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"Remind me again,” Mr. Castle drawled, tone dry. “How old are you?"
See, if Peter wasn't currently drugged and tied to a chair, he might have let out an indignant squawk. Might have even diverted Mr. Castle's attention away from his age to, oh, he didn’t know, the half-dozen near dead bodies scattered around them?
Unfortunately, Spider-Man’s quipping faculties weren't quite online at the moment.
"Older than you think,” was all he could dredge up in reply. Weak, honestly.
The drugs Meanie McCrimeLord forced on him had the terrible effect of slowing his synapses, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep him blissfully unaware. Such was the tragedy of having a spider's metabolism.
Mr. Castle raised a cutting brow. "I think you're twelve." He reached back and attached his shotgun back to its sling. "So the bar's pretty low."
Asshole. Peter was already halfway through getting himself out of the ropes binding his wrists to the chair. He would have been way faster if it weren't for the drugs and someone’s Debbie Downer attitude.
Mr. Castle folded his arms, unnecessarily put off. "You shouldn't even be on this operation." He tossed his face abandoned warehouse ceilingwards, face thunderous. "You're too young. No one should be letting you do this."
That last sentence sounded more like it was directed to Daredevil than Peter, which was a bit unfair. The Devil was doing the last bout of recon on top of the warehouse, and he certainly had no say in whether Peter chose to take down criminal masterminds or not.
"We wouldn't have managed to knock down so many of Meanie McCrimeLord's top lackeys if we didn't make him think he caught Spider-Man." Peter flexed his wrists as the scratchy ropes slid clumsily to the ground. He frowned down at the ties pinning his ankles to the chair.
"You were drugged." Mr. Castle continued to argue, even though he wasn’t doing anything to help Peter out of his bonds. Rude. "Pretty sure that means you were actually caught."
Yeah, because he let himself get actually caught, genius.
Peter decided there was no point in arguing any further than he had to, not with the beating he’d just had to endure. He lifted a shoulder instead, bending down to work at the ankle ties.
The process was slow. Meanie McCrimeLord had made sure to keep his ankles locked tight against the chair legs, and the pain flaring in his side from the earlier blows wasn’t helping matters either. Where's superhuman healing when you need it? His fingers were shaking and his vision was sort of blurring over. That... probably wasn’t good.
Mr. Castle's military shave cut came suddenly into view. Peter blinked in confusion. He was crouched beside his legs, looking up at him with an exasperatedly annoyed expression.
“Sit up,” He ordered, and when Peter visibly hesitated, he resorted to gruffly batting away his fingers and slicing the ties with a short knife he had hidden in his boot.
Huh. Not so rude after all.
"Queens is my turf, Mr. Castle." Peter rolled his freed ankles appreciatively. "It's my responsibility to do this."
Mr. Castle didn't say anything in reply, and Peter thought he'd cinched the argument quite professionally.
When he helped him to his feet, however, the swell of vertigo that hit Peter was something neither of them had been prepared for. Mr. Castle had to take a moment to steady himself as Peter embarrassingly stumbled into his body armour and latched onto it like baby koalas did to the back of their mothers.
Mr. Castle didn't immediately throw him to the ground, which was nice. "You're just a kid." He repeated, tone dipping to a low growl. Peter wondered if Mr. Castle practised his voices in the mirror like he did.
"I'm turning 18." Peter insisted, though his words were starting to slur, so it probably just sounded like a garbled mess. "I'm an adult." He tried again. Damn, the drugs were really kicking in now.
Mr. Castle clicked his tongue. "Barely." He wrestled Peter's weight against his chest, and dragged his arm over his own neck, allowing Peter to stagger up on his feet. "Now stop arguing. I'm carrying most of your weight here."
"Hnngh." Peter answered intelligently, which was of course when Daredevil decided to appear in classic creepy Devil fashion. He spared a checking glance to the array of bodies around him.
"None of them are dead," Mr. Castle snapped, tone defensive. “And if you say one more word about how I handle things–”
“I wasn’t going to,” Daredevil sounded amused. "I assume Spider-Man’s presence was enough to curb your murderous tendencies?"
“Totally,” Peter chimed in, despite the growing headache building at the back of his head. He wondered if he was concussed. Meanie McCrimeLord did kind of slam his head against the wall earlier to intimidate him. “I’ve been subbing in for Mr. Castle’s non-existent moral compass.”
Daredevil canted his head to the side, lips curling. “Were you, now?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Castle growled again, then scowled down at Peter, still hanging limply by his neck. "I am not the problem here. You are." Castle gestured for all of them to exit the building, and surprisingly, Daredevil followed suit without bristling. Peter had never known him to be a follower to anyone’s orders before.
"No kid should be running around in spandex teaming up with other vigilantes to dismantle crime rings."
Peter thought of Johnny Storm, Kate Bishop and all the other known vigilante kids running around New York. That might be too much for Mr. Castle’s protective adult brain to handle.
"I wasn't gonna team up.” He said instead. “I was gonna handle it myself." Peter staggered along at Mr. Castle's pace.
"Pretty sure that makes it worse." Daredevil was a traitorous jerk. Peter pouted.
"You shouldn't be approving this." Mr. Castle turned his head pointedly at Daredevil.
"Oh, I don't," Daredevil lifted a shoulder, stalking dangerously in the dark. "But Spider-Man makes his own choices. He's certainly proven that of himself, with his skills, if nothing else."
Peter waved appreciatively in Daredevil's direction. " Thank you." Jerk-status revoked. "I know what I'm doing, Mr. Castle."
"Like volunteering to get kidnapped?" Mr. Castle snapped drily.
"Like finding the best possible options given the resources that he has." Daredevil corrected, and Peter had never loved Daredevil more than he did that second. “No one knew the remnant Russians would have drugs strong enough to cow the Spider.”
“We could have gone in and made him do recon.”
“But then,” Peter’s voice was dragging itself from his throat. He was so tired. “You would have killed them all. You don’t care about killing in front of D and you won’t fight alongside me because my age offends you.” His eyelids were so heavy.
Mr. Castle stopped walking, mercifully allowing Peter to catch his breath. He turned to glare down at him. “Are you saying this is a me problem?”
Peter shrugged. “Probably.” His head was lolling to the side, and his body didn’t feel like listening to him. His other hand reached up to massage his temples. Damn, those drugs worked like a bitch.
“You need to carry him, Frank.”
That was probably smart. Peter’s limbs were pretty melty right now.
“Me? Why me?” Mr. Castle reared his head at Daredevil. “What about you?”
“My leg’s injured.” Oh yeah, that’s true. Daredevil had been favouring one side since he first landed. Peter would have noticed that immediately if he wasn’t busy being drugged.
“Would you carry me please, Mr. Castle?” Peter asked, because his legs were dissolving and Aunt May had always taught him to ask politely for the things he wanted. Her dying face still haunted him some nights. He missed her. “I promise to be very good.”
Mr. Castle’s face might have crumpled, and Daredevil might have laughed but Peter wasn't really sure. By the time Mr. Castle had him safely tucked under his arms and against his chest, Peter’s eyes had already stopped fighting to keep themselves open.
In the end, Frank and Red decided it’d be best to stow the kid away in Red’s apartment. Red was a lawyer, and had a respectable day job - he wouldn’t be at risk of having to explain to Peter why his apartment looked like no one had ever lived in it.
Frank had many safehouses. He rarely stayed in any of them.
Frank walked behind Red as he patted his pockets for the key to his apartment, still a little annoyed that he had to be the one carrying an unconscious not-adult. Red ushered him in with a wave of his hand and tilt of his head.
The apartment wasn’t an unfamiliar place. Frank had been there many times, when certain operations went wrong and Red was too stubborn to stop fighting despite the more than visible gunshot wound on his waist. So Frank was pretty acquainted with Red's place. Didn’t change the fact that he lived in a shithole. The billboard lights were blinding through the floor-to-ceiling lounge windows.
“Where’re you putting the kid?” Frank hovered by the couch with a raised eyebrow.
“Bedroom,” Red pointed vaguely at the door to his bed, he himself heading for the first-aid kit by the kitchen aisle.
Frank grunted his assent. He would have given the kid a bed too, if he had one.
When he tried to lower the kid onto Red’s comfortable double bed, however, the kid’s arm latched tighter around Frank’s neck, though his eyes were still closed. Frank frowned down at him.
“I just need to put you down, kid.”
The kid let out a sound that couldn’t be anything but a keening whimper. Frank felt his heart shake. “Kid?” He asked carefully, not letting him go.
“Please don’t go, sir,” The kid whispered, and he sounded, he sounded desperate. He was desperate, if his rigid hold on Frank was any indicator. “Please, don’t leave me.”
“I’m not,” Frank assured frantically, not even caring that Red could definitely hear them from outside. “I’m staying, kid.” He climbed into bed with the kid and pulled the covers over them. In another world, he might have held his own son like this too.
He closed his eyes, holding Spider-Man tight.
The next morning, he managed to extricate himself out of the kid’s octopus hold before the kid woke without much fuss. He paused by the side of the couch where Red was sprawled on. His eyes were closed but the way he breathed told Frank he was far from asleep.
“He’s too young, Red.” He stated, tone low.
Red let out a sigh. “I know.” A pause. “I’ll talk to him.”
Frank nodded once, and made his way out the Devil’s apartment.
Red called after him when he reached the door. “You’ll be back?”
Frank thought about coming back to Red's shithole, then thought about the kid still sleeping in Red's bed, who had clung to him like a child who’d just lost its mother. His head thumped against the hardwood. “Yeah,” He grumbled. “I’ll be back.”
Peter woke with one hand flung into the air, and a frantic heartbeat. It took him five seconds to realise that he’s in an apartment, and another five to realise that he’s in Daredevil’s apartment.
His hands flipped to his face immediately. His mask was still on. He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief.
Daredevil chose that moment to appear suddenly out of nowhere without so much as a creak in the floorboards. Peter jumped out of the bed as his heart skyrocketed to its initial pace. Spider senses weren’t working well for him right now.
“Jesus, D!” Peter moved out of attack mode to clutch a hand over his weak heart. “Warn a guy, will you?”
Daredevil stared at him, impassive. “We didn’t know where to bring you.” There’s a question in there somewhere. “Frank thought it’d be dangerous to stow you away in any of his safe houses.”
“Frank thinks everything is dangerous for me,” Peter grumbled, rubbing the side of his face - or, well, his mask. He was going to take it off first thing when he was alone. It was hard to breathe in that thing.
He tilted his head at Daredevil. “You don’t, though.” A small grin slipped across his face, which he knew Daredevil could sense with his weird non-superhuman abilities (The only reason Peter knew he wasn’t genetically enhanced was because when he'd straight up asked Daredevil three weeks ago if he was a mutant, the guy barked out an incredulous laugh and continued on his mission, which was pretty much an answer in and of itself.) “You think I’ve proven myself with my skills.”
“That was before you asked Frank to carry you, pretty please.”
Peter grimaced. “I said that?”
“Yeap.” Daredevil said, clearly enjoying himself too much. “Now would you like to come out for breakfast, or do I have to carry you out too?”
“Man, you are such an asshole.” Peter followed Daredevil out anyway, because he would never pass up a free meal. He wasn’t above stomping loudly behind him, though.
When they reached the lounge area, Peter noticed a thin fleece blanket draped over the back of the couch. Addendum: Daredevil was an asshole who let Peter sleep on the bed while he slept on the couch in his own apartment. Peter’s indignance cooled substantially, noting that.
“How are your injuries?” Daredevil asked as Peter slinked into the seat across the kitchen aisle.
“Fine,” Peter rolled up his mask to the nose and picked up a couple waffles. “How’s yours?”
“Still hurting.”
"Mine isn't."
"That's good," Daredevil said neutrally, passing Peter the maple syrup.
Peter smiled privately. If any of the Devil’s enemies saw him like this, he would lose all of his street cred. He looked considerably less frightening wearing just his funny horned mask and stained grey sweatshirt while holding out a bottle of syrup.
“Yeah, being a spider is fun,” Peter took the syrup and drizzled a healthy amount over his waffles, ignoring Daredevil’s progressively wrinkling nose. He shoved a bite into his mouth - sweet as diabetes, just how he liked it. “I can get drugged and just be fine the next day. Meanie McCrimeLord didn’t even hit all that hard.”
Daredevil’s fingers tightened over his fork. Peter pretended not to notice.
“I mean, besides the drug part, it was a pretty good plan, right?” He shoved another helping of diabetes into his mouth. “All things considered, I mean. The gang’s out of my part of town, I’m alive, you’re alive, Mr. Castle didn’t kill anyone. Everyone wins.”
“When Frank put you down to bed,” Daredevil’s tone is cool, quiet. Making a point. “You were begging Frank not to let you go. You didn’t want to be left alone.”
Peter froze for a second, then forced himself to move again. He reached for the pot of coffee on Daredevil’s side and poured them both a cup. “Sorry for the trouble, then.”
“Spider-Man.”
Peter waited patiently.
“Frank isn’t wrong.” That must have been hard to get out. Daredevil sounded like he was spitting nails. “You’re very young.”
Peter set the pot down with a scowl. “I fought a giant purple alien.” He pointed up at the ceiling for extra emphasis. “In space.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been doing this for more than 5 years.”
“I know , Spider.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, it’s just,” Daredevil blew out a breath. “You don’t really have anyone in your corner.”
Peter frowned. “That’s not true. I have you.”
“Glowing as you think that admission might be, you don’t even know my name.” Daredevil waved, as if that explained anything. “You don’t have anyone in your personal life.”
That’s because most of everyone in his personal life forgot his entire existence and the only one that hadn’t died fighting the big purple alien in space.
“I don’t need that to help anyone.”
“Yes, you do.” Again, out of nowhere, Frank Castle appeared behind Peter. This time, Peter sensed his presence before he entered. Good to know his senses were still functioning.
Peter snapped his head back to Daredevil. “You gave him the top-level key to your apartment?”
“Yeah, kid, because that’s what having people in your corner means,” Castle griped, then nodded at Daredevil. “Glad to see we’re finally on the same page.”
“You want me to give you the key to my apartment?” Peter asked incredulously.
“Look, we’re not trying to stop you from doing this,” Daredevil paused at a harsh look from Castle. “Well, I’m not, at least. We just want to make sure you’re safe if you’re going to do this long term.”
“I am safe.”
“Do you have a doctor you can call when you get injured?” Daredevil pressed. “Do you have a friend you can at least turn to when saving the world gets too much, because trust me, I know it gets too much.”
“I have a first-aid kit.” Peter replied, because he didn’t quite know how to deal with that last inquiry. Michelle and Ned were both studying at MIT, and even if they weren’t, it’s not like they remembered him anyway. People like Peter aren’t supposed to have friends.
Mr. Castle dropped into the couch beside him with a groan, one hand covering his face. “Just trust us, kid.”
Peter fell silent and focused on not tearing up. He chugged down the rest of his coffee in one go. Daredevil was still looking at him carefully, like he wasn’t quite sure what Peter would do. Peter wasn’t sure either.
In the end, he settled for the truth. “It’s dangerous.”
“We’re all dangerous, Spider-Man.”
That... made an annoying amount of sense. Peter closed his eyes. “Okay,” He said. “Okay.”
He’s known Daredevil and Mr. Castle for a considerable amount of time since the mind wipe. They were probably the strongest allies he could possibly hope to trust in New York City, and it wasn't like he was planning to go near anything sorcery ever again. He could, he could be safe, with them.
That knowledge didn’t stop the lurch in his stomach when he watched Daredevil unceremoniously take off his mask. Under the mask, Daredevil looked every bit less remarkable than he had been. Daredevil was blind. Daredevil looked vaguely familiar. Daredevil was…
… Matt Murdock, the lawyer?
A distant image of Mr. Murdock catching a brick aimed for Peter without even looking, and an unconvincing explanation of I’m a really good lawyer.
Peter laughed, and Mr. Murdock’s face creased in confusion. Mr. Castle had turned around over the couch back to witness the scene behind him. He certainly didn’t have anything to worry about, everyone knew who he was already.
Peter took off his mask in a single smooth motion, and the rush of fresh air that greeted his senses was a welcome reprieve. “You’re just a really good lawyer, Mr. Murdock.” Peter smiled, taming down his ruffled hair.
Mr. Murdock frowned. "You've heard of me?”
“Everyone's heard of you. You're, like, a vigilante's go-to defense lawyer.” Also, Peter has personally enlisted his help before, not that he remembered it. Peter was probably going to have to explain that at a later date.
Mr. Castle snorted, his eyes lingering for a split second on Mr. Murdock's face like he's seen it before but can't quite believe he's able to see it again. Peter raised his eyebrows.
Mr. Murdock coughed discreetly, holding up a hand. "Well, you know who I am," He hurried along. "It's only fair for me to know who you are too."
"I'm Peter," Peter accepted Mr. Murdock's hand before he could stop himself. His hands were warm. "Peter Parker."
"Nice to meet you, Peter."
Just like that, Peter had two new people in his corner. He really hoped he didn't regret this.
"About time, honestly," Mr. Castle flopped back down on the couch. "Two grown men shouldn't be having breakfast in their PJs while wearing wannabe superhero masks. It's ridiculous."
Peter groaned. Starting to regret this a little now.
Mr. Murdock smirked a little and placed more waffles on Peter's plate. He poured a good helping of maple syrup onto them, just the way Peter liked.
Okay, so maybe he could live with this. Peter nodded once, and spooned the waffles into his mouth.
Spider-Man was going to do all he could to make sure Daredevil and Frank Castle never died on the field of battle. If they ever did, it would be because Spider-Man was already dead.
He swore it.