengers were actually quite stubborn. But, so was he. After all, he'd made quite a living out of it. 

-

The second time it wasn't one of the Avengers who allegedly got attacked, but rather himself. By an arrow. Granted, it thrust into the metal framework of a nearby water silo but anyone other than Hawkeye – must've been Hawkeye – could have accidentally struck him. Which is why Matt's first instinct when he heard the twang of the bow and the consecutive whoosh of the arrow was to dodge it by doing a cartwheel to the side, and immediately directing his senses to where it had come from. 12th floor, a few blocks away. 

"Sorry!" the man yelled and it occurred to Matt that the goal hadn't been to kill him. He sensed a piece of paper dangling from the arrow's shaft behind him. Grumbling, he ripped it off and moved behind a stairwell housing to read it, out of Hawkeye's line of sight. Who knew how good his vision was.

When his suspicion as to what the letter contained proved true he stopped reading halfway through and slipped away. Why couldn't they take a hint?

-

Matt heard the Iron Man suit flying his way miles away. It was fast. Too fast for him to outrun, so he just stayed where he was and waited for the inevitable. 

The armor landed heavily on the rooftop a few feet away from him, then swaggered toward him and said in a robotic voice, "A delivery for a..." The suit looked at the envelope and turned it upside down. "Uh, Mr. Dorkdevil?" 

Matt scoffed, but couldn't hide an amused smile. "You could have at least delivered it personally," he complained, arms crossed over his chest. 

The armor looked taken aback. "Whoa, how did you know I'm not in here? Even had Pepper fooled and that's not an easy accomplishment." 

"Just a lucky guess," Matt said as he reluctantly accepted the letter from the outstretched titanium-gold-alloy gauntlet. 

"Good guess. Read." It pointed at the letter before giving a quick salute and blasting off into the sky with an amount of noise Matt didn't want to have to get used to.

He proceeded to open the letter, finding to his dismay – or relief – that it was printed. Of course. No reading this one then. What a shame.

-

After yet another successful arrest, Matt was exchanging crucial information with Brett Mahoney, as they so often did these days. Out of all the police officers Matt trusted him the most, which is why his next action stung even more. 

Matt was just about to slip into the shadows of a nearby alley when Mahoney raised his voice. "Oh, hey, one more thing." Matt stopped and half-turned his head to him as the Sergeant fished an envelope out of one of his suit's inside pockets. "I was asked to deliver this to you. From Bruce Banner." There was a hint of awe in his voice as he emphasized the name. "Looks like you're getting famous." 

Matt turned to him, barely containing a sigh as he pressed his lips together. "Great," he said unenthusiastically and took the letter from him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But don't go off fighting aliens in space or whatever. We may still need you down here, you know, on occasion."

Matt offered him a smirk. "No need to worry about that, Sergeant."

He was somewhat surprised to find that Banner's handwriting was almost as horrible as his own. And that even despite the fact that the Avenger could actually see what he was writing. The guy was probably a doctor or something.

Right.

-

When Thor mingled with regular mortals, he stood out like a sore thumb. Therefore, Matt didn't even have to concentrate to realize that he somehow managed to always be in his vicinity during the entire length of his patrol; bar hopping, taking strolls and petting stray cats. That couldn't be a coincidence. He wanted something from Matt and the lawyer had a good guess as to what that was. Which is why he'd ignored him all night. But maybe facing the situation once would be less irritating than having a demigod follow him to every corner of Hell's Kitchen. So, toward the end of his patrol, and only to prevent him from repeating this behavior the next night, Matt stomped up to Thor who was currently sitting at a table outside a little café in the early morning hours, enjoying a huge bowl of ice cream. 

"All right, what do you want?" Matt asked, every bit of the annoyance he was feeling seeping into his voice. 

Thor on the other hand seemed absolutely delighted that he had approached him. "Devil of Dare! My shield brothers have bestowed me with the task of delivering a message to you." Expectedly, Thor held up an envelope. "We would be honored if you accepted our invitation."

Matt snatched the letter from his grasp. "Only if you stop following me around." 

"I will grant you your wish once I've exterminated this delicious frozen dessert." 

Matt just rolled his eyes and walked off, feeling a little guilty about intending to break his word. He also wondered if this was how Thor talked all the time or if he just aimed to be at his best behavior or something. 

-

The letter that Foggy is currently holding in his hands came from none other than Captain America himself, who had just arrived on a rooftop a few yards away from the one Matt was perched on. The vigilante had his back turned toward him but that didn't stop the Avenger from hurling a Frisbee at him in true Captain America fashion. Matt was a little bewildered at the sheer velocity of the small object and that it didn't break when he expertly caught it with his outstretched left hand, the impact sending a subtle jab of pain through his wrist but doing nothing to make him come close to toppling over the edge. Thrown with this much power it could have ended up hurting someone or causing damage. Apparently Rogers was only used to throwing his vibranium shield.

Sensing the letter attached to the Frisbee's underside, Matt dropped his head in annoyance as he simultaneously heard Rogers say, "Whoa," which was almost an adequate compensation for the Harassment Of The Week™. Almost. 

In one swift movement Matt grabbed the letter and pocketed it without any intention of reading it before hurling the Frisbee right back at Steve with his right hand, still not turning around. Steve actually caught it and mumbled, "I'm impressed." 

Okay, maybe he was just showing off a bit. And maybe he wanted to tease his abilities without ever following up with a full demonstration or explanation. Maybe he also wanted them to know that he did, in fact, not need them. 

Unfortunately, Foggy had other plans.

As Matt entered his apartment through a window, he sensed Foggy sitting on his couch, a freshly-brewed coffee on the living room table in front of him, and reading the newspaper. Today's newspaper, judging by the smell of fresh ink. 

"Hey, Matt. Did you know the Avengers set up a base near Hell's Kitchen a few weeks ago? What do they want here?"

Matt shrugged his lips while taking off his gloves and said, "No clue."

Foggy lowered the newspaper to look at him and immediately spotted the piece of paper that was wrapped around one of his batons, sticking out of the sheath.

"What's that?" He indicated the incriminating item with his head.

"Nothing." 

In a 'don't bullshit me' gesture, Foggy tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. "What did we agree upon? No more secrets." 

Sighing in defeat, Matt handed him the letter. 

~~~

Now, Foggy is wearing the same expression he did when he first read the invitation. "Matthew Michael Murdock, stop playing hard to get and parkour your ass over there!"

Matt hesitates for a moment, but then gives in. "If it makes you sleep better at night." 

"It does, in fact," Foggy confirms, instantly more relaxed. "So, that's a yes then?" 

"Well, you really don't leave me much of a choice."

"Great! All right. Time for the info dump." Foggy gets up and goes to retrieve Matt's laptop which he sets up on the living room table. "Here, let me tell you everything you need to know about the Avengers ex ante."

Matt proceeds to flop down on the couch next to him and takes off his mask as the corner of his mouth twitches. "You mean... I shouldn't go in blind?" 

Foggy rolls his eyes and throws him a glance before opening a browser on the laptop. "Ha ha. Can't help you on the general front there, buddy. But I'll do what I can. Starting with the advice not to make terrible puns like that." 

Matt scoffs. "They wouldn't know it's a pun." 

"Well, even worse!"

Leaning back on the couch, Matt loosely gestures at the screen. 

"You know I can read all that myself." 

"I know but I'm your friend and I want to do something. Plus, I got some fun facts up my sleeve that you probably wouldn't be able to find on the internet." 

On the inside, Matt is of course really glad that Foggy is keeping him company. Who needs the Avengers when he has him and Karen? 

"Okay. Hit me."

Chapter Text

Even as Matt rides up the elevator that leads to the common room of the temporary Avengers base, he is still debating whether he should even be here. He can already hear them chatter, albeit they don't seem to notice that the elevator is currently in use. Good for him. They're playing right into his hands. Yes, Foggy advised him to be more Matt than Daredevil but since both of those halves are as much him as the other, he figured that if the Avengers are going to get to know him, they'll get the whole package. Well, the important parts anyway.

Which is why he also picked his favorite clothes to wear today. Like Foggy suggested, the cowl is the only part of his Daredevil suit that he put on, and it's not like he's expecting a fight. Although he did bring the rest of his Daredevil suit in a duffle bag. Just in case. Other than that he's wearing the black pants from his first Daredevil outfit – back when that used to be comfortable – and a wine red hoodie. At least he's eighty percent sure that the hoodie is wine red. Foggy occasionally likes to play pranks on him in that regard. Although Matt doubts he'd do it on an occasion as – at least to Foggy – important as this one. Unless of course his plan is to make Daredevil more approachable, in which case he'd have opted for a friendlier color. Okay, maybe he's only sixty percent sure now. That uncertainty can't thwart his entrance plans though.

The elevator dings as it reaches the intended floor. Standing square-shouldered and with his head lowered as the doors slide open, Matt is fairly certain that all eyes immediately land on him. After a few moments of creating suspense, he looks up, puts on his best devilish smirk and takes slow, confident strides toward the Avengers. He senses five of them on the couches and armchairs around a table just ahead and one in a small, adjacent room on the right. Judging by the round, humming object in his chest the missing person must be Tony Stark. None of them move or speak but at least their heartrates remain steady. Not that it was Matt's intention to scare them anyway. Okay, maybe just a little.

However, the whole act crumbles to dust when his shin suddenly hits something very solid, the unforeseen impact sending him stumbling for a moment before he deftly restores his balance and manages to catch himself. Half-turning his head and subtly tipping it from side to side he concentrates his senses on where he suspects the object he just bumped into should be. When he's met with absolute radio silence he can't keep a deep frown from creasing his brow.

The void on the floor is contrasted by the tangible attention he's currently receiving from the Avengers. He definitely heard more than one of them snort. The whole intimidating illusion? Went right out the window. There's no use in speaking with his deep, gravelly Daredevil voice now as planned.

He relaxes his muscles as he gnaws his bottom lip briefly, then he huffs an unamused laugh and says, "Ah. Here I am." Another thin-lipped smile and that's the end of his entrance.

-

"God almighty!" Tony exclaims as he emerges from his impromptu workshop and spots their visitor. "The devil himself has risen from hell to... to what? Be a minor nuisance?" He turns to his team and gestures at the newcomer. "'Scuse me, who is this masked menace trampling all over my intricate and potentially revolutionary alien metal construction?"

"Pinch me, is that actually Daredevil?" Clint asks, scanning the man with his eyes from head to toe. Daredevil seems to be doing the same with him, only that he moves his head more horizontally than vertically. Something he notices about Clint makes him move his head back and his eyebrows appear to shoot up in surprise. A tiny smile flickers over his face before it vanishes again when he turns his attention to Natasha.

"Honestly, with that name I think he's making a fitting first impression," she says calmly but with a hint of amusement. "You know, Tony, for a supposed genius you can be pretty dumb. Why did you leave that thing in the middle of the room? You knew we were expecting a visitor."

"Expecting him yes, but how was I supposed to know he'd actually show this time? Guy hasn't exactly been beating a path to our door these past few weeks." He lifts a finger and turns to his team. "To other doors, yes, or so I've heard. Like literally. Maybe we just lucked out this whole time."

"Do you want me to leave again?" Daredevil asks, completely serious and far too welcoming of the prospect for Tony's taste, so he narrows his eyes at the vigilante playfully.

"Don't you dare. And for the record, the reason for my construction being in the middle of the room is so that all of you can marvel at my artistic streak that I'm sure none of you were even aware I possessed. In fact, it's such a sitting duck that you," he points at Daredevil, "should've had no problem not overlooking it."

"Sorry, I just… didn't see it there." There's a hint of confusion in his voice.

Tony waves him off. "No hard feelings. Nothing I can't fix in a few minutes anyway." Then he extends a hand. "Tony Stark." He shrugs his head to the side. "Iron Man. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Also full-time Avenger, savior of Manhattan and the like." 

Daredevil shakes his hand with an impassive look on his face. "Daredevil."

A bit of silence, then Tony sniffs and says, "An open book, I see. Feel like I've known you forever, buddy."

Daredevil seems to ignore him and turns his head to the side once more before looking back at him with a faint grimace on his face. "Alien metal, you say? Is there more of it around?" 

"Nope, so far this is my only project with it. Disclosure of future additions reserved."

"So, what is it supposed to be?"

Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? You can't tell? It's obviously the Avengers tower."

"I told you it looks nothing like it!" Clint chimes in. "Avengers tower my ass."

Tony doesn't even give him the satisfaction of facing him as he shrugs his lips. "Just ignore that bird-brained philistine." He shifts his weight and puts his hands on his hips, angling his head. "Actually, Daredevil, this is the project. You know, the project."

"The… project?" Daredevil asks, sounding lost.

"Yeah, the one I mentioned in my letter. You read it, right? At least?"

Daredevil's blank stare is answer enough.

"So, you only read Capsicle's or…?"

"No, the other ones too. For the most part."

"All right, so, let me get this straight. My letter was the only one out of all six that you deliberately chose not to read. Mind telling me why? That why you tried to destroy my noble edifice?"

"Oh, that's a real blow to his ego," Natasha says with not so carefully contained glee.

"I… didn't do it on purpose. It wasn't possible for me," Daredevil offers.

"Why?"

"Because… I lost it." Tony can't quite shake the feeling that Daredevil is lying. But if he really didn't read it out of spite, then why would he conceal that fact now? That wouldn't be the smartest strategy. And Tony doesn't have any reason to believe that Daredevil is an idiot. Yet.

"Well. Should have just opted for plan B, hacking your phone. Would have made it your lockscreen," he says nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Daredevil looks as if he's raising an eyebrow. "I could have sued you for that," he says carefully.

"Oh yeah?" Tony lifts his chin. "Show me the lawyer that's going to defend the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

To his surprise, Daredevil full-on smirks. "I actually know a couple of lawyers. Really good ones, too."

"All right," Bruce raises his voice. "That's enough. No lawyers during team-bonding sessions."

Tony picks up on the way that Daredevil mumbles "ouch" under his breath. Those lawyers must be good friends of his. He makes a mental note of that. Maybe that way he is going to find out who Daredevil is under the mask. Completely accidentally of course.

"So, you don't consider yourself above the law?" Steve wants to know.

Daredevil shakes his head sternly, then lifts his chin. "Nobody is above the law." 

"Those are some pretty big words coming from a vigilante. Isn't your entire livelihood based on breaking the law?" 

The faintest hint of a smirk appears on his face. "Only one half of it."

Tony claps his hands once to break the tension. "Right, we invited you, so we must deal with the consequences." He throws a wistful gaze at his Avengers tower model. "Maybe I should do a few more test runs. Make it sturdier…" The way Daredevil grimaces in response to that, again, doesn't escape him. Okay, in some way he seems to have a problem with Tony (and/or his inventions) and the genius is hell-bent on finding out why. Subtly. He can be subtle. "Anyway, glad you finally made it, despite all this." He loosely waves a hand at his work in progress, then puts it on Daredevil's shoulder, stepping out of the way, so the vigilante can actually see his teammates. "These are Steve, Natasha, Clint, Bruce and Thor. I doubt we need introducing," he says, pointing at each of them, respectively.

"It would be more polite though," Steve argues.

"No, it's fine. I know enough about you," Daredevil says, sounding quite dismissive.

"Well then you're one step ahead of us. We know next to nothing about you, except that you like to beat up bad guys in a Halloween costume." 

"It's a symbol."

"Whatever, Hellboy. So, what do you-"

"You want something to drink?" Bruce cuts in and gets up from the couch to stroll toward the bar, seemingly taking pity on the vigilante during Tony's cross examination.

"Sure," Daredevil says and follows him but before he approaches the bar he opens the door of a closet and hurls his duffle bag inside. Tony is left wondering how he knew that the upper shelf inside of it was the only free one in this room.

"What's in the bag?" he asks.

"My Halloween costume."

"Think you're gonna need it today?"

"Hope not," Daredevil says.

"Doubt it. It's been exceptionally uneventful in this area since we got here," Clint says amusedly, leaning back on the couch with his hands behind his head. "I bet they're all scared of you, Nat."

Tony does not miss the way that Daredevil momentarily freezes on his way to the bar before continuing somewhat tensely – and makes more mental notes.

"So," Bruce says once Daredevil joins him. Then he makes a sweeping gesture. "Free choice. Help yourself."

Daredevil clears his throat. "I see," he says and somehow manages to make it sound ironic. "I think I'll have a beer."

"A beer?" Tony says indignantly. "When we have Glenmorangie 18 here? Which is... nothing compared to what we have in the Avengers tower of course." Daredevil doesn't even try to look for it on the shelf. And here he thought Clint was the one with no taste.

"Ah, not to worry, Devil of Dare. You made the superior choice of beverage," Thor's booming voice fills the room and Daredevil's head snaps toward him before he tilts it. A small smile appears on his lips.

"Thor, you do realize that I also go by 'Devil of Hell's Kitchen', right? So, if you absolutely feel the need to put an 'of' somewhere in my name, you could just as well use that," he explains, making no move to pick a beer and Tony is a little impressed that Thor was the one to get the first row of sentences out of the vigilante. Frankly, his money had been on himself. Or maybe Steve. 

"How can you be so comfortable with everyone calling you the devil?" Steve asks, reliably old-fashioned. Tony rolls his eyes. "Don't you think that's a little tasteless? Then again you're probably an atheist."

A corner of Daredevil's mouth rises briefly. Then he jerks his chin toward Steve and asks, "You religious, right?" 

"Yeah, Protestant. Still find it hard to comprehend, let alone accept, the fact that Thor and his brother – half-brother, I guess – and possibly their whole family are actual Norse gods or- demigods, whatever that may mean..."

Clint ignores Steve's world view crisis and turns to Daredevil. "I suppose we won't get to know anything about your religious affiliations?" 

Daredevil shakes his head softly and offers a playful smirk. "Not on the first date. I can tell you I'm not an atheist though." 

"Ugh, you can't just tease things like that without delivering. I feel like that should legally be considered a form of torture." 

"Not legally a form of torture but-" 

"And yeah, yeah, I get it, you're the devil, torture is your thing." 

Daredevil opens his mouth in a way that seems like he's about to protest but then he thinks better of it and ends up closing it again without saying anything.

Meanwhile Bruce kindly brought an assortment of different beers to the bar counter that he now asks Daredevil to choose from. Daredevil picks one seemingly at random and thanks him. Then he casually moves the hand holding the bottle to the side and flips off the cap which proceeds to bounce against a cabinet, then the ceiling, then the bar counter and – judging by the noise it makes and Bruce's wide-eyed stare behind the counter – lands perfectly in a trash can he couldn't even have seen yet.

"Holy shit!" Clint exclaims. "That was so cool. Looks like I'm not the only one with impeccable aim here." Tony must give him credit that he doesn't sound the least bit jealous.

"And here I thought you throwing my Frisbee back at me without looking was impressive."

"Careful he doesn't steal your moniker, Hawkeye," Natasha teases her best friend.

The smug look on Daredevil's face turns into a skeptical one as he takes a sip from his beer. He seems to really like getting called the devil.

"So, what exactly are your superpowers? What do you do?" Tony asks, grasping at the opportunity to make a smooth transition.

"I know things," Daredevil answers with a shrug of one shoulder and Tony can assess him well enough by now to know that that's all he's going to get if he doesn't prompt him further.

"Like that the left, upper shelf in the closet was the only empty one? And that there's a trash can behind the bar counter?"

"Yeah."

"Are you psychic?"

Daredevil chuckles and shakes his head. "No."

"Do you have super strength?" 

"No, but I practice."

"Join the club!"

"He can't steal my name. My eyesight is still better than his," Clint suddenly blurts while staring at Daredevil with narrowed eyes – and Tony loses imaginary money again. He was convinced that if anyone was going to unsettle the vigilante it would be Bruce – or rather the Hulk. But somehow Clint just managed it; Tony definitely noticed that split second of unguarded alarm on Daredevil's face and his tentative step backwards, and that is admittedly quite impressive. Only why this happened, Tony has no idea.

"If we shall have a competition about who is most all-seeing – and all-hearing if we're at it – we should invite Heimdall, Gatekeeper of Asgard."

"Believe me, nobody wants to compete with your gatekeeping friend."

"How would you know?" Natasha asks Clint with genuine curiosity and a hint of accusation, ignoring Thor and Tony.

Clint points at Daredevil's head. "There's a tiny blood spatter on your mask, Daredevil. Bet you didn't notice that when you got all dolled up for us earlier."

The little exhale Daredevil releases doesn't escape Tony's notice either. "Guess the suit's not red enough then?"

Clint shrugs his lips. "It's pretty red. Doubt regular people would notice the blood," he says, shooting a glance at the other Avengers in passing as he darts off to fetch a hand mirror from the bathroom that he then proceeds to shove into Daredevil's hand. "Here. See for yourself."

Daredevil stiffens a little as he stares into the mirror for a few moments. Then he sniffs, touches the spot with one finger, probably to make sure it's dried, says, "Hm. Yeah," and gives the mirror back to Clint before averting his gaze and taking a gulp from his beer.

"You wanna clean it off? Bathroom's just around the corner," Clint offers.

Daredevil gives his head a slight shake and shrugs his lip. "No, thanks. I'll do that when I get back home."

"Suit yourself. Definitely doesn't look creepy or anything."

"You said it's barely noticeable."

"Well, you noticed it. But then again you're the current top contender for the Hawkeye 2.0 name."

For some reason that makes Daredevil scoff in amusement. "Yeah, I don't know about that…"

"Ah, don't sell yourself short, pal," Clint says, slapping him on the back, then he jerks his head toward the bottle in his hand. "How's the beer?"

"Expensive."

"You got that right," Tony confirms and decides he's observed the vigilante long enough now and could just as well be fixing his construction, so he retrieves his toolbox from his workshop and gets to work.

-

Still not quite comfortable with the whole situation, Matt stands by a window – next to a piano that he is absolutely not going to play today –, beer bottle in hand, as the others minus Tony gather in a semi-circle on the couches. And since it may seem weird of him to just stand there as a spectator – and he's not weird, absolutely not –, he goes to grab a pamphlet or whatever from the bar counter to pretend like he's reading it while listening to the Avengers' conversations. They seem to be fine with the fact that he's a little reserved. And apparently, they respect his decision to keep his identity secret. Good. Maybe this could work out after all. Although he must admit that the whole 'hanging out while no one knows you're blind' thing is starting to get on his nerves a little. Especially taking into account that the Avengers would probably be quite understanding if they knew, considering that Clint seems to have a hearing problem. Matt immediately recognized the static of his hearing aids the first time he focused his senses on him, and he was delighted and a little relieved at the thought of not being the only crime fighter with a disability. And it doesn't seem to be common knowledge either. If only they could know about his.

Speaking of which…

"Hey Daredevil, we need unbiased insight here. What would you say, is Natasha's hair more crimson or scarlet?" 

Matt turns his head to give the impression that he's looking at Natasha. 

"Uhm." Those are shades of red, right?

"Careful what you say," Natasha says in a soft but surprisingly menacing tone.

Matt doesn't even know what shade of red his suit is, let alone what that shade would be called. Hell, he can never be one hundred percent sure his suit even is red. He must rely on the claims of third parties for that. 

What he is pretty sure about though is that, should the day come that all other colors have been entirely erased from his memory – because to his dismay he must admit that some of the images are starting to fade already – that red would be the last one standing. Every time the familiar taste of copper lingers on his tongue his mind will conjure up an image of the gaping lacerations on his dad's face after a lost boxing match – or a match won. 

But whether his blood was crimson or scarlet, Matt can't tell for the life of him and, truth be told, he can't be arsed to care. Those things have no meaning to him and they won't help him with anything. 

Therefore, he's glad that this is a guessing game without any stakes. 

"Crimson I guess," he says with a shrug that conveys some of the indifference he's feeling.

"You're telling me this is unbiased? He wears a red suit and picks the redder of the two. These can't be two unrelated facts," Clint says, then turns to look at Matt over the backrest of the couch. "By the way, you pretending to read that instead of eavesdropping on us would be more convincing if you held it the right way up. Or is being able to read upside down one of your special abilities?" 

Matt makes no move to lift his head or flip the pamphlet. "It used to be." He had actually been quite good at reading upside down as a kid, and reading mirror-inverted too, except when it was really messy handwriting or unfamiliar words.

"Are you," Bruce gestures at the pamphlet with a pen, "interested in microscopy? I have one here if you want to take a look," he jerks his chin toward Tony, "at whatever monster Tony created over there." 

"Ah." Matt shakes his head and shrugs his lips. "No, thanks." 

Bruce leans back on the couch and shrugs. "Your loss." He probably means it as bait, to pique Matt's interest. Instead, all he achieves is that Matt feels even worse about himself. 

He pretends to stare at Bruce for a moment, then, with more force than necessary he slams the pamphlet and his half-empty beer bottle down on the bar counter and, feeling several pairs of eyes on him, walks over to Tony's construction, casually stepping over the toolbox and slowing down as he approaches the spot where it should be.

Tony doesn't look up when he starts speaking. "Not a science geek, I get it. Well, I don't get get it – how can anyone be opposed to figuring out how the world works? – but I know not everyone's interested in the same things."

Matt ignores him as he comes to a cautious stop and cocks his head, both in concentration and confusion, probably giving the fitting impression that the alien metal is a giant mystery to him that needs to be unraveled on the spot. 

"What, you got x-ray vision now? Scanning the blueprint into the hard drive in your mask? Compiling a list of all components in your photographic memory maybe? This is copyrighted material, you know. At least it will be. In about thirty-eight seconds. JARVIS, could-" 

"I'm not stealing it. Just... having a hard time wrapping my mind around the alien part." 

"Well," Tony says, brushing nonexistent dust off his hands. Well, not completely nonexistent, but no more than a regular amount either. "Seeing is believing."

-

"Yeah," Daredevil says with a huffed laugh. "Looks like it." 

Tony internally curses that the first thing he said that apparently amused Daredevil wasn't even that funny. It wasn't even a joke. Well, not his joke at least, maybe Daredevil has an inside joke with himself. Tony cannot fault him for that. 

"Care to learn more about the aliens?" 

"Not really. Don't want my world view to get shattered." 

Slowly, Daredevil reaches out a hand to touch the model. Tony eyes him while turning in a screw. 

"Hey Hellboy, can you hand me the 3/16?" 

When Daredevil only tilts his head, he clarifies, "Hex key, in the toolbox behind you. They're labeled. Apparently, some people here find that helpful." 

Daredevil keeps staring at him for a moment before turning around, picking up the whole toolbox and holding it out for him. With a raised eyebrow, Tony takes the item he needs from it before Daredevil returns the box to its original place, his lips tightly pressed together.

"Thanks," Tony says, shrugging off the somewhat unusual gesture and getting back to work. When he looks up again after a moment, Daredevil is still standing there, head cocked and an unhappy expression on his face. 

"Oh, right," Tony exclaims, realizing he forgot to make small talk. "Wanna help? I mean, it's not Lego but maybe you've got some experience in the mechanic department. Hell would I know."

Daredevil doesn't even turn his head to look at him when he answers, instead he keeps staring at the floor. Or at the wall, or maybe the door. In their general direction at least. "I don't," he says, only hesitating a beat and sounding a little impatient. Then, apparently realizing he's been somewhat unfriendly, he gives Tony a weak smile and explains, "I'm not a mechanic. Would probably do more harm than good."

"Well, it's true, the devil's not exactly known for his mending abilities." 

"I'm not the actual devil, you know."

"Duly noted. Much appreciated."

Daredevil scoffs. "I may not be interested in the aliens but can you tell me some more about the metal?"

Taking this as a cue that Daredevil may hold more scientific interest than he lets on, Tony jumps to his feet when he answers him. "Not only tell, I can show it to you! Surely you've heard of my hologram tech."

-

Matt's jaw clenches. "I have. But it's okay, you can just tell me." 

"Well, where would be the fun in that?" Tony says and starts moving in the direction of his workshop.

"Really, there's no need," Matt calls after him, not very hopeful to stand a chance against Tony's excitement, yet he says as insistently as he can, "I would appreciate it if you just told me."

"Nonsense! A picture is worth a thousand words. This will make it way easier to explain. And you get the once in a lifetime opportunity to actually try out the tech. Now come on, no false modesty."

Something heavy settles in Matt's stomach as he follows Tony into his workshop where the Avenger presses some buttons, causing electric buzzing to flicker to life, and swiftly moves his arms around.

Maybe Matt is lucky. Maybe Tony will explain just as much as he shows. 

He doesn't. 

"So, the original metal came from here. You remember these from Loki's less than glorious attempt to take over the world? Basically got it from the intestines of one of those beasts. Was as gross as it sounds. Oh, you can ignore this, it's just a list of the trace element contents. Interesting to me, probably not to you. My construction's made from an alloy with this as the base, and these are metals I experimented with, to achieve different qualities. Now this is the interesting part. You see these results, right here?" He keeps walking around, making all kinds of gestures as he probably interacts with the holograms, and points at spots that, to Matt's senses, are nothing but thin air in a sea of static. "Look at the reactions! It's unlike any other kind of metal I know. And as you probably already guessed, this is what I made the glass with. Also an alloy. But has the exact same visual properties as glass while being incredibly bendable and light! It's amazing! Then you have-"

"You know what, forget I ever asked," Matt interrupts him grumpily and stalks off, leaving Tony hanging in mid-sentence, arms raised in some grand gesture and gaze following Matt as he leaves. Maybe he could handle these situations better but he's just gradually growing more frustrated. For the first time in a very long time, Matt actually feels disabled. He's also annoyed that the Avengers seem to accommodate absolutely everything to sighted people. But then again, maybe it's because of Clint's deafness. Maybe they're all subconsciously accommodating him. Or not so subconsciously. Which is actually kind of really cool of them. Or it would be if it wasn't completely counterproductive to his own disability. If he could tell them about it. If it wasn't so dangerous for him to reveal it. If it wasn't a surefire way for them to figure out his identity. Maybe he should have never come. It simply doesn't work, spending so much regular time with people that don't know about something as important as this. Now that he thinks about it, Matt realizes that this is the first time that he, as Daredevil, has met with others for an extended period without any fighting involved and he more than wishes he could just not give the impression of being incompetent or uninterested for one second.

He isn't sure how but, somehow Clint seems to sense his pull toward the exit – and wants to prevent his departure.

"Hey, you up for a game?"

"Depends on what kind of game." 

"It's my favorite. Maybe you'll like it too." 

"Ever heard of Forehead Detective?"

"Foreh-? Oh no." He absolutely won't like it, Matt decides when he senses the post-its and pens on the table. "I thought we were going to watch a movie." Never had he thought that watching a movie would turn out to be the least evil of the day.

"Later. This'll be fun, I promise."

-

Daredevil makes no move to join them at the table. Instead, he seems to be contemplating a way out of this, which Clint isn't exactly surprised about.

"Just a guess but… I'd probably beat you all at a game with blindfolds," Daredevil says eventually and Clint isn't quite sure where that originated from. It's kind of a random thing to say. Unless… No, Daredevil probably doesn't know about the hearing aids.

"Blindfolds make Clint uncomfortable," Tony blurts as he emerges from his workshop. He looks somewhat unhappy as he steps around Daredevil and, before heading towards the couches, throws him a scrutinizing and somewhat judgmental glance that the vigilante doesn't react to. Tony getting carried away by his overenthusiasm for science, being just too much to handle for regular people, isn't exactly anything new though.

"Hey, I can speak for myself. But yeah," Clint shrugs and turns back to Daredevil. "They do make me uncomfortable. You seeing these?" he asks, turning his head and pointing at his ear. Daredevil angles his head to look at him.

"Yeah, I noticed them before." So, he does know about the hearing aids. Benefit of the doubt gone. But then again, he did not know about the blindfold thing, so maybe he'll just drop the subject.

"Well, then I guess you know why I prefer not to have anything over my eyes. Thanks to Tony for designing aids that almost fully compensate for my hearing loss. Haven't heard this crisp in ages." 

"Stark Industries is happy to help," Tony says with a self-satisfied smirk as he points at him playfully.

Daredevil averts his gaze and exhales a small sigh that sounds surprisingly frustrated. 

Wow. Clint has only mentioned his disability once and this guy is already annoyed with him, just because he doesn't get his way with his stupid blindfold game. Apparently, it's not enough for him to demonstrate his great eyesight, no, he needs to show them that his hearing is much better than Clint's as well. An exchanged look with Steve reveals that the super soldier has similar thoughts.

But Clint keeps his thoughts to himself. He knows how to deal with jerks: Don't give them recognition or even a reaction.

Not that Daredevil is a jerk. Well, not that he isn't being a jerk right now. But perhaps it's just a slip-up. He sure hopes Daredevil gets the hint. 

Apparently, Daredevil doesn't get the hint. "Well, what if I told you I was uncomfortable with, say, writing a name on a piece of paper?"

Is... Is he making fun of Clint now? Making fun of a disability he can't help? And is he always this easily irritable or does he just have a serious case of resting bitch face? For someone who does his utmost to keep everything about himself secret, his facial expressions are surprisingly unguarded and impressively easily readable, considering the fact that half of his face isn't even visible. Does he never practice in front of a mirror?

"Don't be ridiculous," Steve says with a scoff, much to Clint's appreciation. He can always count on his teammates to have his back, even when the issues are only verbal.

"Are you dyslexic or what?" Tony asks nonchalantly, snacking on some blueberries he seems to have extracted from his workshop. Then he holds them out to Thor and Bruce who are sitting next to him on the three-person couch.

"No," Daredevil says a little too fast, as if that was offensive. 

"Well, I doubt that's the same thing...," Clint grumbles in response to what Daredevil originally said. The vigilante looks like he wants to retort something but holds himself back. Good. A little self-restraint goes a long way.

There's a somewhat awkward silence as the others wait for either Clint or Daredevil to continue their quarrel but neither of them seems to be in the mood. Clint certainly isn't. He's had his fair share of those in his life and, truth be told, he didn't expect it was going to be a problem today.

"Forehead Detective it is then," Natasha cuts through the silence and Clint notices the way that Daredevil's jaw clenches. "Come on, you need to come over here for this."

Daredevil hesitates a little longer, seemingly contemplating different options before he reluctantly obliges and sits down on an armchair, pulling up his legs to sit on it cross-legged, evidently not fully on-board yet.

"Okay, here's how this is going to go," Clint starts. "Natasha and I are the game masters-"

"Pulling the strings. And only we know which ones are the sticky ones that get you caught." Natasha sure loves her spider puns.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bruce asks with a frown.

"Just follow the rules," Clint clarifies.

"Exactly. You're going to get a post-it from us," Natasha picks up the stack of post-its from the table, "Then, one after another you write down a name and put it upside down on the table, then pass that stack to the next person, counterclockwise. Clint and I will decide who gets which name."