Chapter Text
Matt shook off his remaining exhaustion and pulled on his suit. At least he got four hours this time, he chuckled under his breath. Once his suit was fully on, he slipped out the window, met by the cold city air. Sure, he could walk out the door, but then there was a chance his neighbors would see him and God knows he didn't wanna deal with that. Besides, Matt enjoyed the challenge of parkouring out of the building.
As he made his way out of his apartment and closer to Queens, the man processed what he was getting himself into. Mentally, he cursed himself for letting Frank pull him into shit. At least the other vigilante wasn't actively killing someone this time, Matt thought. Within moments of his traipsing, he’d pinpointed the location of Frank and Spider-Man and set off.
He’d noted that Frank had called Spider-Man a kid, which surprised him. The hero was an Avenger and had been operating about as long as Matt had. He'd thought Spider-Man would’ve been in his late twenties by now, if not older. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding and Frank thought the man was younger than he was, Matt reasoned. That could happen, especially with the mask the blue-and-red suited hero wore.
Once Daredevil enclosed close enough to hear the heartbeats of the two on the rooftop, he was struck with confusion. Frank’s was elevated a little above normal, which was to be expected, but Spider-Man’s was off the charts. The hero was supposed to have fainted; why was his heart rate that high? Matt waved it off, they could deal with that after they dealt with the bigger issues.
When the vigilante finally reached the apartment roof, the first thing he smelt was the scent of old sweat, both off Frank and Spider-Man. Frank audibly huffed a sound of relief at Matt’s arrival. The other man would never admit it, but the situation was stressing him out.
“Fucking finally, red. Couldn't get here any slower?” Frank teased. Matt shook his head lightly, not even bothered by the man’s comment. It’d been a while since he was truly off-put by the joking sarcasm that spouted from Frank’s mouth. He still played the part of annoyance most of the time, but he was too tired to bring himself to do so that night.
“Why’d Spider-Man pass out in the first place?” diverted Matt. Truly, he could tell the hero was doing all sorts of poorly. Weakness emanated from his limp body, easily picked up by his senses. He wasn't sure what he'd do if the man didn't wake up soon. He surely wasn't going to leave him there in such a vulnerable state.
“Hell if I know,” Frank grunted. “Kid’s skin and bones. Told me he had a ‘long day.’ Sure, like a long day makes you faint twice.”
Matt walked over to where he'd sensed the hero’s body, kneeling beside it. Accidentally brushing his hand across the suited chest, he realized that Frank’s ‘skin and bones’ assertion had been true. Christ, he could feel Spider-Man’s ribs jutting out. For a hero who fought as much crime as he did, that couldn't be healthy. Matt inhaled harshly through his nose.
“Fuck, Frank. What am I supposed to do?” he muttered. The devil-themed vigilante supposed he could take the man back to his apartment, but he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't cause him to freak out. However, it very well could be the only solution considering how things were shaping up.
“I don't know, Daredevil. That's why I fucking called you,” came the gruff reply Matt knew to be characteristic of Frank. For not the first time, Matt wished he wasn't blind so he could lock eyes and glare at the man. He hoped his body language got his point across well enough.
“I think I'm gonna take him back to my apartment until he regains consciousness,” Matt decided, sighing. “I can't leave him out here in the middle of the city, especially with the cold front.”
Frank nodded, seemingly in thought as Matt picked the hero up like he weighed nothing (which wasn't too far off). He didn't want the other man to just leave before he could say… something? Not goodbye; Frank wasn't going to wave Matt off like they were best pals. Yet, he felt the need to talk to him press on his tongue. Frank sure as hell wouldn't be unpacking that now– or hopefully, ever.
“Wait,” Frank called at Matt, who was about to begin vaulting off with the unconscious hero in his arms, before he could stop himself. “Call me when the bug wakes up.”
Matt stops in his tracks, startled by not only the other man's request, but his tone as well. Frank almost never spoke gently, and while he wasn't then by any other person’s measure, Matt’s sensitive ears could hear the slight softening of his vocal chords. He cleared his throat, suddenly overcome by an odd tightness near the back of it.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he grunted awkwardly. God, what was happening to him? He needed to get out of there, and fast before he ended up embarrassing himself (not that he cared if Frank thought his actions were embarrassing. Of course not).
Matt quickly resumed his hasty exit, the body in his arms slowing down the speed at which he could parkour home. He was so damn tired that the second he got back to his apartment, he dumped Spider-Man on the couch, still in costume, and went right back to bed after changing out of his suit.
However, his sleep didn't last very long, as about a half-hour later, he awoke to a clamour outside his room. He heard a loud crash, followed by a youngish-sounding voice muttering curses under his breath. Matt stumbled to his feet for the second time that night, and resigned himself to likely getting no more sleep.
Remembering at the last second to put back on his Daredevil suit, as it was almost certainly Spider-Man who he was hearing, he pattered out of his room with the energy of a ninety-year-old cancer patient. Entering the living room, he sensed the hero was on… the ceiling? What in the hell was going on? Matt inhaled sharply, a perfect mix of concerned and confused.
In Peter’s defense, he’d woken up in an unfamiliar apartment. His fear reflex was to jump up and stick onto the ceiling. Shamefully, though, in his startle, he'd knocked over a table. Now being faced directly by Daredevil, embarrassment twinged its way through his body.
“Hi, Daredevil. Uh, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to knock over your stuff and I–”
“It’s fine,” Matt interrupted, holding a hand up to pause the hero’s rambling apology. God, now he knew why Frank had been calling him a kid. He sounded what, eighteen, nineteen? “Do you know what happened before I brought you here?”
Peter paused. Suddenly, the memories all came flooding back. He passed out twice in front of the Punisher. Shit. But that didn't explain why he was sitting in, assumingly, Daredevil’s apartment. “Why were you there?”
“Frank called me in,” Daredevil answered, in a sort of hand-wavey, that's-not-important tone. Peter decided he probably should release himself from the ceiling to talk, so he jumped down, landing on his feet in front of the vigilante.
“Oh. That's nice of you. But, um, you didn't need to do all of this. Or any of it,” Peter sheepishly replied. The boy’s face took on a stonier quality under his mask. “I’d be fine alone.”
“You were unconscious on a rooftop in the middle of winter. It was my choice to help you,” Matt shook his head at the hero’s assertion. In an odd way, the other man reminded himself of his own way of thinking. It gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. The way Spider-Man seemed now was worlds away from the bright, happy-go-lucky way Matt had heard he acted a couple years ago.
“No, well… I mean– I could find out your identity from the apartment address. I could sell who you are to criminals. I could–”
“You wouldn't,” Matt asserted. He didn't know why he trusted this man he’d only spoken a few sentences to, but something in his mind told him the hero was trustworthy. A strange sensation came along with it, almost déjà vu-like. When he pressed at the sensation in his mind, it was like a child pressing at the spot where they'd just lost a tooth. Huh.
“How do you know?” Peter crossed his arms defiantly. He would never normally act like that around a vigilante he'd heard was serious and brutal, but given the circumstances Peter decided to throw caution to the wind. He didn't think someone who was so adamant on helping him would snap on him like he'd heard he did with criminals. “You have no idea who I am.”
As if struck in the chest, Matt gasped. A name somehow chipped its way through the barrier in his head. “You're Peter Parker.”
Peter, in a haze of panic, frantically looked around for an exit. Eyes locking on the window, he made a break for it, quickly jumping out and sticking onto the side of the wall. He needed to calm down. He was hyperventilating, working himself up into a panic attack. Closing his eyes, he tried to use the breathing techniques Bruce taught him years ago. It wasn't any use.
Inside, Matt stood stunned in place as Peter ran out. Shock coursed through him, both at his own words and at the speed at which the hero had left thereafter. Once he’d finally gotten the courage to move, he ran a hand down his face. God, Matt thought, he really needed a goddamn drink. Maybe, just this once, he could get away with showing up at work hungover. Yet, instead of cracking open a beer and ignoring the panicking spider currently stuck to the outside of his apartment, he pulled out his phone. He supposed now would be a good time to make good of his word.
“Red?” grumbled the voice of Frank, picking up within seconds of Matt’s call. “Is the Spider-Boy up from his nap?”