A/N: I just love the Daredevil/Spider-man dynamic so much and I really hope we get to see them team up in the cinematic universe someday.
"Put me down."
Matt steadily marched forward, ignoring the voice yelling in his ear.
"Matt, I swear to god, I'm gonna kill you as soon as I get my hands on you–"
"Peter, I am feeling very angry right now, I strongly advise that you don't piss me off even more right now."
"You're angry?" Peter squawked indignantly. He turned his head to stare incredulously at the older male who either didn't feel the movement at all or completely chose to ignore it. The younger vigilante currently had his whole body hoisted over one of Matt's shoulders, fingers clinging to his armour to avoid slipping off. "Who's the one being carried around like a sack of potatoes? You have no right to handle me this way –"
"I'm not violating any constitutional rights as far as I'm concerned, but more importantly I did not ask you to jump in front of me like some suicidal monkey –"
"Yeah, well I didn't ask you to collapse on the ground and become unresponsive for three seconds now, did I? What was I meant to do, let those weird ninja thingies stab you instead?"
"Yes!"
Matt suddenly hefted Peter's body up to adjust his grip, ignoring the pained groan that escaped the younger man's lips as he did so. He steadily ignored the fresh flow of blood that immediately began dripping down his back. The whole upper half of his own body was already soaked in copious amounts of not his blood if the familiar and overwhelming smell of copper and the disgusting feeling of his suit sticking to his skin was anything to go by, yet Peter was so high off adrenaline that he was still somehow yapping on in his ears like an angry chihuahua and somehow completely oblivious to what seemed to be dozens of stab wounds littered across his body.
"You can barely walk!"
"And you can barely move at all thanks to your unwanted sacrifice. Stay still or I'll knock you out."
"Where are we even going?!"
Peter definitely did not stay still as he nagged him non-stop all the way much to the older man's chagrin, even as they entered Matt's tiny law firm and broke into the first aid kit conveniently hidden in his desk. He seemed to barely even register the various deep cuts and stab wounds in his body as Matt painstakingly cleaned and wrapped every single one of them, occasionally having to pin him down out of necessity when Peter got a little too fired up while talking gibberish about something along the lines of knife-wielding insects and the consequences of trying to practice self-sacrificial rituals (Matt had tuned him out long ago, he wasn't even pretending to listen anymore).
More than once, he had to remind him that there were people living nearby who did not need to know why two neighbours next door were yelling at each other at ass o-clock in the morning and to shut the hell up before someone calls the police to check up on us.
It was only when Matt was finally done treating him that the adrenaline in Peter's body seemed to finally ebb, and the younger man finally was able to sit relatively still in a chair to let his healing factor perform its magic. He pouted and made all sorts of faces at Matt under the full knowledge that he wouldn't be able to see any of them, but that was short-lived as each minute movement in his face irritated the developing bruise on his cheek. Now he fiddled with a paperclip, bending the flimsy piece of metal into a straight line and curling it into all sorts of shapes whilst occasionally snacking from a jar of pretzels nestled snugly between his crossed legs.
"…So." The teen finally said after a brief moment of silence, like he hadn't been grumbling and complaining for the past hour. "Hell's Kitchen has ninja bugs now?"
Matt heaved a sigh, finally pulling off his cowl and running his fingers quickly through his hair. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms (and grimacing at the pain it caused). "They've been turning up every now and then for a few months now but never in numbers like this. They're evolving too, because I've never seen them wield knives before, let alone have any proficiency with them."
"Huh. Guess it's a good thing you had backup this time around, then." Peter picked a grain of salt off the pretzel. He watched idly as it bounced off his leg and fell to the ground and briefly wondered if Matt would ever be able to find it.
"I told you, I had the situation handled. What were you doing in this area anyway?" Matt heard a muffled but unmistakeably sharp sound somewhere around the vicinity of Peter's hands and a barely audible 'oh'. Perhaps he was snapping pretzels in half, or the paperclip finally couldn't handle any more stress from being twisted around so much.
"Slow day at work." He grinned up at Matt. "Plus that one Chinese place on 8th Avenue has the best steam buns ever. I saved their shop from a car going out of control once, I don't think I've ever had so many buns in my life." Peter muffled a yawn at the end of his sentence. "Got a coffee machine around here?"
"Caffeine is the last thing you need in your system after getting stabbed eleven times. It inhibits iron absorption and you've got about as much blood left in you as a toddler."
Peter whistled. "Eleven stabs? Not bad. Still doesn't beat my record though. Baker's dozen."
"I don't think I ever want to hear that story. No coffee."
"Wow, somebody is definitely not getting a recommendation tonight. Two out of ten on Yelp; worst customer service. Ever."
"Tonight?" Matt tilted his head, brows furrowed. "What time is it? I hear birds."
"What?"
There was a muffled shuffle as Peter looked for a clock. "Oh. Wow. Lordy me, it's almost five. That explains the withdrawal symptoms. I'm getting coffee." The older man barely suppressed a sound of disapproval as Peter bounced out of the chair and stood up, possibly re-opening half of his wounds. He grabbed a small handful of pretzels, then placed the jar back on his chair and shuffled to the back of the office, finally mindful of his injuries.
"I never actually said we had a coffee machine!"
"Nice try, old man." Peter called from the next room. Matt huffed in defeat as he distinctly heard the sound of ceramic on a wooden surface, a mug being placed on the table. The familiar clicks and clacks of the coffee machine coming to life. And a repressed grunt of pain. As he listened, however, there was something else that caught his attention.
Peter hummed under his breath, lifting up five pretzels with just his sticky fingertips and eating them one by one. The smell of fresh coffee was a welcome change to the blood he had been forced to smell for the past few minutes, though he begrudgingly admitted to himself that yes, maybe his eyes were constantly falling shut without his permission and he was going to be in just a little bit of pain later on when his brain finally caught up to his body. Until then though, he was more than happy to stave off the effects for a bit longer with some delightful coffee and a healthy dose of denial.
When he stepped back into the office, he saw that Matt's head was tilted slightly and immediately softened his steps as much as possible, knowing better than to distract him while he was listening out for potential threats. Or police sirens. Or anything.
There was a tense silence as Peter waited apprehensively. When Matt continued to make no movement, he shut his eyes and also began to tune his heightened senses into the outside world. Though his senses were nowhere near as keen as Matt's, he trusted that he would be able to pick up at least something of importance if it was close by.
Cars honking. People shouting.
Peter's eyebrows furrowed, hearing nothing out of the ordinary, then expanded his senses even further.
Matt's breathing. The clock ticking. A bike passing in the street below. Echoing footsteps on concrete. A pigeon's wings flapping. And then –
"Foggy's coming." Matt's voice broke through Peter's concentration and he jumped a little at the unexpected clarity of his voice resounding right next to him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to alarm you, but uh, he's two blocks away, and if you want to keep your identity safe then you should probably leave."
Peter took a few moments to properly absorb and digest what came out of Matt's mouth as his senses began to tone down again, but then he perked up at the mention of his friend's best friend.
"Foggy? You mean the Foggy Nelson?" He gasped. Matt's mouth twitched slightly.
"The one and only."
"What? Are you kidding me? Like hell I'm leaving then, I've always wanted to ask him about your deepest darkest secrets." Matt stared at Peter for an indefinite amount of time as he swaggered back into his chair and settled back in with the pretzels back in his lap. When nothing else happened, Peter grinned.
"That's sweet." He finally deadpanned, and snatched the mug away from the younger man right as he was lifting it to his lips.
"Yeah, I'm Peter Parker, freelance photographer assigned in Hell's Kitchen for an article about the ever-changing sociology and public opinion on vigilantism, but I was accidentally caught in the crossfire between vicious weapon dealers who were armed with illegally acquired semi-automatic guns, some guy trying to steal from them, and by pure chance the Devil himself – Does Foggy know you're Daredevil?" Matt's mouth ticked in amusement and nodded, "Great. So by pure chance the Devil came in and saved my ass, and we've since bonded over snacks and coffee so now we're best friends."
"Daredevil doesn't make friends."
"Yes he does. Peter Parker is the most charming guy you've ever met."
Grumbling to himself, Matt stood up and disappeared into some other room. "Stop smiling. I can feel it from here."
"Beeeeest friends." Peter called after him, smugly tossing a pretzel into the air. He ignored the ache in his jaw and the painful twinge in his ribs as he neatly caught it in his mouth with a victorious crunch.
"Foggy's coming up now. Here." A hand appeared in the doorway and tossed something in Peter's direction. Peter caught it in the air without looking and stared at the bundled white fabric. "I started storing some spare clothes here when he found out about my identity." Matt spoke as Peter brushed crumbs off his fingers and unfolded the simple button-up top.
"Do I get to keep this?"
"If you get blood on it, yes."
"Awesome."
Putting on a regular shirt should not have been hard, but the swelling somewhere on his left elbow, the sheer bulk of the bandages on his shoulders and arms and the weird pulling he could feel between his shoulder blades where his skin was stitching itself back together definitely did not make things much easier for him. Oh, and not to mention the broken rib. And the light-headedness. Peter decided that maybe he didn't come out of the fight as unscathed as he would have liked, but hey, he had all his limbs intact and didn't pass out, and that constituted as a win these days for the average vigilante, didn't it? Right as Peter managed to do up the last button (stupid bandaged hands), the office door flew open.
"Honey, I'm home!" A voice sing-songed from the doorway.
"Oh. Hi Foggy."
"Well isn't that just a heart-warming welcome, I thought you didn't say hi to people anymore, Matt! And that was definitely not Matt's voice, so…" Foggy turned to Peter gave his best winning smile to him. "Hi, welcome to Nelson and Murdock! I'm assuming you're a client. Matt, is he…" Foggy trailed off once his mind registered the multitude of bruises littering the kid's face and every inch of skin that was visible. Fortunately, Peter's legs were so heavily bandaged that it was nearly impossible to see the iconic red-and-blue tights underneath.
The smile slowly dropped from his face as he took in the white rolls tightly wrapped around the kid's hands and arms, and the blood that seeped through at spotted intervals.
"Hi. I'm Peter." Peter flashed his best winning smile in return and waved cheerfully. Matt chose this moment to re-enter the room with normal civilian clothes, a blazer neatly folded over an arm. He made his way back to the desk and nodded in acknowledgement at his fellow associate.
"Hi Foggy. Didn't expect to see you here so early."
Foggy slowly turned his head to Matt, not taking his eyes off Peter as if blood would spontaneously burst out of the scrawny kid. "Do we need a hospital?"
"No."
"Absolutely not."
They both answered at the same time. There was a short silence.
"Matt, why is there a dying teenager in our law firm?" Matt cleared his throat.
"Foggy, this is Peter Parker, freelance photographer. He uh, he was unfortunately caught at the wrong place at the wrong time so I got him out of danger and, uh, now he's here." Peter nodded along to Matt's words, embracing his best innocent teenager expression.
"Alright then. Peter Parker, may I ask why your butt is not in a hospital right now? And am I the only person panicking here?"
"Well, about that –"
"Peter has a strong dislike for hospitals, he specifically asked me to not take him to one." Matt cut in quickly. Peter blinked.
"Yes. That is very true." He drawled slowly.
"True doesn't mean it's right! If he bleeds out and dies here then you're responsible! And because I was also here and I saw him I'm also responsible! And now we're all responsible and now I know I shouldn't have come in early today!"
"It's alright Foggy, he'll be fine."
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Foggy emitted a long groan of pain.
"Are you serious, Matt? I –" He suddenly slapped a hand across his own mouth, eyes going comically wide. "Did I just – does he –?"
"Yes." Peter interrupted. "I'm good at keeping secrets, don't worry."
Foggy's eyes grew wider.
"I'm, uh, kind of good friends with Spider-Man so I know how important this is. Super trustworthy." He pointed at himself for emphasis.
There was a strange pause as Foggy's eyes flickered back and forth between Matt and Peter, but then he seemed to suddenly compartmentalise that information into a separate part of his brain because he began droning on again like he never interrupted himself in the first place.
"Are you serious, Matt? I take my eyes off you for twelve hours – twelve hours – and you turn up to work with some kid bleeding out on our carpet? It's not even Halloween yet!"
"Peter's not a kid, and as much as I hate saying this, I know he's capable enough to take care of himself in most situations –"
"This doesn't look like most, Matt! He's dying! Do I need to call the police? Vigilante-ing is one thing but once civilians are getting involved –"
"I understand your concern Foggy, I really do –"
Peter swivelled his head back and forth from Matt to Foggy, somewhat feeling like a child stuck in between a lover's quarrel.
"Uh… Should I leave – ?"
"Are you hurt, Matt? Please don't tell me you're hurt as well because I can't deal with two people dying right in front of me at the same time –"
"I'm fine, Foggy. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"
"Oh! I have pretzels! Want some?" Peter offered the jar to him, a peace offering. There was another moment of silence as the two lawyers paused to collect themselves.
"Alright." Foggy sighed in defeat. "What brings you to our grounds then, young one? I had this seriously weird dream about my teeth falling out nonstop last night and Google said it meant I was feeling stressed out, so I decided to come in early to get a nice change in scenery since I couldn't sleep anyway, but not-" he waved his hand in Peter's and Matt's general direction, "-this."
"Haven't you heard his name around, Foggy? He's the photographer for the Daily Bugle."
"Mhm. I get beat up all the time. Used to it."
Foggy's face fell faster than a pile of bricks from the top of the Manhattan Tower.
"All the time?" he echoed faintly, eyebrows rising up to his hairline. Peter nodded. Foggy's gaze slowly travelled up and down Peter's body, no doubt indexing all the injuries that he could visibly see and making a terrifying and educated guess on what kind of torture he must have gone through to think that this was anywhere near 'okay' on the pain spectrum.
"Sorry, I think I need a quick moment. Excuse me." Foggy walked backwards to the office entrance, awkwardly smiling at Peter in a ghost of an attempt at saying that everything was okay as he slowly shut the door with shaky hands, but the silhouette of his body was still visible through the frosted glass.
A moment of silence passed as both Matt and Peter stared at the closed door.
"So. 'I'm fine', you said?" Peter asked, turning back to stare at him accusingly. "How are your stab wounds feeling?"
"Much better than yours, that's for sure."
"You'd better take it easy tonight because if I find you swinging around Hell's Kitchen I'm knocking you out."
"That should be my line."
They both heard a faint intake of breath outside, the only warning they got before they heard–
"GODDAMN IT, MATT!" Foggy screamed into the void, followed by a long groan as the silhouette slowly sunk down and out of sight.
Matt leaned towards Peter slightly.
"I guess that's your cue to leave." He muttered. "I'm not sure how much I say is going to get through your skull but please indulge me anyway. I beg you, please reach out to someone, literally anyone if you feel like you might actually bleed out and die, or if you're not feeling well for any reason. Got it?"
There was a bit of that Daredevil voice hidden in there that promised some serious consequences if Peter didn't listen.
"Of course. You got it, boss. But only if you promise to do the same." The smile returned to Matt's face.
"I promise. Out and at it then, web-head. You're making my business look bad."
"Pardon me then, sir. I shall take my leave immediately." Peter stood up and gave a shaky bow. "I'll be back soon to ask for an official statement. For, uh. The Bugle. Yeah." He flicked his wrist, and suddenly the jar of pretzels were in Matt's hands. "Thanks for the free food." Matt listened in either silent amusement or pity as Peter slowly and painstakingly stood up, torn and healing muscles stiff already from staying in one position for just a bit too long.
Foggy was crouched on the floor directly in front of the entrance with his face buried in his hands when Peter opened the door. On the way out, Peter gave a firm and good-natured pat on the back. "See you around, buddy. Thanks for having me."
Matt didn't need vision to know exactly what kind of face Foggy was making when he walked back through the door ten minutes later.