"Hey, Ned," Peter started as soon as he answered the call. "Is everyone all good over there? No one's hurt?"
Ned's tone was more anxious than he'd heard in a while. "Yeah, everyone's fine. We just got the shockwaves and a little bit of ash." He paused to take a deep, shaky breath. "But Jesus , Peter, you gave me a heart attack. Next time you guys decide to run headfirst into a literal bomb, maybe give a guy a warning?"
Peter huffed. "I'm not really planning on doing it again anytime soon, but sure, man."
He glanced over to see Matt listening in on the conversation, a small smile on his lips. As soon as he sensed Peter looking at him, the smile dropped away, leaving him as stone-faced as ever.
"Anyways," Peter drawled, looking away, "is there any way you can give us another hand?"
"Uh, duh," Ned answered immediately.
"Great. We seem to have lost track of a hulking shitbag."
"Fisk?"
"Ding ding." Peter tapped the side of his nose before realizing there's no way for Ned to see him. "I think he got away in the chaos of the Fisk Building explosion, maybe he had a ride hidden somewhere?"
Wade shuffled over to where Peter was sitting, back against the boxing ring, and gestured for him to put it on speaker. Peter obliged, setting his phone on the ground between them.
"We're thinking private jet," Wade said.
"No we're not," Matt called, "We're definitely not thinking private jet."
"Really Matthew?" Wade asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're ready to just rule that out completely?"
"Yes," he deadpanned.
"Um," Peter interrupted, "yeah, he probably didn't use a private jet to get away. Maybe a helicopter?"
Wade nodded sagely. "Hm. Yep. I was gonna say that."
Ned coughed. "Okay, so we're going with a helicopter, right? Not a private jet?"
"Yes," Matt said, leveling a cowing glare at Wade.
"Maybe we can try traffic cams, security, police reports, anything," Peter spitballed. "Ring Doorbells? Do corps use those?"
"I'm already on it, man," Ned said, keyboard clicks coming through the speakers.
"Uh. Also," Ned started nervously, "May said she's coming back. She heard about the explosions and she's on the next plane back."
Anxiety unfurled in the depths of Peter's stomach, and a gut wrenching fear set up shop in his chest.
"Okay," he said quietly after a minute. "Thanks for letting me know. Can— can she stay with you guys until this calms down?"
"Of course man."
The end tone clicked, and Peter shakily wiped the palm sweat off on his legs. As long as May wasn't at their apartment, because who knew who had their address by this point, everything should be fine.
Matt walked over to where they were sitting around the phone and leaned against the ring.
"Do you have any plan for when we find him?" Matt tucked his hands under his armpits. "Fisk won't go down without a fight."
Peter pulled a knee to his chest and tucked his chin behind it. "I'm not sure yet. Fisk is probably gonna have a bunch of those Yakuza dudes with him that we'll have to take care of. And who knows what else he has up his sleeves, you know?"
Matt nodded. "We might need some extra hands."
"Castle's probably going to want to help," Wade said, and Peter doesn't miss the way he tilted his head towards him.
Matt hummed. "Yeah, probably. Jess might be out though, she's got some stuff to take care of on her end of things. And Rand's probably got his hands full with over-the-table business shit. I'm sure he and his gaggle of vultures are trying to plan how to buy some of those buildings that just got blown up."
"Damn. Gonna miss him; he always boosted my ego. I guess I'll have to make do with you, Matty."
Peter tapped his fingers against the web shooters attached around his wrists. Toomes was light work compared to this-all Peter had to worry about was where he'd swoop around next. This felt like a ball of wires all wrapped up in his head, and it was up to him to start detangling it.
"Okay guys," Ned piped up. "Directly after the explosion, there was a helicopter seen flying away. After a couple seconds though, it completely disappears from sight. It's not on any camera footage, period."
Peter released his leg and leaned forward. "Expected, after the stunt with the trucks."
"So we're out of luck on that?" Wade asked, slightly disappointed.
"Well, no, I wouldn't say that," Ned answered confidently. "I happen to be incredible at my sidekick duties and kept looking. Hell's Kitchen, forty-seven minutes ago, one lovely lady called the police about a strange wind disturbance and very loud noises with no visible source."
Peter looked up excitedly. "Yeah? You have the address?"
"Already sending it to your phone," Ned shot back.
"Great, thanks man. I'm gonna head out, we've gotta get on this ASAP." Peter picked up his phone, finger hovering over the End Call button.
"Hey, Peter, before you go," Ned blurted. "Be safe, okay?"
Peter winced. The concern in Ned's voice struck a chord deep within.
"Sure thing," he said quietly. "Thanks again, Ned."
The dial tone beeped, and Peter read out the address to Wade and Matt.
Wade nodded before typing something into his own phone. "Castle's on his way," He said. "He'll meet us a couple blocks out."
Peter pushed himself to his feet, tucking his phone into a slot in his suit. He pulled a hand down his face and met Wade's wondering gaze.
"Mind if I meet you guys out there?" he asked softly. "I can start checking out the layout and maybe meet Mr. Castle while I'm out there."
Matt nodded, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Great," Peter said and tapped his fingers against his web shooter. "I'll um, see you then."
Peter all but sprinted out of the gym, immediately webbing himself into the ashy night sky. His brain turned off, and he navigated the streets towards the far end of Hell's Kitchen briskly. All he focused on was the wind rushing by his face, the hollow cliph of his web shooters, and the hollow ache pounding through his chest.
Peter flew around a corner. A car horn blared. Jessica's voice - It's not clear!
He flinched, gasping mid-air and plummeting a couple feet before another web caught the edge of a building.
Peter took a deep breath and let himself fall back into the rhythm of the swing. As he got closer and closer to the location Ned sent him, the quiet waves of the Hudson made themselves known. His nose wrinkled at the sudden change in smell, and no more than five minutes later, he found himself a hundred feet out from the address.
He landed on the edge of a compact building, keeping the distance. Peter drew in a deep breath and held it for a couple seconds, desperately trying to get his heartbeat under control.
The warehouse on the coastline was almost completely dark inside. There was one flickering light on the far left side, and through the drawn blinds Peter saw shadows pacing back and forth.
Peter nodded. Fisk was in there.
A motorcycle engine broke through the monotony of the city noise as the engine puttered out below him. Peter jolted up and jogged to the side of the building, and leaning over, he caught a glimpse of a familiar black and white painted vest.
A small smile graced his lips as Peter let himself down slowly. Silently, he padded up behind the figure and went for a tap on the shoulder.
Frank Castle whirled around with an aborted yell, and Peter had to slap the glock out of his hand before he got shot in the chest.
"Hey," Peter said, chuckling nervously. "Calm down, bucko. It's just me."
Frank swore. "Really, Spidey? You think that's funny?"
"Little bit." Peter shrugged. "Sorry about that."
Frank swiped his gun from the ground and wiped it down with the edge of his shirt. He tucked his gun into his back pocket.
"Where's the rest of you little 'team?'" he asked, making air quotes.
Peter rolled his eyes. "A few minutes out, I assume. I took off a little before them so I could scope it out."
Frank bought it for all of one second before the corner of his mouth perked up. "Wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet, huh?"
A startled laugh came out of Peter.
"Something like that," he said, twisting his hands into balls.
Frank tilted his head towards the building across the street. "Got eyes?"
"Eh." Peter shrugged. "Kinda. There's some movement that I can see, but not much more than that."
Faint footsteps entered the radius and Peter peeked his head into the street in front of him. Matt and Wade were sneaking down the street in their suits, trying and failing at staying hidden in the flickering shadows.
Peter waved them in towards the strip where Frank's bike was parked. Wade caught sight of Peter and guided Matt over, with a push that happened to be a bit more than gentle. Matt, lip curled in a snarl, batted his hands away with an equally hard slap.
"That's where my friend tracked them," Peter said and nodded to the squat building.
Matt sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at them in a way that looked painful.
"Any movement yet?"
Frank snorted. "Shoulda gotten here sooner, Murdock. We just covered that."
"Not really," Peter said, putting a preemptive stop to the argument about to break out. "There's one light on giving us some sight, but other than that, nothing. They're probably playing it smart, staying in the internal rooms."
Matt nodded, frown deepening in thought.
Wade jostled his arm. "Got a plan, Boss Man? Or are we just gonna keep sitting around here like a couple of fabulously dressed ducks."
Matt rolled his eyes. "Castle, Spidey'll bring you to the best vantage point and you'll keep the front of the building secured. If any backup comes from the streets, they're on your turf. Peter - secure the port side. Stay alert; they might be lurking around in the back and towards the loading pier. Wade and I'll go in first. Cause a ruckus, get things started. Fisk will probably try to relocate, we can't let that happen again. So Peter and Frank, you gotta keep up, alright?"
Peter nodded grimly. Adrenaline bit at his veins. Some of the anger that ebbed was reappearing, and Peter's fingers pressed into his thighs.
He took a deep breath. He had to leash that beast for now.
Frank unbuckled a hard-shelled duffle bag from the back of his motorcycle, swinging it over his shoulder like a bag of ice. With a jilted nod of Frank's chin, Peter smiled slightly and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist.
They shot into the sky with a yelp from Frank, and Peter grunted with the effort of hauling his ass up to the top of the building he was previously perched on. His feet buried into the rounds of loose gravel, and Peter took that as a sign to disconnect his web.
He pressed his fingers against his palm and the reload mechanism on his right web shooter slowly moved back to its position. The tiny machine made a tinny thunk as it clicked back into place. His mouth curved into an o.
"That's not good," he muttered.
"What?" Frank asked from where he was pulling parts out of the duffle.
"I think my—" he banged his wrist against his thigh— "web shooter might be running out."
"Oh." Frank's head popped up from his bag. "Yeah, that's definitely not good."
Peter grinned ruefully, bulldozing over the growing unease in his stomach.
"It'll be fine, right?" he asked. "This'll be quick. One and done deal. No brainer."
Frank grunted in half-agreement.
Peter nodded to himself, taking no notice of the lackluster response. "Everything will be fine. It's all—" he smoothed his hands out in a line— "smooth sailing."
"You ready, Spidey?" Matt's whisper floated up through the air.
Peter all but took a swan dive off the building, happy to get the operation on the road. His nerves were mounting to borderline unbearable, and he just wanted to fall into the swing of a fight.
When he joined Matt and Wade on the ground, the former flicked his hand firmly towards the building.
Peter took this signal as an immediate go, strolling across the street. Wade sprinted after him, with Matt bringing up the rear. A metallic thunk came from behind, and Peter whipped around to see Matt unfolding his baton.
Giving a double thumbs up to his team, Peter slunk around the edge of the dark building to get to his post.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, a loud metal clang echoed through the street, accompanied by Wade's, "Kyah!"
The breeze from the Hudson slapped him in the face as he rounded the corner onto the coastside of the hideout. Peeking from the shadows, Peter saw three guys huddled around a lighter leaning against the wall closest to him, cigarettes pinched in their mouths, and two ninjas pacing up and down the pier keeping watch.
Peter rolled his shoulders back. Silently but immediately, he leaped for the group of three.
His hands went to the back of two necks, crashing their foreheads together. The startled gaze of the third man blinked out immediately as Peter sent a foot slamming into the underside of his jaw.
"Yikes," Peter winced sympathetically. "He didn't even see it coming. Poor guy."
From across the shoreline, the two patrolling ninjas whipped around, surprise coloring their stances.
"Hey—"
Thwip!
A thick glob of webbing smacked over the mouths of both ninjas, preventing any cries for help. The one closest to him grabbed a compact black square from his belt, and Peter realized it was a phone.
"Oh no you don't," Peter muttered.
He sprinted down the backside of the building. He ducked under a jab and jackknifed his knee into the ninja's gut. The ninja grunted, and Peter kicked the phone into the river. The last ninja tackled him from behind, shoving him into the guy in front of him with a surprised yelp.
Peter let himself fall, using the weight of the ninja to pin the other one to the ground. Managing to dig a hand fist into the tight clothing of the man on top, Peter pulled him off and drove his elbow into the guy's ribs.
The breath rushed out of him, and a skinny dagger clattered out from the dude's hand. Peter stomped a foot over the wrist, even if he doubted the need for it. With both ninjas momentarily stunned, Peter took the opportunity to knock them out completely and web them to the ground.
"I'm tired of all this ninja crap," he said. Peter brushed his hands off on his thighs and tiredly massaged his bicep.
"So original!" he yelled at no one. "See, I get made fun of for the spider brand," he muttered to himself, "but at least it's got some semblance of self respect."
The back dock was quiet. However, it didn't take much straining for his ears to pick up the chaos still happening inside.
He huffed. Now there was nothing to do, and he was too nervous he'd fuck up the plan by going inside to help out Wade and Matt.
Peter climbed up a rig pole overlooking the building's backside and stilled into motionlessness. He took a look around. The windows remained dark. There was no life inside the door.
One of the exit doors a couple feet over swung open, hinges squeaking quietly. He tensed, head whipping towards the sound, but nothing came out of the darkened building.
Peter's spider sense rocketed to a ten.
His gut pulled him flat against the pole and a gunshot fired through the night. a bullet whizzed above his head.
With no time to think and trusting his sense, he fired a web into the empty air a couple feet to the right of the door.
A gun went flying as he dropped to the ground. Peter barely had time to be stunned that it just appeared like that before a mechanical hum rose in pitch before halting altogether.
Wilson Fisk glittered into existence, a useless concealer device clattering from his coat pocket, and Peter's blood ran cold.
"Spider-Man," Fisk greeted coolly.
"Sup, man," Peter shot back, his hands hovering in front of his chest. "I'd say it's good to see you, but…"
He let himself trail off, eyes darting around his surroundings. There was no one else outside.
The tension in the air noticeably shifted from bad to worse. In the blink of an eye, Fisk flicked a small, shining round of metal at Peter.
Peter dodged to the side, but he wasn't quick enough to completely avoid the star. It sliced across the outside of his cheek, severing the fabric of his mask.
"Really, man? Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" he quipped as he slipped by more of the stars. He fired back with a web aimed at his face, just to have as much success as Fisk. He continued, "Like Muhammad Ali! Actually, maybe Zangief is more your style. You know? Street Fighter?"
A star landed deep in the meat of his thigh. Yelping, Peter responded with a web to the face and Fisk reeled back, hands flying to his covered face. Peter pried the star out just as Wilson pulled the silk off his face, and sent another web rocketing towards his chest.
With fast reflexes, Fisk caught the strand. And jerked the web towards himself.
Peter went flying, and stars burst across his vision with the vicious hit landed on his nose.
Panicking, Peter found a foothold in the crevice of Fisk's chest and immediately pushed away as hard as he could, stumbling to the ground.
"Ohhh, ouch. Ouch ouch," he groaned quietly. "Okay. That hurt."
The presence of the water behind his back calmed the rapid beating of his heart. A chunk of asphalt caught the corner of his eye as he retreated a few steps. He lunged and swiped the heavy rock up, spiraling like a shot put thrower.
"Hey Baldie!" Peter flung the asphalt at Fisk, nailing him in the shoulder and sending him staggering back with a loud yell.
The port lights flickered, and Peter lunged to web himself up to the top of the pole to get the jump on Fisk. But he threw out his arm, crouched low, and—.
And nothing. Nothing came out. He had no more web fluid left.
Oh. Oh shit.
"You think you can stop me?" Fisk screamed, rubble falling from his shoulders.
Peter stumbled backwards, feet slipping on the damp ground, shocked at the complete one-eighty the man took. But he quickly regained his composure, clenching his fists to make sure the shake in his hands wouldn't show.
"You can't do anything, Spider-Man," he said as he prowled forwards, steps landing heavy on the cement, shaking the ground. "If you could, you would've saved those people that were killed in the explosions. But you didn't."
Any fear in Peter's body instantly turned to rage.
Be smart. A voice came whispering through his anger, sounding suspiciously like Matt. Wait for backup.
"And look at you now," Fisk said slowly, almost sympathetically.
The anger inside exploded.
A furious cry ripped out of his throat and he lunged for Fisk. Blinded with rage, he swung wildly at Fisk's chest and face. His heart pounded loud enough to drown the sound of his yells, and he felt the crunch of Fisk's nose before he heard it.
Large hands wrapped around his hips and threw him into the ground, knocking all the breath from his lungs. He groaned, fingers digging into the ground as he sat up again.
Fisk spit blood from his mouth, and the thick red dribbled down between his suit buttons. Peter kept a wary eye on him as he regained his footing, ignoring the ache spreading between his shoulder blades, but Fisk charged at him with an angry yell before he got the chance to brace himself.
Grunting, Peter rolled to the side and jumped for his back, using his body weight to tackle him. Fisk groaned when his nose made contact with the cold, wet pavement, and Peter wrenched one of his arms behind his back for leverage.
It wasn't enough to keep him down, and Peter got bucked off as soon as he grabbed the arm. Tumbling over the cement, Peter flipped into a crouch as Fisk ran towards him.
They connected in a body slam, each person grabbing the other by the collar. Peter was locked in close, and the veins in Fisk's forehead bulged purple against his skin.
"Why did you do that," Peter spat. His fist connected with Fisk's gut, but Fisk barely even winced. "Why would you hurt those people?"
"How naive are you truly?" Fisk grunted. "The people were never the point."
Peter flinched back.
Mistake.
Fisk shoved him back by the shoulders and slammed a foot into his stomach, sending Peter flying to the ground. He skidded across loose gravel and slammed his head into the ground, and he was too stunned to lift his head, much less his entire body. Black spotted his vision, and Fisk's knee came crushing into his chest.
Heavy fists pounded into his arms until they fell away from his face, and instantly warm, coppery liquid filled his mouth.
"Well," he gasped, hands weakly wrapping around Fisk's wrists, "I guess this isn't ideal."
"Shut up!" Fisk roared, and slammed his fists down.
Peter cried out as each blow connected with a sickening thump, all white hot pain. His face and body exploded in pain every time Fisk made contact, nose crunching and eyes swelling shut.
A garbled yell barely escaped his lips. His ears were ringing loud enough to block out the smack of skin against skin, and his world shrank to the bubble of agony and anger surrounding them.
The skin and flesh of his cheek and brow started to split, blood running, and he could barely feel the tears leaking from his eyes. Shockwaves rippled through his body with the pain, and Peter was slowly losing the battle to stay conscious.
"Stop." He could barely get the words out, his lips busted and blood filling his mouth.
Instead, Fisk raised his arms as his face contorted in rage, and it clicked just as he brought his fists down.
Peter managed to twist away from the fatal blow just in time. Fisk cracked the cement where his head once was, and he managed to muster a last ditch effort at the sudden severity of it all.
Peter scrabbled at the knee pinning him in place, digging his fingers into the fabric and skin of Fisk's leg. His fingers made no progress, and he groaned desperately. He was too weak.
Another brutal punch knocks him limp and gasping, killing all the fight inside. All he could do was lay there, the tide of the Hudson lapping at his fingertips.
"Get off of him!"
It was muffled, trapped behind the layers of fabric and blood and ache.
But then the pressure on his chest disappeared, and Peter sucked in his first real breath in minutes.
He moaned and rolled to his side, trembling as he gasped for air. Coughs wracked him so hard dizziness spread throughout his body, and everything hurt. Every breath felt like needles tearing through his throat. The feeling in his hands and feet faded in and out, pulsing with the agony radiating from his face and neck. Unconsciousness bit at the back of his eyes, and every fiber of his being wanted to sleep the hurt away.
"Hey, hey," Matt's voice broke through. "Up and at 'em, Spider-Man. This is no place to take a nap."
Peter groaned, his bleeding and torn lips twisting into a grimace. A hand shook his shoulder, and he groaned again.
"Can you…" he rasped, only to be interrupted by another coughing fit. He swallowed, wincing. "...Help," he finished.
Matt hummed quietly, sympathetically, and snaked his arms under Peter's armpits.
Peter moaned as Matt hoisted him up, chin dropping painfully against his chest. He managed to get his feet under him and blindly staggered alongside Matt, eyes swollen completely shut. He made it all of ten feet before collapsing against the side of the building.
Panting, Peter let his head rest against the cool metal. Slowly, he gasped out, "That…really sucked. Thanks."
Matt snorted. "Thank Wilson. He's the one who hauled Kingpin off your sorry ass."
Peter laughed, but the action instantly and painfully pulled at his face. "Ouch. No laughing. Bad."
His eyes strained open just wide enough to see another maroon-red suit pummeling Wilson Fisk.
"Tell… Wade needs to stop. He'd gonna kill him," he said, eyes sinking closed again.
Matt darted away as soon as Peter's words sank in.
Peter coughed again, his entire body shaking with it. He winced, counted to five, and decided to just swallow the pain down and deal with it.
He exhaled and pushed himself up, using the side of the wall as support when the bone-deep throb shot through his body. Peter limped towards Matt and Wade, hobbling slightly on his cut leg and going slow to prevent himself passing out again.
By the time he got to Wade and Matt, Fisk was unconscious and bloody on the ground.
"Man," Peter spat out the blood pooling under his tongue, arms and legs tingling. "When I say go fuck yourself, I mean it. To the fullest extent."
Wade whirled around, instantly spewing concerned nonsense. Peter batted his hands away, ignoring him in favor of further inspecting Fisk.
"So," he nudged Fisk's knee with his toe, "sincerely, go fuck yourself."
The cuts on his face burned, and Peter turned away as the fire reignited. He groaned quietly, and the bleeding that had clotted to a slow reopened, warm liquid waterfalling down his face. He stumbled, chest tightening uncomfortably.
"Pete?" Matt called, rising from his crouch beside Fisk's head. "What's wrong, man?"
"Um. A lot, I think," Peter breathed.
A staticy fuzz rose in his head, drowning out any other words Matt might've spoken, and his knees buckled out from under him. He was transported out of his body for a moment, spinning through the black dust filling his mind.
"…eter? You with us?"
He just moaned, unable to form words. Something underneath him lurched, and distantly Peter realized he was in a vehicle.
"Doe he need to go to the fucking hospital?" a tense voice asked, gruff.
Frank, Peter thought.
'Hospital' triggered something in him, and his hands fluttered in panic.
"No hospitals," Matt said robotically.
His head jostled on the leather it was resting on, bouncing slightly with the rough ride. White bolts pierced through his flesh, and the sting laced all the way down to his toes. His eyes drifted closed against it all, whimpering against the waves beating against the inside of his skull.
"Sorry," Matt murmured quietly.
Peter hummed weakly, starting to lose the feeling in his body.
Matt tapped against Peter's shoulder. "None of that. Keep those eyes open, Pete. That's the condition. Eyes open and no hospital. You hear?"
"Where…" Peter swallowed as hard as he could manage, but the sticky taste of iron won't pull off his tongue. "Yeah, I hear you."
Almost imperceptibly, the car sped up.
Time stopped existing, and Peter floated in the in-between of awareness and unconsciousness. Pressure against the deep cut on his leg kept him anchored, the persistent throbbing coming in useful. He blinked sluggishly, and his head felt like it was being hammered from inside out. He couldn't concentrate anymore.
"Claire…"
The dark, warm space in the corner of his head drew him closer.
"...emergency…Spidey…"
Peter's head reared up. "That's me," he slurred. "That's…"
"Lay back down," Matt muttered, gently pushing on his forehead. He went back to his phone call, keeping a hand gently on Peter's head. "I need you at my apartment in five. No, I don't care, bring whoever you need to, just get there."
If Peter was any more conscious, he would have told Matt to not freak out the other person on the line.
Awake, Peter, stay awake.
A familiar billboard burned its way into his eyes as soon as he thought that, and before he knew it, he was being carried out of the car. His head spun at the movement, and only got worse as the fluorescent lights of an elevator beamed down.
The arms holding him up dragged him out of the elevator as soon as the doors pinged open, and the change in scenery barely affected the hurt radiating through his body. The elevator shifted into a dim hallway, and the hallway faded into a coolled, recognized apartment.
Matt's hardwood floor pressed hard against his back, and all Peter could do was groan as the tension leaked out of his limbs. He finally let himself relax, and his bruised eyelids finally flickered shut. Even the pain ebbed down, washed away by a bone deep tiredness.
"Peter?" Matt's voice called. "No sleeping. Remember the deal? Open those eyes."
A scarred hand shook his face, but it didn't help. An apology burned in the back of his mouth, tasting like acid on his tongue. But the warm darkness pulled him closer, and all thoughts of I'm sorry evaporated.
Peter is just so tired.