Peter sat in the coffee shop, idly stirring his espresso. He wasn't in any need of it though, just wanted to keep his hands occupied. It was a lovely Sunday and even lovelier coffee, and Peter felt a little guilty of running both with what he was about to do.

He was going to talk.

He was going to talk about the thing that he had mentally shoved into a vibranium box and then thrown the box into the sun.

Oh, well. This was going to happen someday. He should have realized that.

He wasn't stupid. He knew about good mental health and trauma and therapy. He lived in the 21st century and he knew he had to spit this out to someone. He had to make an attempt. The problem was, who?

No way any of his friends (did it matter that his friends no longer remember their friendship?) would work. Happy wasn't exactly the most reliable therapist. And the Avengers had their own share of problems as well and it wouldn't be fair of Peter to dump his issues onto them.

He ignored the mental voice that kept repeating something about denial and avoiding the problem.

Peter hadn't stopped swinging around even after the spell. He couldn't afford to; after all, it wasn't like criminals cared about whether his life was a wreck or not. So he did. And occasionally, he worked with his fellow Avengers (although he didn't stick around for very long after the job was done.)

He consciously shut down the thought of him avoiding Doctor Strange and his side of things.

However, this strategy of hiding did not work out for very long, as he would find out on the rooftop of a warehouse about seven weeks ago. He had the wonderful luck of running into his lawyer and the sun threw the vibranium box back at his head with a resounding thud.

(Ow.)

And so, after weeks of vigilantism, endless circumvention of truth (this was mostly Peter) and bleeding?! ('Are you okay, Mr. Murdock?' 'Are you okay, Peter?') Peter sat in the coffee shop, waiting for the devil who was currently attending Mass, and stirred his coffee.

He was going to talk.

He walked in looking a lot like the last time Peter had met him out of the suit. Stick, glasses, suit - it was all the same. The only thing different was that he was sporting a wonderful split lip this time around. (Of course he did.)

Peter almost waved. Almost. Then he realized how awkward he would look waving at a blind guy in public. And then it occurred to him that Murdock would see or sense (or whatever it is he did) anyway but probably wouldn't respond to him. So he let the wonderful waitress guide his lawyer to the right table (she was getting a good tip from him, no matter what his wallet looked like.)

"Coffee, Mr Murdock? " Peter asked just as the other man sat down.

"Matt, please. And yeah, I'll be having whatever it is you're having right now, Peter, because it smells heavenly."

"Well then, Matt, why do you look like hell?" Now that he'd settled and placed the order, Peter could see a fading black eye that was almost hidden by the glasses. Almost.

"I ran into a door."

"A door that punched you in the face?"

"Yeah."

"Do people actually believe that?"

"Well, so far nobody's asked."

"Nobody asks why the blind guy always shows up injuired to court?"

"I can be a little clumsy. Aren't we all?"

"Yeah, but me being clumsy is putting salt instead of sugar in my cookie dough. You being clumsy is four broken knuckles and a sprained wrist."

"Please tell me you didn't call me here to complain about my knuckles."

(He did have bruised knuckles thst really looked like they hurt.)

(Peter decided against pointing out that fact and getting to the matter at hand.)

Namely, the thing.

The thing that wouldn't let him sleep for the last six months.

Since May -

"Have you heard of the multiverse?"

Matt, it turned out, was a wonderful listener. (Probably had to do with his lawyer job.) He just sat there, silently stirring his coffee and listening to Peter's rambling without judgement. Occasionally, he would interject his story with a soft "And what happened after that, Peter?" wherever he sensed Peter getting too diverted from the topic at hand. There were brief moments of surprise on his face when Peter hit the lawyer parts (He could practically see the Spider-Man shaped hole in Matt's head get filled.) Otherwise, though, he never interrupted at all.

When Peter was finally done, all he could muster up was a "Well, what do you think?"

Matt breathed deeply. "A lot of things, to be honest. But before all that, I need to know something."

"Why you?" Peter guessed.

He smiled a little.

"Someone had to be the first."

"I'm really the only other person who knows about this?"

"Well, yeah. Unless someone overheard the whole thing."

"Don't worry, no one did."

"Still haven't told me what you think."

"I..." He looked a little lost for words."I think, you could have handled the situation a little better. No offense."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not very pleased either."

"No one would be. But, I also don't think anyone would be brave enough either to do what you did, throwing your life away like that. How are you holding up, honestly?"

"Not great, but I'll live. I have been living for the past months, so yeah, you won't see me dropping out of the sky anytime soon."

"I hope you don't. Have you talked to your friends?"

Oh, no.

"Peter, I really am happy you decided to share this with me, but I know that there were people more important in your past life than I was. Have you tried talking to them?"

Silence.

"Are they still around?"

(Breathe, Peter, breathe. Tell him the truth.)

"No. I'm not quite ready for that."

He wanted to start small. He wanted to know if he could make it through those conversation alive.

And he could. He had made through this one, hadn't he? Maybe, it wasn't so hard as his mind kept making it out to be.

And just like that, something that felt like hope bloomed somewhere deep in his heart.

"What would you have done?" Peter asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Matt was sipping his coffee while Peter had ordered a pie for himself.

"You said that I could have handled the situation a little better. How would you have done it, then?"

"Me? I'm not Spider-Man, Peter. I meant to say you probably could have handled it better."

"How?"

"Well, I can't outline the specifics, but, a mind-wiping spell wouldn't have been my first advice. As a lawyer, I would have probably told you to try and exhaust any and all legal options available to you."

"Huh." Peter shrugged. "I was expecting something a little more... boxing ninja, but I guess, the cover comes first."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Boxing ninja? Really?"

"You do sulk around in shadows and punch doors, so, yeah. Fits."

"It's not a cover. I am a lawyer. And I'm not going to give fighting tips to someone who is supposed to be a unassuming college student."

"Hmm," Peter pondered. "How about self-defense?"

"No. As a responsible citizen of the state of New York, I'm not going to encourage Spider-Man to turn to further vigilantism to solve the problem of his public identity."

"And as a fellow vigilante?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What would Daredevil tell me then?"

"You'd have to ask Daredevil, Peter."

"I am asking him."

"No, you're not. My name's Matthew Murdock, and I don't know who you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you, Daredevil!" This was getting weird. What was he going on about?

"I'm not Daredevil."

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not. I'm meeting you for the first time, Peter, according to my memory. Have I told you that I'm Daredevil the whole time that we've been talking?"

"No, but-"

Wait.

Oh.

Oh.

"You're such a troll. You're just going to keep denying the fact that you're Daredevil if your identity comes out, aren't you? It's the answer to my question!"

He grinned. "You're a clever one."

"And you're such a little sh-"