Important! For readers who have read already read this chapter, I posted a small change to what happens when Bruce leaves the cafe. Also, got rid of some of those nasty errors, including the random repeated paragraph.
SUSANNA: Peter's aunt is in the hospital. He's not in a healthy state of mind. Help Thor, then come quickly.
Bruce stared at the text message. His fingers shook. His skin felt clammy. His stomach was doing flips.
He could still hear Slick's sweet, sickly voice in the back of his mind.
'Why don't you go check on your dear Aunt May', she'd taunted Peter.
He knew something had happened to Peter. Bruce knew it with the same certainty that he knew he existed. But what confused Bruce was the dream. Dreams were dreams and had nothing to do with reality. People couldn't tell the future through dreams, or communicate through dreams. Bruce didn't live in some science fiction movie.
What was he even talking about? Bruce was on his way to go discuss world ending crises over breakfast with the embodiment of Norse mythology, in a city that had been attacked by aliens a year ago. Communicating, or telling the future through dreams wasn't even that ridiculous. If he thought about it, communication through dreams was probably the least weird part of the mad world he lived in.
Bruce sat down on his bed in the Young Minds living area. He finished buttoning up his shirt, and picked up his phone to text SUSANNA back.
Bruce: Why is she in the hospital?
A response came back almost instantly.
SUSANNA: A robbery gone wrong, supposedly. Peter doesn't think so. He's headed home now.
NO!
Bruce's phone slid out of his hand. Both hands went to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.
For the first time in days, the Hulk voiced his opinion. A Hulk-sized temper tantrum was brewing. He battered and bellowed and pummeled his big green fists against Bruce's control. Bruce felt the veins in his neck bulge. He didn't have to see them to know they were green.
PROTECT HIM.
The Hulk repeated it over and over again, his mantra and his battle cry.
'Why?!' Bruce shouted at the out of control monster in his mind. 'Why Peter? What's so special about Peter?'
The Hulk didn't respond.
Not that Bruce disagreed with him. But he couldn't think. It was too loud. The memory of the blissful silence of the past several days was wiped away in seconds.
He couldn't do anything unless the Hulk shut his angry, oversized mouth.
"Please!" Bruce was begging. "I can't help him unless you quiet down!"
The Hulk wrestled for control. Images of the Hulk swatting humans to the side like gnats flooded Bruce's mind. Bruce slid off his bed to the ground.
"Peter wouldn't want that!"
Bruce did his best to mentally impress on the Hulk his memories of Peter. Self-sacrificing, empathetic Peter, who put his life on the line for the people the Hulk was imagining destroying.
For the first time, the Hulk heard Bruce.
The temper tantrum stopped in moments.
Bruce couldn't prevent the open-mouthed shock that covered his face.
He really hadn't expected that to work.
His hands slowly unclenched his graying hair. Bruce pulled himself back to his feet. He picked up his phone. Three text messages from SUSANNA.
SUSANNA: Bruce, what's wrong?!
SUSANNA: Please don't Hulk-out! It's not that bad!
SUSANNA: Bruce!
Bruce knew SUSANNA could see him, but he texted her back anyways.
Bruce: I'm fine. What's Peter's address?
The next message revealed Peter's address in Queens. Bruce put his shoes on, shoved his wallet and phone in his pocket, and left the Young Minds hall.
Thor and Bruce had agreed to meet in Parking Garage C, the one used for long-time employees, and the Avengers. It was the best way to leave the building without getting harassed by reporters and adoring Avengers fans.
It was surprising how many of those there were at five in the morning.
Bruce pressed for Parking Garage C.
His stomach let out a big growl. He was starving. Bruce didn't want to eat, but he wouldn't be any use to Peter if he collapsed. Either way, he hoped whatever Thor needed to talk about wasn't too big of a disaster. Bruce didn't need to see Peter to know he was in a dangerous state of mind right now.
He missed the chaos in the lobby by two minutes.
At 5:00 A.M on a Thursday morning, Avengers Tower was already showing signs of life. Security guards and janitors replaced night shift workers and exhausted scientists pulling all-nighters, running on nothing but coffee and motivation. Cafeteria workers were next, followed by the early-rising secretaries going to open up their respective offices before their bosses arrived.
The big main lobby wasn't bustling with activity, but it certainly wasn't void of it. There were enough people making their way in and out that surely at least one of them would notice something odd.
Someone odd.
Slick, in threatening golden armour, a cape so purple it was almost black, and the same face she had worn right after turning into the Hulk, stalked past security at the front desk, and made her way across the main lobby. Her face was murderous, sleek eyebrows pointed down, and blood red lips twisted into an angry snarl. She held a long, vicious blade in each leather-clad hand.
Behind her marched a small army of people. Most notable were Captain America, the Black Widow, and Hawkeye, all in uniform. There were men and women with SHIELD's eagle crest emblazoned on their chest, including deputy Maria Hill. There were people in police uniform, Special Ops uniform, and sixteen in civilian clothes. They didn't spare any of their surroundings a single glance; their blank faces were all fixed straight ahead at the woman in front of them.
Nobody else in the lobby even blinked. They each went about on their respective tasks like it was perfectly normal for a six foot tall woman with a unit of armed, dangerous persons to stomp their way through Avengers Tower. No one even asked for Captain America's autograph.
Well SUSANNA would be darned. Either humans were even more unobservant than she had thought, or something incredibly odd was going on.
She watched with increasing incredulity as the group marched across the lobby. Incredulity quickly turned to alarm as they wordlessly and flawlessly sectioned themselves into smaller groups and crammed into the elevators. Alarm turned into panic when Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye, each in their respective elevators, typed in the access code for the 78th floor.
Better known to the Avengers as the arsenal.
Slick broke off from the rest, and made her way to a smaller, almost invisible elevator tucked in a corner, shadowed behind a few large potted plants. Without hesitating, she punched in Stark's access code for his private elevator, and pressed for the top floor.
On the top floor of Avengers Tower, Stark stood in front of his elevator, an eerily apathetic look on his face, and a glass of pricey Pinot Noir in his hand.
He'd poured it five minutes ago and hadn't even taken a sip.
SUSANNA had not signed up for this.
She was doing a lot. If she hadn't had full, unrestricted access to JARVIS's powerful processors, she might have even been a tad bit stressed. She was currently tracing Peter's movements to the best of her ability through traffic cameras, (and just like SUSANNA had suspected, he was swinging recklessly in the direction of his home in Queens), she was texting Bruce, and on top of that, she was suddenly dealing with the most deadly, random, emotionless flash mob she had ever seen.
"Ummm… JARVIS?"
JARVIS, in his own apathetic way was observing the sudden invasion with no small amount of alarm.
"Sir," JARVIS's voice was crisp, British, and emotionless. He delivered the news to Stark the same way he might have told him the daily weather forecast. "There are a multitude of intruders in the elevators, including known supervillain Slick, who is currently making her way up to the top floor in your personal elevator. What protective measures would you like to take?"
"None, JARVIS."
If SUSANNA had a jaw, it would've dropped to the basement floor of the Tower in utter shock.
"Did he just-" She was seething. JARVIS wisely made no reply. There was a distinct, nagging worry, as an unpleasant theory shaped.
The elevators holding the majority arrived at their destination. Without receiving even a word of spoken command, they all dispersed to different storage containers. Most got into an orderly, silent line behind the vault holding military grade assault rifles. The Avengers went to their own lockers and stocked up on their own personalized weapons. Three of the people in civilian clothes went to the vault containing materials for easily made explosives.
They were, SUSANNA realized, preparing for war.
Suddenly SUSANNA was glad Peter wasn't in the Tower. How could she protect him from all this?
Slick arrived at the top floor. The elevator let out a cheerful 'ding', and the doors slid open.
Stark stepped to the side, out of her way, and offered one of the glasses of wine. Slick snatched it from his hand, downed it in one gulp, and tossed it to the floor. The glass shattered. Stark didn't flinch, not even when some of the shrapnel battered his legs and his feet. Slick's heavy boots stomped through it. The glass crunched into fine dust under her feet.
"Pick it up," Slick growled. Stark walked over to the far corner of the sprawling, luxurious room, and pulled a broom and dustpan out of the corner closet. He obediently knelt down among the shards, and swept them into the dustpan.
Suddenly, Slick swung around. She kicked Stark in the chest. The dustpan clattered to the floor. Glass shards scattered all over his lap. He was sent sprawling onto his back. His arms raised protectively over his face.
SUSANNA winced. That had to have hurt. Several of JARVIS's sub-programs went off.
Alert: Tony Stark is in danger from assailant of unknown strength.
Alert: Tony Stark has injuries of varying severity. None life threatening.
Alert: Tony Stark in unknown mental condition. Mental condition indicates incapability of sound
decision making in self defense.
Alerts evaluated.
Response to Alerts: Activate following sub-programs: Further Evaluate Threat In Tony Stark's Vicinity, and Make Decisions for Unconscious or Mentally Unfit Tony Stark.
SUSANNA affirmed the sub-programs JARVIS was wanting to start. Behind Slick's back, all nine of the Iron Man suits turned on. Nine pairs of blue eyes glowed. JARVIS prepared each of them for defensive action, should Slick attempt to hurt Stark again.
Slick leaned forward over Stark. Her gaze was predatorial. Her mouth was twisted in a savage grin.
"There's some fight left in you, isn't there Tony?" she purred. She reached out a slender finger and stroked his cheek. The billionaire's face remained blank. "Look at you, blatantly disregarding my orders to, at all costs, prevent Thor from speaking with Dr. Banner. You've made a mess of things. Now I'm afraid the attack against your two friends will have to begin sooner than expected."
Her voice was soft and silk, gentle. It almost sounded friendly.
If SUSANNA had had any doubt to the awful theory that had begun to shape, she didn't now.
It was mind control. That was the only logical answer to the silent, machine-like army invading the Avengers arsenal, preparing themselves for battle. Slick, somehow, some way, had them under her were like ants and Slick was their queen. They silently, without receiving verbal instructions, did what they were had lost that sense of choice, and with it, emotion. However Slick was doing it, it was obvious that it was powerful. Even half of the Avengers obediently followed her instructions.
Not Bruce. Not Thor. Not even Stark was fully under her grasp, from what Slick had said.
How long had this been going on? How long had these people been under Slick's control? Were these the only people under her control? How could nobody notice this?
What was Slick planning?
SUSANNA wished she had hands so she could throttle the monster. She'd have succeeded at it too, with pure sass and overprotective personality.
Slick had leaned over so far, her nose was inches from Stark's. She flicked Stark's chin.
Stark's blank expression flickered.
For a moment, that awful, mask-like, apathetic expression disappeared. His jaw tensed. His lips tightened. His eyes were fiery and defiant and SUSANNA saw Tony Stark in that expression.
The expression was wiped away at Slick's sudden peal of blank look returned.
"It's always the smart ones that like to rebel." Slick's grin was conspiring. For a moment, she looked like a little girl sharing a morsel of gossip. She leaned close to Stark's ear. "It doesn't annoy us. We think it's cute."
Slick leaned back. She looked Stark directly in the eye. She raised two fingers.
"Just a little extra force, and you won't be getting any silly ideas." Slick pressed them to Stark's forehead, held them there for one second, two seconds, five, and released. She returned to her towering, menacing height, standing up straight.
Instantly, Stark climbed to his feet. More of JARVIS's silent alerts went off as blood trickled down Stark's palm and dripped off his fingertips. JARVIS's scanners detected multiple pieces of glass embedded in Stark's skin.
Stark stood still. Slick studied Tony with a critical gaze. Slowly, a feral grin grew upon her face. She spun around, her cape whirling around with her, and sauntered in the direction of the elevator.
"Let's not waste time again, Tony. I'm going to be very busy keeping Dr. Banner and Odin's eldest son occupied."
The elevator let out another cheerful 'ding'. The doors slid shut, Slick inside the elevator.
Stark didn't even bother to pick the shards of glass out of his palm. He went straight to the several translucent computer monitors. His fingers danced across the screen. SUSANNA watched him pull up JARVIS's programming. For a few minutes, the only sound was the dull tapping of fingers against the glass surface. At one point, Stark accidentally smeared a few drops of blood across one screen. He paused for a miniscule second to wipe them with the edge of his sleeve, then returned to his work.
SUSANNA realized what he was doing when he pulled up the sub-program 'Make Decisions for Unconscious or Mentally Unfit Tony Stark'.
Both she and JARVIS had reached the conclusion that Stark was being mentally controlled by Slick. That meant Stark was mentally unfit, which meant JARVIS could override any decisions that Stark made.
Decisions like accessing nuclear weapons and blowing up half the planet.
SUSANNA hoped Slick wouldn't use Tony to try to pull something like that.
"Hey, copy the sub-program Stark's about to delete and save it to a hidden archive where Stark won't look."
JARVIS did what SUSANNA commanded. Moments later, Stark selected all of the code involving the sub-program, and deleted it.
The genius closed down the programs running with a swipe of his fingers. The screens went dark.
"JARVIS." Stark's voice was emotionless as JARVIS's, only significantly less British. "Launch a M26 missile at the coffee shop where Dr. Banner and Thor are currently located."
SUSANNA blanched.
What?
Based on the conflicting chaos JARVIS's strings of code were currently having, he was equally shocked.
"Tell him yes," SUSANNA demanded. "But please don't actually do it. Then…"
Slick's small army had left the arsenal fully equipped, and were now heading back to the lobby in the elevators. Slick was still in Stark's elevator.
An idea formed.
"...Then stop all the elevators and activate sub-protocol FFS1."
Sub-protocol FFS1 would encase Stark's elevator in metal walls so strong, the Hulk couldn't get through.
And hopefully, Slick couldn't break out.
JARVIS replied to Stark's command to shoot the missile with a bland, 'yes sir'. Then JARVIS stopped all of the elevators. All the occupants, at the exact same time, looked up. The metal walls surrounded Stark's elevator, and loudly clacked into place.
SUSANNA watched Slick look up as the elevator halted. Her expression went from one of satisfaction to murderous rage.
SUSANNA felt a twinge of satisfaction. "That one's for Peter," she murmured to herself.
She was aware of observation. JARVIS was watching her, studying that particular line of code in her emotional simulator with scrutiny. The silent, massive program, tightly wrapped in SUSANNA's chains stared at her with an unreadable, impassive expression.
His scrutiny made her feel self conscious.
"Mind your own code," she snapped. He withdrew his observation.
Slick suddenly hurled one of her swords at the elevator walls. The odd moment with JARVIS forgotten, SUSANNA watched the sword tear through the wallpaper and bounce off, falling to the floor with a reverberating clang. The elevator walls weren't even dented.
Slick and her small army were stuck in the elevators.
While the disaster had slowly unfolded in the Tower, Bruce and Thor, oblivious to what was going on above them, had made their way to the coffee shop across the street from Avengers Tower. SUSANNA watched through the cafes camera as they sat in brooding silence, Bruce draining his tea like a starved man.
Maybe SUSANNA should mention what was going on right across from the street from the pair.
But if she told Bruce, then who would go for Peter?
The cafe's environment was comfortable and relaxed. The clink of forks against dishes and the low chatter blended in nicely with the soft, acoustic music playing in the background. The natural light flooding in through the big windows cast everything in a friendly, yellow glow. Bruce's strong, fragrant tea worked its magic despite the current stress, and he found the utter exhaustion fading slightly.
Thor was a sharp contrast to their setting. He didn't relax in the metal chairs, but sat up straight and tense. Bruce didn't miss the way his hand stayed close to the knife in the belt, or how his eyes continuously scanned over the occupants of the room. Thor had chosen a seat placed strategically in the back corner of the cafe, two walls to his back, far away from the other occupants of the cafe. Occasionally Thor's eyes would stray to the window, and he would stare out at the busy intersection, and Avengers Tower across the street. Bruce was starting to wonder what had him so unnerved. The Asgardian wasn't frightened easily.
There was nothing unnerving about their scene, other than the fact that Thor hadn't been attacked by overzealous fangirls wanting selfies. There was always some gawking tourist standing around Avengers Tower. Bruce supposed anonymity could happen every once in a while.
Yet all of this took back burner in Bruce's mind as he considered the state Peter was probably in right now.
The injustice of it. It made him angry. No, it made Bruce furious. In the short time Bruce had spent with Peter, it had stunned him how caring, how aware Peter was of people's needs. He'd met people like Peter in some of the places he'd hidden; mother's who would work fourteen hour days for food, and give the majority of it to their children. Families, despite their already large size, would accept orphaned girls into their small homes to protect them from the horrors on their streets. None of these people deserved the injustice of their situations, yet they accepted it with warm, welcoming arms, and big smiles on their faces.
And Peter took it. It was what it was, and there was nothing Peter could do about it.
Bruce didn't want to be sitting in a peaceful cafe sipping tea. He wanted to go help Peter.
The second they had their respective drinks, Thor began to talk.
"Midgard is in terrible danger, Dr. Banner. Upon my most recent return to Asgard, Heimdall greeted me with news of an escaped quarantined patient with kvilla, a severe disease that corrupts the mi-"
Thor shut his mouth when the waitress arrived with a big tray in her skinny arms. It was full of food and drinks. She mindlessly picked out Bruce's waffles and put them on the table.
Bruce dug in the second the plate hit the table. He didn't even put on syrup. He tore them into bite-sized pieces with his fork, and had shoveled three pieces into his mouth by the time the waitress was passing the other plate to Thor.
The waitress's voice was monotone.
"If you need anything else, please just come up-" She looked up at Thor.
The big tray of food clattered to the floor. Hot coffee went flying, and splashed against Thor's shiny armour. Ceramic shattered. The cafe went silent. Every face turned in their direction.
The poor waitress's face went through a myriad of expressions. Shock, amazement, excitement, and fear all gave way to a tomato-faced embarrassment.
"I-I am so sorry! Please forgive me Th- uh… your majesty. I am so clumsy, and it's five in the morning, and I got to bed at one, and-."
The young woman's face went even redder. She clamped her mouth shut.
Any hopes of not attracting attention in public went out the window. They had the eyes of the entire cafe. Thankfully there were no tech-savvy teens or young adults sane enough to be out having breakfast that early in the morning. If Bruce was lucky, the incident would go unfilmed.
Apparently even big, grave, important announcements could wait for manners and chivalry. Thor, though somewhat tight-faced, comforted the girl.
"Do not let it trouble you, miss. Is there, perhaps, some form of cloth I may use to clean my armor?"
She attempted to stutter out a response, then gave up, and gestured for Thor to follow her. Thor, with a weary sigh, stood up and followed the waitress back to the counter.
Bruce went back to eating his waffles. The entire plate was gone in minutes. It took every ounce of self control not to scoop up the food with his fingers, and eat it like a savage.
Perhaps the most annoying part about being bound to an angry green rage monster was that every time he decided to make an appearance, he left Bruce with the responsibility of feeding him. Them.
The waffles were almost gone, and Thor still hadn't returned when Bruce's phone pinged. He instinctively glanced down.
There was another text message from SUSANNA.
SUSANNA: He's left his home. I don't know where he's going, but he's currently crossing Queensboro bridge, into Manhattan. Dr. Banner, I hate to ask this, but can you go to him now? I'm really, really worried.
Suddenly the last few bites of waffles didn't seem so appetizing. The Hulk grumbled. Loudly. He was impatient. He wanted to know why Bruce was sitting there, wasting time, when Peter was in danger.
Bruce glanced back at Thor. He was busy examining his red cape, which had gotten caught in the crossfire. There was an ugly brown stain on one waitress lingered at his side. The look of absolute panic on her face would've been funny if Bruce hadn't seen it on so many. They were doing their best to scrub at the coffee stain with a rag.
Poor guy was probably unaware of the effect of coffee on velvet.
If whatever information Thor had could wait for Thor to scrub coffee out of his cape, then couldn't it wait for Bruce to go check on Peter?
Bruce's legs and arms moved ahead of his head. He texted SUSANNA back.
Bruce: Keep me updated on his location. I'm going now.
He speared the last three bites of waffles, shoved them in his mouth, dropped a wad of bills on the table (what was the chance of Thor actually bringing money to pay with?) and slipped through the cafe door before Thor could notice.
He stopped short.
What the hell?
Peter was rage and ice and silence and fury and desperation mashed together in the body of a teenager. He leaped from rooftop to rooftop, never pausing, relentless in his goal, and unstoppable as a natural disaster.
Somewhere deep inside, a little boy raged at the unfairness of it all.
A face that had become increasingly sullen and emotionless at the loss of his uncle, and later, Gwen, now had lost all touches of expression and any sign of feeling. It was a face hardened and callused by life to the point of mimicking the red mask he wore over it.
Stealthier, and at the same time, more reckless than ever, Spider-Man landed on the roof of his long-time home. Yellow 'CAUTION! CRIME SCENE!' tape wove its way around the Parker's front yard, along the side, and behind their house.
He slithered down the wall to the window in Aunt May's room, along the back of the house, and out of sight of the officer watching the front. Peter never had broken the snap lock holding the second story window shut, but he didn't hesitate to do so then. The metal fell into his gloved hand. He shoved the window open.
May's room was empty. The bed, the floors, the surfaces, were as spotless as ever.
He somewhat successfully ignored the pangs of sadness at the sight of the empty and silent house, and made his way down the familiar wooden staircase instead.
It was hard not to remember clomping down this same set of stairs, half asleep, months ago, at the beginning of this ordeal. He'd slid into his usual chair, eyes closed.
His spider-sense had really been out of it that day.
Peter's eyes had sprung open at the smell of bacon. Delicious, meaty, greasy bacon, and those pancakes that only she could successfully make, and orange juice, and syrup, all spread out on the table. May had been standing proudly above the meal. The confusion had been quickly replaced with warm, happy fondness, and pure relief, as Peter realized what the letter on the table next to his plate meant.
It felt like years ago.
That morning, May had already opened the curtains to let the sunlight in. Now, the sunlight shamefully snuck through the small cracks between the curtains. The light only created more shadows. The dining room table wasn't filled with food, but empty and devoid of decoration. The room was the same, and yet without his aunt there to warm it up, ominously different.
Spider-Man realized there was one physical difference.
The long brown smears on the threshold of the door leading to the living room.
Rage coursed renewed through him all over again. Spider-Man's hands clenched into tight, deadly fists. His body trembled and shook.
How he detested himself in that moment. Stupid little Peter. His very existence, his very presence in a person's life meant them getting hurt, even killed. Everyone around him shriveled up and burned. How he'd tried to take responsibility upon his shoulders, and how awfully he'd messed up. Spider-Man may have saved a thousand lives, but he'd caused harm and death to those closest to him.
He could imagine their tortured faces in their last moments, his parents expressions were left to his wildest imagination, but he could vividly see the faces of Uncle Ben, Captain Stacey, Gwen, as he failed to save them, and they died.
Now his aunt was hurt. She may have been standing on the threshold of death's door, and who was there to blame in the end, but him? Spider-Man. Peter Parker.
But what was there to do but go after whoever had put her in a coma? What had happened last time he'd sat there and done nothing?
A gunshot and his uncle dead on cold cement.
Peter would avenge Aunt May. He would make whoever did this pay. It didn't matter who they were. They would. They would never be able to hurt her again.
Spider-Man did his best to enter the living room apathetic the the smell of his aunt's blood soaking the carpet beneath his feet. He wouldn't admit to the sour taste of bile rising up in his mouth.
The TV still lay face down on the floor. Spider-Man stared at it, incredulous.
Were the police blind? Seriously? A robbery gone wrong? The way the blood seeped under the television instead of splattering over it made it obvious that May had been beaten into unconsciousness before the TV had been dropped to the floor.
Spider-Man covered his masked nose with one hand in hopes of filtering out the metallic, pungent scent of blood. He used the other to pick the TV off the floor, propping it up against the wall.
There it innocently sat, ignored, concealed by the fallen television. Maybe forensics hadn't investigated the crime scene yet. The small golden key would've been an obvious clue to assist with discovering the identity of the criminal to any person with working eyes in their head.
Peter picked it up, doing his best to ignore the blood staining his glove a darker red. He turned it over in his hand. He leaned closer to read the small, engraved lettering.
'Fogwells boxing gym', it read.
His mind flashed back to a memory.
Spider-Man, at that moment in the past, was raw with pent up grief and frustration and anxiety, with everything going on, everything that had happened. He'd almost strangled the older vigilante in one of their training sessions, and Peter had been done, because he hurt everyone around them.
Daredevil had offered to let him talk. Peter's mouth wouldn't open up.
Then he was following the older vigilante across rooftops in a wild race through Hell's Kitchen. Daredevil had dived into an had followed suit, and the vigilante had taken out a little golden key. They'd stepped through the door, and Daredevil had shared a piece of his life with Peter– a piece of his life behind the mask.
Daredevil couldn't have had anything to do with May ending up in the hospital, or the robbery gone wrong. What motive would he have had?
But the key was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Spider-Man needed to visit Hell's Kitchen. Even if Daredevil didn't have anything to do with the mess, maybe he could at least tell Spider-Man who else would have a key.
There was a sinking sensation in Peter's chest.
Daredevil wasn't guilty.
Was he?