Chapter Text
“Rent is due the first of the month”
Peter looked around at the little apartment that was now his home. He couldn’t afford an apartment in Queens, plus not having any sort of records or past wasn’t too appealing to most landlords, so he had to move into Hell’s Kitchen. Sure, Spider-Man would be a bit more of a commute now, but at least he would have enough money from his emergency savings to last a couple months while he figured out how to get a job without, well, existing.
He set down the four boxes of stuff he had on his bed and looked around. It wasn’t great, but it would work. His first priority, however, was unpacking the heaviest box which only held May’s sewing machine and some red and blue spandex.
He had a responsibility to the people of Queens and he wasn’t going to abandon that just because his entire life got uprooted and everyone forgot him and he was now living alone in a crappy apartment at 17 with no family or friends.
Peter Parker didn’t exist anymore, but Spider-Man did. So Spider-Man he would be.
*****
Matt heard a new neighbor move in last night. They didn’t have very many boxes, didn’t even spend more than ten minutes unpacking before they started sewing something, for some reason. He also heard the slight clinking of metal, the neighbor was tinkering with something. Their movements were quick and sure, so they knew what they were doing, probably smart.
He wasn’t particularly interested in getting to know his neighbors, but he couldn’t exactly block out the sounds very easily, so he might as well get an idea of them.
They lived alone. They were small, light on their feet. They were always moving, in a way Matt recognized. He recognized the way they seemed as though they didn’t want to stop for fear of their thoughts catching up with them. They had been through something recently, which made sense given that they just moved into Hell’s Kitchen from what seemed to be Queens based on the lingering scent on the person’s boxes and clothes.
Sometime in the afternoon, after they finished tinkering and sewing, he heard them open the window and climb out the fire escape. That was odd, he thought, but maybe they wanted to avoid neighbors. He couldn’t blame them, Matt wasn’t exactly the most sociable with the people in his building either.
The person didn’t come back before Matt fell asleep.
*****
Matt was closing the door behind him when he heard light, uneven footsteps approaching the door across from his apartment. The new neighbor.
He listened to the door opening, his new neighbor stepping out. As he turned toward the neighbor, he heard their heart beat speed up.
“Mr. Murdock?” the neighbor — a young man, based on the voice. Definitely under 21 — squeaked, before clamping his jaw shut so hard Matt heard it click.
He didn’t recognize the voice, and he didn’t remember defending a kid in any case yet. And the way the boy reacted was almost like he wasn’t supposed to know Matt and let it slip on accident.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” he asked calmly, tilting his head in consideration.
“Oh- uh, no! No, no, I just… I’ve heard about your work! Through the… newspapers and stuff!” Well, even if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, this boy was just really bad at lying.
“Uh huh. Sure.” He mumbled. He was trying to figure out what to do about this strange kid when he heard the kid suck in a breath — barely audible, but noticeable to Matt — when there was the sound of fabric rubbing over uneven skin, skin that smelled, concerningly, of blood, a tinge of metal, and a hint of gunpowder.
Holy shit, was this kid shot?
After another moment of listening, Matt realized he could hear his muscles moving around a small object, the movement sending out fresh hints of that same metallic smell.
The bullet was still in his leg.
A kid was walking around with an actively bleeding bullet wound with the bullet still in his leg as if it were any other day, the only indication to anyone without enhanced senses being his slight limp as he made his way to the stairs.
“Are you okay?” He asked before he could stop himself.
The boy tilted his head at Matt before shrugging. “Um, yeah! Totally fine!” Well that was also a lie. “Why do you ask?”
“You sound like you’re limping.” He stated, voice flat to hide the concern and make it seem obvious that he could hear it, even if he probably shouldn’t be able to.
He heard the boy’s heart rate speed up. Something happened that he did not want Matt to know about, but Matt couldn’t exactly leave a teenager to himself in that state. Especially because the boy, he remembered, seemed to live alone.
The boy was still frozen in the hallway, sputtering for an answer as he shrank back into himself, so Matt continued on. “How old are you?”
“Twenty.” Lie.
“And the truth?”
“That was the truth.” The boy scoffed, but the waver in his voice was telling enough that Matt still wouldn’t need his enhanced hearing to pick out the lie.
“Yeah, nice try.”
“Fine. Nineteen.”
“Try again.”
“What the hell,” the boy whispered under his breath. Matt just smiled at him. “I’m a really good lawyer.” He noticed the boy’s muscles tense slightly when he said that. Odd. “Now, the truth?”
“Seventeen.” The boy mumbled fidgeting with his hands.
Shit. What was a seventeen year old doing living alone and walking around severely injured?
“Okay, come in.” he sighed, opening his door. Thankfully it was a weekend so he wasn’t going to be late for work, he would just have to go grocery shopping another time.
“What?” the boy sputtered, heart rate picking up even more in confusion and surprise.
“You are injured, even if you don’t want to admit it, and I’m not leaving you walking around on that. You definitely shouldn’t be walking around on that. So, let me help you.”
The boy seemed reluctant, but eventually let out a sigh and limped his way into Matt's apartment.
He led the boy to his couch, pulling out a medical kit.
“I can-”
“I can do it.” Matt cut him off, not trusting a teenager’s medical skills, especially when said teenager thought it would be alright to go walking around freshly shot.
He heard the hesitation in the boy’s breathing and heart rate and the way his muscles stiffened. “I have medical training. Mine is just more touch dependent. I promise, I know what I’m doing.” he reassured him.
“Ok. Thanks, Mr. Murdock.”
“Matt.” he corrected. “And you are… ?”
“Oh, I’m Peter.”
“Alright Peter. Roll your pants up to the injury, I’ll take a look.”
“Take a look?” Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.
Matt sighed, but couldn’t fight the small smile that made its way across his face. “Just an expression.”
“Right, sorry.”
The boy — Peter — rolled his pant leg up to his thigh, where the bullet wound was. Matt gently felt the wound, careful not to hurt the boy more, before grabbing a bottle of heavy pain meds that Claire had managed to get him and offering some to the boy as he told him what they were. He heard Peter hesitate, but ultimately take them without a word. His muscles didn’t relax at all though, almost as if they hadn’t worked. But surely that wasn’t the case, the boy was probably just stressed out.
Matt rummaged around until he found the tweezers, apologizing and telling Peter not to look. The boy dutifully obeyed, but still tensed and took in sharp breaths with each move from the tweezers, again, as if the pain meds weren’t working. Matt just tried to work quickly, fishing the bullet out and stitching the wound up before wrapping it firmly in bandages.
“There you go, all fixed up. Now rest.” he insisted.
Peter, however, took Matt packing up the med kit as a sign to stand up on his freshly shot leg what the hell is wrong with this kid?
Matt immediately pushed the kid back down onto the couch with a firm but gentle hand. “What did I just say? Rest. That means no more walking around on a bullet wound, okay? You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“I’m fine, really, Mr. Murdock-”
“Matt,” he cut off. “And no, you aren’t. You just had a bullet in your leg. You are staying here on this couch and resting-”
This time Matt was cut off by a loud rumbling coming from Peter’s stomach. Matt immediately moved to the kitchen. “And eating. What kind of food do you like?”
“What? No! I can’t ask that of you, that’s-”
“You’re not asking, and I’m not offering. I’m insisting. So, what food do you like?”
“I really can’t-”
“You really can. Now, food?”
Peter hesitated another long moment before resigning, flopping back against the couch with a sigh. “Anything is fine, really. You’ve already done too much for me.”
God this kid really wasn’t letting him get anywhere. He decided if the kid wouldn’t tell him, his heart would. He started listing off types of food, listening until he landed on pizza as the food the boy was most craving right now, if his heart rate spiking in excitement at the mention was anything to go off of.
He ordered a half pineapple half pepperoni pizza — using his heart rate to determine the pineapple topping — and soon they were digging into a box of heavy, greasy pizza that finally brought a genuine smile to the boy’s face.
It sounded like he wasn’t getting nearly enough to eat, which wasn’t terribly surprising considering he was 17 and living alone — which, Matt would definitely have to address that problem at some point — but it was deeply concerning nonetheless.
After they finished their meal, along with some ice cream Matt managed to convince Peter to indulge in, Peter stood from the couch, making his way to the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Murdock. Really. But I really gotta go.”
“No, you need to rest.” Matt insisted, trying to herd the boy back to the couch.
“I’ll rest in my apartment, I promise. It’s just down the hall, I think I can manage that travel,” Peter pointed out lightly. He was lying, of course, but Matt wasn’t sure how to get the kid to stay and rest in any way short of kidnapping. He didn’t want the boy to go back to his empty apartment, but there was no way for him to bring up that concern without admitting to having enhanced senses and/or seeming like a stalker.
“Alright,” he sighed. “Just… Here, I’ll give you my number. Call if you need help with anything, okay?” Matt paused when the boy hesitated slightly, an air of discomfort around him.
“You do have a phone, right?” he prodded gently.
“Um, no. Sorry, Mr. Murdock. I don’t. But it’s okay-”
“Okay, one sec.” Matt cut him off, going to rifle through one of his drawers until his hand closed around an extra burner phone he had in case his broke. He dictated his number into it, before striding back to Peter and shoving the phone in his hands.
“There. Now you have a phone and my number. Call or text if you need anything at all, got it?”
“What?” Peter spluttered, trying to push the phone back in Matt’s hands. “I can’t possibly take your phone! You’ve already done too much for me, this is ridiculous I can’t-”
“It’s an extra, it wasn’t expensive, I have multiple extras, and you can. I insist. You will not win this argument, you’re taking the phone.” Matt responded firmly before gently guiding the boy back to his apartment, using his arm to subtly support the boy’s — concerningly light — weight.
When they reached the door, Peter turned back to him, the smell of saltwater in the air telling Matt he had tears in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Murdock. I… I really appreciate it. Thank you.” He croaked, voice cracking with gratitude and an underlying grief.
Matt just nodded, offering him a small smile. As he turned away, back to his apartment, he called over his shoulder “You better rest that leg, kid. And call me. I’m serious. I’ll pick up.”
He heard the boy nod, not realizing Matt supposedly wouldn’t be able to see it. He smiled to himself, satisfied as he dropped onto his couch.
That satisfaction plummeted later that night with a loud, exasperated groan when he heard the boy’s window open, followed by Peter jumping out and racing down the fire escape.
God, this kid was gonna be the death of him.