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When he first became Spider-Man and hadn’t quite yet figured out how to control his spidey-sense or learned how to use it to identify the location of something, Peter would wander awkwardly around the streets of Queens without his suit on and wait for someone to try to mug, assault, or murder him.

Really, it just depended on what the bad guy of the night wanted to do with him.

It didn’t really matter to him back then that he wasn’t wearing his suit, covering the entirety of his face and any other identifying features, because he wasn’t fighting people who were going to come back looking for him with a budding vengeance.

If they noticed him on the streets after they got released, sure they’d probably have another go at him. But they weren’t actually going to hunt him down.

And he wasn’t really trying to make much of a name for himself, he never had been, as Uncle Ben had said ‘with great power comes great responsibility’. He was saving people in the only way he knew how at the time, using his fighting skills to knock out and detain the criminals.

The plan was fairly simple, the criminals coming up to 13-year-old Peter Parker weren’t expecting a fight. They weren’t expecting to struggle against a boy whose uncle taught him multiple fighting styles when he was 8 and scared of a monster who now lurked behind bars.

They’d come up; maybe they’d start with fists swinging just to scare him slightly, shake him up so he gave over everything, or maybe they’d wave around whatever weapon they’d decided on (it was usually kitchen knives and kitchen knives sucked to be stabbed with because in Queens they never seemed to be sharp so it was like cutting skin with scissors meant for paper), or maybe if he was extra lucky they’d just slam his back into the wall and demand all his money.

He’d go along with it for a moment or two, let the person do a little more as he started shaking and shoving his hands in his pockets to pretend and dish out money, and then when they were getting all smug that they’d successfully scared the 13-year-old into handing over all his money, he’d strike.

Usually, it was a quick blow to the side of the neck, knocking them out cold, his limbs moving faster than a human's should, but the person wouldn’t remember that by the time they came to while being manhandled into the back of a police car.

Sometimes he mixed it up, wanted to get a little more anger out or simply wanted to test out his hand-to-hand combat. He’d disarm them and then they’d start fighting, the criminal usually went with a mixture of street fighting and boxing while he went with a mix of Tai Chi, Savate, Kung Fu, and Aikido.

He’d circle them, playing with them really, letting them get a few more hits in while he landed blow after blow that on their own weren’t too bad but built up over time until the criminal was swaying slightly, and then he’d hit the final nerve strike that had them falling to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Eventually, when he got involved in bigger situations and started getting noticed by people who could see the pattern starting to form, he took on the Spider-Man suit full time and his nightly wander of Queens with his hood up and his eyes trailing along the ground came to an end.

The fights were more difficult, so he learnt more fighting styles; Ninjitsu, Biangan, Street Fighting (well, he improved on what he already knew), English Boxing, Karate, Wing Chun, and more.

He made his web fluid and shooters, to lean into the spider bit, and perfected the usage of them, catching himself as he fell off buildings, using them to propel himself through the air, learning the most effective ways to restrain people while using the least web fluid as possible.

He learnt to fight with weapons such as guns (even if his hands shook the few times he’d had to handle a gun and he’d spent his night after that throwing up on a rooftop amid a deep panic attack), knives, a Bo staff was used a couple times, and, of course, his favourite, the bin lid.

A very notorious weapon when it needs to be and incredibly unsuspected by all.

It seemed like that was all rather redundant now, all that extra training that he added so that he could fight these big bad guys that seemed to be the worst of the worst and got stronger each time he fought them because now he was back where he started.

Not wandering around without a mask because he wasn’t well-known enough to warrant the need for one anymore, but wandering around without a mask because there was nobody at home to protect.

He was living in a dingy old apartment building that definitely broke at least 6 health regulations and was not up to any standards, with nobody to remember him and no family left alive. There was nobody he needed to protect from the big bad villain but himself and he could do that out in the streets or in his bedroom (which was also his living room, kitchen, and wardrobe).

It was easier now than before. He knew how to listen to his spidey sense now, following it down winding alleyways as the screaming protest in his ears grew louder and the hairs on the back of his neck stood impossibly taller, and he was better at everything now than before. Even the strongest drug dealers didn’t stand as much of a chance against him with his hood pulled low over his eyes and a pocketknife being twisted between his fingers.

He didn’t have to worry about anything getting back to May or Ned or MJ or anybody else that he’d come to love in some sort of way because they weren’t there for it to get back to them. Either long gone now or safe from the life he had been dragging them into.

He could wander the streets of Queens, the streets of Brooklyn, Hell's Kitchen, Manhattan, Harlem, of Long Island during the early hours of the night before he moved around and completed his proper patrol as Spider-Man.

His signature black hoody with an image of the Death Star on the front helped him blend into the city surrounding him, and his dark red Jordans pulled him back out of it just enough for the criminals to notice him.

He could also foolishly pretend that he was going to take down the next person who tried to rob him and then hobble home because he’d not dodged a kick to his shin and the person was wearing steel-toed boots and that Aunt May was going to be sitting and waiting for him. He could pretend that everything was alright when it most definitely was not.

He could pretend nothing had changed, that he was a 13-year-old boy who’d seen slightly too much for his age rather than a 16-year-old boy with too many mental and physical scars and a memory of things that nobody should ever have to experience.

-- 1 --

He’s out slightly later than usual, eating into his time as Spider-Man, but the low-level buzzing at the back of his head sedated any thoughts that the masked vigilante would be required tonight.

Which was lucky because it was freezing, even for him in his thick hoody and 3 layers underneath that, and the heater for his suit broke 2 nights before and he hadn’t had the chance to scavenge up the required parts to make the fixes yet. (And he probably wouldn’t have the chance to for a while yet, he was working double shifts back-to-back for the next 4 days).

It had been a slow night out of suit as well to be fair, a singular man trying to mug him half an hour ago before he burst out crying when he realised, he was holding a gun to a teenager’s face. He’d actually ended up giving money to the guy and the address for F.E.A.S.T., because he definitely sounded like he needed it, as long as he promised not to turn to crime.

Really, he should be going to university to become a therapist or a psychiatrist he obviously had a knack for this sort of thing.

Since Queens was silent tonight, he allowed himself to make his way over to Hell’s Kitchen, running his finger along the spine of the pocketknife in his pocket just to remind himself that he was armed and would be fine if things really took a turn for the worst.

He hadn’t been using his webs for takedowns as much anymore, in or out of the costume (though the out had only been one occasion), as the chemicals he required to make them had to first be extracted from cleaning products, make-up, and a couple food items rather than him being able to just grab them at school.

The extra 8 days it took to create the web fluid was not worth webbing down criminals when he could simply wrap a pole around them, tie them up in heavy chains, or just hit them hard enough that they’d be down until the police arrived.

The police were not fans of his first two methods and had actually started putting out piles of zip ties for him as a replacement.

It was good practice for his hand-to-hand combat at least, he’d become rather dependent on his webs within the last few years, and this was really the eye-opener that he needed. Proving to him that he wouldn’t always have his webs on hand and easily accessible like Peter-Two would.

As usual, the closer he got to Hell’s Kitchen the more his spidey sense started to act up. The little spikes that had been running up and down his back all night while looking for crime in Queens becoming increasingly harder needle pricks.

Tonight was strange though, the needle pricks were there, stabbing over and over into his spine as all the hair on his body stood up ever so slightly, but it seemed almost as if they smoothed over after each wave of his spidey sense.

He wasn’t blind to what it meant, there was a vigilante of some sort out tonight, be it Jessica Jones, Punisher, Daredevil, or someone else who’d come to impose on their partially shared territory (it was described as partially because although they shared it, they could often be heard arguing or fighting if they got in each other’s ways).

The feeling didn’t mean that they were going to interrupt his business, but it also didn’t entirely rule it out. He’d only really find out when they decide to save him (as if he needed saving, but they weren’t really aware of that. He was a 16-year-old wandering around their territory and getting beaten up, and every vigilante seemed weak to children) so it was all down to hope that they wouldn’t interfere.

So far in the 4 months since Dr Strange’s spell he’d been lucky and hadn’t come across any of the vigilantes out of suit and on the few occasions that he had ended up dealing with them in suit he hadn’t stuck around long enough for much conversation.

Well, he had once, but that was only because he was incredibly aware of the fact Daredevil had the same heartbeat, scent, and body structure as the one and only lawyer Matthew Murdock and he’d been slightly too distracted by that to escape the crime scene before Jessica Jones was trying to persuade him to come drinking with them.

Apparently, Dr Strange’s spell had not only made everyone forget about the fact Peter Parker was Spider-Man but also all the evidence that the internet had collected over the years that he was younger than the other people in the vigilante scene.

Probably because the only reason Spider-Man acted like a child was because of Peter Parker. Though it didn’t really matter, it was working out in his favour now.

Anyway, it meant that most of the futile attempts that the vigilantes made to try to get some sort of contact with him were to persuade him to go with them to Sister Margeret’s for drinks. Because, despite all the arguments, fights, and general displeasure with each other that he’d always got from the group of older vigilantes, they were very aware of the fact they couldn’t do everything on their own and tried to ensure that they had a network ready if needs be.

His spidey sense rather obviously flared at the back of his neck as he turned a corner, flushing him out of his thoughts and alerting him to the danger of the group of 6 people standing at the end of the alley.

He had been aware they were there, could hear their heartbeats and light chatter about needing a little more cash to buy their next order of drinks at whatever bar would take them in despite being out of their minds drunk. But his spidey sense was the one that confirmed he was to be the victim.

It would be an incredibly simple fight, especially with the way half of them were swaying – wobbling on their feet after one too many drinks. He’d be doing them a favour by knocking them out and leaving them for the police, New York had recently invested in quite a good rehabilitation program for drug and alcohol addicts thanks to funding from Stark Industries.

To play his part perfectly, he curled his shoulders slightly more and focused even more on the floor than he had been before. An attempt to seem like he was trying to hide his presence when in actuality he was making it more obvious to the group.

Two of the group were armed, one with a gun and the other a pocketknife slightly larger than his own, while the other four seemed to think cracking their knuckles as they all started to move into a formation blocking his path was intimidating enough. (It definitely was not, especially if half their attempts at cracking them didn’t work and they’d huff under their breath, obviously annoyed).

They’d obviously done this before, their straight-line formation that blocked his path forward quickly turned into him being surrounded by a group of people all much larger than him. It would be intimidating if this wasn’t his plan, and they didn’t wobble on their feet like one rustle of wind would be enough to blow them over.

“Make th’s easy kid, hand over ya’ cash.” It was the man with the gun who spoke, a jeering smile plastered on his face that displayed his rotting teeth and allowing Peter’s enhanced smell to get a stronger whiff of alcohol from him. Rather revolting overall.

“I-I’m really sorry! I don’t have anything… I swear!” It wasn’t a lie, his pockets were empty aside from the pocketknife, but the way he shoved his hands deeper into the thin jumper’s pockets made it seem like he was gripping onto something – trying to keep a hold of the money that he was pretending not to have.

However, it was a ruse to the group of people who wouldn’t be able to decipher a lie if it punched them square in the jaw, and it was the perfect bait to get one of them close enough for him to start this fight.

“Tried ta giv’ ya an out.” The man waved the hand that wasn’t currently holding the gun in his pocket towards one of the other men, luckily the one without the knife so he wasn’t getting in close quarters to a stab wound just yet, indicating that they were to shake him down.

Just as the man got within a couple steps of where Peter was comfortable throwing the first swing from, his spidey-sense which had been a small yet sharp buzzing at the back of his neck dimmed drastically.

It was all the warning he got that tonight’s plan had been cut short before a bullet whizzed through the air, hitting a direct bullseye with the man who’d been making his way over’s kneecap. The squelching of blood and shattering of bone was only slightly muffled to his sensitive hearing by the man’s scream.

Like before, where he’d been aware of his upcoming muggers’ presence before his spidey-sense blared, he’d also been aware of Jessica Jones’ presence before his spidey-sense had dulled, he’d just hoped she’d either mind her business and continue on her night or not notice the scuffle at all.

That was not the case though as further bullets shot out in quick succession, hitting knees, hands, feet, and shoulders. It took 22 seconds for the group to be lying on the ground surrounding him in their ‘circle of mugging’ groaning and crying over their wounds, it only took so long because Jessica Jones’ had needed to reposition herself, so she didn’t catch him in the crossfire.

At least he didn’t have to go home with a bullet wound tonight, it was the little wins that counted.

“Y’alright kid?” Jessica Jones smelled nearly as strongly of alcohol, though she was definitely handling it better than the group around him, the flask on her hip having been opened so often that her clothes smelt just as much as her breath did.

‘I’m not. But I’m not going to inform you that I’m upset you got to beat the guys up before me.’ “Yeah… They didn’t- uh, didn’t take anything… Thank you, Miss. Jones.” He kept his head angled down at the ground, his hands now out of his pockets so that he could anxiously wring them together.

As a part of his disguise of course, not because he was worried the vigilante was going to recognise him out of mask… Obviously.

“God manners in this economy, y’obviously not from round here.” He allowed himself to laugh lightly at the detective’s words. Drunk or not Jessica Jones’ was an impeccable detective and if anyone other than Daredevil was going to figure out his identity it was going to be her, so he was trying his hardest to act naturally.

“I’m from Queens… I go to Fogwell’s Gym though; didn’t realise how late I’d been there until I left the building.” Natasha had told him once, during one of their few conversations that the best lies weren’t lies at all, but truths twisted and angled to perfectly support your story so that nobody could ever prove you wrong.

His shitty apartment, though only just bordering the worst side of Queens, was still in Queens. And he had gone to Fogwell’s Gym tonight and it ended up being later than he’d believed it to be. Therefore, his statement was entirely true.

The only way his story could be picked apart would be if Jessica Jones decided to fact-check it and found out that his visit to Fogwell’s had been in the early hours of the morning before his shift at work in Manhattan rather than before this whole situation.

“Right. Y’better get headin’ home kid. Much too late for someone like y’. I’ll phone this in.” He nodded his head, albeit very reluctantly, and said a quick goodnight and a further mention of thanks, before heading off in the direction of Queens to collect his spidey suit to start his next patrol.

This would have to be the end of Peter Parker’s crime-fighting for the night to avoid any chance of getting caught a second time which would raise alarm bells he didn’t want ringing.

--2--

He hadn’t meant for it to happen this time. Hadn’t been ready to take on an attempt at crime fighting as Peter Parker, or even ready to consider it. It was about a week after his run-in with Jessica Jones and it had thrown him off slightly out of fear his aims would be discovered.

The sun had set long ago, and the moon centred in the sky meaning he didn’t need a watch to know it was around midnight. Despite that he didn’t plan on doing any crime-fighting tonight, his ribs were broken from a drug bust gone run last night and barely healed bullet wounds in his left thigh felt like they were tearing open with every step he took.

He’d taken an extra double shift at the convenience store in Manhattan because he needed the money to buy more food, one of the main reasons that the bullet wounds had barely started healing rather than healing overnight like they should when his diet was at its best.

Because of that he’d therefore missed the final bus back to Queens and had needed to make the long, and rather (read incredibly) painful, walk back to his apartment and therefore ended up being jumped. His spidey-sense not warning him in time as all his strength and energy was going into healing.

The man who’d jumped him had his left arm pressed into his throat, very effectively restricting any air that he wanted to gulp down, and a gun pressed against his temple to prevent any smart attempt at escaping.

The 2 bullet wounds in his thigh had very obviously reopened if the pungent smell of blood that tickled his nose and the sticky feeling that he’d grown accustomed to, were any indicator. Hopefully, the man wouldn’t notice because he seemed like the kind of guy to poke fun at it (literally).

“It’s nothing personal kid, the boss needs someone to try his newest drugs out on and you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Criminals really showed their stupidity when they told you what their plans were, when he got out of this (which he would, it was just going to take a minute unless he wanted a bullet to the head or a collapsed windpipe) their drug ring would be the first thing he dealt with.

It was actually rather lucky that he’d been caught and not one of the people around his age that he’d been walking in front of before being pulled into the alley. If he didn’t manage to get away, they certainly wouldn’t manage it, and at least whatever drug was trialled on him wouldn’t have much of an effect.

His ability to burn through drugs of any type at a ridiculous speed only came into handy every so often, today was one of those few occurrences.

“Start walking and if you stop, I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” The man flipped him around, the gun pressed against the back of his skull and pushing him forward, so that he was facing the opposite entrance to the alley that he’d entered through.

Conveniently, there was a car parked just around the corner its engine idling with nobody around to guard it. He’d been kidnapped by an idiot who didn’t care for the environment and seemed to believe while kidnapping someone, someone else would kidnap his car.

In fact, he hoped someone would kidnap his car. It was the least he deserved.

Luke Cage standing around the corner ready to knock the guy out would have to do though.

He wasn’t entirely sure when the vigilante appeared, one minute his heart rate not being there and the next, it was thumping heavily at the entrance of the alley, obviously having run here. Perhaps having noticed him being pulled off the street in the first place from one of the buildings across the road.

He put his mistake of not noticing the additional heart rate for a couple moments down to the pain of bullet wounds and the burning agitation from his ribs being so harshly jostled.

Hopefully, Luke Cage would hit him slightly harder than usual, maybe break his nose. Vigilantes usually hit harder when there were children as victims, something he and multiple criminals could personally argue for.

If Luke Cage wasn’t known for his speed, he would be slightly concerned that this ‘save the child’ mission was going to end with a bullet in the back of his head, but the vigilante was and so he resigned himself to accepting however this fight went.

The criminal had barely taken a step to follow him out of the alley before Luke Cage disarmed him and beat him into the ground. It was rather therapeutic to watch, even if he could have rather easily done this himself (though he would have had to earn himself at least one bullet wound to do so).

He allowed himself to slump against the wall while Luke Cage moved from pummelling the man to tying him up, making himself look more like the panicking, injured citizen he was supposed to be.

Plus, he probably wouldn’t be able to outrun or walk Luke Cage right now so it would be a bit pointless to wander off when the vigilante would rather obviously come to check on him as soon as the criminal was successfully detained.

‘Hopefully he won’t call an ambulance. I do not have the time, the money, or the fucks to give to deal with a hospital tonight. Why couldn’t people try to kidnap me as Spider-Man rather than Peter Parker? It would be so much easier for me. In all stages of the situation. But specifically, this stage.’

“You good kid?” Maybe in another life, he was an actor because he was perfectly selling the ‘I’m an innocent as a teenager wandering Manhattan at midnight’ look, blinking up at (and it was very far up because why were all vigilantes taller than him? It was very much unfair) the vigilante who’d just stood up while keeping the criminal down by a foot placed on his shoulder.

“Yeah. He, uh, how did he phrase it? Um, he said he was taking me to trial drugs on me for his boss. I thought it would be important for you to know.” He wouldn’t be able to patrol tonight, Daredevil would manage to sniff out his open wounds and it would be a bit of a waste of an extra double shift if he didn’t spend it on food right away to make up for it.

If anyone was to say he didn’t care for himself, he would direct himself to today. Delmar’s sandwiches were only a 20-minute hobble away yet.

“Thank you very much for that information. Do you want help walking home? I don’t know if this guy has any friends.” Luke Cage very obviously dug his heel into the criminal’s shoulder, a low groan coming out of the unconscious man at the action, all the while smiling softly at Peter as if he were some helpless victim.

‘I am a helpless victim. Act Peter, act like you didn’t drop Drama the very second you could.’ The dark alley was helping him out slightly with the whole helpless victim rather than the helpless, injured victim act since Luke Cage didn’t seem to have noticed the patch of blood that was gradually growing.

“I should be alright. I’d be stupid if I were to walk back to my apartment at midnight without knowing how to hold up in a fight. Plus, I’ll be much more vigilant tonight after this guy got the jump on me. And I’m definitely not dawdling around, don’t need another gun to the head for at least 6 more lifetimes.” Luke Cage nodded his head at the explanation, obviously happy that he wasn’t going to be leaving a teenager to wander off into the unknown when they couldn’t deal with themselves.

“Alright. I’ll phone the police for this guy; you get heading home. Stay safe.” He nodded his head back in response, spinning on his non-injured leg and heading back down the alleyway he’d just come from. All the while ignoring the stretching burn from his wounds in an attempt to make himself walk properly rather than hobbling.

He could hear the vigilante radioing through to the police and kept a closer ear on his heartbeat just in case he decided to be an even better citizen and follow him home. Because he was not ready to keep this limpless walk up all the way to Delmar’s and then his apartment.

‘I can take the bloody bullet without flinching but when it comes to walking on it a day later, that’s where my body draws the line?’

--3--

In his life, he’d made a lot of stupid decisions. Like a lot, a lot.

It came with being a vigilante, being (knighted? invested? ordained? joined?) brought into the Avengers, fighting 2 wars (though only one semi-successfully), having your identity revealed, nearly destroying the multiverse, and then having your identity wiped.

Practically part of the package.

He put on his original suit and then the stupid decision fairy came along, waved their wand, and suddenly he could no longer think rationally in half the situations he was involved in.

However, this one probably took the cake. Well, not even probably, this one definitely took the cake.

To start off the situation it was raining, and not New York’s usual rain, it was lashing, ice cold, freeze your tits off rain (‘Trademarking that before DP tries to use it.’). Which was not good for someone who couldn’t thermoregulate, especially if his jacket had holes in it and his outfit under that really wasn’t appropriate for being out in the rain because when he’d started following this group, he’d just popped out to buy another jar of coffee.

Fingers crossed the coffee jar remained unharmed where he’d webbed it to a random wall.

To then follow up the original stupid decision, he was following a group of 4 human traffickers who were planning on meeting up with another group of human traffickers, and he was doing it all while his suit sat comfortably at the apartment tucked away under the floorboards.

There had been time for him to go back to the apartment and grab his suit, he knew that now, as the group were moving at a snail’s pace after having the meeting moved back half an hour. But, at the moment when he’d started following them, he didn’t want to take any risks.

As far as he was aware, these people were from the human trafficking ring himself, Deadpool, Daredevil, and Jessica Jones were all trying to hunt down with no luck. This was their first lead past the original identification of the ring, and he was not going to allow it to slip through his fingers.

He had no way to contact the other vigilantes, his work phone which he had (after mulling for at least 2 weeks as he stared at the list of phone numbers Jessica Jones had given him) added all the vigilantes and all the heroes whose numbers he could remember to had been left at home with the suit.

So, this was a Peter Parker extraordinaire crime-fighting experience TM. Or what MJ and Ned had always called Peter Parker’s stupidity.

They seemed to be getting closer to the agreed-upon meeting area, with him following above on the rooftops as they finally started to slow down and look around – trying to spot whoever they were meeting.

This moment of them slowing down was his moment to figure out what the fuck he planned on doing. He could rather easily take these four people and if there were under maybe 6 people in the other group, but they were all armed and the others were likely going to be armed too so he was at a bit more of a disadvantage.

To then add to the fact, he probably shouldn’t do anything that could link him back to Spider-Man. Even if he wasn’t protecting family anymore, his landlord was not a Spider-Man fan and he’d just unpacked his last (and first) box of items scavenged from May’s. If it was necessary he would, but hopefully nothing too bad would happen for that to occur.

Especially since his spidey sense was only a low hum around these guys. ‘Hopefully their skill is in hiding this ring not fighting.’

After a couple tense moments where the group just awkwardly milled around in the alleyway (why was it always alleyways? Couldn’t they rent out a building? Or even just use an abandoned one? This made it so easy) another group started heading over.

There were a further four in this group, all armed and all making his spidey-sense thrum slightly more violently at the back of his neck. It was most likely that the original four he followed weren’t official members of the ring, or perhaps even buyers, and these four were the more involved guys.

If that was the case, it might be more helpful if he followed them back to wherever their base camp was and gathered intel rather than jumping straight into a fight. If there was anything he learnt from working alongside Deadpool and Punisher in situations like this, it was very rare that these guys bent under torture or threat of murder to dish out the information you wanted.

Luckily, he hadn’t been around in those situations and was unsure if he’d be able to stomach the sound of a person being tortured especially since he could barely stomach listening to what Deadpool had done to them even if he couldn’t find it in him to feel bad.

A few sparse words were spoken between the two meeting groups, it seemed to be that the woman in the joining group was in charge of this situation and somewhere high up within the ring since she was doing the most talking while the other three in the new group were definitely bodyguards.

The conversation did confirm it was some sort of deal, finishing off with the woman informing the group to follow her before she was spinning on her heel and heading off. With no other choice but to creep along the rooftops now that there was a chance, he could be finding at least one of their main buildings, he started on his trek.

He was easily out of view of the group, running along the top of the building over to prevent himself from being seen, but could still hear them while keeping an eye on his surroundings to prevent him from being spotted.

Or, in a stroke of luck/actually thinking about the fact he shouldn’t do this out of suit if he wanted to keep his identity a secret this time around, allowing him to be spotted by the Punisher who was now following him.

The Punisher had never been keen of, but also overly protective of, Spider-Man before Dr. Strange’s spell because he didn’t like the idea of children running around in spandex and fighting crime. It reminded him of his time in the military and the things he’d seen and heard of the government doing so whenever he looked at Spider-Man, a vigilante who to anybody who really looked was obviously a child, he saw a child soldier and that rubbed him the wrong way.

Post-Dr. Strange’s spell he also wasn’t a fan of Spider-Man but that was simply because he didn’t trust him yet.

Anyway, his whole dislike for child soldiers was working out in his favour because the sight of a teenager running across rooftops and performing moves with precise accuracy as he obviously followed something would lead to anybody with alarm bells ringing.

All he needed to do was prevent the Punisher from catching up to him or stopping him before the group actually walked into the building they were heading to, then he could allow the vigilante to catch up and start questioning him.

He wouldn’t answer any of the questions, but he would inform him about the potential trafficking ring inside the building across from them. Sometimes (most times), his crime-fighting adventures as Peter Parker involved him being the crime fighter. Other times, they involved informing another crime fighter or getting into the proper gear for the situation, aka the Spider-Man suit.

It wasn’t too difficult to do so, the Punisher seeming content with following behind him until he came to a natural stop, and it wasn’t too far until he heard the group slow down before entering a building with multiple other heartbeats inside.

‘Of course I find the frontier of a trafficking ring while as Peter Parker. I’m just that lucky.’ It wasn’t an abandoned building that they’d gone inside but what looked to be a working factory. He could hear the sound of machinery churning away within the building and there were crates out the back of the building being loaded into an unlabelled van. The trafficking ring seemed to be somewhere down underneath, in a basement or perhaps converted sewers.

The Punisher seemed content with observing him for a moment longer, probably deciding how he was going to go about this situation without it breaking out in a fight because he didn’t want to be fighting a child at all let alone a child on a rooftop.

He took that time to start making mental notes on what he could hear, doing his best to focus his hearing down and into the lower parts of the building’s structures rather than the sounds within the main warehouse.

On top of the 8 heartbeats that had now walked down a set of concealed stairs at the side of the building, there were a further 22 heartbeats, 6 being adults, 10 being teenagers, and the other 6 being younger children.

He tuned out the sounds of the woman telling her customers the pricing for the people she was selling to stare directly at the AC unit that the Punisher was now sitting on, having finally finished his observations.

He started talking before the Punisher could even consider getting a word in. “The warehouse over there, I believe it sells car engines or at least it looks like it does. It’s a front for a child trafficking ring, potentially 22 victims, 4 buyers, 1 seller, and 3 bodyguards. I’m not sure if those in the warehouse are a part of the operation but they’d be stupid not to be aware of it.”

The Punisher stalked over to the edge of the building to stare at the spot he was now pointing to, the permanent frown etched onto his growing a little stronger as he took in the information. “How certain are you?”

“Of it being a trafficking hub, 100%. Of the numbers of the people being in there about 82%.” There was a chance he could be mishearing heartbeats, it quite often happened when he had to tune out so much to focus on specific sounds especially if they were fainter sounds.

The Punisher nodded his head sharply and pulled out a phone from seemingly nowhere (he was incredibly certain that the man did not have a singular pocket on his costume but obviously he was wrong) and held up a hand that signalled he was to stay standing exactly where he was while he sent out a message. No doubt his work phone at home was vibrating with the message.

“How’d you find out?” He was being stared at with calculating eyes now, The Punisher trying to take in everything about him – the way he was standing, the eye contact he was avoiding, the way his hands flexed anxiously at his sides – and figure out if he could find any notable signs of the child soldier programmes that he feared.

“I overheard the four buyers talking, followed them across a couple rooftops till they met with the seller, and then followed them here. I’ve got a lot of experience with parkour and rooftop runs as I’m one of the children that the Daily Bugle is currently calling ‘Adrenaline Menaces’.” The Punisher didn’t not believe him, he technically couldn’t not believe him because what he was saying was the truth, but he very obviously knew that it was not the whole truth.

Thankfully he didn’t seem like he planned on commenting any further, focusing back on his phone which was likely informing him that a group of vigilantes were on their way to deal with the ring with him.

“Stay out of this sort of thing. New York doesn’t need any more children parading around in onesies.” He had no chance to say anything in response before the Punisher jumped onto the fire escape just a floor below them and made his way towards the warehouse. Not that he would have said anything, the man had managed to hit the nail quite close to the head with that statement. Even if it was a few years too late.

‘Well let’s hope my coffee is safe and happy.’ He pointedly ignored the sounds of bullets ricocheting through the air, the screams when the bullets hit the mark, and the sounds of disgusting people being beaten into the ground as he walked over. Stuffing his hands into his pockets as his fingers curled into his palm, the wish he could do more squashed by the knowledge that he’d still found and saved the people.

--4--

Of all the places he imagined getting tortured and murdered by a sadistic fuck, he’d been fairly certain it was going to be Hell’s Kitchen. Not Long Island. He’d also been fairly certain he was going to die in the suit, that was something he’d accepted way back when he’d first put it on, but Parker Luck apparently wasn’t going to give him that.

His spidey sense had been playing up for the past few days after he was hit with an experimental drug, and he was still not even sure what it was supposed to have done or its purpose, on patrol and had therefore started perceiving everything as a threat.

Despite losing the confidence that the one thing that kept him safe while carrying out his Parker crime fighting would actually properly warn him, he’d still kept himself on the trail of the mass murder that he hadn’t yet managed to capture.

Long Island had the lowest crime rate in New York because of the number of security cameras placed periodically throughout the area. So, he’d assumed that he was going to be alright to avoid the worst-case scenario.

He’d believed that it would be too risky for the man to make an attempt at snatching him off the streets to be his next victim. It seemed like a stupid plan because the cameras would catch him.

However, the man had come up from behind and hit him over the head with a pipe and for all his enhanced healing and resilience to injuries even he couldn’t prevent his body from crumpling forwards in unconsciousness.

This led to the situation now, with a man standing over him with a sick, gleeful grin and a hammer in hand while he was tied to a chair with thick ropes and a pounding headache paired with blurry vision that could be nothing other than a concussion.

If anyone told him Parker Luck wasn’t a thing, he would now be pointing them towards a binder with an image of today printed on the front. It really seemed improbable that anyone could be this unlucky.

At that thought the hammer smashed down on his knee, stupidly soft spider bones fracturing and splintering angrily under the pressure. That was an injury he’d be feeling for quite a while.

The man watched with some sort of amazed fascination where there was now a visible dent on his knee. “I thought you’d scream more. A shame really, but your silence is probably for the best.”

‘There’s a gag in my mouth you fucking prick.’ He had screamed, he’d bit the inside of his mouth so hard that it was now filled with blood which he was very reluctantly trying to swallow to prevent him from choking on it.

That would be a very embarrassing way to die.

He was slowly working his way his wrists out of the rope, a rather tedious task with the guy watching him so intently. Rope was a lot harder to just tear his wrists free from than chains, and the rope burn really was rather horrific.

But if it came down to it, if it was his only choice, he’d have to go with it. He’d agreed to meet Daredevil and Deadpool for tacos tomorrow night even if the knee and head injury as well as whatever else he got before getting out of this would make it a little difficult.

Therefore, he couldn’t die today, or Daredevil would waste money on extra tacos for him.

“I always like it when they scream less. Much easier to get away with it. You’re not the first you know? Not special in the slightest. Nobody’s going to find you, just like they didn’t find the 12 before you. It’s like I’m some sort of God, getting away with all this! Isn’t that incredible?” The rant was accompanied by the hammer smashing down on his other knee as his slightly scrambled memory brought forward the memory of Jessica Jones providing Spider-Man with the evidence she’d managed to gather up on this situation, her grim face had mirrored his own as she informed him that the original 4 that he thought the man had murdered was actually more than 10.

Over the past two weeks, he’d allowed himself to get slightly closer to the vigilante community, accepting Deadpool’s offer for ice cream on a random rooftop, agreeing to Daredevil’s request to spar on slow nights, allowing Jessica Jones to complain to him about a long night. He’d even managed to get the Punisher to like him, and he hadn’t even managed to do that when the man knew his identity.

It had been 6 months since Dr. Strange’s spell, and he was ready to try moving on.

At least he had been, maybe this was the universe’s way of telling him he shouldn’t be making friends anymore. Up with Peter being forever lonely perhaps.

“What should I break next? Your fingers? Your hands? Maybe go for another joint and break your elbo-” The statement was shut off with an abrupt scream from the man as he crumpled forward, the sound of squelching accompanying him as a silenced bullet sliced through his stomach.

A wonderful sight and sound. Really, he loved it so much. That’s why he was gagging and pushing the chair away from the body on the floor as much as it made his knees scream.

“Don’t do that kiddericho, you’ll hurt your little knees.” The concussion and his internal planning on how to get out of this situation without making the police suspicious of him when he finally called them in to collect the unconscious murderer had meant that he hadn’t heard Deadpool arriving or slinking around the shadows.

Deadpool who shot first and asked questions later and had only stopped killing on missions with Spider-Man because he’d threatened to stop joining the man for tacos forever, a rather lenient punishment for most people but absolute shock horror for Deadpool apparently.

Deadpool who had just killed a man in front of him because he wasn’t Spider-Man right now and there’s blood on his shoes and the man’s not moving and it’s his fault because he could have prevented this by just escaping earlier by just snapping the rope.

“Woah, woah, woah, you gotta breathe short stack. Nice big deep ones, fill those lungs o’ yours. Look the baddie ain’t dead. Wouldn’t do that to a wonderful little fella like you.” As Deadpool spoke he kicked the man hard enough to force the man to roll over and crack a few ribs, causing him to groan in pain.

Air rushed into his lungs at the confirmation, and it was very obvious that Deadpool was smiling goofily under the mask, rather happy that he wasn’t going to pass out on him as well as being able to inflict more pain to the criminal.

Deadpool was, surprisingly, the most protective when it came to under-18s, despite all of his murderous, torturous, and overly violent intent, if it was anything involving an under-18, he was immediately involved to ensure they would come to no harm.

“Let’s get you unbound and into the sunlight. We’re off to see the doctor, the wonderful doctor who's the only one who puts up with me.” Deadpool tried to sing the sentence to the tune of ‘We’re off to see the wizard’ but it sounded absolutely ridiculous, the same ridiculousness that he dealt with every so often as Spider-Man that allowed him to calm down because Deadpool would protect him like he always did.

The closest thing both Spider-Man and Peter would get to safety.

Hopefully, he was talking about Claire. He was in no mood to go to a hospital or deal with the ungodly amount of money to pay for the medical bills and he was slightly embarrassed to admit he didn’t really want to leave Deadpool’s presence yet – which he’d have to do when leaving him at a hospital.

“Don’t worry Petey-pie, I’ll tell DD that you won’t be able to come out for tacos and I’ll make sure they don’t go to waste. I’ll eat them all for you.” Peter tensed as Deadpool lifted him into his arms bridal style, nobody was supposed to know that name. Nobody was supposed to know who was behind the mask let alone remember the person behind the mask.

“The laws of the Universe don’t work for me itty bitty. Especially not the laws of magic. I’m much better than that. Now, offwards and upwards.” Deadpool booped his nose, making the noise as he did so, before starting to wander through the halls of the abandoned building. Looking for a way out despite not remembering how he even got into the building in the first place.

Instead of panicking over the situation in Deadpool’s arms, he decided to compartmentalise every and all feeling that ran through his mind and instead focus on the sounds coming through the hallways. “Left and then right.” Deadpool smiled down at him before changing his wander to a skip in the directions that Peter was rattling off.

He could break down in the safety of his apartment.

--5--

He was back out on the streets slightly too early after getting both his kneecaps smashed in, the limping very obvious as he weaved through Hell’s Kitchen’s alleyways. They were pretty much healed, but every other step still sent a shot of pain up his legs and the muscles were still slightly weakened after having had to spend a week in bed.

The only reason he’d been able to take the week off work was because Deadpool turned up on his windowsill every morning with a bag of food – never staying much longer than to hand over the bag and fluff up his pillow again, stating that spider-babies needed fluffy pillows, not flat ones.

Deadpool’s daily visits were probably the reason he was back out as soon as he could walk further than across his apartment, the constant reminder that someone knew who he was, that Dr Strange’s spell hadn’t worked properly and that there was a chance the sky might start splitting open again, had meant his breakdown had been near constant.

Nothing had happened yet, and according to the mercenary he’d known his identity since the spell had been cast, so nothing was likely to happen, but it didn’t stop the anxiety bubbling up in his chest, it didn’t stop his breath from catching in his throat every time the sky even tinged slightly purple or he heard a voice in the street below his apartment that sounded just slightly too similar to Green Goblins.

So, he needed to beat some criminal scum up and he couldn’t do that as Spider-Man because his knees definitely wouldn’t take the jarring movement of him landing from swings. He wouldn’t be able to fight the criminals because they’d have keeled over with laughter as he hobbled over to them after landing, his legs bent awkwardly.

When Queens had failed to give him anyone substantial, he’d immediately headed over to Hell’s Kitchen. Only Daredevil had been spotted patrolling tonight – which was strange because Jessica Jones, the Punisher, and Daredevil were all supposed to patrol on Friday nights, but he didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth – so there should be an abundance of crime.

He’d already subdued 6 muggings (not his own), 2 attempts of some form of sexual assault, 2 robberies, and 1 attempted murder – and he’d only been there for a little over an hour. Despite his success so far, there was still anxious energy pent up under his skin that he needed to work off meaning he was still searching for crimes to stop without outing his identity.

There was a clatter of a bin being knocked to the ground a few alleys over, the yowl of an angry cat that was disturbed by the noise, the whimpering and pleading of two people caught in a bad situation, and the mocking laughter and conversation of the group of people causing the situation.

Hell’s Kitchen always seemed to know when he needed another crime to stop.

Daredevil was a few alleys over but already engaged in active combat with a large group of gang members (maybe around 16 if he was counting the heavy breaths and footfall right as he jogged past the alley entrance), so he didn’t need to be too worried about being interrupted by the vigilante as long as he worked quickly.

There were 8 masked people in the alley he planned on entering, all armed with brass knuckles and nothing else at least, and two people who seemed to be father and daughter. The 8 muggers were in a semi-circle around the father and daughter, the daughter was trying to hide behind her father’s legs, but it was a pretty awful attempt, and were demanding the money that the father owed while the man blubbered about how he didn’t have it.

The daughter was crying into her father’s legs, obviously terrified of this situation that was only escalating the longer it went on. “Please, I’ll get it to you next week! I promise!” The man continued his blubbering as Peter started sneaking closer, picking up the bin lid to use as a weapon.

He raised the bin lid up as he stepped out of the shadows and smashed it down onto the head of the masked person closest to him just as the father’s eyes glanced over him in a motion that would have had him caught.

The action gained him a moment of shock from the other 7, watching as one of their partners in crime crumpled to the ground unconscious, and used it to bring the bin lid down on the next person’s head just catching them with enough strength to knock them out.

With the second person dropping the others finally jumped into action and the father used the moment to grab his daughter and run out, leaving him to fight the 6 people on his own. A wonderfully fair fight.

Unlike the group of drunk people who’d tried mugging him and who’d planned to go one at a time before Jessica Jones shut down all their plans simultaneously, these people jumped in together and moved with the fluidity of people who knew how to fight together.

Dodging one set of brass knuckles only moved him into the path of another set that he could barely avoid, forcing him to stay on the defensive and try to move himself out of the way of each blow as they got in the occasional hit.

Hopefully, the food Deadpool had been bringing would continue for a couple more days so he could quickly heal the bruises so that the occasional nice coworker wouldn’t end up submitting a police report because they believed he was being abused by a partner.

The masked group were slowly dropping off as he managed to get in a nerve strike on two of the members and was rewarded with brass knuckles to his unguarded sides on both occasions, but he was definitely losing this fight if he didn’t start incorporating some more of Spider-Man’s strength and speed into the situation.

Before he could even think of how much of his strength or speed he’d increase, his spidey sense whittled down into a dull hum and Daredevil dropped into the alley – effectively taking all of the attention off him.

He hadn’t heard Daredevil creeping up on them, even with the vigilante’s injuries that he’d sustained from the previous gang fight he’d been in. The sound of Daredevil himself moving around had annoyed his own senses so greatly that he’d apparently taught himself to move without a sound.

Now his lack of sound while moving annoyed everybody on the vigilante scene.

With Daredevil taking the attention of the remaining 4 conscious people, Peter picked up the bin lid (much to the vigilante’s displeasure who was trying to subtly gesture for him to be like any sane person and flee the scene) and smashed it over the head of the closest person.

The two of them didn’t work too well together now that he was being perceived as a civilian rather than a vigilante and Daredevil definitely took a couple hits, he should have avoided trying to prevent the attention from turning to Peter before the entire group was unconscious on the ground around them.

Not wanting to have any conversation with the vigilante who could probably put two and two together when listening to his voice if he didn’t have any sort of head injury, he spun on his heel and headed out of the alleyway and started weaving across random streets to try to lose the vigilante on his tail.

“Stop trying to play hero. It’s going to get you killed.” Daredevil’s voice was terrifying at the best of times, even more so when he was covered in blood while visibly sagging onto his left side due to a broken ankle while he’d just dropped off the rooftop beside him with perfect accuracy so that he blocked the entire alley moving forwards.

“Back at ‘cha. But I had it handled.” If he wasn’t aware that Daredevil was blind lawyer Matt Murdock (when he’d connected those dots mid-conspiracy theory session 4 months ago, he was fairly certain his brain flatlined before rebooting to remember that Hawkeye was deaf, Ironman had a heart condition, and he was very much autistic and decided that if they could do it so could Matt), he would have believed the vigilante was staring at him like he was a fool.

However, Daredevil was blind, so he was likely staring in his general direction like he was a fool.

“I don’t consider that handled. Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous, you shouldn’t be fooling around in it. Especially if you’re what, 15?” With the knowledge that Daredevil was blind he very clearly took that insult as what exactly it was, the vigilante was saying he sounded like a fucking 15-year-old.

Before he could bite anything back in response, both froze at the sound of a canister clanging against the floor of the alley, rolling towards a stop in between the two of them. His spidey sense dialling from one to one hundred just before the canister exploded open and threw both against opposite walls of the alley with the force.

Daredevil was out on impact with the wall, the injuries of the night all catching up to him with the force and while Peter was still very much conscious – his spidey sense still screaming, and his limbs itching to grab Daredevil and swing away despite his lack of web-shooters – he forced his body to go limp and match the vigilantes.

“Got Daredevil. There’s a kid with him though, want me to bring them? Use them as leverage to get them to do what we want?” The voice of a lifetime-long smoker mixed with someone who gargled rocks for a living filtered through from the entrance of the alley where they were obviously standing, identifying the culprit for the canister bomb.

He couldn’t hear the answer of the other person, so they were likely on a phone or had some other sort of communication device that they were using, however, the answer luckily seemed to be yes since after zip ties were wrapped around Daredevil’s ankles and wrists he was met with the same fate.

There were obviously more people involved in this plot than just Daredevil, and now himself, judging on the fact (in context) the person was using plural pronouns when talking about the plan, and judging by the fact Jessica Jones and The Punisher hadn’t been heard from tonight he was drawing conclusions as to who it may be.

He was really hoping that it wasn’t because if this group had managed to get the slip-on Jessica Jones, the Punisher, Daredevil, and himself it said a lot about what they were capable of and who else they could capture.

Daredevil was notoriously the most difficult person to sneak up on in the enhanced individual scene, Jessica Jones seemed impossible to knock out, and the Punisher wouldn’t go down without a fight regardless of how dire the situation was.

He didn’t need his spidey sense to scream in his head, send spiralling electric shocks up his back or have all his hair stand on end to hear the warning bells ringing as he was lugged into the back of some sort of vehicle parked at the end of the alley he’d been heading down.

--+1--

Despite his best attempts, he had been unable to fight against the gentle lull of unconsciousness as they’d been transported to wherever they were now, his head had taken more of a hit than he’d thought it had when being flung back and he hadn’t been able to concentrate on all the turns they were taking so the only thing he could concentrate on had been swiftly ripped away.

Cautiously, he started taking stock of his situation (not yet opening his eyes, his unconsciousness might be helpful at some point). His wrists and ankles were no longer bound by zip ties, but his wrists had been cuffed to the wall behind him, holding his arms up at an awkward angle that had pins and needles travelling up and down them but not too awkward that circulation had stopped.

There were 5 people in the room with him, all breathing steadily to signify the fact they were still unconscious – or perhaps also pretending like he was. From the sound of their breathing, they were on the other side of the room (also likely chained similarly) which made sense if he was being used as leverage to get them to do whatever it was wanted of them.

They were being given a front-and-centre view of him being tortured if it came down to it.

The room itself was some sort of thick concrete and metal mix that he couldn’t properly hear through, it wasn’t Vibranium which was a positive because it was one of few materials that he was not strong enough to break. Because he couldn’t properly hear through the walls, he couldn’t hear anything about their assailants, couldn’t hear how many there were or what their plans were.

As he was debating cracking open his eyes slightly to survey the room, see who’d been taken aside from himself and Daredevil and see if any cameras might catch him breaking these chains and the chains of the other’s, someone’s heart rate sped up slightly.

After a moment of their heart rate speeding a person, Jessica Jones from the sound of it, let out a low groan of pain before the sound of rattling chains filled the room as she realised her predicament and tried to break them.

The lack of breaking sounds suggested that this whole situation was high-tech, which didn’t bode all too well for any of them.

The sound of rattling chains did seem to be enough to wake the other 4, mirrored groans of pain filling the room as well as the very distinct cheer from Deadpool that he hadn’t been kidnapped on his own. The other three were easily identified as Daredevil (obviously), Luke Cage, and Punisher.

As a vigilante when you’ve teamed with someone more than once you become very good at identifying them based on their various sounds of pain. It was more common than hearing them greet you.

‘Of course I’m locked in a room with a bunch of vigilantes who have all saved me at some point. I’d be less suspicious with ‘I’m suspicious’ written on my head.’ Parker Luck was obviously making up for the fact he hadn’t been out of the house in the past week for there to be much to fuck him over about.

The room itself was obviously dark, with no light filtering in through his closed eyelids but also none of the vigilantes immediately noticed him as they strained against their chains to try and break them.

So, it was obvious when Luke Cage finally seemed to have started looking around the room and noticed him. A sharp intake of breath cutting over the sound of clattering chains for the three others with enhanced hearing and the muttered ‘shit the kid’ being heard by the other two.

“Kid? Kid? You awake there?” Luke Cage’s voice held a raspy lilt to it that showed the unconsciousness still had a slight grip on him, he and Jessica Jones likely had to be hit a lot harder than the rest of the group (bar Deadpool who would probably have held out his wrists and told them to ‘cuff him already’) to get them to actually knock out.

Unaware of if there were cameras in the room, he made sure to make a show of coming back to consciousness, groaning harshly and fluttering his eyelids slightly before squeezing them shut again as he tried to move his arm to rub his eyes. When that didn’t work, he made a further show of snapping awake and pulling against the chains suddenly with an appropriate amount of strength to continue hiding his identity.

“Woah woah, calm down. You’re alright. We’re going to get you out of here.” He allowed the tense lines of his body to soften slightly as he stopped tugging at chains, blinking sluggishly and owlishly at the vigilantes in front of him (just managing to suppress the urge to frog blink because he thought it would have been funny).

“Whe-” ‘Add a cough in for dramatics.’ “Where are we?” ‘I really must have been an actor in another Universe, I’m incredible at this.’ Using the excuse of being a scared citizen he allowed his eyes to roam over the entire building looking for any telltale sign of a camera and finding one just in the corner above and to the right of him.

Luke Cage visibly softened, doing his best to look more calming than usual while the rest (barring Deadpool as usual in this situation) started working at their chains again. They’d have probably given up by now if it was just them in the situation, but they obviously realised the position he was in as well.

“I’m not too sure, but we’re going to get you out. And then we can discuss your obvious lack of survival instincts because this will be the second time, I’ve saved you in the past month and that really says something about you.” Despite trying to lighten the situation, Luke Cage very quickly realised that what he said obviously caused everyone else to tense as the rattling of chains stopped and Peter’s face fell.

He’d been hoping to make it through this situation with some semblance of a secret identity, both Spider-Man and Peter Parker.

“Really shit instincts because I was just saving him before we were taken.” Jessica Jones and Punisher followed up with comments about saving him too while Deadpool just nodded his head enthusiastically, obviously finding much to fun in the crumbling of the carefully constructed crime-fighting situation he had been holding onto.

“What’s your fucking plan? Who sent you?” Good on Punisher for keeping a hold of his trust issues even in a situation as dire as this one, most people didn’t have that sort of dedication and would leave it until after they’d got out and one of them wasn’t in the position of being tortured.

“I don’t often have one. It’s a think never, act rashly type of situation. As to who sent me, are we talking about to the grave? Because so far, it’s only been Thanos, but a couple people have come close.” The group in front of him seemed to blank as Deadpool just started giggling like some deep-voiced 4-year-old. He wasn’t going to keep up the innocent civilian act when there was obviously absolutely no point in it.

Nobody had any chance for any sort of response before screeching metal filled their ears as the door was unlocked and pushed open. ‘Is this stage one of the torture? Fuck, do people not know what hinge oil is?’

“Ah, wonderful you’re all awake.” The man in the doorway didn’t have a mask on, obviously confident that whatever he wanted to happen wasn’t going to go wrong, clearly showing the smug look on his face as light flooded the room.

He was a white man in his mid-40s, hairline receding, hair greying, wrinkles appearing and very obviously having an early mid-life crisis. The usual culprit for these sorts of criminals.

He also was incredibly stupid, because the single sentence had secured the group's escape as he confirmed the fact the camera in the corner of the room either wasn’t working or wasn't being monitored and he could use his enhanced strength with no fear of consequence.

“-I’ll give you 10 minutes to make your decision, otherwise the kid will start finding how little you vigilantes care for him.” He hadn’t really listened much to the man’s rant, something about using the skills of the group to break into the raft and release all the criminals being held there, instead of planning his escape plan.

While he was up there as hater numero uno for the raft for all he wasn’t going to allow for all the criminals being held there to be released upon the world again – it would be absolute chaos especially while the Avengers were still reeling from the loss of the battle against Thanos, and he was aware the group in front of him thought the same way and he wasn’t particularly wanting to experience being tortured only a week after the last attempt.

“This is why I was saying you shouldn’t be playing hero.” Daredevil was the first to break the silence after the door squealed shut but he very pointedly ignored the vigilante starting to look around the room again. He had a short window to break them out if the camera was simply not being watched rather than broken.

The shattering of his chains had Punisher’s jaw audibly clicking shut as he suddenly pulled his arms forward, silently hoping that if he did have enforced chains like Luke Cage and Jessica Jones he was strong enough to break them.

“Whoop! Go spidey!” Deadpool’s voice had the other four’s head snapping towards him as he rolled his shoulders in annoyance, blood flooding back into his arms and down to his fingers as he pried the remainder of the cuffs of his wrists.

“You’re Spider-Man?” Luke Cage was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head as if the idea of him being Spider-Man was so ridiculously unbelievable despite the fact he’d just watched him snap the chains holding him up off and then pry the cuffs open.

“No, I’m obviously Nick Fury.” Now that he was standing and not partially hanging, the room seemed smaller, crossing the distance from the side he was on to Jessica Jones in a few short strides so that he could snap her chains too.

They were slightly harder than his own, requiring quite a bit more force than his own had needed, but still achievable much to Jessica Jones’ obvious displeasure. “Break Daredevil, Punisher, or Deadpool out. Their chains aren’t reinforced.”

Despite her displeasure, she got up and turned to Punisher beside him to snap his chains as he snapped Luke Cage’s. They worked in silence despite Deadpool’s random blabbering, either because nobody could work out what to say or, more likely, not wanting to say anything lest they lashed out about him being too young to be on the field – as they had done last time.

“Stay behind us. Spider-Man or not you’re out of suit.” Luke Cage stepped in front of him as the group finally made their way over to the door, no plan having been discussed other than get out and beat ass as they went.

The second he stepped out the door behind Luke Cage, the other vigilantes formed a protective circle around him which would be appreciated if he was completely defenceless and not a completely capable fighter even without using his powers.

“Don’t worry kiddericho, I know you could beat ass but we gotta keep your cover nice and sparkly clean. We can go out and beat dickheads together tonight!” Deadpool’s banter filled the corridors as they worked their way forward, following Daredevil’s directions towards the centre room of the building, much to the distaste of the rest of the group.

Deadpool might get to go out and beat up dickheads tonight but he would not, he was very much going to be sitting through multiple lectures that he had already heard as they told him about the risks of being a vigilante, the horrors that could come upon his family, the pain that he’d be bringing all his friends when he inevitably ended up severely injured or dead.

At least this time he’d be able to make the entire thing incredibly awkward by informing them he’d fought in 2 intergalactic wars, had no family left, and had lost all his friends. Maybe they’d let him stay a vigilante because he’d met the trauma requirements.

Like usual fights everything dialled from 1 to 100, one minute they were walking into the centre room and the next everyone was flung into a fight.

The group who’d kidnapped them were obviously prepared for something like this to happen; they were well trained, and most were armed leaving the group of vigilantes at a slight disadvantage as they were spending most of their energy trying to ensure nobody got through to him.

‘Idiots. Just because I’m not in the mask doesn’t mean I can’t fight. Please work for me DP otherwise I’m eating your tacos.’ They weren’t going to lose the fight without his extra help, but they were getting unnecessary injuries and Claire didn’t deserve that (he also didn’t want to have to sit through a lecture from her as well) and used a moment that they were all engaged in combat to vault over Deadpool’s shoulders.

Now out of the circle of vigilantes, the other group seemed to think it smart to focus on him, lunging forward brandishing their brass knuckles and slicing outwards with their flip knives. It took barely a few moments, only one knife slash to his upper left arm, and the original four who’d lunged at him were on the floor.

Being Peter Parker gave you the upper hand that everyone was going to underestimate him, on a good day he didn’t look like he held any muscle and after the past few months of not eating enough for his metabolism it looked even worse, meaning they weren’t prepared to defend when he shot forwards with a slightly unnatural speed.

“I’m like Master Oogway! That should be my vigilante name, what do you think DP?” Deadpool cackled something in response, it being muffled by the scream of one of the men lunging at him as he sliced a stolen knife over their chest.

There had been a lot more men than expected but now that they were all fighting to the best of their abilities (bar him) the number was dwindling a lot faster than before, people shooting around the room to reach the person before they reached them and bouncing off each other like it was just a typical fight.

“Baby boy you have got to teach me that nerve strike! I will 100% abuse my power!” Deadpool shot across the room to pick him up in a tight hug as Jessica Jones knocked down the final guy.

“Don’t worry DP, I’ll be your Master Oogway.” Deadpool’s childish squeal sounds above the groans of people on the floor and the crashing sound of Punisher and Daredevil crushing all the technology in the room.

Which was appreciated in case that camera had been working and if there was any record of him being kidnapped but also not incredibly appreciated because he wouldn’t be able to scour their systems and find out if there were other people involved in this team.

“I’ve grabbed a copy already. This ain’t my first rodeo. Now, let’s go otherwise I’m not going to get to chew out the idiot because emergency services will take him.” Jessica Jones scowled in his direction; her signature hip flask somehow having made its way back to her person without him having even seen her pick it up.

To be fair he hadn’t seen her go around and grab a copy of the files.

‘Ah. Concussion.’ It was like a cartoon situation when he finally acknowledged the concussion that he’d got when being flung against the wall quite a few hours ago now his vision suddenly whited over and his hearing started ringing as he slumped into Deadpool’s form.

Probably not the best way to persuade these vigilantes that he was safe to be out on the streets as a vigilante when he was the only one to keel over from a concussion at the end. But to be fair, he hadn’t had the opportunity to keel over yet, so he was just balancing out the playing field.

He came back to being curled into Deadpool’s side, most likely stuck to him because Deadpool always ran hot while he always ran cold, and the man was like a personal heater at that point.

The rest of the group were arguing around them; Punisher shouting about child soldiers, Daredevil commenting that they should keep him off the streets, Jessica Jones commenting that they should just train him, Luke Cage trying to get them to circle back to the fact he fought crime without a mask on, and Claire trying to get them all to stop moving while she dealt with their injuries.

His own had already been dealt with, a couple butterfly stitches on his face, about 4 stitches on his arm, the feeling of bruise cream on his chest, and the feeling of knee braces. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe he hadn’t fucked them up again slightly with all the fighting when he was still supposed to be resting.

“I think, as the emancipated person I am, that none of you have any choice over what I can and can’t do.” All eyes in the room snapped towards him as he finally uncurled himself from the ball shape, he’d made of his body at Deadpool’s side.

They were all maskless, including Deadpool and he rarely did that, which was rather nice because he didn’t really feel like being the only unmasked vigilante in a room. The only time that had happened he nearly destroyed the multiverse.

“You’re under 18. A child. And therefore, you shouldn’t be out fighting crime at night, especially out of mask. As you have proven on the multiple occasions we’ve had to save you.” Daredevil squinted his eyes accusingly at him, trying to scare him into quitting vigilantism. Which, unfair, the first time he hadn’t been trying to scare him into quitting he’d been helping clear his name.

“Did any of you consider I was in those situations for a reason? I had a plan for all those situations. And sure, it was stupid and got me injured on multiple occasions, but I have enhanced healing. I’d have been fine.” He got some rather ridiculous looks at the statement while Deadpool just nodded his head along happily, most likely not even listening to the conversation but singing some stupid song in his head or talking to the boxes.

“What about your family? Your friends? Fighting crime unmasked is going to lead them back to you and them. Their harm will be your fault.” Deadpool apparently was listening as he placed an arm around his shoulders to prevent him from standing up and leaving at Punisher’s comment.

Or maybe lunging across the room and beating him up slightly. He wasn't sure what he was feeling right now.

“1. Fuck you. 2. Emancipated. But thank you for reminding me that I’m at fault for my aunt’s death, I needed that today. 3. Fuck you. 4. The only person aware of my identity enough to acknowledge me outside of work is Deadpool. 5 & 6. Fuck you.” Typically, he wouldn’t react in such a way. Aunt May hated it when he swore, and she also hated it when he redirected his anger at people who were realistically just trying to help him.

However, he hadn’t beaten up nearly enough criminals the past week and tonight hadn’t helped him get all his energy out, he was tired, he was hungry, and he hadn’t had a moment to scream his emotions out into the abyss for a couple months now and Punisher really just lined himself up for it.

Despite that, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “Look, I get it. I’m a child, a child shouldn’t be out on the streets fighting crime, but I have been doing this since I was 13 and I have improved more than tenfold since then. I can’t stop being Spider-Man now, I have given up everything, and that’s in every sense of the word, for this.”

“Yeah, not many vigilantes have had their identities wiped from existence to save the multiverse. That’s a very you experience baby boy.” He scrubbed his hands up and down his face at Deadpool’s comment, the man rather obviously proud of himself for saying it while the rest of the group stared on in horror.

Even Claire who’d been spending the entire argument continuing to stitch up a deep knife wound on Punisher’s back stopped for a moment to stare at him, as if silently hoping that her gaze would make him shout ‘Haha, just a joke.’

Apparently, even those who’d seen the worst of the world weren’t expecting that one. Always good to be able to out trauma such people.

“What?” Jessica Jones was staring at him with the gaze that Deadpool had dubbed her ‘investigator gaze’, she was trying to figure out all the facts of the situation and logicalize them. As if you could logicalize magic.

“Identity got revealed. Made a mistake. Resulted in me nearly destroying the multiverse. Dr Strange wiped the identity of Peter Parker from our Universe. Bada big bada boom, you’ve all already given me this whole don’t be a vigilante talk you just don’t remember.” Deadpool at least appreciated his shortened version of the events as he clapped his hands enthusiastically, no longer having an arm slung around his shoulder to hold him in place (not that it’d work if he actually tried to move).

The group just stared at him again, though this time it looked like they were staring at him because he’d grown 3 heads rather than answered one of their questions in a logical order. Seriously, if they didn’t like the answer they shouldn’t have asked the question.

Deciding he’d had enough of the conversation, he finally fully peeled himself off Deadpool’s side (ignoring the grabby hands emotions that the man made in response) and started making his way over to the fire escape-backed window. “Wait.”

Daredevil was staring at him with a slightly shocked expression, seemingly unsure if he’d actually said something or not. It was a strange expression on the usually composed man’s face.

His raising his eyebrow impatiently had the man continuing. “I don’t like the idea of anyone joining the vigilante scene, especially someone young, because what you see is horrific. But, once you’re in it you can’t stop – I know that as well as anyone here. So, I’m going to say what I hope I said when I last knew you, work with us. And I don’t mean just join on the occasional drug bust or join me and Deadpool for tacos, join in on our game nights and come find one of us or Claire when you’re injured. You can’t be a vigilante in this world without support, it’ll slowly kill you.”

“Wow Matty, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words. Usually, we just get grumbles! Wow, it’s like my baby's first words! Did anyone record it?” Deadpool broke the silence that was coming after Daredevil’s comment before it could start, managing to break a laugh out of Jessica Jones which was followed by a few of the others (Punisher and Daredevil didn’t laugh but he was fairly certain those two didn’t know how to laugh full stop, Punisher might even be allergic to laughter).

“I’ll consider it.” Nodding his head to the group he climbed out the window at his statement. He needed the comfort of his apartment to make the decision but the soft feeling in his chest that fought off his anxiety was probably a confirmation that he’d made a decision already.

He missed people knowing him outside of the mask, even if it wasn’t Ned, MJ or Aunt May this time, these people were just as good.