headache
Black Cat kept her promise and brought in a professional plumber who fixed the pipes in seconds. It didn’t really matter—Peter could’ve fixed them himself if he wanted to.
At ten in the evening, which was unusual, his clinic was completely quiet No homeless people no small-time criminals needing treatment after a nasty brawl, no one. Either these criminals had decided to change their lives, or tonight was simply free of injuries. He hoped it was the first reason.
Sitting behind his desk, he was busy organizing some papers and writing a request for new medical supplies. His stock was running a bit low, and if his patient numbers increased, he’d need more tools. Holding his pen, he twirled it between his fingers before tapping it against his chin in thought.
"Should I hire nurses?"
He hated hiring people. The problem wasn’t money, but finding someone quiet, who wouldn’t gossip, wouldn’t panic when treating known criminals, and actually knew how to do their job as a nurse.
Yeah… no one like that existed.
He didn’t need staff now, but he was thinking ahead. If the clinic got too crowded, he’d have to search for someone eventually.
Folding the papers, he got up to get himself some dinner, but before he could take a step, his senses picked up the sound of rapid footsteps, fast heartbeats, impacts, and exchanged blows.
He stopped in place and exhaled in irritation.
"God… who the hell is fighting in front of my clinic now?"
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he headed outside to see what was happening.
The moment he stepped out, his gaze landed on Punisher and Daredevil They were fighting like madmen, their bodies exhausted, clothes torn and stained with blood. Both of them were barely standing, yet they didn’t stop exchanging punches and kicks.
Peter stared at them dryly.
"What the hell are these two doing here?" he muttered coldly before turning back toward his office, as if the scene didn’t concern him.
But as soon as he stepped inside, he opened a drawer, pulled out his old shotgun, and loaded it with a smooth motion before heading back out.
At that moment, Punisher was raising his gun, aiming it straight at Daredevil’s head.
Yeah, the last thing Peter wanted was for the police to show up and question him.
But before the trigger could be pulled, Peter’s sharp voice rang behind them.
"Get out of my territory Both of you Fight somewhere else—this isn’t a battlefield."
Punisher stopped, turning slightly to see the shotgun barrel aimed steadily at him. Peter wasn’t joking—his eyes were calm and unwavering.
Daredevil, breathing heavily, looked at him, while Punisher narrowed his eyes in hesitation for a moment. Tense silence filled the space between the three of them.
Punisher wasn’t the type to back down easily from threats, but he wasn’t stupid either. He glanced at Peter, then at the loaded shotgun, before sighing slowly and tilting his head slightly.
"Are you serious? You’re pointing your gun at me instead of this idiot?" he said, jerking his head toward Daredevil, who was barely standing.
Peter didn’t even blink.
"I don’t care who started this mess. I don’t want corpses in front of my clinic, and I don’t want stray bullets ruining my work. Last warning—leave. Now."
Punisher and Daredevil exchanged sharp looks. No doubt they both wanted to continue fighting, but Peter wasn’t in the mood for it.
"Screw this," Punisher grumbled, lowering his weapon. But he didn’t walk away without throwing one last remark toward Daredevil.
"I’ll finish this later."
Then, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
Daredevil stood for a moment, trying to regain his balance He lifted his head toward Peter and spoke in a tired voice.
"I didn’t need you to step in—"
"Oh, shut up," Peter interrupted, jerking his thumb toward the clinic door "Get inside before you collapse on the street and I have to carry you myself."
Daredevil didn’t argue. He staggered inside, while Peter secured his shotgun and closed the door behind them.
"Another night, another problem…" Peter muttered, adjusting his glasses before heading to the medical cabinet.
Peter sighed in frustration as he watched Daredevil stumble inside. This wasn’t part of his plan—he was supposed to be getting dinner for himself, but that plan was now completely ruined.
He went to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a chocolate bar. Tearing the wrapper with his teeth, he popped a piece into his mouth carelessly.
"At least something to keep me from starving," he muttered sarcastically as he prepped his medical tools.
"Sit." His tone was sharp as he pointed at the medical bed, but Daredevil didn’t move.
"I can handle it myself, there’s no need—"
"I said sit."
Daredevil stared at him for a moment before exhaling, then finally sat down, his body tense with pain.
Peter didn’t waste time. He grabbed disinfectant and cotton, starting to clean the wounds, ignoring any complaints or groans Daredevil made.
"What a warm welcome I get every time you show up at your door Tell me, is this how you greet guests?" Peter said, pressing down on a wound in Daredevil’s shoulder a little harder than necessary.
"This wasn’t a visit," Daredevil gritted out before adding dryly "Things just… got out of hand, and we ended up fighting here."
"Yeah, right next to my clinic. What a coincidence," Peter replied coldly, applying the last bandage. After a few minutes, he finished treating him, tossing the gloves into the trash before leaning against the table, watching Daredevil, who now looked slightly less exhausted.
"Don’t die out there I don’t want another corpse at my door."
Daredevil smiled faintly as he slowly stood up "I’ll try."
He stopped at the door for a moment, then turned to Peter hesitantly.
"So…?"
Peter raised an eyebrow blankly.
"What?"
"Aren’t you… going to ask for compensation?" Daredevil asked, as if expecting some ridiculous demand in exchange for treatment.
Peter gave him a dry look before sighing "No, but do me a favor… don’t fight your arch-nemesis in front of my clinic again, Daredevil."
Daredevil smirked slightly despite the pain, then nodded.
"Got it…"
Peter watched as he disappeared down the street, then bit into another piece of chocolate, reflecting on his chaotic night.
"At least I didn’t lose my dinner entirely…" he muttered before heading to finally get his long-overdue meal.
After a chaotic night, Peter finally managed to have his dinner and then fell into a deep sleep When he woke up, he was lying on one of the patient beds in the clinic, still dressed in his white coat, his eyes half-lidded with drowsiness
He yawned lazily, then reached for his phone to check the time "Oh... it's four in the morning."
Rubbing his eyes, he got up sluggishly and made his way to the sink, splashing cold water on his face in hopes of shaking off the remnants of sleep. Once done, he switched on the clinic lights and grabbed some cleaning supplies.
He wasn’t obsessed with cleanliness, but the events of last night between Daredevil and Punisher had left some mess—muddy footprints on the floor, dried blood droplets here and there, and even some medical tools that had been knocked out of place during his intervention.
Peter didn’t even need to use his enhanced abilities his old rifle tucked in the bottom drawer had been enough to make Punisher back off.
"Seriously, I wish those two idiots would just settle their differences instead of wrecking each other every night." He muttered as he wiped the floor.
Peter wasn’t oblivious to what was happening in the city. The news constantly covered the ongoing feud between Punisher and Daredevil. It was as if Punisher was a thorn in the vigilante’s side, and their conflict seemed never-ending.
Once the clinic was clean again, he ran a hand through his hair in mild frustration and muttered, "Alright, time to restock on medical supplies."
Peter headed to one of the major medical supply stores in the city, where he usually bought essential items. As he entered, a familiar employee greeted him.
"Morning, Dr. Peter You’re here early today."
"As you can see, some supplies ran low thanks to the usual mess." He replied flatly, grabbing a basket and starting to gather what he needed.
Various antiseptics
Gauze and bandages of all types
Needles and surgical sutures
Antibiotics and painkillers
Sterile gloves
After picking out the essentials, he moved to the advanced equipment section, eyeing some devices he had been considering for a while, like a portable ECG monitor and a more sophisticated surgical kit
As he contemplated the prices, the employee remarked, "Looks like you're planning to upgrade. Expanding the clinic?"
"Not exactly, but let’s just say my patients… require more care than usual." He said dryly, recalling every time he had to stitch up a deep wound from a brutal fight.
A few minutes later, he finished his shopping, paid, and carried the heavy bags back to his clinic.
As Peter walked back, he couldn't ignore a certain thought—he had made quite a lot of money in recent months.
Not because he raised his prices, nor because he expanded his work, but simply because criminals and villains had become his primary clients.
At first, it was strange. He expected to treat the homeless and innocent victims, but reality was different—the ones coming to him the most were criminals, gang members, hired assassins, and even a few supervillains.
And the funniest part?
They paid well.
These people couldn’t go to hospitals without risking arrest, so when they found a doctor willing to treat them without questions, they didn’t hesitate to pay handsomely. Even though Peter often asked for different kinds of compensation instead of money.
When he finally reached his clinic, he placed the bags on the table, sat in his chair, and sighed.
"Who would’ve thought treating criminals would be more profitable than any other job?"
Of course, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, but he wasn’t stupid either. Money was necessary, and the medical equipment he needed wasn’t cheap.
He glanced around the now-clean clinic, then at the new tools he had just bought, muttering to himself as he bit into the last piece of chocolate he had left, "At least this lucrative business is still saving lives… even if they’re the wrong ones."
After organizing the new supplies, Peter sat behind his desk, leaning his head back in his chair, lost in thought The past few days had been exhausting, but one question lingered in his mind—would this eventually drag him into even bigger problems?
"Hmm, let’s not think too much about it." He shrugged and started working through the growing stack of paperwork.