you're gonna go far

MJ

Ned wants to meet you.

Or, re-meet you, I guess.

Peter Parker

when??

MJ

Whenever. I'm at work now but Ned’s here too, if that works.

Peter Parker

omw

In true Parker fashion, Peter tripped over a small ridge at the base of the front door of the cafe, falling forward and catching himself with one hand. Recovering quickly, he used the hand to push himself up and gave MJ a lopsided grin. She seemed to be holding back a smile. 

Although there had been an attempt to conceal it, Ned’s whisper to MJ rang in his ears loud and clear. “This is the guy you were supposedly in love with?”

He heard the muttered, “Shut up, Ned," and his face burned in embarrassment.

“Peter,” MJ greeted, tilting her head and glancing over him. He swallowed and walked toward the counter, hoping she couldn’t see the limp he was hiding. He had tweaked his ankle pretty hard during the arms bust, but it shouldn’t be too noticeable. 

That’d make a great first impression for Ned – or a second first impression? Stumbling through the door and limping across the cafe to convince them they were secretly best friends who had forgotten him. Nice. Great move, Parker.

“MJ,” he breathed, before turning to his other friend with a small smile. “Ned.”

“Hi, Peter,” Ned began, a stubborn look on his face. “Look, no offense, man… but I think you’re full of shit.”

“Ned,” MJ hissed, but Peter just let out an amused snort.

“Like, it’d be cool if you’re being honest,” Ned continued. “I secretly have a super awesome friend who got us messed up in some wizard’s scheme? That’s insanely cool.” He narrowed his eyes at Peter. “Or at least it would be if you weren’t a creepy stalking liar.”

Touché, Ned. That description of him wasn’t half wrong. 

“Do you still have your Lego Death Star set?” Peter asked, biting his lip with pure satisfaction as he watched Ned’s face. “On your wooden dresser? We tried to hang it up once, for the realism, but it fell. The only reason it survived was because I caught it.” Ned blinked. “And the Millennium Falcon, too. You saved up for that for years. Oh, and the TIE Fighters. That set of three? It came with a limited edition Vader fig.” 

Ned paused. “What the hell,” he breathed, glancing up at MJ and then back to Peter. “What the hell? How do you know about those? And what do you mean we? ”

Peter just gave him a sad smile. “We built the Death Star together in tenth grade, Ned.”

“It’s three thousand, eight hundred and three pieces,” Ned said, his eyes now wide and shiny.  

It took less than five seconds for them both to burst into tears. 

“Dude,” he said, wiping at his eyes and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. “You have no idea how nice it is to see you again.”

“This is so weird,” Ned sobbed, scrubbing at his face. Peter gave a watery grin. Ned had always been a sympathetic crier. Ned was a sympathetic lot of things; like sneezing and laughing and throwing up. “I feel like I know you but I don’t and it’s so confusing and-” he hiccupped, “and I hate it.”

“Don’t cry,” Peter said. “If you cry I won’t be able to stop.”

“I can’t help it!” Ned shot back. “It’s just a thing. If you cry I cry. And then it’s an endless cycle.” 

MJ watched on with thinly veiled amusement, although Peter could tell it was pulling at something in her, too. She wasn’t a huge crier, but her lip quirked up and the corner of her eyes scrunched and it was so familiar it made him want to burst into tears all over again. “My Lola says there's magic in the family,” explained Ned after a few moments of pulling himself back together, sniffling and running his shirt sleeve under his nose. “We channel our surroundings, or something.”

“Or something,” MJ mocked, rolling her eyes. “That’s just called having empathy, Ned.”

“No, no, he’s right,” Peter answered distractedly, only half-conscious of what he was saying, too focused on the fact that he was here with his friends and they were talking to him. “He has magic.”

Ned let out a strangled noise. “What?”

“I’m going to kill that fucking wizard,” MJ muttered, low enough that the few idle customers lingering at the tables by the back wouldn’t hear. The rest of the cafe was relatively quiet, and for a moment Peter thought about how absurd all of this was. Three teenagers crying in the back of an overpriced cafe over memories deleted by a wizard.

“Okay,” she said, angrily scrubbing at her face. “Okay, how do we fix this? I’d like my memories, back, please.”

Peter winced, opening his mouth to speak. He didn’t get the chance.

“Don’t tell me we have to go back to the fucking magic man,” she sighed, turning away to wipe down the counter. Peter knew it was only so she could avoid the need to make eye contact and give herself a second to breathe. “What the hell is my life now?” she muttered to herself. “Is this what it was like before? Was I doing crazy shit I don’t even remember?”

Peter thought of swinging her across the city the day his identity had been leaked. He thought of her falling from the Statue of Liberty, or of the time he’d crashed into her room, half-bleeding out and asking her to stitch him up with string from a friendship bracelet. 

“...Yes,” he admitted, and she whipped around to stare at him.

“That’s so cool!” Ned interrupted, face lighting up and looking a lot more like the Ned he knew than when he’d first walked in. He looked like he wanted to ask what said crazy shit was, but Peter didn’t know what he’d tell him.

How much could he say without giving his identity away?

Peter sobered a little. With only giving them half of his identity, he’d really only gotten half of his friends back.

“I want to meet the wizard,” Ned whispered conspiratorially so the other customers didn’t hear. Peter didn’t think they cared enough to listen to them blubbering, by now.

“You can,” Peter said. Because they should be able to, right? And he does want them to get their memories back - that will probably come with their memories of him being Spider-Man, but ideally, they’ll all come at once so he won’t have to explain it all.

It’ll just happen, and everything will work out, and it’ll all be normal again.

—

By the time he made his way back home, Peter felt more hopeful than he had in a year. 

That emotion was quickly dissolved at the sight of a letter posted on his door.

He frowned, a bad feeling already festering in his chest. He’d only ever gotten letters for something bad. His landlord would never stop by to go, ‘Hey, Peter. How’s your day? Great! I’m going to lower your rent because you’ve been so careful to avoid staining the hardwood floors and breaking the faucets. Good job. You’re officially my favorite tenant. Don’t even worry about being three weeks behind on rent.’

He pulled the envelope off of the door and tore it open as he shouldered his way inside the apartment. Karen brushed up against his legs in greeting, and he half-heartedly leaned down to rub her ears as he took in the writing in front of him.

Dear Mr. Parker,

This letter serves as an official notice of eviction. Your lease agreement is being terminated due to non-payment of rent. Please ensure that all personal belongings are removed, the property is returned in good condition, and any outstanding balances are paid in full before the move-out date. Failure to comply may result in legal action.

You are required to vacate the premises no later than the beginning of next month.

He crumpled the letter in his hand, head tilting back to knock against the wooden door behind him.

Shit. 

Photography was nice. Bartending hadn’t been the worst, either. They helped him pay some of the bills – but it just wasn’t enough. He could hardly go to Deadpool and tell him that, though. 

Peter sighed, making his way over to the kitchen to crack open a can of tuna for himself and Karen, who mewed appreciatively at his feet. Deadpool would probably just offer to pay his debts for him, with merc money . Or, worse, he’d buy a place for Peter. God knows he was rich and stupidly generous enough.

But he couldn’t accept that. He wasn’t going to take the man’s money, and he wasn’t going to rely on anyone else - especially not financially. The only person he would gladly take money from was Tony, and he was long dead. 

Besides, he’d done this before; he’d started off with literally nothing and managed to build his way back up. This time he at least had identity documents - albeit forged - and some money to his name.

He’d be fine. 

—

The warehouse Peter and Wade had been directed to was in fact a hit. Absolutely crawling with the most ‘deadbeat dad motherfuckers’ he’d ever seen (Wade’s words, not his.) And if you subtracted the heaping amount of guns they were being subjected to, it was shaping up to be an ‘easy-peasy night’ (Peter’s words.)

He was mid-swing, ducking under another round of gunfire when something sharp zipped through the air and embedded itself in the man’s neck before he crumpled to the floor.

“Pool!” Peter roared, turning to glare at Wade.

“What? It wasn’t me this time!” Deadpool said, holding his hands up defensively as he casually kicked a man through a wall. “I only wish I’d thought of something that cool. Maybe I should invest in a baby knife.”

Before Peter could respond, a figure dropped down from the rafters, landing in a superhero pose. The man rounded on Wade, his lips twisting down into fury as he pointed his baton at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Daredevil demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “I told you to stay out of Hell’s Kitchen.”

Peter practically jumped out of his suit with excitement. He said the thing!

He’d never gotten to meet Daredevil in real life before. It was hard enough getting any actual info on the guy, too – for someone who ran around in red kevlar, the guy was pretty hard to catch. While he was a little too… brutal for Peter’s taste (similar to Deadpool in that way, he supposed) he couldn’t say that it didn’t work.

Despite being Spider-Man for years, now, he’d never really gotten to work with many other superheroes. He had worked with the Avengers a couple of times, and Dr. Strange once or twice, and now he was pretty used to Deadpool, but… 

Huh. Maybe he’d worked with more people than he thought.

Deadpool shrugged, feigning innocence. “Um. Not my fault this time, Horny Devil. I’m here on - wait for it–” Maintaining eye contact with Daredevil, he punched a man in the face. “– official business.”

“Official business? Mercenary work isn’t official business, ” the man snapped, his attention flicking to Peter. “Who’s this?”

“Spider-Man, Mr. Daredevil sir,” Peter gave a mock salute, “Huge fan by the way. And we were, um, tracking an arms deal?”

“Well, so was I.” Daredevil’s exposed jaw tightened, clearly unimpressed by their presence. “I’ve got it covered. You can leave now, Wade.”

“Oooh, the name drop?” Wade cooed and smacked a man with the butt of his katana, ignoring him when he fell to the ground, boneless. “Damn, do I need me a lawyer? I have the right to be here, last I checked.”

“This is my territory. You’re not welcome here.”

Peter bristled, and Wade let out a snort. “Territory? Yeesh, watch out, Spidey, the Alpha wolf’s about t-oof!” He grunted, the wind knocked out of him, as Daredevil threw his baton into his stomach.

“Hey! No PVP,” Peter snapped, and the man’s attention whipped to him. “Look, I dunno what your deal is with Deadpool, but we’re helping. We’re trying to track these weapons shipments, which'll be easier if we work together.” He squared his shoulders, sucking in a quick breath and tensing. “If this is your territory, you should be taking better care of it. It’s leaking into the rest of the city.”

Daredevil frowned, unflinching as he caught the pole Wade had pegged back at him. There was a tense moment of silence, before he gritted out, “Fine.” Peter let out a relieved huff. “But only if you listen. I don’t want this one fucking up again and putting his katanas through everything that moves.”

“Excuse me,” Deadpool interjected, stepping forward, “but last I checked, rooftops and crime-fighting weren’t exclusively reserved for Catholic guilt-trippers in devil costumes. Also, why are you always out at night? Is it the vibes?” He deepened his voice dramatically, mocking, “ I am vengeance. I am the night. You're doing a Batman thing, aren't you, Ma-?”

“Shut up,” Daredevil growled.

“Aw, c’mon, Dunkin’ Donuts. Admit it. You're doing a voice. Spidey doesn’t even need to know what you sound like when you’re not walking around in your BDSM gear to know this isn’t it,” Wade pressed, earning a snicker from Peter.

“Is he still going through puberty?” Daredevil questioned, gesturing to Peter. “That laugh can't possibly belong to someone of legal drinking age.”

“Hey!” Peter said indignantly, his voice cracking just enough for Deadpool to choke back a laugh. 

“You really are a human squeaky toy.”

Peter glared at him, clearing his throat and crossing his arms. “Grow up, Wade. Did we get everyone? Is there anyone we can question?” He scanned the warehouse, looking for any clues the thugs might have been left conscious. 

Wade, of course, wasn’t helping - he was leaning lazily against a crate, looking infuriatingly smug. “Nuh-uh, don’t worry about it, baby boy,” Deadpool said breezily. “All our info’s right here. He’s just being a massive bitch and refusing to share.”

“What?” Peter said exhaustedly. “What the fuck are you talking about, W-Deadpool.”

Before Wade could answer, Daredevil gritted his teeth, irritation radiating off him. “This is my responsibility,” he said sharply. “Go back to rescuing cats out of trees, Spider-Man. Wade – go back to watching tentacle hentai or whatever it is that you do.”

“Unoriginal,” Deadpool sighed. “Uncreative. And wildly inaccurate. You can do better than that, DD.”

Peter ignored him and turned back to Daredevil, his tone more earnest. “Look, just tell us what’s going on. You clearly know more about this than you’re letting on. We can help - you just need to let us.”

Daredevil frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sharing is caring,” Wade chimed in.

Daredevil frowned harder.

“Okay, seriously, we can’t help if you won’t tell us who we’re up against,” Peter pressed. “What’s the point of keeping us in the dark?”

“Fine,” Matt snapped, clearly done with the banter. “This syndicate is tied to Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin. He’s targeting enhanced individuals - like you two. Wants them to carry out his hits. These arms deals? They’re dangerous, but they’re also bait. He’s using them to track you.” 

Peter's stomach dropped to his shoes. “Track us?”

“Yes,” Daredevil said firmly. “Every deal is a setup. He’s watching you, studying you. The second you slip, he’ll make his move. That’s why I’m telling you to stay out of Hell’s Kitchen. Don’t give him the advantage.”

Deadpool raised a hand. “Question, Professor Devil. If he’s watching us, should we, like, smile for the cameras? Maybe blow a kiss? Just so he knows who’s coming for him.”

“Or we could just break the cameras,” Peter suggested dryly.

“Eh,” Wade shrugged. “Both sound fun.”

Daredevil made a noise like just being in Wade’s presence pained him, before he continued on. “Fisk plays dirty,” he said firmly, before turning to stare in Peter’s direction. “He’s had his men come after me and Wade for years . If you don’t do what he wants, he’ll make your life hell - bomb your neighborhood, target your family, whatever he can to get to you. Don’t give him the chance. Don’t let him get anything that can tie you back to your civilian identity. Break any cameras you see and stay out of Hell’s Kitchen. He wants you here, out of your natural habitat, so it’s easier to take you down.”

“So we’re just going to let him hunt us down?” Peter asked, crossing his arms tightly. “If we go with your plan, eventually he’ll move to my neighborhood. He’s not going to wait forever.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Daredevil replied, his tone firm but his expression twisting slightly, as though saying it out loud left a bad taste in his mouth. He glanced briefly at Wade, clearly grimacing at the thought of working with him. “Just don’t go looking for him alone.”

Peter scoffed. “Why would I go looking for someone who wants to kill me?”

Deadpool froze, his head turning toward Peter with a slow and dramatic flair. The slits on his mask narrowed into judgmental little slashes. “If you just quoted Harry Potter, I swear to God, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Not if Kingpin kills me first!” Peter shot back with a grin. “Anyway, I should – um, guys, I gotta go. I need to… feed Karen.”

There was a beat of silence. Daredevil frowned deeply, his brows pulling together behind the mask. “Karen?”

Shit. Shit. He’d just sat through a lecture on keeping his identity separate from his vigilante one, and here he was name-dropping his – well, his cat. But it was still too close of a personal connection for Peter’s taste. He just needed to lie and come up with something, come up with something. He forced a smile under the mask, hoping it looked convincing. “Um. Uh. She’s my… girlfriend?”

Deadpool made the loudest snort Peter had ever heard. “Your girlfriend ?” he wheezed, shaking his head. “Oh, buddy. You should’ve told me you had a date tonight. We could’ve rescheduled.”

Peter felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, even under the mask. “I hate you,” he muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh no, don’t stop now,” Wade teased. “Tell us more about Karen. What’s she like? Is she tall? Short? Imaginary? Does she live in Canada where we can’t meet her?”

Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands as Daredevil exhaled a long, suffering sigh. “You two are insufferable.”

Peter’s face flushed an even brighter red, and he stood. “Okay, cool, gottago bye-” he called, shooting a web and springing out of a hole in the rafters.

Fuck. That was awful.

—

It took Peter a little longer to get home than usual. Partly because he hadn’t spent much time in Hell’s Kitchen before, and partly because he was too tired – and lazy – to actually search for directions. It wasn’t like New York was that hard to navigate; it was a relatively straight shot back to his place, easy peasy. He just kept getting distracted.

First, there’d been a failed mugging. Emphasis on failed – the guy hadn’t even made it halfway through his ‘hand over the purse’ spiel before Peter had webbed him to the nearest lamppost. Then, a woman dropped her car keys through a grate, and Peter managed to pull the grate open, reached down, and retrieved them. 

​​He was halfway to convincing himself to stay focused when something caught his eye: a freshly printed flyer stapled haphazardly to a street pole. Bright yellow paper. Bold, blocky font, though Peter couldn’t make it out halfway across the street.

He dropped down and squinted, before giving up and just making his way closer. There was the logo splashed across the top - Nelson, Murdock & Page. The name pinged something in the back of his mind, like a faint echo he couldn’t quite place. Weird.

Peter skimmed the details. Simple stuff: general tech support – something about braille printers, which he figured couldn’t be too hard to deal with – rewiring printers, running errands, probably fetching coffee. Peter huffed out a breath and let his gaze linger on the words. He could dewire and rewire a printer in under ten minutes. Hell, he could probably build one if they gave him the right scraps. This was basically begging him to apply.

And God knew he needed the money.

He pulled the flyer from the pole, careful not to tear it, and memorized the number before shoving it into the pocket of his suit. Maybe this late-night detour had been worth it.