Peter was totally numb the entire walk through Matt's apartment building.
The whole thing felt like an out of body experience, like he was just a visitor in his own body. He couldn't even bring himself to care about the bloody footprints that led the way to Matt's front door.
They reached said door to find it unlocked and open, exposing Daredevil's apartment for the whole world to see. Matt locked the door shut behind the two as they entered, and Peter decided to follow the footprints. He emerged into the living room to see Wade aggressively pacing back and forth, wearing a rut into Matt's rug.
Any surprise he felt seeing him there was muffled under the blanket of guilt and disappointment he was buried in. "What are you doing here?" he muttered. "They said you were busy."
Wade's head snapped towards him, just realizing he had company, and waved halfheartedly to Matt, who'd trudged into the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. He hustled to where Peter was standing, frozen in the middle of the open living room, and pulled Peter's mask off.
"Matt texted me on his way here," Wade said, scanning him for any visible injuries. He leaned in close and took a good look at Peter's pupils. "Said you needed help. What happened?"
Peter batted his hands away from his head, where they were running through his hair checking for bumps or cuts, before skirting away from him completely. He practically collapsed into one of Matt's armchairs and buried his face in his hands, sighing heavily.
His voice was muffled when he answered, "I let Fisk's guys run off with enough explosives to reach the fucking moon."
Wade's silence was enough to jog him into picking his head up. Instead of the look of disappointment he expected to see reflected in his features, it was one of confusion.
A toaster dinged, and Matt came out of the kitchen with a piece of toast in hand. He tossed it through the air for Peter to catch, and he snagged it lightly before it thunked off his forehead. He scarfed it down to avoid answering Wade's unspoken question.
"We went to help out Castle and Jess earlier tonight. The Harlem thing," Matt began, dropping two more slices of bread into the toaster. "It turned out to be a lot bigger than we expected. They had cloakers that turned everything and everyone invisible, and Fisk got away with a couple thousand pounds of explosives. Castle tried to track them, but he was stationary so it didn't work out."
Peter popped his jaw, barely resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Why was Matt covering for him?
As if he could hear his thoughts, Matt marched over and took a spot across from him on the couch. Without his helmet and his face totally bared, his attention felt like a laser burning through the side of Peter's head. "Kid, look at me."
He exhaled sharply and looked up, meeting Matt's surprisingly intent-filled gaze.
"This is not your fault," he said steadily. "And this guilt is going to solve nothing. I'm speaking from many first hand experiences. Okay? You have to trust me here."
He stayed quiet, biting his lip. The toaster went off in the kitchen, but Matt didn't move from his seat. In his peripheral, he could see Wade slinking into the kitchen.
Matt's face softened, the intensity slipping away into something more mellow. "I know it's hard Peter, but we have to focus on this now. On stopping Fisk."
Peter let his eyes close for a moment with a sigh before straightening. He pushed himself up off the armchair and nodded. Matt was right. He needed to get over himself and pull himself together. New York needed them.
"You're right. We need to figure out what he wants with those bombs," he said, game face on. Matt's grim smile was comforting. At least he was doing the right thing now.
Wade waltzed back into the living room with the two abandoned pieces of toast and three plastic cups of orange juice balanced precariously on the plate of toast. Peter thanked him when one of the cups found its way into his hands, but not without a quizzical glance.
"Don't look at me like that," he chirped back. "This was all Matthew had in his refrigerator, aside from alcohol. Besides, think of this as an early breakfast." Wade shot a look at the night sky through one of his windows. "A really early breakfast."
Matt shrugged defensively as he grabbed a slice of toast, ignoring the juice. "I haven't had the opportunity to go grocery shopping lately," he grumbled. "So terribly sorry you're disappointed in my choice of beverages."
"If you were an evil mob boss convinced he can do whatever he wants who just happened to import thousands of tons of explosives, what would you do with it," Peter muttered to himself, pacing to the large window illuminating the living area.
"Sell it off?" Wade answered menially, apparently taking his question to heart.
Matt shook his head, joining in on the now-turned conversation. "There's too much to get rid of it all, it would be chaos. Fisk's too controlling for that."
"Even if he sold some and kept the rest, that still brings us back to square one," Peter added. "Could he be using it for leverage in a turf war or something? As blackmail material? Or to take them out?"
Finally reaching for the orange juice, Matt once again shot down the idea. "It seems more likely that's what he would've had the Yakuza focus on. It would be a lot less messy than blowing them up."
"So then what did he have them doing?" Wade asked, tossing his empty OJ cup in the air with one hand and catching it in the other.
The question sat heavily in the air for a beat. "Well," Peter said dryly. He turned from the light of the billboard to face them, crossing his arms. "He had us mighty wrapped up in them."
Wade sighed. "Well. I guess that leaves us with the more traditional use of bombs."
"He owns half the property in Manhattan," Matt said, nodding to himself with his foot tapping restlessly, "so we can rule all his buildings out."
"Great," Wade sniped back. "That just leaves four other boroughs to comb through."
Curiosity prickled at him, a dull beginning of an idea forming at the base of his skull. "What exactly does he own?"
"Everything." Matt threw a hand out. "Corporate buildings, apartment complexes, museums. There's a reason we call him Kingpin."
Peter's mind raced, breathing speeding up unintentionally. Everything, huh? His brow furrowed and his grip tightened on the untouched cup of juice he held in his hand.
Wade's eyes narrowed as he stared him down. "You okay there, Petey? Wouldn't want you breaking any of Matthew's fine china."
"What if that's it?" he wondered aloud, pacing back and forth from the kitchen counter to the window.
"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific than that, kiddo," Matt said. The slight attempt at a joke was overshadowed by the curiosity of where Peter was going with this.
"These places he owns. What if that's the target?" he whirled to face them, hands gesturing wildly as he continued. "Fisk's got an easy way in. No one would question his or his goons' presence there. He definitely has insurance to cover the cost of any damages. In fact," Peter snapped his fingers, "I'd bet a hundred dollars he recently raised his claims."
"You think he's gonna blow up his own buildings?" If Wade had eyebrows, the condescending look on his face would've come through much harsher. Even so, Peter still felt the effects.
He wasn't going to let this drop. He was sure he was right. Like ninety-three percent sure. "Think about it," he said adamantly. "What does he have to lose? He knows we're onto him, he knows we've been onto him. The worst Fisk can do to himself is lose a chunk of cash and have to rebuild.
There was a silence as his words sunk into the two sitting in front of him. Matt looked more convinced than Wade, so he cemented everything with, "He could even play it off as an outside attack to keep the public on his side."
"Peter's got a point," Matt said.
"But would Fisk really be this obvious?" he retorted. At least Wade wasn't outright shooting it down.
"He wants us to come to him. He wants us to figure it out," Matt said firmly. Peter appreciated the support.
Wade stilled for a moment with his head to the side, thinking. After what felt like an eternity, he was nodding his head.
"Fine," he sighed trivially. "I agree. Even though I'm still a personal fan of the black market angle. Hm," his face contracted into a thoughtful frown. "Maybe I could get my hands on something similar."
Peter blatantly ignored him, pulling out his phone from its spot in his belt.
"Who're you calling?" Matt asked as the dial tone rang.
Peter put it on speaker. "My- Ned, my self appointed Guy in the Chair. He's really good with computers and stuff. He can help"
Ned picked up on the third ring, shooting things off with, "Peter, you should totally get on Sims like, right now, because I just finished making the best family ever and you will die-"
"Ned," Peter cut him off with a laugh, his friend's voice lightening the stress hanging over him by loads. "I need your help."
"Yeah?" His voice was confused.
"Can you access Wilson Fisk's security cameras for, like, every property he owns without your computer crashing? It's really important. Like 'save New York' important. Also, I'm with Daredevil and Deadpool. Also also, you're on speaker."
There was a prolonged silence, and Peter imagined Ned was silently freaking the fuck out. He finally answered after a minute or two, his voice an octave higher than usual. "You underestimate my RAM."
Peter chuckled. Matt leaned over and all but screamed into his phone, "We're looking for large trucks. They would've arrived within the last thirty minutes."
Ned squeaked, "Is that-"
"Daredevil. Hi."
Ned once again goes quiet.
"I think you broke him," Peter whispered.
"Not broken. Very much not broken. I'm functioning at four hundred percent. I'm functioning so hard I'm already into the security."
"Awesome, Ned," Peter said and rubbed at his face anxiously. "Just really get into his mindset."
"Oh hell yeah," Ned exclaimed, keys clacking in the background. "I always knew I'd make an awesome super villain."
"Right, so," Ned said after a moment, "I'm looking at the cams' feed for any and all loading entrances of Fisk's buildings. And so far, I got an active delivery at three of them right now, and I've seen five other drop offs so far scrolling through the backlog."
Peter shot Matt a confused look. "That means there's eight trucks? That's-"
"Two more than were at the docks," Matt finished. "That's not good."
"They divvied up the loads?" Wade questioned, surprised. "Wow. Guess Fisk has more than one brain cell."
"Red alert, ninth truck incoming. Delivered to Fisk Tower itself," Ned said. "And, get this, Fisk is chilling on the top floor of Fisk Tower. The whole thing is literally his own personal office. God, I hate this guy."
Matt sighed deeply and walked into his bedroom, reemerging with his own phone in hand. The expression on his face was not reassuring in the slightest.
Peter swallowed a sigh of his own. "Thanks, Ned. We gotta go. Like, now. Thanks again, man." He hung up without hearing Ned's goodbye.
He looked at Wade and forced a nervous smile on his face. Wade didn't bother trying to return the sentiment, his features remaining totally impassive. He locked eye contact with Peter until the sad attempt at a smile melted away.
"Hey, Rand, you got any pull with the NYPD?" Matt spoke suddenly, jerking Peter's attention away from Wade.
The tinny voice from the phone groaned. "I'm in a business meeting, man. Can't this wait?"
Wait, Rand? Danny Rand? The infamous "Rand kid" that Mr. Stark warned him against? This was a welcome development.
"No," Matt shot back. "This is way too important to be beat out by a bunch of ableist white guys in suits. And I know you have pull. Why do you even have a meeting right now? It's the middle of the night."
"I don't make the schedule. But nope, sorry dude, I told you, I'm in a business meeting."
"You won't even have a business if everyone's dead," Matt snapped, effectively cutting off Danny's complaints.
"One second," he muttered, much more subdued than before. The faint boom of a door slamming shut sounded through the receiver. "Alright, I'm alone. What's up?"
Matt sped through the explanation, only pausing to answer Danny's brief questions.
"So you're on it?" he finished up.
"Yeah. yeah, I'm on it. From the sound of it, you guys better get on it too. We might not have a lot of time."
Matt nodded to himself. "Thanks, Danny." He hung up the phone and turned to where Wade and Peter were sitting, expression pinched. "Alright, we've gotta move. Help with Evac."
That stopped Peter in his tracks, mask gripped in his fist. "Evacuation? We're not gonna try to stop him?"
Surprisingly, it was Wade that answered him. "We don't have enough time. On top of that, it's just not safe enough. We have to get the people out first."
Peter's gaze darted to Matt, who nodded. "There's not enough of us as it is," Matt said grimly. "We just have to try our best. Get as many people out as possible.
"Mr. Stark," Peter gasped. "Mr. Stark, he- he can help! He'll know what to do. I-I…" He trailed off. Dread settled in his bones. He disabled Karen days ago, and it would take too much time to try to get her booted up again to send an emergency signal. "I'll have to call him," he whispered, deathly quiet. Even Peter himself knew that would be a long shot.
"So," Wade said slowly. "We're on our own."
"What?!" Peter cried frantically. "No! No, I can get Mr. Stark, he-"
"Peter," Matt interrupted softly. "He doesn't have the best track record of answering important calls. You know this."
His eyes stung, but he did his best to blink away the wetness. "So what are you saying? That we're on our own?"
"No," Matt said fiercely. "We're not. Castle and Jessica have already said they'll do whatever necessary to stop Fisk. We already have Danny whipping the NYPD into shape. We can do this ."
Peter nodded weakly, feeling sick to his stomach. So much for his game face.
Let's go," Wade said. "We got a ride waiting for us downstairs."
"Same ride as before?" Peter questioned absently, flashing back to the Yakuza fight.
"Nope," he responded with a small laugh. "Different ride."
Peter tugged on his mask and followed Matt and Wade out the fire escape, bounding down the staircases till his feet were on the dank pavement of the sidewalk.
The window of black Nissan rolled down its front windows. "Get in, losers," Frank Castle's voice called, with Jessica's sarcastic laugh following him.
Peter's brain stalled for a minute, before he jerked towards the passenger side door. "Shotgun," he breathed.
Matt shot Wade a resentful look. "This is your ride?" he asked as he slid into the backseat, now sandwiched between Jess and Wade.
Peter grinned at Frank as he shut the car door behind himself, the smile genuine this time. He was rewarded with a small quirk of his lips. "I have to admit, I wasn't sure I'd ever see you in something that has more than two wheels," Peter said, pulling the seat belt across his body.
"Ha ha, kid," he responded, deadpan, as he shifted the car into drive. "Just be thankful I didn't hijack a minivan instead."
A few weeks ago, Peter would've been absolutely scandalized at the prospect of even getting inside a stolen vehicle. Now- well. Times, meet measures.
Wade piped up from the backseat. "I have to admit, that was the most intimidating Mean Girls impression I've ever heard. And you'd be surprised at just how many I've heard."
"Where're we headed to?" Frank asked, just narrowly missing the tail of a Civic.
Just like that, all the pleasantries were sucked out of the air, replaced by nervous tension.
"Well," Matt said, quiet. "The biggest conglomerate of buildings is around Fisk Tower. So we might as well head there."
Frank nodded, and the hum of the engine filled the rocky air between the four of them. The lack of snarky fighting between Matt and Mr. Castle just solidified the mood.
The Nissan pulled into a swarm of police cars spreading over 5th Avenue. Hundreds of people were already standing in their pajamas (or business casual for the poor souls who worked nights) on the dark streets and sidewalks. Most had a bag or two set at their feet, and the enormity of the situation hit him once again. "Holy shit," Peter muttered as Mr. Castle parked.
"Jaw off the floor, bud," Matt said as he jumped out of the vehicle. "We got work to do."
No one stared as the vigilantes filed out of the car. Really, no one even looked. The five of them split, and Peter jogged up to the nearest officer.
He'd barely begun his Hi, ma'am when the officer interrupted him, waving a hand through the air. "We've already cleared these buildings," she pointed at the surrounding apartments stretching to the next street over, "but you and your buddies gotta help us with the rest."
Peter nodded and ran after Jessica. He relayed the officer's words to her when he caught up, and she immediately disappeared into the nearest building. He saw a stream of civilians start to filter out from the corner of his eye as he chased Matt.
"I think this is the one time the cops haven't been actively chasing us," Matt said offhandedly when Peter finished. "I'll get to Wade and make sure he knows where to go; don't bother with Castle, he's taking care of the perimeter and trying to locate exactly where the bombs are."
Peter nodded. "I'm heading to Fisk. Making sure he doesn't try to pull one over on us. Come when you can," he said hurriedly and sprinted away, forcing his way through the crowd on the street with an abundance of apologies. He was pissed there wasn't enough time to grab any more web fluid, but he just had to do the best with what he had.
He lunged into the Tower foyer and immediately plowed over a woman carrying a laptop underarm. Peter was quick to help her back up, and scanned over the people streaming from the top upper floors to see if anyone else needed help. Other than the general panic, most everyone seemed fine. There was even a police force in the lobby, and one of the officers said, "We got it, Spider-Man."
Peter nodded, deciding to trust the capabilities of the NYPD for once, and refocused his attention on getting to Fisk. Everyone seemed to be coming from the stairwells. Why did Fisk have so many people working this late at night? Peter stopped a disgruntled businessman with a hand on his arm. "Hey, excuse me, sir, uh, do you know if the elevators are working?"
The dude didn't even seem phazed to see Spider-Man standing in front of him. "What? No. Emergency procedures."
A small smile crossed his face as he ran through the lobby, arriving at the intimidatingly large elevator doors. "I'd be lying if I said I never had a dream about this," he said breathlessly as he planted his fingers firmly in the crack of the doors and pulled.
The etched metal creaked heavily before it slowly gave way beneath Peter's straining arms. Stifling a groan, he wedged the doors open just enough to slip through.
He immediately stuck his hands and feet to the elevator shaft and began to climb. He spared a glance upwards, and the dizzying height he had to climb to almost knocked him off the wall. "Well shit."
Ned said Fisk was on the top floor. So that's where he must go. He speed-crawled up the wall, ignoring the slight pain in the joints of his fingers. The maintenance signs passed quickly, and before he knew it, he was at the top of the tower.
"Oookay, Pete, just don't look down, don't think about it, don't look down."
Peter looked down. His mouth went dry. That… was a spectacular distance to fall, especially with his web shooters out of action.
"Can't say I'm looking forward to this repeat," he said to himself.
These doors were even heavier than the ones in the lobby, and once he pried them open a couple inches, he saw why.
The doors seemed to be about ten inches of solid steel, with stout security bars reinforcing them. If this didn't scream dangerous criminal, he would formally retire. Forever.
He burst into the lavish office floor just in time to hear the echo of a door slamming on its hinges.
Peter surveyed the room the fastest he'd ever done, verifying it was empty before he chased after the sound. His ears led him to the roof access. Go figure. He raced up the stairs and through the access door, tearing it away from the frame. Stumbling to a stop a couple feet from the door, he turned in a slow circle till a large, hulking shape caught his eye.
"Fisk," Peter breathed, his chest heaving.
"Spider-Man," he greeted, turning his head over his shoulder, his baritone voice unnaturally loud. Fisk's face was blank aside from an unnerving smile. "How nice to finally meet you."
Peter shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to step backwards as Fisk slowly came closer. "Finally meet me, huh?" he said nervously. "Hopefully whatever you've been hearing came from TMZ. At least they like me."
The low chuckle was enough to send a chill down his spine. It didn't feel like Fisk was laughing at the joke. It felt like he was laughing at him .
"What do you-"
"What do I want?" Fisk interrupted, head tilting to the side condescendingly. "I feel that should be fairly simple."
He took another step forward, and Peter cracked this time, matching him with one backwards.
Fisk spread his hands, a wide, mocking gesture. "After all, you and the Devil and that hellish mockery of a man made sure my friends would no longer play any part in keeping you out of my hair. What do they call you again?"
Another step forward.
"Ah, Team Red."
Peter opened his mouth to make another snappy comment, only to be cut off by the access door banging open once more. A relieved sigh escaped him when he saw it was only Matt, not some kind of enemy backup.
"Hey, man," he said quietly. "Nice of you to show."
Fisk's expression dropped, all pretenses of niceties disappearing into the wind. "Daredevil," he snarled.
Matt didn't bother engaging in any of the stereotypical villain monologuing and cut straight to the point. "You can't just blow up Manhattan, Fisk," Matt said, sounding tired. "I'm not going to let you."
"Yeah." Peter swallowed hard. Blinked. Had to blink again before finally snapping out of it. "Staten Island maybe, but not Manhattan. It's the money grab of NYC."
Fisk clenched his fists, and, much to Peter's surprise, began to walk away from them in slow, measured steps. He stopped when he reached the edge of the roof, almost indistinguishable from the night sky, folding his hands behind his back and facing them.
"Actually, on second thought, no one deserves this. Not even Jersey. Well. Maybe Jersey. But that's the one exception."
"Kid?" Matt said from beside him.
His eyes flicked over. "Yeah?"
"Shut up."
"Okay."
"I believe I can. And you can't stop me. Because you-" Fisk's mouth curled into a cruel grin. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."
Peter's spider sense rose into a roar, so loud it nearly forced him into a wince.
"PETER!"
He whipped around, and after a moment of searching, saw Jessica standing on the roof of the building she'd helped evacuate. She was pointing at something behind him, and even with the long distance between them he could see the panic written in her body language.
He shot a glance back to where Fisk was standing, but he hadn't moved. What was she trying to warn him about?
"It's not empty!" she screams. "Beside you! It's not empty!"
He followed her finger till his eyes landed on… the neighboring corporate building. Not even fifty feet away from them.
His head snapped back to Fisk, horror racing through him like a wildfire, and Matt gasped as he came to the same realization. A revolting smile spread over Fisk's face.
"No," Peter whispered.
And everything went to shit.
He went weightless. The sky lit up so bright it could've been the Fourth of July. He was fucking flying.
Peter hit the ground hard, head smacking into the ground. His lungs stopped working, and the starbursts of color etched into his eyes were the only things he could process. The world was completely silent.
His lungs jump-started back into action and he inhaled with a sharp wheeze, and the muffled roar of screams broke through the layer of cotton stuffed in his ears. A dull pain made itself known in his back and tailbone, and his bleary eyes landed on the ash floating through the air. He shakily pushed himself to his feet, swaying when he eventually got there.
Matt. Shit, Matt.
Wheeling around, he blinked the doubles out of his eyes as his gaze landed on a familiar dark red blob. Matt was kneeling with his hands clamped over his ears, but that was it. Fisk was gone.
The ground trembled beneath him, and a muffled crack followed. Peter reflexively braced himself before realization streaked through him. Fisk Tower was on the verge of collapse. At least, the top floors were.
Peter jerked towards Matt, panic thrumming through his veins. A muffled groan came from the older man as he wrapped an arm around his midsection and hoisted him over his shoulder. He began to stagger to the edge of the roof as it rumbled threateningly. "Man, I really wanna stop having to save your sorry ass," he mumbled slowly.
Mustering all of his strength, Peter threw Matt like a discus across the gap to the building next door. It couldn't have been more than twenty feet away and three stories down, but his heart was in his throat the whole time. Thankfully, Matt was conscious enough to save himself on the landing.
Peter stumbled back a few steps. "Come on, Parker, come on," he said to himself, voice slurring. He shook his hands out, and ran towards the edge as the roof gave one more groan in warning.
He launched himself off the collapsing platform, feeling the cement crumble beneath his feet. For the second time in about as many minutes, he went weightless with no way to catch himself.
Peter landed heavily on the same roof he threw Matt to, violently rolling as his body hit the rough cement. There was a deafening crash as the top half of Fisk Tower collapsed behind him.
The dust was settling by the time he slowly picked himself up. But was so off balance he almost went right back down, and his ears were ringing like a bitch.
He turned dumbly to stare at Matt, who was rubbing his temples with a tight grimace painted on his face. Wide eyed, he gingerly brushed the gravel from the numerous tears in his suit.
"Holy shit," he gasped to Matt, panting. "That? Sucked. All of that. The whole thing. Sucked. Majorly."
"Well," responded Matt, voice pinched. "It doesn't seem like it's getting any better."
Something clanked behind him. "Hey, there, Spider-Man."
Peter's insides froze, and it took everything in him to turn and face the sickeningly familiar voice.
Tony.