I'm posting this, but I'm dead tired. Please just mention any horrible mistakes in a review and I'll fix it.
Just as a reminder, please do not post any spoilers to Spider-Man Homecoming in any reviews you may submit. I would recommend following the ninety day policy: no spoilers until ninety days after the movie was released.
It was one of those nights.
Being a vigilante always had its ups and downs. It was a rollercoaster of bad extremes, from muggings to rapings to murder. Some nights were more hectic than others. Sometimes there were seven different crimes happening simultaneously and it was a mad dash from one end of Hell's Kitchen to the other.
Other times a certain gang or group would be causing large amounts of trouble. Daredevil would spend the majority of his night dealing with one huge operation. That involved hours of careful concentration tracking, minutes of physically exhausting fighting, and hundreds of dollars worth of medical supplies and suit reparations a month.
Then there were nights that technically fell under the hectic category- but didn't really because hectic was too weak of an adjective to describe what had happened.
It was one of those nights. It had started off innocent enough. A little bit of intel gathering from a few thugs, the halting of what the police would have conveniently considered domestic violence and Daredevil justly considered severe sexual abuse.
He'd been finishing up that, when there'd been the eardrum popping, heart stopping, much too familiar sound of gunshots.
Daredevil had gone to investigate.
He'd almost changed his mind when he heard the familiar, young heartbeat of New York's friendly neighborhood vigilante.
Spider-Man was on the scene. Surely there was no reason for Daredevil to pop in for a visit. The boy was more than capable and Daredevil could avoid a confrontation.
Catholic guilt. It oozed its way out of the young Matt Murdock that still existed somewhere inside the monster and polluted Daredevil's thoughts. Spider-Man was just a boy. Kids his age should be playing sports and complaining about homework, not saving lives.
And so Daredevil had reluctantly offered to help.
In the time short time spent with Spider-Man, Daredevil learned two things.
Whatever abilities the kid had were instinct alone. He had no actual training.
The boy had nobody.
The kid had wormed his way past what Daredevil thought was an impenetrable wall of no mercy and into the thoughts of guilty, soft-hearted Matt Murdock.
Daredevil wanted to help the kid.
After all, it wouldn't do to have New York's leading crime-stopper to end up in a SHIELD facility deep underground or dead in an alleyway because of a stray bullet.
Offering to help train Spider-Man had thrown his mind into chaos. Memories of Stick, deep-rooted fears of his identity being compromised and his friends being dragged into his dark world, insecurities about who he was were slithering all through Daredevil's mind, leaving him completely distracted.
The next few hours may have been not so hectic in criminal-catching, but they were still absolute chaos as far as his thoughts were concerned.
It was only four hours into his shift, and Daredevil was ready to climb back into bed.
Hopefully the night wouldn't be anymore hectic.
Any hope of that being the case disappeared when an elderly man decided it would be a smart idea to wander into the middle of one of Daredevil's interrogations.
"Mr. Daredevil sir?"
He sounded posh and stuffy with his upper-end British accent. Daredevil could smell his expensive, stuffy shampoo even over the urine and blood coating the dark alleyway.
Daredevil wasn't quite sure how to respond. He proceeded to slam the face of the thug he was interrogating into the cement. There was a loud crack and the thug's curses suddenly silenced.
He turned in the direction of the man.
"I've got a message for you from a woman named Susanna."
A message.
Daredevil knew no Susannas. Sure, there was the Susanna three floors below who yelled at her cats, and the little Susanna across the street who's father only used a certain brand of Dawn fabric softener, but he hadn't personally met any Susannas.
A new enemy then?
He hoped not. His hands were already more than full.
Reluctantly, Daredevil waited. The old man wasn't a physical threat. There was a pacemaker in his chest and hearing aids buzzing softly in his ears. He was wearing neat dress shoes that would slip and slide, should he attempt to give chase. Daredevil couldn't smell any weapons or gunpowder. If this man was attempting to hurt Daredevil, it wouldn't be physically.
Did he have some kind of superpower? Had he been hired to gather intel for one of Daredevil's enemies or even the Avengers themselves?
Daredevil was sure it was more than likely. He wished he could've just left at that moment.
But if there was a message, he needed to hear it.
"Go on," Daredevil growled.
There was the gentle clack of nails against plastic, then four gentle thuds as the old man stepped closer. Daredevil tensed, before it became obvious the old man was not attacking. The air was disturbed as a hand slowly made it's way out towards Daredevil. The old man was handing him something.
An old flip phone. He could still feel the shape through his glove. Daredevil handled it gingerly, still weary of some trap. The phone seemed to be wired normally. Now that it was in his hands, he could feel the gentle energy humming through the wires.
"Tell this Susanna to leave me alone," Daredevil demanded, adding a threatening tone to his voice.
The old man snorted. He managed to make it sound dignified and annoyed at the same time.
"Tell her yourself. I've never even met her. She just payed me to give you a message."
With that, the man turned around, the smell of his shampoo growing more and more distant as he left the narrow alleyway.
Daredevil huffed. How in the world was he supposed to see what was on the flip phone? He was blind.
Seconds later it became obvious that he didn't need to. The little machine suddenly increased its very quiet whirring. The device grew warmer in his hands. A voice came out.
"Hello Daredevil. I'm SUSANNA. I'm very sorry to bother you, but there's a problem."
His fingers tightened around the phone. It took pounds of self control to not smash the thing to bits right in that moment. How had this Susanna found him? What did she want?
The voice was deep south, the kind of voice he usually only heard on tourists in New York. Southern people didn't like the city, with it's loud, rude, fast talking mash of cultures and people. That wasn't always the case, but there was a reason Texas and Georgia were still populated. Daredevil wasn't sure what it was and he doubted he would ever find out.
There was a strange quality to it. Something Daredevil couldn't put his finger on, but still heard. Like she was speaking through a microphone into the cellphone. Some extra digitization that didn't happen in most phone calls Daredevil participated in.
Maybe some kind of voice disguiser? Maybe this Susanna wasn't southern at all. Maybe she wasn't female.
"Who do you work for and what do you want?"
Straight and to the point. There was no use beating around the bush, playing a game of cat and mouse. That may have been the usual formality when it came to villains, but it wasn't one Daredevil liked to indulge them with.
"Is there anyone conscious in your surrounding area?"
The thug wasn't conscious. So no.
"Nobody gonna hear your secret message. What do ya want?"
"I'm Spider-Man's artificial intelligence, SUSANNA. He created me in order to help keep him alive and keep the Avengers off his identity. Right now, that's what I'm doing. There's a villain on top of the One World Trade Center. He has already killed three civilians. Spider-Man is currently attempting to face him, but with some difficulty because this villain appears to be a shape shifter.
The Avengers are on the scene, but they are not doing anything to stop the villain attacking Spider-Man, in hopes that the villain will either reveal Spider-Man's identity so they don't have to, hurt Spider-Man to the point where they can take him in, or have Spider-Man weakened to the point where they can easily capture him. Understandably, I'm upset."
Daredevil's first instinct was to listen for a heartbeat, to see if she was lying, when he realized he could hear none. Even through a phone, though it was incredibly faint, Daredevil could hear the telltale sounds of breath and of life. But through here, there was nothing. No heartbeat, no breath, no sounds at all. It was incredibly disconcerting.
Unless this sketchy Susanna figure was aware of his abilities, there was no reason for her to cover up heartbeat and breathing.
If she was aware of his abilities, then he might as well give up now. It put him at a huge disadvantage.
No, chances were she was telling the truth. Of course Spider-Man was smart. He needed some level of intelligence to create those circular web devices around his wrists. Daredevil could hear the faint click-whir every time they shot off a strand of the web. It wasn't impossible for him to have created an AI. After all, Tony Stark had.
Was Spider-Man someone with a Tony Stark level of intelligence? That would make it even more difficult for Daredevil to keep his identity safe, especially if Daredevil was offering to train him.
How did he even know this Susanna was with Spider-Man? What if she was with the Avengers?
The World Trade Center was in Lower Manhattan. That was far out of Daredevil's range. It wasn't impossible for him to go there, but he wouldn't. It was one of his rules. He didn't fight big time villains anyway. It endangered his identity and it endangered his status as the unnoticeable, quiet vigilante of Hell's Kitchen.
But what about…
No. Daredevil quickly snuffed out young Matt Murdock's voice before it could weigh into his logical decision and make him do something incredibly stupid. He had offered to train Spider-Man,and that was as much help as the kid was going to get.
"I don't leave Hell's Kitchen. Tell Spider-Man that if he survived this unidentified I hope he'll consider my offer."
Daredevil pulled back his arm, ready to pitch the phone straight into the wall and shatter it to pieces. But Susanna quickly spoke again.
"Look mister. I know you got your own identity to keep all secret and all, but your life is going to become a lot more difficult if the idiot is dead. So do your sorry butt a favor and get over there to help out. The least you can do is get civilians out of the way."
"You can fu-"
"Language!" Susanna suddenly interrupted. Daredevil was reminded of an earlier moment in time, where Spider-Man had said something similar to some villains. He wondered if Susanna had gotten the habit from Spider-Man or if Spider-Man from Susanna.
The latter was more likely.
The boy had nobody. Even if the kid hadn't blurted it out, it was obvious in everything he did. There was something so incredibly, heart-wrenchingly lonely about the fact that Spider-Man's only friend was one he had created himself.
It put a dent in the lockbox where young Matt Murdock was currently being held prisoner.
"I'll consider it." They both knew that was the closest to yes that she was going to get.
"Fine. Just know that if he dies, I personally consider you partially responsible. After all, standing to the side and doing nothing is the same as being the bully punching the victim in the face."
Ouch. That hit and that hit hard.
"Goodbye, Susanna," Daredevil growled. He wound his arm up and released. The phone whooshed through the air and hit the wall with a crack.
Darn Catholic guilt.
Spider-Man struggled to stay conscious. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the fact that he was flying straight towards Iron Man registered, but he was too focused on breathing to do anything about it.
Blackness shrouded over part of his vision. His eyelids drifted shut, before Spider-Man forced them open again. He only managed to open them halfway.
He was trilliseconds away from slamming straight into Iron Man.
Something inside of him screamed no!
Spider-Man shot out a thread of web and yanked, jerking to the left, straight through a brick wall. He cried out, the sound emerging mangled from his mouth. This time, he didn't notice where he fell, because he was unconscious.
Peter Parker fell to the floor of the empty office building with a dull thud.
Tony Stark winced. That had sounded painful. Still, if the vigilante was going to fling himself through a wall and most likely knock himself unconscious, Tony couldn't complain. It made his job all the easier.
There was an eardrum shattering roar almost directly behind him.
At some point, the shapeshifter that looked and acted exactly like the Hulk but wasn't had emerged from the World Trade Center. It was now one footstep away from smashing the Black Widow.
Tony rolled his eyes. Of course this would happen. Either he could save the life of a pretty Russian assassin he didn't even like, or learn the super secret identity of Spider-Man.
With a dramatic sigh, Iron Man flew away from the building and shoved Natasha to the side a second before she became pretend Hulk juice.
The pretend Hulk turned on Iron Man.
"Oh shi-"
It leaped forward, straight at Iron Man, only to suddenly shrink drastically in size.
The new form was of a woman. She looked like a Covergirl model, was completely naked, and, had Tony been a few years younger, would have totally received an invitation to the Stark Mansion.
She glared up at Tony Stark.
"Your Avengers will never find me. For I can take whatever form I wish. I am water in your hands. I am vapor in the air. I feed off the energy of the enemies that reside in your body and they give me power. I am Slick."
Suddenly, she was running. By the time Tony's stunned brain caught up with what had happened, she had disappeared into a crowd of fleeing citizens.
Tony whistled.
"She totally pulled a Black Widow there. I get the feeling she'll be coming back to kill me. You ever go from Hulk to stripper before, Nat?"
Natasha glared.
"Where is Spider-Man?"
Tony jerked a thumb in the general direction of the business complex Spider-Man had collapsed in.
"He was out cold. You're welcome, by the way. I was looking forward to unmasking him."
The Black Widow stalked towards the building.
Steve, Clint, and Thor emerged strode down the street.
"Tony, where's Spider-Man?"
Steve sounded very Captain Americaish, with his commanding voice and stern, blue eyes.
"Out cold and you're welcome."
Natasha rejoined them, eyes alight with that cold and deadly fury that usually meant dead bodies.
"No he's not."
All eyes turned to Stark. Stark put his hands up.
"Look, the guy got sucker punched by a pretend Hulk, then flung through three feet of brick. I would say it's safe to assume he's out cold, or at least so injured he's close by."
Captain America pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.
"Okay, we split up and search the area. Stark, scan for unique heat signatures. The rest of us will search by eye, in case he's found some sort of way to make his heat signature seem normal."
Stark mock saluted.
"Yes sir."
The glares he received were scary.
"Chill out, I'm having JARVIS scan right now."
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose again. Tony idly wondered if the pain reliever Aleve worked on Captain America, or if Captain America wasn't "stronger than his pain."
"Now go!" Steve demanded. "Spider-Man is resourceful, and we can't afford to lose him this time."
Spider-Man awoke to the smell of smelly feet.
With a nauseated huff, he tried to turn on his back, only for a fiery sensation to jolt him fully awake.
His latest memories dumped on him like a bucket of ice cold water.
The last he remembered, he'd been flying through a brick wall, Iron Man right on his tail.
There was absolutely no way he had escaped capture. He'd been unconscious. Unless SUSANNA, using pure willpower, had grown legs and some serious weapons and beat Iron Man off, he should be in a room a whole lot nicer or a whole lot worse for some serious interrogation.
He was laying stomach-down on a mat, like the big kind you find in a gymnasium. Peter's sensitive nose could smell sharp, but ineffective cleaning chemicals, sweat from several people, and even a bit of blood.
Maybe, half unconscious, he'd dragged himself to some nearby building and just didn't remember doing so.
Peter realized something was off.
Instead of the familiar fabric of his suit wrapped comfortably around his skin, he was wearing nothing but an old, raggedy pair of sweatpants at least two sizes too big.
Panic. It seized his chest, bubbled up and fogged his mind. He attempted to turn around and sit up, but only collapsed. In the distance, he could hear a frantic voice, but Peter couldn't make out the words.
He was finding it hard to breathe. His heart was squeezing itself, his throat was closing up. A clear voice broke through the fog of irrational panic.
"Peter. It's okay Peter. You're safe. You're safe. Calm down."
SUSANNA. She was the only person besides Aunt May Peter could consider family and she wasn't even human. It was amazing how close he'd become in the past three months.
He did his best to push past the panic. The panic wouldn't help the situation, the panic wouldn't help Aunt May.
The fog cleared. His vision returned.
"Peter, listen to me. You're safe. Nobody is going to harm you and the Avengers don't know who you are. You hear me? The Avengers don't know who you are."
They didn't know who he was. But how? How had he gotten out of it?
"Peter, do you trust me?"
That immediately set off alarm bells. Did he trust SUSANNA? Yes, he'd programmed her himself. But he wasn't perfect. Someone could've hacked her, changed her programming. Somebody like Tony Stark. Maybe this was all an elaborate trap, maybe…
No, he couldn't be thinking like that. He would drive himself crazy.
"...yes." His voice was dry, cracking.
"I got someone to help you. Don't panic again, okay?"
Who was there? Who could help? Not Aunt May. And Peter didn't know anyone else who cared.
"Spider-Man."
His heart jumped into his throat.
The voice, while normally gravelly, was still familiar.
"Daredevil," Peter greeted.
The vigilante came into view, just in the corner of Peter's eye. There was an awkward silence. Neither party knew what to say, because lines had been crossed that shouldn't have been crossed. This brought both of them into dangerous, unknown territory.
You were always careful with what you said in unknown territory.
Finally, Daredevil spoke.
"You're stupid, kid."
Peter let out a short laugh, one that stopped the second his ribs burst into another explosion of mind-numbing pain.
"Yeah. Thanks."
He felt bare. Exposed. For the first time since Harry, someone had seen the person behind the mask, had realized who hid beneath the red cloth.
Information was power. The type of power Daredevil yielded could destroy all Peter had worked for, all that was left of what Peter loved.
Peter was powerless because now Daredevil had the power.
The question was, how would Daredevil use it?
There was another awkward silence.
"SUSANNA-" Peter began.
"Not now Peter."
This drew Peter's attention entirely. Her usually calm tone wasn't present, replaced with one of brusque urgency.
"What is it?"
"Stark just realized he's not a sassy cowgirl and JARVIS is attempting to commit inside out suicide that's technically murder. I'm going to disconnect from the phone for a bit so I'm free to move around a little more."
Panicked, Peter twisted his neck around around, looking to the phone lying next to him on the mat, before realizing a computer program didn't have facial expressions.
"SUSANNA!"
There was no response.
With a lot of difficulty, Peter picked up the phone. The way SUSANNA worked, she could move anywhere that had internet because she was a part of the internet. But she could also rest inside a device, reforming her software to match device requirements. Peter had reformed the old flip phone with SUSANNA in mind. If a computer could feel comfort, it was the most comfortable place she could be because it was fit exactly for her.
SUSANNA was not present at all in the phone. As she had said, she'd disconnected. Peter cursed.
"I don't think your computer program would approve of that language," Daredevil said, amusement lining his tone.
"She'll live," Peter muttered.
"Well, you're going to need several hours of rest before you're going to be able to go anywhere. You have eight ribs in nasty shape."
"Where am I?"
"A boxing gym in Hell's Kitchen."
Peter pushed down the swell of anxiety.
"Not gonna have anyone walk in on me half naked or anything, right?"
"Nobody is going to walk in on Daredevil standing over a half naked teenage boy. It would tarnish my reputation."
"Glad to know you care so much." Peter may have been a professional at discrete sarcasm, but there was absolutely no reason to be discrete here. He let the sarcasm bleed through all of his tone.
"A pleasure." Daredevil was equally sarcastic. Peter was almost impressed. That took effort.
There was a thought that rose to Peter's head.
"Say, speaking of caring, why'd you bother saving my stupid butt in the first place?"
Daredevil was silent for a moment. Then,
"Because it was to my advantage."
What kind of advantage? The fact that saving Peter gave Daredevil the name and the face of Spider-Man? Because it gave him leverage to use, should someone ever go after Daredevil's own identity?
As if reading Peter's mind, Daredevil explained.
"If the Avengers are going after vigilantes in New York, I can guarantee I'm next on the list."
"So if you know my identity, you can trade it for keeping yours?"
Daredevil suddenly seemed angry.
"Or maybe, kid, I'm trying to do what my job description entails and save somebody. Somebody who may need more rescuing than a lot of the other people I rescue. You've dug yourself into a hole you won't be getting out of on your own, so at least let me train you."
Peter listened. He sat in silence for a while, mulling over what Daredevil had said. He responded quietly.
"Look man, I appreciate it. I really do. But I've got a policy. I don't work with others."
Daredevil's voice hardened.
"I don't care about your policy. You don't work with others, that's fine. But the very least I'm gonna do is show you how to properly throw a punch. And that's that."
Frustrated, Peter slowly turned over onto his side. The movement brought uncontrollable tears of pain to his eyes, but Peter had no option. It was most likely way past time for him to be back at Avengers Tower.
Sitting up felt like one of the most difficult things Peter had ever done in his life. The pain sent black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He had no idea how he was supposed to get back, especially without being noticed.
Peter examined the bandages wrapping his side. They were done neatly. It wasn't exactly professional, but it was way better than anything Peter could've done himself.
Purple bruising peeked out from beneath the bandages, covered almost half of his torso, flowering down all the way to his hip bone. It was a miracle his heart hadn't been crushed from the direct blow. He was sure to have internal bleeding, not that he could do anything about it.
He would just have to hope the blood wasn't trickling into his lungs. That would mean suffocation.
There had been multiple cuts and scars, as well as glass and brick embedded in his face, his arms, and his legs. The glass and brick had been taken out, and the cuts were all cleaned. Some of the more heavily bleeding ones had been bandaged.
It was strange to think of not having to do all the repairs himself.
Now that he was no longer laying face down on the mat, he could see more of the gym.
It was indeed a boxing gym. The posters, walls, and floor were all faded. Daredevil had not bothered to turn any lights on, and because of that, the entire room was encased in shadows.
How did he wrap Peter's ribs and clean the cuts without light? The guy really must have experience if he was doing it in the dark.
It would make sense not to turn the lights on. After all, light in a closed boxing gym would draw attention.
It was completely dark outside. Peter had to go, and hope he could deal with whatever mess was waiting for him at the Tower.
Now he just had to get his suit.
Peter's webshooters were still around his wrists.
With a little bit of a smile, he shot out a strand of web. The suit came straight to him.
But where was the mask?
It was right next to Daredevil, who was still silent. The vigilante was looking right at Peter, head tilted slightly to the side. It was almost creepy how still the guy was standing. Had Peter not had the ability to stand with even less movement, he would've been slightly scared.
Peter shot a strand of web right at the mask.
Daredevil moved it out of the way of the web.
"Either I train you, or I keep the mask."
Peter was irritated. That wasn't Daredevil's call. He didn't have the right to bargain like that, and had Peter been in a better state, he would've gotten his mask and left.
"Look man. I get it. You're worried about the little kid who's out playing superhero. But if I die, that's my own business and my own fault. Right now, I've got tons of complications to deal with. I don't need another."
He shot another strand of web. Daredevil moved the mask behind his back, where Peter couldn't get it without moving around.
"Seriously?" Peter exclaimed. "Not cool."
"So if a civilian is endangering themselves by refusing to evacuate a burning building as asked, you're just going to let them die?"
"That's not the same."
"It's the same. I am offering you an entryway out of a burning building, and you're just standing there, letting embers and ashes fall on your shoulders."
Peter wanted the training. Daredevil was offering to teach him to fight, which would be sharing part of what made Daredevil uniquely Daredevil. Peter knew he could use it, he just didn't want to accept it because that would be getting the vigilante involved in his mess.
When Peter got people involved in his messes, they tended to die.
He didn't see any way to convince Daredevil to leave him alone. The guy was being very persistent about the entire thing. Peter wasn't sure how to convince Daredevil that he didn't need the training.
There was no way past this one. Peter would have to accept the training. But he would keep Daredevil out of his fight with the Avengers. The last thing he needed was one less Devil of Hell's Kitchen.
Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, pulling at his hair.
"Fine. But you do anything more and I'm refusing it. I don't need the Avengers on your tale too."
Daredevil relaxed, leaning back against a wall, arms crossing loosely over his chest.
"Good."
Okay, in other news, for whatever reason, Camp NaNoWriMo will not list my user in the search results when you search for gammathetaalpha. I promise, I really do exist on there. It's just not coming up in the search bar.
Maybe has to do with my age? I qualify as a minor.
Also, I will eventually get back into replying to reviews, but right now I'm using that time to write.