Chapter One

(Marvel)=

Peter awoke with a small shudder and a tiny gasp, as his eyes darted around the small car. He... He still remembered the moment clearly in his mind's eye. Walking back home from school, blood, so much blood... He bit his lip, in an attempt to pull himself from another brutal recollection.

The teenager attempted to calm himself, by glancing around the small car, noting the details. The windows were clean to the point of shininess, but the car itself was barely above the status of a rust bucket. He wondered why. Captain Stacy was certainly earning enough to get himself better than this...

"W-why don't you get yourself a new car?" Peter asked, the sound of his somewhat cracked and emotional voice breaking through the silence.

"Because this car is close to my heart," the policeman replied, glancing backward at Peter, tapping absently on the steering wheel as they waited for the light. "I got it from my dad when I passed my exams. Kept it ever since."

Peter swallowed. He wondered if his dad would have given him something if he had done something that... that good? That successful? Or if he wouldn't have, because they didn't have enough money?

"I'm sorry, kid." The man said, looking rather guiltily in the mirror at him. "I shouldn't have reminded you of David... H-he was a good man."

Peter didn't really know what to say to that. It felt like he heard the phrase far too much - from his apathetic neighbors who were almost too used to it, and now from Captain Stacy. At least he seemed genuine, he guessed. The car rolled along, and eventually, Peter noticed how the tall buildings and skyscrapers seemed to fade away for the suburbs of Queens, with just a bit of jealousy. It felt cynical, how he and his parents lived in barely ten feet of an apartment, whilst these people lived in nice houses.

Peter sighed defeatedly. He couldn't blame these people for his problems... They probably had no idea he even existed, what his problems were... It was an exercise in futility. And he was too tired to summon the energy to do much of anything, at the moment.

Eventually, the car pulled to a stop, in front of a rather pretty, two stories high suburban house, with the lights shining from the windows, and a rather pretty blonde girl with startlingly clear blue eyes, leaning against the window on her phone, a distinct pair of pink headphones on her head.

"Eyes down, Parker," Stacy teased, apparently noticing his staring.

"Is she your daughter?" Peter asked the clearest his voice had ever been, since then.

The man let out a chuckle. "Yes," he offered, as the two exited the Twingo. "She takes more after her mother than me."

Peter offered nothing but a somewhat shaky smile, before grabbing his suitcase and his bag, following the man into the house. The house was remarkably tidy, with various photos of Captain Stacy receiving various awards, and a few family photos, with the girl upstairs, and even what he believed was Captain Stacy's wife. Huh. They did look rather similar.

The sudden sound of tap, tap, tap broke his concentration, causing Peter to narrow his eyes, as he instinctually sought out the sound. The sound was almost overwhelming to his ears, yet he noticed that Stacy hadn't reacted, and was currently putting down his coat on the hanger.

As the sound reverberated down the stairs, Peter realized with a small startle, that it was merely Captain Stacy's daughter, walking down the stairs. What... What had he done there?

"Dad...?" The girl said, almost hesitantly, before glancing to him her eyes widening, before turning to her father. "You're late, you know?"

"I know, kiddo," George replied, tiredly, motioning towards Peter, who didn't really know what to think of the interaction. "Gwen, this is Peter. He's... He's going to be staying with us." The police officer said, moving out of the way towards the kitchen, by some sort of open doorway to Peter's right.

"Uh... Hi," Gwen offered, seemingly not knowing what to say. "It's nice to meet you."

Peter wondered if he'd been handsome, that she'd be so reticent about him. Ignoring the thought, Peter attempted to smile, though he knew it came off sad and jagged. "Hey. Likewise... So, uh... What were you listening to? Up there in your bedroom?"

Lord, he sounded stupid, Peter grimaced to himself. Why was his mouth always faster than his brain? Luckily for him, it seemed that the girl didn't mind too much, given the way she smiled. "I was listening to my more recent song, checking out if there was anything wrong with it."

"You're a music artist? That's... pretty cool, actually." Peter replied, surprised by the revelation. If he'd been in a better mood, he'd daresay he'd even be excited.

"I mean... I'm not like, a music artist on my own," Gwen answered, stumbling over her words, almost making Peter feel a sentiment of sympathy. "I'm a part of a band. Well, it's not even band, there's only me... Uh, nevermind... Just forget I said anything."

Peter smiled sympathetically, finally breaking past the murk that was his mind. "I swear that if I learn how to play an instrument, or sing, I'll join your band. Not that's happening anytime soon, but..."

The blonde smiled somewhat more widely at his offer, seemingly reassured by the words. "I could help you at least get a headstart if you wanna?"

Peter was surprised by the offer, and stuttered out nervously, "I-I, uh... That'd be cool?"

Whatever the blonde was about to say, was interrupted by her father grabbing his shoulder. "Peter... You should go to bed, kid. It's been a rough day for you, and you'll need the rest. Your room is on the right of Gwen's." The officer said, both seriously and kindly at the same time.

Peter nodded, the tiredness that had been seeping slowly into his entire body, gone unnoticed due to the events of the past few... hours. Or at least, he hoped it was hours. Brushing past Gwen, he murmured something apologetic, and quickly entered his bedroom, barely registering the details as he usually would.

The boy settled his bags, and laid down in the bed, listening, his senses merging into one. It was almost overwhelming how much he was hearing. A couple from across the street were arguing about money, a teenager was busy playing video games, the repetitive sound of the same buttons being pressed irritating, a homeless man shivered under the long-gone warmth of his jacket-

Peter rose from the bed and grabbed the earmuffs that were on the desk, almost staggered at the amount of feedback that he had received. What... What was happening to him?

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, the brown-haired teen settled into his bed, slowly drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

(Marvel)=

As Peter began climbing up the stairs, his footsteps almost a beat, her father stayed cautiously silent, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He was waiting for their new guest to go to bed, she guessed, not willing to break the silence either.

Gwen wondered what her father's game was here, and what Peter had to do with it. She felt a surge of sympathy for him - he seemed rather nice at least from the outside, and nobody should really be caught up in something they had no idea existed.

Eventually, the tapping stopped and her father quietly motioned her to follow him into the kitchen, that had become rather frigid and cold after years of distance. Settling down at the end of the table, she watched him stare out of the window, an unreadable expression on his face. She didn't even want to know what was going through his head.

"You're asking yourself why I brought Peter here, aren't you?" The man asked, finally turning to face her, the bright lights of Queens reflecting harshly against his grave expression.

"It was one of them," Gwen replied coolly, not really wanting to play twenty questions. "The other one was if this was an attempt from you for us to become a family again."

"No, it isn't." Her father said harshly before his scowl morphed into something sadder, and almost guilty she'd daresay. The blonde was almost surprised by him expressing something like that. "His parents and I were friends in high school, despite our somewhat different approaches to the law. Eventually, I... I cut ties with them when I first became a sergeant and met your mother. That was seventeen years ago and... I feel guilty for it, especially now... When... When..."

As his voice trailed off, Gwen felt some sympathy for her dad, despite their immense distance. "When they died," she finished softly.

The man grunted in reply, reaching into the fridge, grabbing a bottle of vodka and a glass, pouring wordlessly, staring robotically into the clear liquid. "They were killed by Bullseye. Same memo, same everything that marks him out. They weren't even the only victims - dozens of people from all backgrounds have been killed, and there's no connection between them at all, besides all dying to the same man."

"...Peter came back to see his parents dead, didn't he?" Gwen got out, swallowing hard, understanding now why he'd been so closed off and beaten down.

"Or he saw it happen, surviving merely because Bullseye thought it'd be fun," her father said, taking a massive shot of his glass, drowning out whatever he felt. "Whatever happened, he didn't want to talk about it, and he probably never will talk about it."

She didn't offer anything to that, simply not knowing what to say. The worst thing was that she knew that the city wouldn't even consider this part of the killings a headline. No, they'd focus on Bullseye returning, and ponder what the Devil from Hell's Kitchen would do about it... It was a bitter pill to swallow, and Gwen despised swallowing it.

Her father had already downed his fourth glass, looking almost as lost as he had when... Mom died. She silently grabbed the bottle of vodka, putting it back in the fridge. He didn't even bat an eyelid, downing the glass, staring off into New York's skyline.

Knowing that she wouldn't get a word out of him, Gwen walked into her bedroom, staring at the pictures she had only just hung. All from before her mother's death, and the only time they even had taken any photos. After that... There wasn't much to take a photo of.

Turning her gaze away from the pictures, she began organizing her room, almost in a daze. She needed to do something, and playing music when Peter was trying to sleep was incredibly selfish. And that's what she did - homework from years ago that she hadn't completed was thrown in the trash, her bed that had become an island surrounded by [i]stuff/i] was pushed into a corner, her various musical instruments were organized into distinct sections of the room, and she finally cleared away her desk, and reorganized it, glancing dismissively at the maths she was supposed to do. She'd do it tomorrow - it was a weekend after all...

Grabbing her headphones, the sound of her own guitar strings, various drum beats and her own voice echoing in her ears as she pressed various keys, Gwen sat down at her desk, bringing out a semi-completed sheet of paper, her keyboard replaying each beat, string, and musical what-not that she could make with relative ease. All that was needed now was to put her ideas on paper...

(Marvel)=

Matt knelt in the dirt of the massive graveyard, absently tracing a finger over the two gravestones, having memorized their inscriptions to the slightest indent.

He stopped, grabbing two packets of flowers and settling it at their feet, his fist clenching over it. He had honestly thought that after all this time, he'd be more settled about it, but...

The lawyer's fist unclenched, and he stood. He'd bring Fisk down, along with everyone else that was in his pocket. He'd bring them with so much force that they'd never start it again. He swore it.

The light treading of shoes against the dirt, made him tilt his head. He recognized who it was instantly, his senses giving him all the information he needed. "Marci," he said, with a dip of his head. "You're here late."

"I'd say the same for you," she replied gently. She'd mellowed out a lot compared to a few years ago, where he had the feeling she'd be vitriolic at this point. He guessed that death had different effects on everyone. "You haven't been around Hell's Kitchen lately - people have been missing you."

"I... I needed some time away," the man replied, feeling rather guilty. Hell's Kitchen was where it had all started, and it was where everything had gone wrong. "I've been living in Brooklyn, doing some pro bono work. It keeps my head straight."

"Foggy and Karen would have wanted us to continue doing their work," Marci said, feeling her concerned gaze on his person. "But they would have also wanted us to move on."

"I know," Matt retorted, far more harshly then he had intended. "Sorry. It's just... I never even got to tell them goodbye, and... They died, thinking I had just abandoned them. I can't move on until... Until I've done something. Something that needed to be done a long time ago."

She grabbed his hand, the action feeling like it was done without thought. "Be... Be careful, Matt. Whatever it is you're planning on doing, don't be an idiot. Remember that you've got allies, friends and other people who'd instantly come to help you if you asked."

"Not with this," the vigilante answered, as he remembered an age where people like him weren't a dying breed. A day where it was Captain America, and not the Devil from Hell's Kitchen that saved you from thugs or gang members. Gently prying his hands from Marci's, he gave her a small, sad smile. It seemed like the only type of smile he could give these days. "I'll see you around, Marci. I need to go."

As he left the graves, he felt the woman almost say something, but stop. His fist clenched. 'I'm sorry... But I have to do this. No-one else can or will, so it's up to me.' He thought, almost hoping he had innate telepathic powers. It was an utterly naive thought, but Matt thought it anyway.

He didn't think of much else recently, besides the thought of furiously beating his fists into criminals and the faint dream of Fisk in prison. That dream was a particularly nice one, in his opinion...

(Marvel)=

Author's Note: This took far longer to write than I had anticipated, but nevermind.

I hope you enjoyed my rather noir-esque imagination of the characters, the world, et cetera. If you have any questions, PM me or just leave a review - I'll answer them. Hopefully.