Chapter 7
The faint sounds of the city filtered into Matt Murdock’s apartment. The hum of traffic, the distant wail of a siren—familiar noises that didn’t reach Peter’s mind right away. For a moment, the boy simply lay there, his body still and sore, and his mind still trying to piece together the events of the night before. He had ended up here, with Daredevil—no, Matt—Matt Murdock, of all people.
Peter's eyes flickered open, adjusting to the dim light of the room. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, and the quiet was almost comforting in contrast to the chaos he’d been enduring. His suit felt heavy and sticky against his skin, but it was the least of his worries. The more immediate issue was the strange bed he was lying in. It wasn’t his.
He pushed himself up slowly, wincing as his body protested. Every muscle felt sore, as though he’d been run over by a truck. His head still throbbed, and his ribs ached every time he inhaled too deeply. Still, he couldn’t stay in bed all day.
Peter swung his legs over the side of the couch, then froze as his senses picked up something else—a presence in the room. The faint creak of wood, the sound of movement from the kitchen.
“Good, you’re awake,” a voice called, calm and controlled, though Peter could hear the underlying concern in the tone.
Peter turned his head toward the source of the voice. “Uh, yeah,” he said, a little unsure of how to respond. The room was still blurry from sleep, and his mind was still half in a haze. He could make out the rough outline of a man standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen.
“You feeling okay?” the voice asked again.
Peter blinked and rubbed his eyes. He sat there for a moment, processing. He should’ve known. The way Matt’s voice was just a little too precise, the way it seemed to aim directly at him even though Peter hadn’t made a sound.
Peter was no expert on senses, but after a second of focus, it hit him.
“You’re... blind,” Peter said, a little stunned. He’d known Matt wasn’t like the other adults he’d met in his life, but this—this was different.
Matt chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not blind *on purpose*,” he said dryly, walking into the living room with careful steps. “Can’t really do much about it, though. You get used to it.”
Peter’s eyes widened as Matt crossed the room effortlessly, moving with the kind of precision that hinted at years of practice. He’d seen Daredevil fight, sure, but seeing the man navigate the world as if it were nothing to him left Peter in awe. He had never thought much about how people like Matt lived—how they adapted.
“Wait, are you *Daredevil*?” Peter asked, his voice rising with a mix of shock and curiosity.
Matt nodded slowly, a slight smirk crossing his face. “Yeah, that’s me.”
Peter blinked, suddenly feeling more out of place than ever. “No way. I—I didn’t even know you were—”
“Blind?” Matt finished, cutting him off with a friendly tone. “I get that a lot.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I should be honored or freaked out right now. Daredevil—*the* Daredevil is in the same room as me, and you’re just... chilling.”
Matt chuckled again, this time the sound warmer. “I’m not much for the whole ‘superhero’ thing. I’m just trying to help out where I can, you know?”
Peter nodded slowly, his mind racing. So much information was coming at him at once, and he wasn’t sure how to process any of it. His exhaustion was starting to catch up with him, and the bed—no, couch—was starting to feel too inviting. But he couldn’t just lay down and rest. Not now. Not with everything going on.
Matt, noticing Peter’s hesitance, took a step closer, now standing just a few feet away.
“Peter,” Matt said, his voice softening, “you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to throw you out or anything.”
Peter flinched slightly at the mention of his name. No one called him by his first name unless they *really* knew him, and even then, it felt strange. Most people called him Spider-Man, even if that was only a name he had given himself to hide from his past. To hide from everything.
Peter shifted, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I, uh... I’m not used to this. People, you know, actually caring about what happens to me.”
Matt’s lips pressed into a thin line. He could hear the undercurrent of bitterness in Peter’s voice. The boy was young—*way* too young for this. And yet, Matt could tell Peter had been through more than most adults.
“I get it,” Matt said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “I know what it feels like to not have anyone who understands.”
Peter looked up at him, his eyes searching Matt’s face. There was a vulnerability in the way Matt spoke, something real, something Peter could relate to.
“I never wanted this,” Peter mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want any of this. I just... it just happened, and now I have to keep going. I have to keep fighting, even though I don’t know if I can anymore.”
Matt sat down next to Peter, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “You don’t have to do this alone, Peter. You’re not as alone as you think.”
Peter looked at Matt, the words sinking in slowly. He couldn’t explain why, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of relief.
“So... your name’s Matt?” Peter asked, trying to change the subject but also needing to hear it, as if hearing the man’s name somehow made this whole thing feel more real.
Matt smiled softly. “Yeah. Matt Murdock. And you’re Peter, right?”
Peter nodded, his heart skipping a beat. For the first time, his name felt like it meant something—like it wasn’t just a disguise or a reminder of the pain he’d been running from.
“Yeah. Peter Parker.”
Matt’s smile grew a little wider, though it was faint. “Nice to meet you, Peter.”
Peter couldn’t help but feel something shift in the air. This wasn’t just about two people having a conversation anymore. Matt—Daredevil—had just *named* him. And somehow, in that moment, Peter felt like he wasn’t just a kid with powers anymore. He was Peter Parker. A real person.
---
They spent the next few hours talking, though Matt was careful not to push Peter too much. He’d let the boy talk when he was ready, and in time, Peter did. He told Matt about his parents—how they’d died when he was a baby and how, even though he didn’t remember them, their absence had shaped everything. He told him about his aunt and uncle, the constant verbal abuse from Aunt May, and how Uncle Ben had tried his best, but in the end, he’d been just another casualty in Peter’s tragic life.
And then, when it all came pouring out, Peter told Matt about what had happened to him. How he had become Spider-Man—how, in some twisted way, the death of Uncle Ben had been the catalyst for his powers.
“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Matt,” Peter admitted, his voice cracking. “I just... I just wanted to help. I didn’t ask for this. But I need to do it. I need to keep fighting, because if I don’t... then what’s the point?”
Matt listened intently, his hand resting lightly on Peter’s shoulder. He didn’t need to say much—he knew the boy’s pain was deep and running far too wide to heal in one night. But he could help, if only by listening.
“You don’t have to fight alone,” Matt said again, his voice quiet but steady. “You have people who care. People who want to help.”
Peter looked at Matt, his eyes filled with a mix of skepticism and hope. “But what if I screw it all up? What if I hurt someone?”
Matt squeezed Peter’s shoulder gently, offering him a reassuring smile. “You’ll screw up. You’re human. But you’ll learn. And when you’re ready, you’ll have people who can help pick you up when you fall.”
Peter took a shaky breath, and for the first time in ages, he felt something close to comfort. He wasn’t alone in this fight—not anymore.
---
Later that night, when the city outside had quieted down, Peter sat by the window, gazing out at the skyline. Matt sat nearby, his mind racing with the weight of what had just been shared.
“You know,” Matt said, breaking the silence, “there’s a lot of good in you. You just have to keep going.”
Peter nodded, his eyes still distant. “I will,” he said softly. “I have to.”
Matt leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady on the boy. He couldn’t help but feel a strange pull of protectiveness, something deep
inside that wanted to shelter Peter from the world that had already taken so much from him.
Peter wasn’t just a kid with powers—he was someone who mattered. Someone who needed guidance, even if he didn’t know it yet. And Matt was more than ready to provide it.