Chapter Text
Peter wasn’t looking for trouble when he swung into Hell’s Kitchen.
It was purely his own interest that brought him there – nothing Spider-man related for once, though he was in the costume. He had his camera in his backpack and was seeking new buildings to shoot, new angles of the city. The sky was bright and clear and cold, winter nipping through his suit, and he was chasing the wisps of tantalising icy cirrus that would be illuminated by the sunset. Certain buildings could bring the sky into more focus, through his lens, framing the blues and yellows of dying light.
This was what he loved the most about the job – these moments of peace in which the dichotomy of New York was most stark: the wide, glimmering, endless sky above, free for the taking, and the shadowed alleys below, golden sun slipping away as the creatures of the night crept into the growing darkness.
He took a moment to pause on a tall, flat rooftop. His chest rose and fell heavily, not with the effort of swinging, but with the deep breaths he took of the cool air. They cleansed the final muggy feelings of the school day and dissipated all of his worries about Flash, impending homework, and ACADEC practise he still hadn’t done.
He shook his head and laughed. MJ was clearly getting to him after so many years of being friends. His science-nerd brain was not meant for this much poetic pondering.
Suddenly, a buzz in the back of his neck caught his attention, scattering the final cobwebs from his tranquil mind. He snapped to attention, his spider sense pinpointing the direction of whatever danger required his assistance – a scuffle in the alley far below.
Peter cursed, shed his backpack and stuffed his camera into it hurriedly, and then webbed it to the closest alcove. It seemed someone needed a friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man’s help.
He dropped down into the shadows, wishing a last goodbye to the sun and sky. He shivered as he crawled into the shadows of the alley, already mourning the loss of the sun. Clinging to the side of the wall and allowing gravity to pull him downwards, the stickiness of his fingers kept him adhered to the brick like his namesake.
Finally, he pulled close enough to see what was causing the light buzz of energy along his spine.
Three figures, all built like brickhouses, were facing off against a single opponent. None of them were moving, but the hostility in their tense muscles and rigid frames was startling. Peter tilted his head, crawling silently closer to see who they were so afraid of.
He sucked in a breath when he saw them.
The Devil of Hell’s kitchen was on the other end of the alley. He stood completely still, his jaw slightly tilted, his posture that of a bristling cat. The last of the sun receding around the corner glinted off of his armour, turning it a glistening blood-red, almost like it was the fluid itself.
“We fight, and it won’t end well for you,” the vigilante said, his voice like gravel. “Just tell me where the weapons are and maybe you won’t see the inside of a hospital.”
Across from him, one of his opponents – Peter could now see they were all wearing similar black masks – laughed in a high, grating cackle. “Back away now and maybe you won’t see the inside of a morgue,” she replied.
Daredevil didn’t respond verbally. In one swift motion he reached both arms in a cross to his back, and whipped out his signature crimson billy clubs. His head tilted in a silent taunt.
“Holy shit,” Peter whispered in awe.
Suddenly, Daredevil’s head snapped upwards, his gaze locking onto exactly where Peter was, high up on the wall. Peter froze. He was still at least fifteen metres off of the ground – there was no way the man could have heard him. For a moment he felt as though they were making direct eye contact, and he had no idea what to do.
Unfortunately, Daredevil’s opponents took his moment of distraction to strike. To his left, the woman – wielding a wickedly sharp blade – darted forwards. Daredevil dodged backwards, but only just in time.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter hissed, crawling forwards rapidly. Meanwhile, the other two of Daredevil’s adversaries threw themselves into the fray. Even whilst panicking, the back of Peter’s mind felt giddy as he watched Daredevil flip and punch his enemies.
Finally, Peter was close enough to the ground that he could drop down into the alley.
“Hey!” he called. The blade-wielding criminals all startled at the sound of his voice, but Daredevil didn’t, instead taking advantage of their shock by punching the woman he was fighting in the face. She fell to the floor, knocked out cold.
Taking inspiration from Daredevil, Peter shot a web at the nearest opponent, and then tugged it hard. The man went skidding forwards onto the floor, and then he shot more in quick succession to bind him in place.
There was one man left. Peter looked up quickly, ready for the next fight – but Daredevil was already taking care of it with a swift jab to the throat. Peter’s excitement grew. He recognised the move as a typical boxer’s punch, but just a moment ago Daredevil had clearly been using martial arts. Ned was going to have a field day analysing Karen’s footage of this.
The man Daredevil was fighting, meanwhile, keeled over.
“Need a hand with that?” Peter asked, flexing his hands to dispel some of his excitement. Daredevil spun towards him swiftly, tilting his head. Nervously, Peter held up his hands, demonstrating his webshooters, and then shot some webs at the guy the other vigilante had just finished with, securing him to the floor. He let out a little shaky sigh of relief, the adrenaline slowly receding from the sudden fight.
“Who were those guys?” Peter breathed, observing the webbed-up guy on the floor in front of him. His mask seemed pretty basic, but the weapon in his hand was crazy high-tech.
“No one you need to be concerned about.” Daredevil snapped. He looked at the guy on the floor and then back at Peter. “What the hell is that stuff?”
Peter blinked. “Oh– you mean my webs? They’re made of a long chain of liquid polymers that solidify when in contact with the air. I’d tell you my formula, but it’s kind of a trade secret.” He laughed flippantly, but it came out slightly high pitched. Did he really just ramble about his web formula to Daredevil, of all people?
The man, meanwhile, was quiet. “Webs,” he murmured. If it wasn’t for Peter’s enhanced hearing thanks to the spider, he wasn’t sure he’d have caught it. “You’re Spider-man.”
Peter put his hands on his hips. “That’s me. Would have thought the suit gave it away, ‘cause I gotta say, I knew who you were instantly. Do I need to work on brand recognition?”
Daredevil’s fists clenched and unclenched. He looked confused – the way people typically did when confronted with Peter’s signature level of quips and sarcasm.
“Well, thanks for the assist, Spider-man, but I didn’t need it. I don’t appreciate newcomers in Hell’s Kitchen that I have to worry about.”
Peter grimaced at his tone. It took him a moment to find words, because part of his brain was still in a rush of holyshitIjustfoughtwithDaredevil and swiftly being joined by holyshitI’mcurrentlyinconversationwithDaredevil. “Crap, yeah, Mr. Stark mentioned that you were super territorial. I swear I didn’t mean to, I was just swinging by and I heard the fight–”
“You know Stark?”
Peter frowned. “Uh, yeah, a little. We don’t talk much any more though, after I turned down his offer to be on the Avengers.”
Daredevil’s frown matched Peter’s, his fists clenching again. Peter was suddenly reminded of just how dangerous this guy could be. He gulped.
“So, let me get this straight – Stark picked up a protege off of the street and then kicked him out just as quickly when he didn’t follow in his exact footsteps?” He lifted his hand, as if to pinch the bridge of his nose, before remembering the mask covered it. “Of all the irresponsible, pig-headed things–”
Peter waved his hands. “No, it’s really not like that–”
“He knows you’re a kid, right?”
Peter froze. His heartbeat, which had finally returned to normal after the fight, hammered against his ribcage once again. Daredevil twitched.
“I-I’m not a kid, dude. I mean I know I’m younger than a lot of superpowered people nowadays, but that’s kind of insulting.”
“Woah, woah, stop.” Daredevil sighed. “I’m not going to tell anyone. God knows I’d be a hypocrite if I told you to stop. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“That’s great, thanks, but I’m still not a kid. You’re mistaken.” Peter clenched his jaw. He had no idea how the hell Daredevil could have figured it out, let alone why he had such conviction about it. Everyone knew Spider-man was young, but it was the general consensus that ‘young’ meant college-age, not junior-in-high-school-age.
Daredevil just sighed again, leaning against the wall heavily. “You have enhanced senses, right?”
Peter blinked. The non-sequiteur worked a little to snap him out of his panic mode. “Uh, yeah?”
Daredevil nodded. “So do I. That’s how I heard you when you were on the wall.”
“Oh.” He stared at the man curiously, but the set of his stubbled jaw gave nothing away. “Sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
“It’s fine. A good fighter is always prepared for distractions. The point is, my senses are good, which means I can tell things that no one else can. Things like how old someone is, give or take a few years. Things like when people are lying,” he emphasised. Peter got the distinct feeling that he was raising a pointed eyebrow under the mask.
“Well, shit,” Peter said simply. He shifted his body next to Daredevil and leaned against the wall next to him. “Can I ask how?”
Daredevil hummed. “A few things. The shifting in your ribs suggests you haven’t finished growing. The lingering smell of a school gym. It all adds up – mostly it’s just experience.”
Despite himself, Peter couldn’t help but consider the implications. “Cool.”
Daredevil tilted his head, surprised. “Most people find it weird.”
“Dude, my hands stick to walls and I can crawl around like a bug. I’m pretty sure I’d be hypocritical to find that weird.”
Daredevil laughed. Though the mask was still menacing, the sound was surprisingly open and nice, like the type of kind stranger who you’d share a joke with on the subway before going your separate ways. Peter observed him curiously. The light of the sun was entirely gone, now, though the sky was still light, and the chill of night was setting in. In the shadows, the opaque, blank eyes of the man’s mask stared through him like a gargoyle. He’d heard a lot about Daredevil over the years – his ruthlessness despite his conviction not to kill, his evasiveness, all manner of powers people were convinced he had – but he’d never expected him to be so talkative or forthcoming.
“So, if you don’t talk to Stark any more,” Daredevil intoned, “do you have anyone? You’ve got raw strength, but you need the skill to channel it into your punches.”
Peter flushed. “Um– I watch self defense videos on youtube?”
Daredevil’s silence stretched on. “You’re serious.”
“Didn’t you just say you could tell when people are lying?”
“Yes, but forgive me if I don’t want to believe that a twelve year old is going out in spandex and fighting crime with no experience–”
“I’m sixteen, not–” Peter cut himself off. Daredevil pursed his lips. “Crap. Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“Christ, kid.”
“Man, for someone called the Devil, you sure do invoke Christ’s name a lot,” Peter quipped.
“Sixteen.” Daredevil ran a hand over his jaw, looking a lot less like a fearsome vigilante and more like a normal, overworked guy. Peter wondered what he did in his day job – or if he even had one. The guy got injured enough that he must miss a lot of days, and Peter had the suspicion, based on his scraped and bloodied knuckles, that he didn’t have a healing factor to help him along.
It struck him, then, just how skilled Daredevil must be. As far as Peter could tell, his enhanced senses were his only superpower – but the man regularly fought against enhanced people, or trained ninjas with sharp blades, thugs with guns and knives and leftover chitauri-enhanced weaponry. “Well,” Peter said slowly, “if you’re so concerned about it, maybe you could teach me a couple things.”
Daredevil’s head snapped to him. All the looseness in his posture suddenly tensed up again, coiled tight like a spring ready to let loose. Peter frowned, his dormant spider sense the only reason he wasn’t scared of the sudden change in body language.
“No.”
“Why? I mean, I get that you’re busy, but it’d be great to learn a few things from you. You’ve been around longer than me and you work on the streets. You could teach me more about being a vigilante than Mr. Stark ever could.” Peter’s mind was whirring, his excitement building, so much so that he didn’t notice Daredevil growing ever more tense. “If you think about it, you’re kind of the perfect person. You could teach me to use my enhanced senses like you, too–”
“You don’t want me as a teacher, kid,” Daredevil snapped.
Peter drew back, his brow furrowing.
Daredevil looked away with his whole head, turning it towards the entrance of the alley like he was surveying his exits. “You don’t want me,” he repeated softly. “I didn’t have a great teacher myself, and the only methods I know I would never replicate, especially not with a teenager. I can’t– I wouldn’t be good for you. But,” with what looked like great mental deliberation, he finally pulled a small black cube out of an invisible pocket in his suit, handing it to Peter, “Put the number of your burner on here. Call me if you need anything, and I’ll be there. I’ll trust you not to take advantage of it.”
Peter sucked in a breath, but didn’t say anything, not willing to risk the small amount he’d been given. “Um, I don’t have a burner,” he said, putting his number into the brick phone. There was a list of other numbers already there – FN, KP, CT – so he saved his under ‘SM’ for Spider-man.
Daredevil was very good at showing exasperation with only half his face visible. “Get one,” he said bluntly.
Then, he twitched. His head tilted and he held up a finger, listening intently.
“I have to go.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mr. Daredevil,” Peter said, then cringed.
When he looked back, the man was already scaling a fire escape. He turned his head back, hanging with one arm, and smirked. “And Spider-man?”
“Yeah?”
Daredevil’s voice dropped suddenly into his signature gravel – it was only then that Peter realised how much it had changed over their conversation into a normal voice. “Don’t meddle with Hell’s Kitchen again.”
Peter’s breath caught. He nodded, but Daredevil was already gone. Somehow, he knew the vigilante had caught his confirmation anyway.
It was only then that he began to hear the police sirens that Daredevil was chasing. Peter stared curiously at the absence of space where the vigilante had been, and then turned back to climb up the wall of the alleyway.
He had a lot to think about.