Matt had never witnessed Spider-Man in action before.

Foggy and Karen had done their best to describe it, to their credit. They've emphasized how effortlessly he leaps between buildings and compared his web-swinging to how Matt utilized his old grappling hook, but it did little to prepare him for the actual thing. The kid moves from rooftop to rooftop with the kind of surefootedness that would make any Hand member look sloppy, deft and light on his feet to the point where even Stick would hum in approval. Should've been paying attention to your own footwork, Matty, he chides. All the cards in your hands and the kid still found you out.

Frank had given him a head's up about Peter's sixth sense; he'd warned that it only went off when there was a threat nearby, so it's Matt's own fault for assuming that the fact he doesn't want to hurt the kid would keep it quiet. Matt had even opted against his usual Muay Thai ropes in case Peter forced him to go on the offensive, but perhaps it was that line of thinking that deemed him a threat in the first place. One way or another, Peter had sensed him following and became the second person after Jessica Jones to ever give him the slip.

If that had been that, Matt would've been impressed.

But of course Spider-Man couldn't ignore a woman's cries for help. Of course he had to get involved, and of course Matt had to swoop in and clean up the mess.

If Matt had to guess, he'd assume that Spider-Man isn't accustomed to coming out at night or the kind of people that the cover of darkness tends to draw out. Either way, the kid doesn't even realize how lucky he is. Only one of the men had gotten a good look at his face, and Matt doesn't anticipate him mouthing off about it anytime soon. Getting them to talk hadn't been difficult, though finding out just how much money waits as a reward for whoever gets Peter into Gargan's hands was the opposite of a relief.

Matt halts beside his roof access door and lets out a long breath, forcing his attention away from the footsteps pacing back and forth across his living room. He reaches behind his head and pulls off his mask, clenching it in his hand as he lowers it to his side, billy club gripped tight in the other. Foggy's right. There's no point in delaying the inevitable. Even if Peter hasn't already pieced it together, Matt can't imagine the kid buying any excuse he bullshits anyway. And frankly, Matt's done pretending to buy his.

The kid stops in his tracks the second Matt twists the knob.

Maybe it was his sixth sense that roused him, or maybe the timing is nothing more than a coincidence; whatever the case, Peter can't have been awake for long. Despite the kid's racing heart, an air of exhaustion hangs over him, weighing down at his shoulders and causing the slightest drag in his feet. He must've been on Matt's bed if the sheets thrown haphazardly over the end of the mattress are anything to go by, and when Matt takes note of the unique scent of webbing plastered to his door, something tightens in his chest. Matt's sweatshirt is gone, discarded on his bedroom floor, replaced by Frank's jacket with sleeves just long enough to conceal the way Peter's fingers hover over his web-shooter's trigger.

Matt draws in a deep breath. The sharp taste of copper diverts his attention to the cut in the kid's palm, something he at least had enough sense to clean and bandage. There's no infection, but he'd have to inspect it more closely to determine whether Peter needs stitches and he has a feeling that's the last thing the kid would let him do. Yet there's something else metallic in the air, something-

Matt closes the door behind him and squeezes his mask in his fist. Two pieces of a padlock weigh down Peter's pocket, and, staining his fingers, is the scent of Jack Murdock's robe.

Everything else in the apartment fades out.

So that's how we're doing this. Slowly, Matt descends the stairs, a distant part of him hating the twinge of satisfaction that follows the thud in Peter's chest after each step. But unlike in the abandoned building, Peter doesn't shrink back this time, even if the way he shifts his weight is enough to let Matt know that he wants to. The kid holds his position as Matt nears, his jaw clenched like he's waiting for him to make the first move, like his adrenaline isn't already spiking through the roof.

Peter keeps his gaze trained on him as Matt makes his way across the room to the closet. When Matt places a hand on the door, lightly running his fingers down the wood, the kid's heart jumps. He shuffles his feet before he forces himself to still as he dips his head with a slight burn to his cheeks. Matt pauses, the kid's guilt catching him off guard just enough to recognize the fire in his blood and the devil stirring in his chest.

But this time, recognizing it is all it takes to quash it back down. Jesus. Matt bites back a flash of guilt of his own and with a long, measured exhale, he gradually sets his billy club on the floor.

The response is almost immediate. Though his stance doesn't change, Peter's hand goes slack, his aim shifting from Matt's foot to the middle of the floor. The kid takes a quick breath through his mouth but his jaw clamps shut instead of following it up. The change in his breathing tells Matt that he's stewing on something, and Matt's done this enough times to form a pretty good guess as to what. One vigilante to another, Foggy had said. With a barely suppressed sigh, Matt shoves his mask into his back pocket and turns to face the kid head-on.

"Ask."

Peter swallows and works his jaw. "Are you really blind?"

It had been a struggle to explain that part to Foggy and Karen. But for them, an explanation had been long overdue. "What do you think?" Matt says instead, forcing his tone to remain even.

The kid tilts his head to the side. "I… don't think you can see," he decides. He pauses, practically squirming in place as he takes a brief once-over of the room. "It'd be too hard to fake. All the medical records and stuff. But I- I don't think you need that cane either."

Not bad, Stick muses. The corner of Matt's mouth twitches before he can school his expression back to neutral. "Yeah, well," he offers a quick, tight-lipped smile, "I imagine you would be most equipped to understand why I use it."

Just like that, Peter's stance breaks.

"I do understand," he all but hisses, taking a sharp step toward Matt and doubling back to restart his pacing when Matt stiffens. "But I'm not asking why you- you walk with a cane out in public. I get it. What I don't-" Peter breaks off when his voice starts shaking and halts in place. "If- If I had figured out your identity—if you told me your identity—the first thing I would do is tell you mine."

His heartbeat picks up, but not because he's lying.

"What'd you do to those two guys?" the kid tries when he doesn't get a response.

Matt just manages to keep his lip from curling. It was easy enough to deal with the one who hadn't even seen Peter's face, and Matt imagines that his concussion and broken arms will deter him from returning to the streets for a good while. The other one had landed in the dumpster four stories down. He'd probably regain consciousness in a couple of weeks if the Russian from a few years back is anything to go by, but Matt's fairly confident that he'll have Gargan in the Raft before that becomes an issue. But he's also fairly confident that Peter won't see it that way, that perhaps it hasn't quite registered that it wasn't Spider-Man they were trying to sell, but a child.

The child in question inches closer, his fists clenching with his aggravated huff. "Why didn't you tell me then? What, did you think I'd- that I would tell someone you're Daredevil? Can you really not trust me to-"

Peter breaks off when Matt fails to hold back his scoff. "Did you tell Ned about Spider-Man?" A hard edge slips into his voice, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to care to keep it out. "How about your aunt? Or Toomes? Did you trust them, or did they find out because you don't know when to keep on your mask?"

God, Matt knows better. He can already hear himself seeking Maggie for penance, for treating the child in his care like he's on the opposite side of the witness stand, but there's something boiling under his skin and the words feel gratifying as they finally spill out.

Peter opens his mouth, but for a moment, nothing comes out. "So- So no one ever found out about you before?"

Goddammit. Something must flash across his face before he can catch himself, because Peter doesn't hesitate to pounce the moment he picks it up. "How did Foggy find out? Does he know, or are you still lying to him too?"

Matt grits his teeth. "What else did you find out, Peter?" he asks quietly. It's a flimsy redirection, he knows, but he's spent enough years at law school to know how to bait the hook. "After you went through my wallet and left Hell's Kitchen?"

Peter snaps his jaw shut to cut off the sound coming from the back of his throat. He casts a glance back to Matt's bedroom as his hand brushes against his pocket, prompting the distinct clattering of coins against the metal of the padlock. He'd only taken cash by the sound of it, which is something of a relief considering Matt's careful not to keep too much of it on hand, but beyond that and the collage of smells on him that imply grocery store, Matt's left drawing a blank. Did he buy something for whoever he was looking for? And if he was empty-handed by the time Matt met him in the abandoned building…

He found them.

"You were on your way back when those men found you. So," Matt drops his voice to barely above a whisper, "who is it?"

The kid swallows. His heartbeat seems to fidget with the rest of him before he crosses his arms tight over his chest. He angles his head away for a moment, then comes to some sort of decision as he faces back to Matt with his chin raised and his mouth pressed shut.

Jesus Christ. "Peter, there is a contract out on you. I can't keep you safe if you don't-"

"Keep me safe?" Peter steps forward with a tremor in his voice, but this time when Matt straightens to meet him, the kid doesn't fall back. His muscles are taught, feet spread apart, and pulse getting faster by the second. "I wouldn't have left if you'd just told me! You could've helped me-"

"I didn't make you leave!" Matt snaps back, deliberately forcing his hand back open once it forms a fist at his side. "Because of what you did, two men were seconds away from figuring out your identity-"

"Well what would you have done?!" the kid nearly shouts. "They were mugging her with a knife to her throat. Am I supposed to believe you'd- you'd just walk away?"

Matt takes a breath to retort, to deepen the stab of guilt he knows he'll feel when he explains this to Foggy later, but Peter advances before he gets the chance.

"You're supposed to be—" Peter strides forward "—the one person who understands. You made me tell you everything about me when we first met, and you wouldn't tell me the one thing about you that actually matters!"

Matt snaps his jaw shut. If those are the grounds Peter wants to set, then Matt will oblige.

"Everything?" Matt echoes. He steps forward, just close enough to be within the kid's reach. "Me. Frank Castle. Ned Leeds. Toomes. Gargan."

For a moment, Peter's confusion is almost audible.

"What's the last name, Peter?"

Peter's heart drops.

"W-What?" His pulse is as fast as it had been in the abandoned building. "I don't- what name?"

His heartbeat skips in the signature of a lie. The kid falters back the second Matt lifts his foot to step closer.

"I mean- Foggy knows. You told him. I guess- I guess he's on the list now, so-"

Skip. Skip. "The name, Peter."

The kid takes a deep breath that does nothing to quell his rising blood pressure. He lifts his head like he's trying to meet Matt's eyes, a quaver starting in his voice before he can reign it back in. "I- I wasn't sure, but sometimes I wonder if MJ knows, okay? She's my friend, and- I dunno, sometimes she just acts like she-"

Skip. Skip. Skip.

Christ. Matt just manages to withhold a growl of frustration and Peter breaks off when Matt turns around to shake his head. How Father Lantom put up with him at this age is beyond him, and how Frank Castle has the patience for this he understands even less. He rests his hands on his hips and tilts up his head, letting out a humorless laugh. When Matt moves back to face him, the kid's rooted to the spot. "Tell me the name, Peter."

The kid's mouth goes from open to closed to back open, and he nearly jumps when the back of his leg meets the coffee table once he starts backing up. He hesitates, face shifting between where Matt stands and the ceiling above him, so it's something of a relief when he finally deflates. His head hangs over his chest as he reaches across his body to rub his opposite arm. A small sniffle precedes a shaky breath, but the kid follows it up with a thick swallow instead of whatever name he's wrestling with in his head. His mouth forms a word that Matt can't begin to understand and when he finally puts his voice to it, it comes out a mumble that anyone else couldn't have made out.

"Tony Stark."

Matt's mouth falls open.

He shakes his head and angles his ear to Peter's chest, but the skip doesn't come.

"Tony St-" Matt cuts himself off with a sharp breath through his nose followed by a hand running down his face. Of fucking course. The Stark Industries internship, Stark's persistence in trying to find the kid, the fact Peter took on a guy dealing with alien tech—the only piece that doesn't fit is why the kid decided to keep it to himself. Shit. Surely the kid would have mentioned it if he thought Stark was trying to put him in the Raft, but it doesn't change the fact that Frank's somewhere in New York City thinking- Goddammit. The very reason Frank didn't want the kid to know, the reason he asked Matt to keep it from him-

Matt turns away and paces a small circle before going straight to the kitchen to open the fridge, but a distant voice reminds him that seeing him drinking wouldn't bring any assurance to the kid shuffling in the living room. Peter rubs at his eyes with his balled-up sleeve and bites back his lip. The subsiding adrenaline has him leaning against the back of the couch after his stance starts to waver, leaving Matt to wonder just how much sleep he got last night. The windows are just beginning to warm from the sunlight, so any more than two hours would be a generous guess.

But this isn't something that can wait. Matt grabs an energy bar from the pantry and two glasses from the cupboard that he fills at the sink. The kid puts together where this is going quickly enough, though he still drags his feet when he trails after Matt to sit across from him on the couch. His usual manners are gone when he accepts the food and water, but honestly, Matt would be more surprised if they weren't.

The kid tears open the wrapper, yet he couldn't be less interested in the food. He hunches forward in the chair and picks at the packaging while he works his jaw. He grabs the water and takes a sip, then spends the next minute staring off into space as his hands periodically tighten and loosen at the cushion's edge.

Something gnaws at Matt's stomach. The kid's outrage is almost preferable to this. He leans forward and folds his hands in his lap where Peter can see them. "Just start at the beginning," he prompts softly.

So Peter does.

The kid's utterly drained by the time he's done.

Matt knows it's not his place to make judgments about anything his client says. He knows to keep his mouth shut as they explain their version of events and to only interject with clarifying questions, or in Peter's case, to urge him on when the kid trails off. He's usually careful to keep his expression non-reactive, to not give his client any cues that could make them alter their story to accommodate his impression of it, which is the one reason he's grateful the kid seems determined to keep his gaze glued to the floor.

Matt pinches the bridge of his nose. God. It would've been better if Peter's heartbeat was skipping the entire time, if Tony Stark hadn't recruited a child to fight in a war that he had no business being a part of. And that Stark had held the fact that his aunt didn't know over the kid's head to get him to agree to come… Peter had skimmed over it, didn't call it what it was, but Matt knows blackmail when he hears it. Yet it was the Stark-made suit Peter dwelled on more than anything else, as if that in any way made up for the man cutting off contact as soon as the kid's usefulness ran out.

Maybe Peter's right. Maybe Matt is the one person who understands, but not for the reason he thinks.

He doesn't even seem to realize that Stark roped him in to fight for the very sanctions that would see people like him shipped off to the Raft without a second thought. He could be under the impression that aligning himself with Stark is enough to skirt around the Accords, which, Matt can admit, isn't an unfair assumption given the relatively recent Avengers offer he turned down after putting Toomes behind bars.

(Stark wanted a fifteen-year-old to join the Avengers.)

Regardless, throwing the kid in the Raft doesn't appear to be what Stark's after. That's the only relief. Matt doesn't doubt that Stark put a tracking device in the kid's suit—if he had to guess, the man didn't like that an asset had disappeared from his map to then find him in the company of Frank Castle. Only one more thing didn't add up.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Peter shrugs without looking up. "Back on the ferry… I messed up, so he took my suit away. I- I guess he can't do that now, but…" The kid shifts in his seat and reaches for the energy bar next to the finished Lego X-Wing on the table between them. He holds it in front of his mouth for a beat, then returns it to its place, untouched. "I messed up again. She's- She's dead because of me, and I thought—" the kid interrupts himself with a swallow "—if you called him, he- he'd try to take Spider-Man away again. If he answered."

If he answered. This time, it's Matt's heart that does something funny. At least Stick had the decency to make his desertion under no uncertain terms. But there's still hints of admiration entangled with the flashes of bitterness when the kid talks about Stark, so Matt doubts he'll make it very far. But Matt doesn't doubt that Stark would put a halt to Spider-Man; the kid's in no state to go straight back to what he was doing and Stark wouldn't want to risk a valuable asset. Though Matt has a feeling that the way Stark sees it, Peter is far from a priority over Spider-Man. He braces himself and says, "Maybe that's something you should start to consider."

Peter's head snaps up and his voice comes out a rasp. "What?"

"You need to start thinking about this long-term. Once Gargan is put away," Matt says delicately. "I could help you file for emancipation when you turn sixteen, if that's what you want. But you'd need a job that provides a stable source of income, and frankly, given everything that's happened to you, I doubt the court would grant it over requiring you to stay in a foster home. Either way, I don't see how Spider-Man is sustainable."

Sure you don't, Stick scoffs. He's got a gift, Matty. The special kind. You want him to waste it?

Matt gives a minute shake of his head and shoves the voice to the back of his mind. He can't- no. Even if he had any kind of the experience Frank or Father Lantom had, it'd be cruel of him to promise to take care of the kid when he can't even promise that he'll make it home alive every night. The last thing Peter needs is to go through this again, and that's only the first issue Matt can think of.

Then again, Matt would've wanted nothing more than for someone who understood to come along and promise to keep him out of the system for good back when he stood in Peter's shoes. And if the kid somehow managed to keep up with Spider-Man anyway, there's no telling how a foster parent would react upon finding out. But if Peter kept it under wraps and didn't come home one night, leaving no one knowing where to begin searching for him… Jesus. Perhaps it's not a coincidence that Peter showed up in his life when he did. Maybe he is meant to do more than what Frank asked of him.

Maggie would know how to navigate this. She knows what Matt's capable of and she knows what kids need. When he gets the chance, he'll-

Peter's quiet voice cuts through his thoughts. "I'll have to go into foster care?"

"It's a possibility," Matt admits with an exhale. He reaches for his own glass and takes a long sip, reigning his thoughts back in before trying to figure out how to mitigate the reaction from what he needs to ask next. "Do you know Stark's number?"

The kid's giving small shakes of his head before Matt can even finish the question. "No, you- you can't. If he keeps me from being Spider-Man, I-" Peter breaks off with a sniff. His head tilts as he peers back up at him, shifting as he searches Matt's face. He must not like what he finds, because there's a note of panic in his voice when he speaks next. "If- If I quit now, all the people I could've saved- What about the woman from last night? If I don't do this-"

The second Matt catches himself trying to remember how Foggy had responded to that is the second he realizes he's arguing with a mirror. He hears his mouth say the words, "If you keep this up, you're going to get yourself hurt, Peter," but the ringing of Matthew seven, verse three in his head almost drowns them out.

"I have a healing factor," Peter says, but Matt's fairly sure it's more to be dry than to make a point. "And- And Mr. Castle said that you'd make sure I can keep Spider-Man."

Matt can't quite withhold his scoff. "Well, if Frank Castle thinks it's okay-"

"That's not what I-" Peter cuts himself off. "I mean, what'd you do if someone tried to stop you from being Daredevil?"

"I'm not asking you to hang up the suit forever, Peter," Matt clarifies. Matthew seven, verse three. "Just until you can figure things out."

"You mean until I'm eighteen?" Peter challenges.

Or until he's trained, Stick hums.

Peter must take Matt's silence as a confirmation, because in a single movement he gets to his feet and turns away, muttering something under his breath that's not clear enough for Matt to pick out. He circles around near the bedroom door, breaths quickening like he's either trying to stave off the panic or readying himself for a second round. Matt shifts his weight to his feet. If the kid brings up training, he's not sure that he'd be able to keep Stick's voice in his head. Quietly, Matt clears his throat and stands to meet him.

"Peter, there's something Frank didn't want you to know," he begins, and the kid immediately turns to face him. "He was concerned about how you'd react, and at the time…" Matt flicks his tongue over his lips. "Tony Stark is looking for you. Due to the recent passing of the Accords, we were under the impression it was because he wanted you in the Raft. It's… part of the reason I didn't tell you. About me."

The kid doesn't say anything right away—all he gets as a response is Peter's heart rate picking up. For a minute he stays glued to the spot, then returns to his pacing with a stiffness he didn't have before. Matt can all but hear the gears turning in his head as he presses his forehead into his palm before pulling his hand back through his hair, only to freeze before clasping it over his mouth. Matt doesn't miss the way it shakes. Peter takes the kind of breath that usually means he has something to say, but for a moment, nothing comes out. "Mr. Castle's burner phone isn't activated anymore."

Shit. It's not a question, though Matt can hear the inquiry in his tone and in the way his fingers grasp tighter around the sleeves of Frank's jacket. Despite his fatigue, it didn't take the kid much time to put the pieces together. Once the implications register, Matt has to fight to keep the knot of dread forming in his gut from showing on his face and tries for a shrug. "Frank Castle's a hard man to track. I'd guess he threw it away so he doesn't risk getting traced through the cell towers."

"Yeah," the kid breathes, a conviction in his voice that contrasts with the way he constricts his grip on the jacket's sleeve. It stays stuck to his fingers when he straightens them back out.

It's the most likely explanation, yet the anxiety coming off the kid has Matt's mind wandering too. If Stark did get to Frank, he had to still be alive. Stark wouldn't kill the only person whom he believed knew Peter's location, and Matt doesn't know what he could possibly do to get Frank Castle to give it up. Either way, it's all the more reason why contacting him isn't something they can put off.

Matt's preparing the question again when the kid breaks. All at once, his shoulders sag under an intangible weight and his lip wobbles until he manages to bite it back. He gives a wet sniffle before he half-sits, half-collapses back into the armchair, fumbling for a moment as he situates himself to be cross-legged on the cushion. Peter sets his elbow on his knee and places his chin in his palm for only a second before he's wiping his forearm along his eyes. There's no fight left in him when a small noise comes from the back of his throat, yet it couldn't feel further from a victory.

"I- I never got his number," he mumbles. "Sorry."

Sorry. Stark never even… Matt forces his expression to remain neutral, to make sure the kid doesn't mistake that the devil is rearing its head at him. He manages to soften his tone when he says, "We'll figure something out."

Peter nods along, but all of his focus goes to fiddling with the jacket's zipper before moving it up from his chest to his collarbone. "I'm sorry I looked through your dad's stuff."

It catches Matt off guard, sudden and almost a whisper. It's not an I'm sorry for lying or an I'm sorry for making you worry you'd find a child bleeding out in an alleyway, but it's genuine, and it's a start. Matt lets out a soft sigh and lowers his chin to his chest. "You shouldn't have felt like you had to."

The kid stoops a little at that—whether it's due to guilt or exhaustion, Matt's not sure. He seems ready to tap out, and Matt doubts he'll last a second once his head hits the pillow. Matt takes a breath to direct the kid to the bedroom, to make sure Peter's out before he starts on the number of calls he's going to have to make, but the kid beats him to it.

"I just-" He breaks off when Matt tilts his head to the side, floundering over whatever words he wants to get out. "Spider-Man's all I have left," he finally says. "I know I've made mistakes, and- and I know you have to call him, just- Matt, can you- If you can make sure that he can't take Spider-Man away first, I'd…" Peter trails off, voice cracking in the back of his throat. "I can't lose that too."

He doesn't even try to hide the plea in his voice. But maybe Spider-Man isn't the only reason for his trepidation toward seeing Stark. Maybe, after two months of radio silence when the last time Stark saw him was for that Avenger's offer, after all the work the kid had done to make Stark think he was ready for it, maybe a part of the kid simply doesn't want Iron Man to see him now.

Peter doesn't react when Matt steps closer. He makes sure to telegraph it, to give the kid a chance to move away, but Matt's palm lands on his shoulder without protest. He tightens his grip, readying to nudge Peter to his feet—he doesn't expect the kid to lean into it. Matt pauses, drawing in a quiet breath through his nose. "I'll do what I can," he says.

He shouldn't be grateful that only one of them can hear heartbeats.