Chapter Text
SPIDER-MAN: A NEW HOME
PART I: HOME SWEET HELL
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CHAPTER I
A CHILLING MEMORY
“Five, four, three, two, one.” Peter Parker was sitting on the steps counting out quietly. Maybe if he was quiet enough, he could hear where his dad had decided to hide. He knew it wouldn’t work, it never had before, but that didn’t keep him from trying anyway. “Ready or not,” he exclaimed loudly this time. “Here I come!”
Pushing himself up, partly from excitement, Peter immediately started looking around, studying everything intently. ‘Slow and steady wins the race, Pete, if you go too fast, you’ll miss something.’ His Dad was always warning him to be tactful and observant. And he always ensured that he would keep Pete on his toes through tactics of misdirection to prove his point.
Dad was always up to something, whether he was cooking something up in his lab, or finding new rules to add to games like ‘hide and seek’ in order to teach Peter new life lessons.
So when Peter saw the shoes sticking out from under the curtain, he wasn’t even half-convinced it was Dad.
Reaching out, he pulled back the curtain— A broom and hat flew out nearly hitting Peter before slamming on the ground.
What? Just because he was sure it wasn’t his father, didn’t mean he wouldn’t investigate properly. There had been times when his father would hide in plain sight and Peter still missed him. ‘I was standing right there, right in front of the door, but you were so fixated on finding something hidden that you missed it.’
Dad was always up to something.
He opened a door to a closet— nothing, not even a recording of whispering that he had once planted there to misdirect him at one point. Dad would probably even be disappointed that he had looked in the closet since there was nothing pointing to him being there— but didn’t that also mean he should look there?
Peter could never tell.
Walking by the family photos he found his father’s glasses. Maybe if he put them on, he’d be able to see what Dad saw— or was this a clue? Had he purposefully put his glasses there to show him where he was hiding? He looked back and saw nothing. Glasses meant work though, so maybe he should try Dad’s office.
Walking over he heard something in the distance, footsteps and blowing or something coming from the room. Had he figured it out?! First the glasses and now he was directed to the office. Or was this a misdirection?
Peter could never tell.
But he’d be foolish not to look.
He pushed open the door. Thunder rumbled as the window clacked in the wind. Dad must have jumped out of it to—
That wasn’t right. Something wasn’t… was this one of Dad’s tricks? He walked around the desk. Papers were strewn across the floor and all over the desk. Glass crunched at his feet and he saw the broken window still clanging in the wind.
“Dad?” He called out. This wasn’t right. “Dad!”
Seconds later, his father rushed into the room with a look of consternation, but immediately he froze. Looking around the room, Richard Parker only took three seconds to take everything in before tearing around the desk, lifting Peter, and removing him from in front of the window.
In rapid motions, Richard swiped each curtain shut, pulled out what looked like a drawer, and slammed it on his disheveled desk.
Peter stood frozen, almost mesmerized as Dad looked up and caught his eye, a look of entire seriousness before unlocking something in the drawer which opened a secret compartment. Peter’s heart began thumping quicker and quicker as he watched his father pull out a file and rifle through it.
What was going on? This… wasn’t part of Dad’s game. Was it? ‘Slow and steady, Pete,’ He breathed out slowly, trying to focus and slow, but he started to tremble. What was going on? He wanted to ask, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Or his voice had left him. Suddenly his mom was in front of him and lifting him into a tight embrace. She carried him out of the room but not before Peter watched his father lift up an eraser and start wiping away equations from his blackboard.
Mom carried him up to his room and immediately reached for a suitcase and started throwing any and everything that she could reach.
“M-Mom.” Peter tried and started shaking.
“Hand me that!” She pointed to something Peter stood next to as Peter tried and failed to take in a breath. Eyes widening, Mary Parker immediately recognized the situation that Peter was in and grabbed the inhaler off Peter’s nightstand.
“Breathe.” She instructed. “It’s going to be alright, okay?” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re going to go on a little adventure and I need you to be ready for it, okay?”
Peter sucked in his inhaler.
“Mary.” Richard Parker was standing in the doorway holding two bags. “We have to go now .”
Mary nodded. “Just one more second.” She brushed a hand through Peter’s hair. “Can you hand me that, Peter?” She pointed to the item she had been talking about the first time. Peter glanced over to see the Iron Man figure that was laying on the ground next to his bed. Shaking Peter leaned over and picked it up before handing it to his mom.
“We can’t leave without our favorite superhero to watch over you, right?” Mary smiled at Peter.
“Mary. ” Richard emphasized.
“We’re coming, Richard.” And Mary lead Peter out of his room. Richard took one second to affectionately squeeze Peter’s shoulder before Mary hauled him back up into her arms and they all raced down the steps and out of the door.
Speeding off in their car, Peter looked back at his house as the rain came down in torrents, not knowing it would be the last time he would ever see it again.
The damp concrete surface was cold and hard underneath Peter Parker’s limp figure. No cold wasn’t the right word, it was chilling and seeping into the tight spandex of Peter’s spider suit. Shivering, he groaned and then tried to peel his eyes open to get a handle on his bearings. The cotton that seemed to fill his ears and head didn’t help the process.
Despite his shuddering ribs, he tried to move himself up further in his already half-seated position—
“I wouldn’t move if I were you.” A stern voice echoed not far from Peter.
Freezing immediately, Peter blinked furiously. A person… His reflexes were dull yet he still tried to unscramble his jumbled hazy concentration—but wound up relying on his weak reflexes instead. And his reflexes told him the obvious: he was still wearing his suit (passed out during spidey patrol—definitely not a good sign), he wasn’t bound (a good sign), and was lying limp (bad sign number two), and judging by… was that a breeze? A distant car? Yeah, so… outside? On a rooftop? His eyes were still slow to adjust and blinking hard wasn’t helping.
Nor was the pounding headache. Stop, you’re Spider-Man and Spider-Man can overcome this, he ordered himself. Just… block everything out. Now focus on the obvious: who is Stranger Danger? Or was he a 'danger'? Well, there was the ominous 'don't move' he just gave him, but his Spidey Senses weren’t going haywire… just minorly— except that his reflexes were already impaired by some injury— so that might factor into the minor reaction.
“Breathe out Slowly. Slow and steady, Pete.”
Slow and Steady. He blinked several times and slowly a warbled haze of his surroundings came into vague focus until he noticed a blob of red crouched down not far from him. He flinched involuntarily— seemed his reflexes decided to work overtime as a way to overcompensate— or was it the intense cold that made him flinch? An intense cold that seeped and clenched harder at his limbs almost eliminating his concentration.
Stranger Danger voiced something that sounded unintelligible to his cotton-filled ears, and in the next instant, Peter felt himself reacting to the hand that reached out toward him. Swiping it away, the world suddenly spun.
“Oh…” Peter heard himself slur, his tongue was reluctant to move. “Tha’ ‘as a m’stake.”
“No kidding,” Stranger Danger sounded slightly irritated. “Considering the weight of your concussion. Even with your apparent enhanced healing, I wouldn’t try any quick movements.” He paused. “Just relax.” His chipped voice grudgingly continued. “I have someone on their way right now.”
The words took a second to register. Huh, he really didn’t sound like a threat, just pissed, which wasn't necessarily a good sign, but all things considered, the stranger hadn't even taken his mask off. Not invading his privacy—
Did he say ‘concussion’? And ‘enhanced healing’? How could Stranger Danger know that?! Peter's eyes widened and slowly focused on the muddled figure in front of him. In the hazy light, the red blob of the figure in front of him began to take shape revealing a man dressed entirely in a tight suit of red and concealing most of his face was a mask with—
“Ears?” Peter’s voice slurred.
“They’re horns.” Came the irritated deep voice. Huh, by that reaction to 'ears', he'd say this wasn't the first that someone had misunderstood.
Then the pieces slid into place and Peter immediately stood on guard, in spite of his weak muscles. “You’re…” He all but coughed out. “You’re… the Devil o’ Hell’s Kitch’n.”
“It’s Daredevil.” The vigilante towered over Peter’s limp figure.
A past vow Peter made slowly came to the surface of Peter's mind: Stay out of Daredevil's way.
And somehow… judging by the anger that seemed to radiate, Peter had failed— or rather Spider-Man had failed.
But… how? What… had happened? How was he even lying on the ground? Was it just…
“So,” Daredevil asked, he was crouching in front of Peter, yet still seemed to tower over him. “What is Spider-Man doing in Hell’s Kitchen? I thought you were exclusive to Queens?”
“Well,” Peter’s nerves, intellect, and reflexes seemed to be at war in the utter discomfort of the situation. So he blurted out the first option of responses he could make: “If you asked most people, spiders come from hell…” Crap, that was the worst response he could have— then it hit him. “Hell’s Kitchen?”
"Where did you think you were?"
“Uh…” But his teeth started chattering as his mind swarmed. “I…” Damn, why was he so cold?
“You don't even..." Daredevil began, then stopped as something seemed to come over him— no rage came over him. "Well, thanks to your misunderstanding, you completely got in the way of my mission. Do you have any idea how long I was tracking those people? I finally was going to find out where they operated when you decided to get involved! Do have any idea how many people—?!” Daredevil stopped and then breathed out slowly. He pinched at his nose, hands shaking. “Listen, kid, I don’t know why you are here in Hell’s Kitchen, but let me tell you this: it is not the same here as it is in Queens. This is my city, and I know how it operates. So don’t get involved with something when you don't know shit about it.”
What?
An iciness filled Peter's limbs and entire body, as Daredevil’s rant warbled together with the begging understanding of what the hell he was missing.
What the fuck had happened before? He got in the way of— what?! What had happened? What was the last thing he remembered? How did he end up in Hell’s Kitchen?! That— Peter had intentionally avoided it, especially after moving to Manhattan!
“Wha-what are you… talking about?” The cotton in Peter’s ears started to lessen so that it was just a muffled fog but the cold didn’t seem to stop.
Daredevil didn't respond immediately but considered Peter slowly. “Shit," he muttered under his breath. "Head trauma... You don't remember?”
"I—" Peter began before coughing and a tremor of cold wracked his body. "Ugh, it's so cold." He blurted out without meaning to.
"Cold?” Daredevil asked in sudden alarm. “That's..." He considered Peter again. "Your body temperature is completely normal," He mused. "And it's a warm night. Pretty sure that's stress and adrenaline—”
“I think I'd know the diff— you can read body temperature now?” What the hell? Was this some fever dream? “No. No— not important, I—” Slow and Steady Peter. “Look, Mr… uh, Daredevil, Sir, I mean—” He cringed. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know how I could have even gotten here. I…”
And then Peter completely lost his words and the rambling train took over. “I— swore I wouldn’t ever mess with your turf because that's… stupid, and— I mean that you uh, have it under control— I mean— I swore never to— I never would have interfered with your fight… because I want to avoid… You.”
...
NO! That wasn't what he was supposed to say! Peter dropped his aching head against one of his hands. “That’s… not what I meant— forget it.”
Peter heard the vigilante breathe out slowly. "Just... relax kid." The patience was there, but the irritation wasn't gone. "You obviously have head trauma. Surprised your enhanced healing isn't compensating for that but—"
"Wait— woah-woah— wait! How... do you know that my healing is...? I mean if you read that online, that's all just... speculation—"
Daredevil snorted. "I didn't read it online."
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "Then why are you so certain that I... can heal fast?"
A pause. "Because I can tell."
Now Peter knew he wasn't on his good side, but there was no way he could just leave it there. "How?"
A sigh. "Because I can hear how your bones shift, mending themselves. Head trauma isn't your only injury."
"...You can hear all of that?!" Peter burst forth, forgetting any apprehension. "That's... that's so cool! That's how you're a master of stealth because you can hear everything?" Daredevil was no joke and was rumored to be superior in stealth to the master spy and Avenger, Black Widow herself.
"It definitely helps." Daredevil almost begrudgingly answered.
"Wow." A million questions flooded Peter's head. "But then what else can you hear? I mean if you can hear bones shifting, then can you hear... heartbeats? Or people talking in... Staton Island—?"
"Let's not go that far. I can hear well, but I do have limits." Daredevil interrupted. "Though, I can hear heartbeats. Like yours racing right now. Calm down, the last thing I need is you jumping into action and having to stop you from almost getting yourself killed again."
Peter flinched, and it wasn't from the cold this time. He wanted to believe the vigilante was over-exaggerating because Spider-Man didn't do that— but judging by his circumstances and the fact he couldn't remember anything— he shuddered as he realized that was a truth that wasn't altering itself. This wasn't just disorientation, Peter couldn't remember anything that happened before he must have passed out, and that was something that had not happened to him since he had gotten his abilities. No matter what hit to the head he received.
If anything Peter always considered himself unlucky for being unable to forget.
And this didn't seem like something he would have forgotten— had he lost his mind before then? Why would he have come to Hell's Kitchen?!
"Uh... Dare-Daredevil, uh sir?" (Where was the slick-tongued Spider-Man when he needed him?) "What... happened? I—" He wanted to run a hand through his hair but wound up opting to scratch the side of his mask. "I just... don't think I would have ever come to Hell's Kitchen. Or would have— none of that sounds like something that I would—" But he stopped himself.
"Let me illuminate you. See, the car thief was leading us to the people who run the entire operation. It's been a six-month-long sting— it's called strategy, I'm sure you're aware of the term strategy? Probably heard about that in school?"
A sudden cold that Peter thought he had grown accustomed to clenched its fist around his heart.
Right.
He hadn't meant to get in the way of Captain Stacy's police operation when he was hellbent on revenge against the man who killed his uncle and yet— Peter's breath caught in his chest. He had been blind with rage, and thought his revenge was a way of bringing justice. How could stopping all those criminals have a disadvantage?
Except that he had stopped one criminal that the police had been tracking for months, causing their trail to run cold and leaving them unable to stop the operation they had been fighting against.
What had Daredevil said? He'd been tracking those people for three months?
"What did I do?" He heard himself ask, his voice as icy as the fist around his heart. It wasn't that far-fetched what he had done— not at all. "Well?!" He looked up toward the vigilante who was carefully studying Peter.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Daredevil finally asked, evenly.
Peter froze. What was the last thing he remembered? He squeezed his eyes. "I... remember... going out." On patrol, yeah, he remembered that. He had snuck out of the window and tried to get familiar with Manhatten, tested the waters out. One borough wasn't the same as the next, and neither were the people. He remembered wondering how people would handle him arriving— or leaving Queens.
But that had been another matter entirely.
"...I remember... just doing what I usually do: the whole Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man thing and all and..." But it went hazy. What had happened? Damn. "Look, all I know is that I wanted to stay away from Hell's Kitchen—"
"I thought you were stationed in Queens. Staying away from Hell's Kitchen shouldn't be a problem then."
"I used to be," Peter responded bluntly. "But... things change." He muttered cryptically before brightening. "—And I thought, 'hey, you know, Manhatten may have the Avengers but... who's looking out for the everyday people?' You know?" It wasn't the first nor would it be the last that Peter was thankful his mask concealed not only his identity but his expression. Fooling people with your voice is easy but with your expression? That was much harder.
"You're in Manhatten now?" Daredevil asked.
"I guess..." First day on patrol too. Off to a great start. "But! I meant to stay out of Hell's Kitchen."
Daredevil huffed. "Yeah... you've mentioned that a few times—"
"But that's why it's so weird what I'm..."
"That you're here?"
Peter breathed out and scratched at his mask again. "Seriously, what happened? What... did I do?"
Daredevil didn't respond right away, instead, he stood in consideration, before walking toward Peter. Involuntarily, Peter went rigid as the vigilante abruptly sat down beside him on the hard floor and leaned back against the wall Peter was slumped against. "Listen kid—"
"Not a kid." Peter blurted out.
"Right..." Daredevil didn't sound convinced but apparently decided not to fight it. "Well, Spider-Man, it sounds like you don't remember any of this, and I don't know what happened prior to this, so... maybe hold off on taking this at face value" How bad was it that he was giving him a prior warning? "At the docks, people were hauling in a shipment, and I was there, hiding out and trying to get information on the shipment..." He stopped. "They had been talking with each other, giving zero information when out of nowhere you swooped in and started attacking them—"
"What?" Peter swallowed what felt like sawdust. "No, that's— they weren't doing anything and I just started to... attack?"
"Well, it's not like they were innocent, but I figured someone had given you a tip, and that's why you didn't wait for any criminal activity and decided to—"
"Just start attacking?! Did I say anything at all? I would have at least said something!"
Daredevil gave him a funny look. "No? Do you make it a habit to small talk while fighting?"
"It catches people off-guard. I didn't say anything and just attacked?!" Peter looked down at his hands. "That... why would I...?" His hands trembled— was he really cold or was it actually just nerves like Daredevil said? "No, I wouldn't have..." A wave of nausea fell over him. What the hell had fucking happened?!
"Spider-Man," Daredevil began slowly, "You just experienced severe head trauma, even if you are healing fast—"
"What happened after that?" Peter pressed.
"Let's talk about this later. You need to calm down—"
"No, I need to know what I'm missing! So what happened after I started attacking out of nowhere?" And when he didn't get a quick response: "Well?!"
"You got hit in the head, and were down."
"...And then you had to join the fight?"
"It was either that or watching them kill you."
Peter couldn't respond. It wasn't right. It couldn't be! Then what had happened before then? Peter shook his head before abruptly getting to his feet. The world spun, and he distantly heard Daredevil rise and voice something but it sounded far-off and muffled. Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his spidey sense picked up on something coming his way. He flinched violently and turned to see Daredevil holding a hand out— to steady him? Stop him from rushing off?
Daredevil immediately drew back, hit hands raised in a sign of surrender. "Spider-Man, you need to calm down right now—"
Peter shook his head. "No, you-you don't understand. I—I wouldn't just..." The ever-present cold that had been gripping him since he awoke, shook him in a violent tremor. Immediately he turned and caught himself against the wall that he had been laying against: a small brick bulkhead on the rooftop of some random building. "It's not me—"
"I believe you," Daredevil stopped him. "But we can figure that out later. You have to sit and calm down."
The iciness seemed to have a stronger grip on Peter than normal, making his entire body go rigid, making nothing seem more miserable than sitting down, despite his tired and cold limbs. The squeezing around his heart seemed to seep into his lungs making his breath come out in short bursts. Cotton refilled Peter's ears, muffling his surroundings and creating so much pressure that his world started to spin. "What the hell happened?!"
"We'll figure it out." Daredevil stood near enough that his voice pierced through the cotton muffling Peter's hearing. "I have a friend on the way, she's a nurse, she can help. Maybe even shed some light on what happened—"
"What?" Peter's head shot toward Daredevil, as the world stopped spinning and came into focus. "That's not— I don't need anyone to... Just... give me an hour and I'll be perfect! Fast healing, remember?" He forced himself to take a deep breath and slow his breathing in an attempt to undo the last untrustworthy thirty seconds of panic.
"You and I both know that it will take longer than that to heal. I think that you should—" But at that same second, they were interrupted by a mechanical voice saying 'Claire, Clair, Claire...' over and over again. Neither moved, until Daredevil reached down and produced an old flip-phone in his pocket (those things still existed?!). It seemed to be the owner of the sound, which Peter presumed was a very on-the-nose ringtone. "Sounds like she must be here..." He muttered, answering the phone and immediately started giving the person who answered instructions on how to reach them.
But that was enough for Peter. The instant Daredevil was distracted, he took a running jump over the edge of the building.