Tuesday morning, Peter wakes up to find approximately a billion texts on his phone. Closer investigation shows that he's been added to a group chat of some sort. He has two of the numbers in his contacts: Matt and Danny, but there are three more numbers he doesn't have saved. One of them looks strangely familiar, but Peter can't quite remember where he's seen it. He's already running late for school, so he doesn't get a chance to read the messages until he's started walking to school (after he fell flat on his face in the bathroom while pulling on his jeans and brushing his teeth at the same time).
12:57 AM
Danny: (✿◠‿◠)
Danny: ヽ(^◇^*)/
Danny: (◕‿◕✿)
Danny: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･✧
Danny: (◕ω◕✿)
Spanish Matt: Danny no not in the group chat too
Spanish Matt: You already put me through this torture
Spanish Matt: Fucking stop please
(212)-803-8774: wgo the fyck showrd him thst
Spanish Matt: Jessica I can't fucking tell what that says either.
Danny: Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ
Peter pauses his reading to add Jessica to his contacts, and he feels mildly sorry for introducing Danny to advanced text faces. He couldn't have known Danny would abuse them like this, in his defense.
Jessica: im drink aa fuvk i cabt fuvjibg trxt
Spanish Matt: You're killing me. Use voice to text
Jessica: I said who the fuck showed him those
Matt responds simply by putting Peter's number into the group message again, instead of answering the question.
Jessica: I don't have that number saved
Spanish Matt: It's Peter's
Jessica: I'm still not censoring myself even with a kid here
Danny: ('o')
1:13 AM
(212)-337-9105: ╾━╤デ╦︻
Why does that number look so familiar?
1:19 AM
Spanish Matt: What the fuck is that? Why is half of it in fucking Japanese?
(212)-337-9105: because there's Japanese in it dumbass. I'll give you three guesses.
Spanish Matt: Is it supposed to look like something?
(212)-337-9105: yes
Spanish Matt: Is it a gun?
(212)-337-9105: ding ding ding
Danny: (◡﹏◡✿)
(212)-337-9105: I will fucking shoot you
(212)-459-6363: I was serious about that swear jar
Peter doesn't know this number either, but he keeps reading.
(212)-337-9105: fuck your swear jar
Jessica: ^^^^
(212)-337-9105: Jones you still text like a twelve year old you can't say shit.
Is that—holy shit that's the same number on the burner the Punisher gave him. Peter trips over a curb and only saves his phone from a watery death in a sewer grate thanks to his sticky hands. Honestly, what did he do before he had them?
He apologizes with a vague mumble to the woman he bumped into, before looking back down at his phone and adding Frank to his contacts.
Jessica: Still better than Danny
Danny: o(╥﹏╥)o
Frank: holy fucking shit stop it
Spanish Matt: Danny you're a very nice person but I have no fucking clue what "o box drawings down double and horizontal single box drawings down double and horizontal single o" means and it takes for fucking ever for my poor phone to read it
Danny: I am stopping only for Matt.
Frank: Thank Jesus Fuck
Spanish Matt: Blasphemy
Frank: fuck off altar boy
(212)-459-6363: Frank.
Frank: Luke.
Peter pauses again to add the last number to his contacts. Honestly, it probably should've been obvious that the last number would belong to Luke since it has all of Matt's other super-acquaintances in it. At least, the ones Peter knows. Wait, does the Punisher even have any powers?
Luke: All of you need to go to sleep. I know Matt has to be in court tomorrow morning. And I know Colleen probably needs to sleep and you can't even text quiet Danny. Jessica just needs to sleep to get sober. Frank's the only other responsible ish adult in this chat.
Spanish Matt: That so-called responsible adult is sitting on a roof with a rifle waiting to shoot a Bulgarian mob enforcer
Frank: what the hell are you out right now?
Spanish Matt: No I'm in my living room
Spanish Matt: I can hear you though
Frank: you're so fucking weird
After that the chat ends and Peter assumes everyone just went to sleep like Luke told them to, but it's more likely Matt jumped out his window to try and hunt Frank down, Jessica passed out drunk, and only Danny willingly went to sleep.
He figures if they added him to the group, then he might as well send something (without typed emojis given Matt and Frank's apparent extreme distaste for them). He types a quick 'hello everyone, it's Peter' before muting his phone and slipping it back into his pocket.
The first class of the day passes by uneventfully, with Peter bored out of his damn mind while the teacher goes over balancing chemical equations for the millionth time (seriously. It's not that hard). He actually ends up doing some of Danny's chi focusing exercises while he waits for the teacher to finish her explanation again.
Peter's mostly forgotten about having sent something to the group chat by the time break rolls around, so when he pulls his phone out after sitting next to Ned, he's more than a little surprised to see 10 unread text messages and counting.
8:45 AM
Danny: Hi Peter :D!
8:59 AM
Luke: Hi Peter. This is Luke Cage.
Luke: Wait shouldn't you be at school?
9:27 AM
Frank: let the kid live a little texting in class aint gonna kill him
Frank: this is Frank C.
Frank: I might get you put on a watchlist if the good old NSA reads these texts and I say my whole name so…
10:03 AM
Spanish Matt: This is your friendly reminder that while the police can't compel you to tell them your phone password or compel you to type it they can compel you to place your finger on it if you have a fingerprint unlock.
Spanish Matt: Just in case any of you are doing anything on your phones that you don't want the police to see.
Spanish Matt: For example texting in a group chat containing people who could possibly be vigilantes or criminals.
After reading this Peter takes a second to disable the fingerprint passcode on his phone. It'll be slightly less convenient to type in a PIN, but if it'll be more secure, he'll try it out.
10:08 AM
Jessica: vigilantes ARE criminals dumbass
Spanish Matt: They're criminals with a moral compass
Jessica: Peter this is Jessica btw in case you dont want to scroll up through the clusterfuck to try and find out who we are
Jessica: tell that to skull-vest mcshooterson, matthew
10:17 AM
Frank: Wow Jones. Just wow.
10:30 AM
You: I'd like to formally apologize for introducing danny to . I assumed he would use it more responsibly
There's an immediate response from none other than the Punisher.
Frank: why the hell would you assume that?
You: he seemed very disciplined last night!
You: we spent like three hours sitting completely still and focusing on our breathing
You: that just screams discipline
You: btw I liked your gun emoji Mr. C
Frank: thanks kid
Peter puts his phone back in his pocket after that. He's proud of his restraint, and instead of bothering the super-adults, asks Ned how the WoW raid went the other day. They manage to talk about that for the remainder of break, before heading to their next classes. Peter doesn't get the chance to check his phone until that afternoon after school lets out since he ends up working on an essay all through lunch.
The group chat has quite a few messages, but the thing that catches Peter's eye is actually a separate conversation from the group.
Jessica: I heard you're in need of people to show you things while you mentor's on the rebound. I have something you can join me for on Thursday. No need for a suit, so don't worry about that.
You: that sounds good
You: vague but good
Jessica: great I'll text you to deets when I have them
Peter's walking home as he reads the message, and smiles at Jessica's use of the word 'deets'; it's just such a contrast from her typical persona. She gives Matt a fair amount of shit for the whole dark, brooding vigilante thing, but she's pretty dark and brooding on a day to day basis. The smile drops off of his face a minute later, when he walks straight into a guy who'd been walking on the wrong side of the sidewalk.
Peter looks up from his phone abruptly, completely ready to offer an apology, but the guy doesn't look like he's going to have any of it.
He's about 6'2" and built like Luke Cage, but with a much angrier face. And he's white. Speaking of faces, he has a tattoo on his. Multiple tattoos actually, now that Peter's looking. And teeth that are rotting out of his head.
"What the fuck you lookin' at?" the man spits, shoving Peter, and becoming incredibly frustrated when the hard shove fails to move this scrawny little doe-eyed teenager at all.
"Your face," Peter blurts out, immediately realizing that it was the completely wrong thing to say when the guy narrows his eyes and winds up for a punch.
Peter knows he can definitely take a punch from this guy, regardless of how muscle-y and methed up he is, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt. So he does what any reasonable person would do: defends himself.
But Methhead McGee's reflexes just so happen to be a little bit slower than his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man's, so he doesn't even get the chance to make his punch connect before Peter's has knocked him out and back a few feet.
Of course, it's just his luck that this is right as a patrol car turns the corner to see Peter shaking out his stinging knuckles while standing over an unconscious guy.
The back of the patrol car smells like weed. And piss. And vomit. The Spidey-sense is freaking out so hard that Peter's worried he might have a panic attack. The handcuffs are fucking tight. Oh god, they're gonna book him and put him in a holding cell with a bunch of hardened criminals, and it's gonna turn into a fight club because he'll say something stupid and piss off one of the bad guys, and then he'll either have to let himself get beat up or show that he has powers and—
"Get outta the car, kid," one of the officers, a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair, says as she grabs Peter lightly by his shoulder to guide him out of the car.
Peter gets out and walks with the woman and her partner, a young Hispanic man, into the precinct. The female officer seems at least a little bit accepting of the fact that what went down was probably being misunderstood by the police, but she knows it's still her job to bring him in until it gets sorted out.
"You want your phone call?" she asks tiredly.
Peter nods, but once she leads him over to the phone he freezes. Who should he call? Sure, Mr. Stark would probably get him out in approximately two minutes, but that's assuming he even answers the phone which he probably wouldn't. He could call Happy, but again, there's the possibility of not answering. Aunt May's at work and he doesn't want to bother her, so that only leaves one person he can think of.
"Hello. Who is this?" His chosen person answers after three rings.
"Hi, Matt," Peter replies quietly. "I um… I kinda got arrested?"
There's a moment of silence. " You got arrested."
"That's what I just said."
"You, Peter Parker, were arrested," Matt asks again, emphasizing on his name heavily.
Ohhhh, he's asking if he was arrested while being Spider-Man.
"Yep. I, Peter Parker, was arrested for assault. Or something," Peter replies.
There's a relieved sigh from Matt. "Don't say anything to the cops. Where are you?"
Peter looks to the officer beside him. "Um, sorry to bother you, but what precinct is this..?"
"The 114th," she tells him.
"I'm at the 114th. Up in... Astoria I think?"
"I'm dealing with a client right now, but Foggy can be there in forty-five," Matt says, following it with, "Don't worry, Peter. Everything's going to be okay."
After the call ends, the female officer escorts Peter into an interrogation room where his handcuffs are attached to the table. He rattles the chain sadly and the officer gives him a sympathetic look.
"A detective should be here to ask you some questions in a couple minutes," she says before leaving the room.
Peter tries to count the seconds that pass as he waits for the detective to show up, but he loses track of where he was after about 400 seconds, so he decides to do some more of Danny's breathing exercises. They surprisingly help to calm the Spidey-sense down quite a bit, and Peter's finally at least halfway relaxed by the time a detective slams open the door.
He's maybe ten years older than Matt is, with black salt and pepper hair and a square jaw. He looks like a TV director had to cast the most stereotypical grizzled cop on the face of the Earth.
"Mr. Parker," he says in a comically thick New York accent. "You wanna tell me what happened earlier?"
Peter doesn't say anything, considering Matt told him not to breathe a word about what went down to the cops.
"I got a real big guy who's gotta weigh about 190 pounds, who's got multiple warrants out for his arrest for crimes that sure as hell ain't petty in the hospital with a probable concussion, and I got the teenager who decked him right here. Wanna tell me how that happened?"
"…" Peter was relaxed, before this very moment.
"We already searched your shit—no brass knuckles or anything in there. Wanna tell me how a 5'8"125-pound kid takes down a guy like that with what looks like one hit?"
Peter is suddenly very fucking thankful for Tony having taken the suit away because if it was still in his possession Peter 100% would've had it in his backpack, and that would've been a hell of a lot harder for either Foggy or Matt to explain away.
The detective sighs and drags the chair around to the side of the table and sits just a foot or two away from Peter. "Look, Peter—can I call you Peter?"
"You can call me whatever you want," Peter replies finally. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm not gonna say shit until my lawyer gets here."
"If you ain't guilty, then why do you need a lawyer?" the man asks with a scoff.
Peter does his best to give the man a very flat, unimpressed look. He wants to spout off about how cops are pretty notoriously fucking shitty to everyone (particularly minorities) they get their grubby, power-hungry hands on, but that might get him in bigger trouble and Matt told him not to talk, so he just sticks with the look.
When Foggy shows up almost exactly 45 minutes later, the detective is still uselessly interrogating Peter.
Peter wants to cry with joy when he sees the long hair and dinosaur tie come through the door.
The first thing Foggy does is look between Peter and the detective with a highly unimpressed expression that could've killed Peter's attempt at an unimpressed look without a second thought.
"How about we get the handcuffs off the child?" he says.
"He knocked out a man twice his weight."
"Allegedly."
"His damn knuckles are bruised," the detective replies.
"No, they aren't," Peter butts in with a frown, rattling the cuffs as he lifts up his hands to show his pristine knuckles. Please. As if one little punch could bruise him.
"They don't look bruised to me," Foggy says after giving Peter's hands a cursory glance.
"Well then that's a whole new issue. Wanna tell me how a kid like this manages to knock an ex-con out with one hit without busting his damn hand?"
"Good aim?" Foggy suggests. "Can I get the name of the guy my client allegedly assaulted?"
"Michael Richmond," he answers, arms crossed over his chest.
"Michael R—isn't that the tweaker who robbed a bodega and shot the owner last week?" Foggy asks incredulously.
"Allegedly," the detective replies in a snippy tone.
"So you, an obviously weathered detective, have come to the conclusion that this fifteen-year-old honor student on his way home from school randomly assaulted a known violent criminal and drug addict in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight?"
"Well there's a reason why Richmond's in the damn hospital and the kid's here," the detective snaps.
"Maybe because he smoked just a tad too much and keeled over right there."
"We got a damn camera on that corner! I guarantee you that the kid did something!"
"If you have footage of what happened, then why the hell are we here arguing instead of watching it?" Foggy replies.
"Fine, you wanna fuckin' watch it? Let's go have a look," the detective snaps.
"Great idea, let's go. Peter, wait here," Foggy says before he follows the detective, now muttering about how damn much he hates defense attorneys from the room.
Peter jangles his handcuff chain out of boredom as he waits for the two of them to return, and tries to reclaim his relaxation.
Twenty long minutes later, Foggy comes back in with the detective- who looks even more pissed off than he had when he'd left the room originally. It's a funny contrast to the grin that Foggy's sporting.
"Great news kiddo! The footage? Totally shows that the guy was trying to attack you. Now, let's go get your stuff and get out of Detective Bryant's graying hair since his current, and much more pressing, problem is the fact that the guy who attacked you , has now escaped from the hospital! We can only hope this experience has taught him a valuable lesson about handling violent criminals versus teenagers who are the victims of these violent criminals." Jeez, Foggy's really piling it on as the detective silently fumes and unlocks the cuffs from around Peter's wrists. He doesn't mind though, Peter's feeling the same way, at least a little.
Peter looks down at his wrists and rubs slightly at the lines the cuffs left where they'd started to cut into his skin.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Nelson," he says, as he gets up and casts a scornful look at the detective that Foggy quickly copies.
"You're very welcome, Mr. Parker! Now let's go get your personal effects, and get outta here. A precinct looking this nice weirds me out. I'm used to the lovable shithole that is the 15th."
Peter smiles and follows Foggy to a desk, where an officer hands back Peter's backpack, phone and wallet and even apologizes for the misunderstanding that brought him into the precinct.
Once they're back out on the sidewalk, Foggy speaks up again.
"I assume this event has been very stressful for you, so why don't we get the best stress reliever in the world?" Foggy suggests cheerfully.
"You know where to get heroin?" Peter jokes, earning a snort from Foggy.
"Of course I know where to get heroin. I work with criminals in Hell's Kitchen, and my best friend is everyone's favorite red-clad righteous idiot. But I'm not talking about heroin! I'm talking about ice cream!"
"That's okay—you really don't have to," Peter assures quickly, even as he smiles at 'red clad righteous idiot'.
"Nonsense. If being arrested is as stressful as I remember, then you need ice cream. Come on," Foggy says as he starts to walk, motioning for Peter to follow after him.
Peter does follow after him because hello? Mr. Nelson said he's been arrested?
"What'd you get arrested for?" Peter asks as he trots alongside Foggy.
"Drunk and disorderly conduct."
Peter gapes at him.
"But the joke was on them because I wasn't even drunk. I'm just an idiot."
"What'd you do?" Peter asks now that his curiosity has been piqued.
Foggy sighs reminiscently. "An excellent impersonation of a friend."
The nearest ice cream shop is only about a five-minute walk away, and it's actually a frozen yogurt shop, but Foggy says he can't tell the difference between the two. Once they're sat down with their yogurt (that Foggy had insisted on paying for), Foggy starts another conversation. He's a lot more chatty than Matt.
"You know who hates froyo with a passion that's only equaled by his hate-on for criminals?" Foggy asks, causing Peter to choke on a gummy worm. "Matt," he continues, answering his own question. "That man will go on and on and on about how it shouldn't even be compared to ice cream because of how fucking abhorrent the texture is. I swear to God, he had to go to confession after all the shit he said about froyo got him looking just a tad too murderous."
"What's wrong with the texture?" Peter asks, looking down at his strawberry-mango swirl covered in watermelon boba and gummy candies.
"He said, and I quote, that it's like 'someone filled a playdough extruder with cough syrup flavored wet chalk and bribed an FDA official into labeling it edible with indecent use of their body and an indeterminate quantity of unmarked bills'."
Peter chokes again, and Foggy pats him on the back sympathetically.
"He's got a great sense of humor. I can't wait for you to get the chance to see it."
"I don't think he's trying to be funny, but watching him interact with Mr. Castle is pretty entertaining," Peter replies.
"Ugh, you're as bad as Karen. Frank is terrifying," Foggy groans.
"The Spidey-sense doesn't think he's a threat," Peter replies softly, shrugging his shoulders.
Foggy's eyes widen a little at that. "Well, shit. Maybe he's not as bad as I thought. I'm still kinda trying to get over the whole him chaining Daredevil to a roof. And shooting him in the head."
"He chained him to a roof?"
"Apparently it's complicated. So complicated, that even after hearing both sides of the story I still have no idea what the hell either of them was thinking—that's assuming that they were thinking at all."
Peter laughs softly at that and shakes his head as he finishes off his yogurt. "Well, they're pretty funny. I think Mr. Castle is just annoying him because it's fun."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Foggy says with a shrug. "Hey, do you have my number?" he adds.
"Nope, here," Peter replies, handing his phone over to Foggy with the text messages open.
Foggy send himself a message from Peter's phone before handing it back over and finishing his own dessert.
"Unfortunately I have to get back home. There's paperwork to be filed and taxes to be done, my friend!" Foggy announces, getting up from the table with Peter. "But I insist on walking you back home, so I can serve as an eyewitness if you get jumped by any more crackheads."
"I'd appreciate that," Peter replies softly.
The walk to Peter's apartment takes a little while, but they keep up a nice balance of amicable silence and friendly conversation along the way, with Foggy even telling Peter about his first meeting with Matt, where he somehow managed to insult him and flirt with him incredibly awkwardly in the span of less than two minutes.
"Well, this is me," Peter says as they get to the entrance to his building.
"Indeed it is. Matt told me to give you this by the way," Foggy says before pulling Peter into a hug.
Foggy is arguably a lot better at hugs than Matt. Not to say that Matt's bad at hugs—he's just composed entirely of solid muscle and scar tissue, which aren't the most huggable materials in the world. Foggy, however, is composed of approximately 3% muscle, and about 90% more open feelings than Matt, so he's much easier to hug.
"Tell him I said thanks," Peter says softly.
"I'll be sure to do that," Foggy replies, standing out on the street until he sees Peter enter the building.