Chapter 5
The kid was trembling. Daredevil could feel it through the slight weight pressed against his shoulder as he helped Spider-Man to his feet. Matt Murdock wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he first sensed the kid staggering across the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, but this wasn’t it.
The rhythm of Spider-Man’s heartbeat was erratic, not just from the physical strain of his injuries but from something deeper: fear, exhaustion, maybe both. Matt wasn’t one to pry into someone’s life unless absolutely necessary, but this boy—*this child*—was wearing a mask that couldn’t hide everything.
They stopped in a small, abandoned warehouse Matt knew was safe. He guided the kid to an old wooden crate and motioned for him to sit.
“Stay still,” Matt said, his voice steady and calm as he reached into the small pouch on his belt. He pulled out a first-aid kit, his fingers gliding over the contents to find antiseptic wipes and bandages.
Spider-Man didn’t say much, though his breathing was shallow. He flinched when Matt pressed the antiseptic to a gash on his arm.
“Sorry,” Matt muttered. “But you need to stop moving, or this’ll get worse.”
“You’re...surprisingly good at this,” the kid said weakly, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Practice,” Matt replied simply, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “You don’t get through this line of work without learning a thing or two about patching people up. Or yourself.”
The kid chuckled softly, though it quickly turned into a wince. “Guess I’m learning the hard way.”
Matt didn’t respond immediately. His heightened senses told him more about this kid than the boy likely realized. The strain in his muscles, the tension in his jaw—it all screamed of someone carrying a weight far too heavy for his years.
“Why are you doing this?” Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Spider-Man stiffened. “Doing what?”
“This.” Matt gestured vaguely. “Swinging around in a mask, taking hits you clearly weren’t ready for. You’re what, fifteen? Sixteen?”
“Something like that,” the kid said evasively, but his heartbeat stuttered.
Matt frowned but didn’t push further. He finished wrapping the last bandage and leaned back. “You need to be careful, Spider-Man. You’re not invincible. If you keep this up without a plan, you’ll end up…” He trailed off, the memory of Elektra’s face flashing unbidden in his mind.
“I know,” Spider-Man said softly. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the effort it took to keep his emotions in check. “But I don’t have a choice.”
Matt sat back on his heels, his hands resting on his knees. “We all have choices, kid. Just make sure you’re making the right ones.”
With that, he stood, offering a hand to help the boy to his feet. Spider-Man hesitated before taking it.
“Thanks,” the kid said quietly.
“Get home safe,” Matt said, turning and disappearing into the shadows as Spider-Man swung off into the night.
---
Matt barely slept that night. The boy’s voice, his trembling form, the weight of his words—they clung to Matt’s thoughts like cobwebs.
This wasn’t just another vigilante who had wandered into Hell’s Kitchen. This was a child, barely holding himself together while trying to shoulder a burden no one his age should have to bear.
Matt lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the cacophony of the city filling his ears. He knew the look of someone haunted by guilt and responsibility; he saw it in his own reflection every morning. That is he saw as much as an enhanced blind man could see.
By the time morning came, Matt felt as though he hadn’t rested at all.
---
“Late night?” Foggy Nelson asked as Matt shuffled into the office, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
“You could say that,” Matt replied, sliding into his chair.
Foggy leaned against Matt’s desk, crossing his arms. “You look like hell, man. Did you even sleep?”
“Not much,” Matt admitted, his tone neutral.
Foggy narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were out doing...you know.”
Matt smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Foggy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible. You know that, right? One day, you’re gonna—”
“Foggy,” Matt interrupted gently, “I’m fine. Really.”
“Yeah, okay,” Foggy said, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it go. “Just…try not to push yourself too hard, okay? You’ve got a day job to survive, too.”
Matt nodded, though his thoughts were already elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the image of Spider-Man—the way his voice cracked, the way his body carried far more than just the physical injuries.
There was a lot Matt didn’t know about the boy, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to forget him anytime soon.