Chapter Twenty-Six: The Devil's Advocate
Hell's Kitchen was just like Peter had remembered - tall buildings in an exact grid pattern. Ubiquitous skyscrapers were smudged by the smog-filled sky, no sunlight, no birds. Cars raced between red traffic lights, stubbornly flickering in the grey.
There was misery within those streets. It had soaked into the sidewalk cracks and into the graffitied walls. It was in the stores that were once loaded with designer goods and now housed everything for a dollar. It was in the back alleys where the few restaurants who persisted in trading had their garbage searched several times a day - and not just by the cats. It was etched in every gaunt and dejected face that had given up on life getting any better than mean survival on mean streets. It was places like this that made Peter think that, just maybe, his life wasn't so bad after all...but he hadn't come here to sightsee. He was here to visit someone. A lawyer, to be more specific.
There were very few penthouse apartments in Hell's Kitchen. Primarily because there was practically no market for it. Most people who lived there were too poor to move anywhere else, and anyone that could afford to move and chose to say...well, let's just say they were close to insane. Speaking of which, Peter had finally found the penthouse that he was searching for. It was on the top floor of the tallest building in the street, and the hallway leading to the door was almost completely bereft of light.
Peter knocked on the chestnut-coloured door and the sound echoed through his empty surroundings. One second passed...then two...the three...until finally the door creaked open to reveal a man of rather average height - wearing a pair of dark glasses.
"Parker?" Matt Murdock spoke before Peter even had a chance to open his mouth. Somehow, despite being practically blind from a very young age, Matt always knew exactly who he was talking to and where they were in the room.
It was always an incredible thing to behold, especially for someone like Peter who was intrigued by the entire situation. Despite his lack of vision, Matt's other four senses functioned with superhuman accuracy and sensitivity, giving him abilities far beyond the limits of a sighted person. He also developed a kind of radar sense, similar to echolocation.
"Hey, Matt." Peter replied, trying to hide the pain in his voice, from both the emotional strain and numerous injuries from the previous fight. He'd been crying for almost an hour, and not even Matt's impressive talents could cheer him up. "Can...uh...I come in?"
The dark haired man quickly scooted over, allowing just enough room for Peter shuffle inside. He did so carefully, as if the sharpest movement might bring him unbearable pain...it probably would. He had popped his shoulder back into place not long ago and his back felt like it was one more bad fall away from snapping.
Once he had finally made his way in, he saw that the penthouse was massive, and almost empty apart from the furniture that was scattered across the room. It looked like Matt was barely ever home because everything was practically spotless as well.
"How did everything go with Stilt-Man?" Matt suddenly asked as he shut the door behind him.
Peter, for a brief moment, was dragged out of his own trauma for long enough to stare back at Matt curiously. "How'd you know about that?"
"I heard it." Matt replied simply.
"You heard it?" Peter repeated incredulously. "From all the way over here?"
"Yeah. Had that bowl of popcorn too."
It took a moment for Peter to completely understand what Matt was referring to. Then, he remembered the conversation he'd had with Stilt-Man about Daredevil's whereabouts. Peter had said he was probably listening to the whole thing and eating popcorn...but he didn't actually think that Matt was actually doing that.
"Dude...you knew I was fighting him. Why didn't you come help?" Peter questioned. He tried to straighten his posture but a sharp pain jolted up his spine that had him hunching back down again.
"Peter. It was Stilt-Man. Didn't think you needed it." Matt shrugged. "Also, I was enjoying my popcorn. Speaking of Stilt-Man, didn't you break his legs?"
"That wasn't me!" Peter responded much too quickly. "It was Protonslaught."
"Well, either way you're going to need a lawyer if he decides to sue."
"He was stealing...I don't think he'll have a very good case. That's if he's even stupid enough to try." Peter sighed and placed a hand on his previously dislocated shoulder. Even now that it was back in place, it still hurt. "I am here for a lawyer though."
"Would this have anything to do with your current condition?" Matt asked, gesturing towards Peter as if to reiterate his question.
"What do you mean?" Peter tried not to hiss at the pounding headache swirling in his skull. "I'm perfectly fine."
"You've got multiple lacerations, a sprained back, and until recently, your shoulder was dislocated. I understand that our profession sometimes leads to...physical hardship, so you don't need to lie to me." Matt strolled passed Peter with much more grace than he ever had, despite his blindness, then slumped into his massive grey couch. "Besides, I'm going to need to know this if you want me to represent you in court."
"Not me." Peter interrupted. "A friend of mine."
"Okay..." Matt's voice trailed off sceptically, but he still decided to indulge his friend for old time's sake. "Who's this friend and what did he do?"
"It's Harry Osborn...he's the new Green Goblin."
Peter could tell that Matt was surprised by this news. His shoulders tensed and his jaw struggled not to drop. "You want me to represent and defend...a criminal? One who wasn't wrongly accused?"
"Well, yeah..."
"May I ask why?" It was abundantly clear that Matt was becoming more uncertain by the second, but at the very least he was willing to listen to any explanation that Peter had to offer.
"He's my best friend." Peter mumbled, fully aware that this wasn't the best way to start pleading his case. "His dad was exposed to some kind of substance that affected his brain chemistry...caused an imbalance that resulted in insanity. I'm ninety-nine percent sure Harry's taken the same substance...though, truth be told, he was already starting to lose it after his dad died."
"What has he done? And be comprehensive."
"Uh...attempted murder and property damage I guess."
Matt ran a hand down in face. "Listen Peter, Harry Osborn is one of the richest men in New York. He would have his pockets lined with enough lawyers to win this case twenty times over."
"I don't trust anyone else, Matt. And...I need it done a particular way." Peter started. He exhaled then clarified, "No one can know that he was the Goblin. He wasn't himself. I can't let people attribute what the Goblin did to Harry."
"...Peter, you're asking me to lie."
Peter tried to join Matt on the couch, but even bending over to sit made his entire body flare with pain. He hissed, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to dull the ache before finally replying, "Yeah. I am, but not without a good cause. Harry never would have done those things if he was in his right mind."
"Are you sure about that? That could be the denial talking."
"No, I'm sure." Peter insisted. "Please, Matt. This is partly my own fault for not telling him about Spider-Man sooner. I should have trusted him with it...but I didn't, and now he's lost himself. Harry doesn't belong in prison. He needs professional help."
Matt exhaled sharply and slumped further into the couch. This was a moral dilemma that even he didn't know the solution to. All he could do was trust Peter's judgement and hope that he wasn't making a terrible mistake. "Was there anything on Harry that could be used as evidence?"
"No, I threw his glider and flight suit in the river."
Matt sighed...heavily. "The river? I'm not even going to tell you how bad of an idea that was."
"Look, I was emotionally compromised. I'm surprised I managed to even think of that."
"Well, it's better than nothing." Matt finally surrendered. "Fine. I'll get your friend the help he needs, and I'll make sure no one pins this whole Green Goblin fiasco on him either."
The relief that Peter felt upon hearing these words was indescribable...but, unfortunately, he didn't have much time to savour it. His friends, including Aunt May, were still awaiting his return and he couldn't take any more detours. Not even to the hospital. "Thanks. I really appreciate it, Matt. Let me know if you need any more info."
"Leaving already?"
"I kind of left a few people in Clint's care, and I don't really want to dawdle." Peter responded, earning an immediate scowl from Matt. He had never gotten along with Clint, but that spiralled out of control after they both gained mutual affections for Black Widow.
"Is he still with Nat?" Matt asked lowly.
"Nah, they're just friends now. I don't think they've been together for a while now."
"Good. She deserves better."
Peter grimaced. This wasn't really the conversation that he had signed up for. He had enough relationship problems in his own life without prying into others. So, he decided not to comment on Matt's previous statement as he left - dragging his feet slowly and trying not to move his back into any position besides its current hunch.
This injury, obviously, made travelling back to Queens an almost impossible task. He couldn't swing, he could barely even walk, and he had no money for bus fare. Luckily, he had somehow managed to hitch a ride with Johnny Storm as he headed back from a promotional deal for sunscreen of all things.
They said nothing the entire trip. Even Johnny, who was cocky and self-absorbed at the best of times, could tell that Peter was going through something rough. He simply picked him up and dropped him off in mostly silence, which was quite a rarity for him.
The Asiatic hotel loomed over Peter, and made him feel even smaller than usual. He didn't know how he was going to explain his red eyes to everyone, or the myriad of injuries scattered around his body.
Lies weren't necessary for the first person that he encountered though. Clint was sitting on the stairs leading to the upper section of rooms; the bodies of strangers littered around him like loose trash. "What took you so long? I've been waiting here for hours!"
"Sorry, I had to fight my best friend. I know that must be an inconvenience for you." Peter but back bitterly. "Who are all these people?"
"Assassins. Osborn must have sent them to find you."
Peter analysed the figures again. Some of them were unconscious, others were in so much pain that they could do little more than focus on their own breathing, and every single one of them had an arrow pierced through their limbs. "Did you do this?"
"No. I called Thor, and he came all the way from Asgard to stop them, then I went around and poked arrows in their bodies to make it look like I did it." Clint scoffed sarcastically. "What do you think?"
"Alright, I get it. Sorry."
Clint twirled an arrow around his fingers, eyes narrowing at Peter and his gore-riddled face. "How you going to explain that mug to your friends?"
"We're going to say that I was hit by a car."
"More like a truck." Clint quipped. "Also, why exactly aren't you in hospital if you got run over?"
Peter chewed on his bottom lip. He hadn't thought that far ahead. His mind had been so jumbled that it couldn't comprehend anything except his own stress. "I don't know...say that I was in hospital but got released because it wasn't serious."
"Looks pretty serious to me, mate. At least go wash the blood off your face or something. No hospital's going to let you walk out without cleaning your wounds." Clint shook his head. He couldn't believe that Peter had gotten away with his secret identity for so long, especially if this was an example of his usual excuses. "I don't understand why you're going to such lengths to lie to these people."
"So you're not going to cover for me?"
"I will cover for you when you've made an effort to make it believable. Get a sling for your arm while you're at it. It looks like it's about to fall off."