you're gonna go far

“Huh. I was expecting a tower.”

Simultaneously, Peter and MJ turned to look at Ned. “What?” 

“You know, a tower,” repeated Ned emphatically. “Where wizards live. All secretive and spooky, with, like, magical orbs or a raven perched dramatically at the top.”

They were standing in front of the New York Sanctum. It was the only place Peter could think of where they were sure to get the attention of Doctor Strange. Even if he wasn’t in the building when they arrived, he would quickly be alerted of their presence. After all… this wasn’t technically legal. Peter had done a lot worse than breaking and entering, though. 

MJ sighed. “Well, shockingly, they don’t have gothic towers in New York City. Pretty sure the Department of Buildings would have a meltdown.” 

Ned shrugged, unfazed. “Still. A little flair wouldn’t hurt.”

Peter sighed, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Look, can we focus? We’re not here to critique his taste in architecture.”

MJ rolled her shoulders, letting the purple zip-up sweatshirt she was wearing fall down her arms. “Why are we here, again? Couldn’t you just figure out your shit with the wizard, and come back to us once you’re ready to not be a coward?”

Peter swallowed, massaging the back of his neck. “I’m not being a coward, I just want you to be safe. If I tell you everything right now before you can understand it… you won’t be.”

MJ snorted, unimpressed. “Wow. Mysterious and vague. Super convincing.”

“I’m not-” Peter huffed, hands fisting in his clothes. “If Strange can fix your memories, you should be here for it.”

He didn’t know much about side-effects of memory spells, or many spells at all. He wanted his friends to hear it and make their own choices instead of being dragged down into whatever mess Peter had caused.

Ned nodded, understanding as ever. “Okay. I trust you.” 

Peter managed a small, grateful smile. MJ just snorted, but there was no real bite to it. “Fine. Lead the way. But if this turns out to be a colossal waste of time, I’m holding it over your head forever.”

“Noted,” Peter muttered as he stepped up to the large double doors of the Sanctum. Taking a deep breath, he raised a hand and knocked firmly.

The door creaked open almost immediately, and his nerves sparked at the sight of the cavernous, dimly lit interior. Peter took a hesitant step inside, motioning for MJ and Ned to follow. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the doors slammed shut behind them with an echoing boom .

“Yeah, that’s not ominous,” MJ muttered, glancing around the room.

Before Peter could respond, Dr. Strange appeared. He stood tall at the head of the grand staircase, his cloak billowing dramatically despite the absence of wind in the room. 

“Nice of you to barge in uninvited,” said the man said, his tone clipped. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is he... trying to be dramatic?” MJ muttered to Ned, her voice just loud enough for Peter to catch. 

He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. Instead, he cleared his throat, stepping forward hesitantly. “Uh, hi. Sorry to drop in unannounced, but I need your help. It’s, uh, kind of urgent.”

“Is anyone dying?” Strange asked flatly, his piercing gaze narrowing as he descended a step.

“Uh, no,” Peter replied quickly, raising his hands defensively. “Not dying. But, um... it’s about a spell. A memory spell. You cast it, and I was hoping you could, y’know, undo it? But only some parts, actually, because—”

Strange’s brow furrowed as he took another deliberate step down. “A memory spell,” he repeated, his tone laced with suspicion.

Peter nodded, his heart racing. “Yeah. I need you to—”

“Stop,” Strange held up a hand, silencing him. “Do I know you?”

“Yes!” Peter blurted, then immediately winced. “Well, not anymore. I mean, you did, but you were using the Runes of Kof-Kol, and it kind of…”

Strange’s eyes sharpened dangerously at the mention of the spell. “The Runes of Kof-Kol,” he echoed. His voice dipped lower, colder, as he stepped off the staircase and onto the main floor. “Modifying the Runes during casting is incredibly dangerous and exceedingly difficult. How did you even know about that spell? Who are you?”

“My name’s Peter Parker,” Peter said, swallowing nervously. “And—”

“Alright, Peter Parker,” Strange interrupted again, crossing his arms. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Peter hesitated, glancing back at MJ and Ned. Both of them looked at him expectantly, MJ’s expression skeptical and Ned’s more than a little awed at the sight of the wizard. He turned back to Strange. “I just... I need your help fixing the spell. I want-”

Strange cut him off with a sharp gesture, his voice rising in frustration. “You’re walking into my Sanctum uninvited, asking me to tamper with one of the most dangerous spells in existence, and you expect me to just comply without question? Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed. This shouldn’t be this hard. He wasn’t expecting the man to be so… distrusting. 

“We’ve already had several attempts on the stone,” he said, and Peter’s heart dropped into his stomach. Before he could respond, Strange’s tone darkened further. “Who are you really working for? What do you actually want?”

“What? No one!” Peter said, panicking. “I’m not working for anyone! I just-”

“You’re lying,” Strange snapped. With a flick of his wrist, golden runes appeared around his hands, glowing ominously. “If you think you can manipulate me into—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter yelped, throwing up his hands. “This is a misunderstanding! I swear!”

Strange didn’t budge, and his hands stayed raised. “You’re either meddling in forces you don’t understand, or you’re here for reasons I’d rather not deal with right now. I can’t take that risk. Leave or be escorted out.”

“No, no, no - no!” Peter blurted, his voice climbing an octave in sheer panic. “I can’t leave! Please, just listen to me - Dr. Strange, wait, please! I need your help!”

Strange’s expression hardened. “You’re not leaving me much of a choice.” With a sharp flick of his wrist, he summoned a spiraling portal of glowing energy. From it emerged golden rings that expanded into a disc-like shield, and with another gesture, they sharpened into spikes of pure energy, hovering threateningly over the man’s head.

“Oh, come on!” Peter cried out, frustrated. He barely ducked in time as Strange lashed out, the energy shooting straight towards him. He very carefully resisted the urge to leap onto the ceiling - no need to give away that card just yet. Instead, he jerked sideways, landing lightly on the marble floor. “Seriously?! I’m trying to ask for help, not fight!”

Strange ignored him, sending another lashing strike his way. Peter darted left, narrowly avoiding a priceless vase perched on an ornate pedestal. Ned and MJ scattered, diving for cover behind what looked like an antique tapestry on the other side of the room. Out of the way. Safe .

“Really?!” Peter shouted, twisting in mid-air to dodge another attack. His spider-sense flared as a sharp zing of energy whizzed past his ear. “You’re attacking the guy asking for help! This isn’t— I’m not here for anything bad!”

Strange didn’t reply, instead summoning a spiraling vortex of runes above him. Golden bolts shot out like miniature meteors, forcing Peter to roll out of the way with a sharp, rising panic. One of the bolts clipped his shoulder, the impact spinning him off balance and sending him tumbling into a display case.

The glass shattered as Peter hit the floor, hissing in pain as a shard cut deep into his side. He scrambled to his feet, pressing a hand to the wound to staunch the bleeding. “Okay, ow! That’s— can we stop for like two seconds?!”

“Stop it!” MJ’s voice sliced through the room. Peter blinked up from his hunched position to see her stepping out from behind the pillar, arms crossed and glaring daggers at Strange. “He’s not your enemy, okay? He’s just an idiot! And so are you, going after a fucking teenager!”

Strange faltered, the runes around his hands flickering. He turned to her, his expression incredulous. “An idiot?”

“Yes,” MJ snapped, stepping between them. “A complete and utter moron. But he’s our moron, and he’s here to fix a screw-up, not cause more problems. So maybe stop playing laser tag with him for five minutes and listen ! He’s just really, really bad at… well, most things. But especially explaining. And you’re not giving him a chance! Look at him!”

Strange’s gaze flickered between her and Peter, who was standing in the middle of the wreckage of the display case, bleeding, hunched over, and wheezing slightly. With a sigh, Strange lowered his hands, the runes dissipating into harmless sparks.

“I’ll admit,” Strange muttered, “that’s not the most threatening pose.”

“Thank you,” MJ said flatly. “Now, are you gonna let him explain, or are you gonna keep throwing magic at the kid who looks like he’s having an asthma attack?”

Peter groaned, the ache in his ribs flaring as he struggled to catch his breath. It was hard to fight when you weren’t actually fighting back, and Strange wasn’t exactly holding back with the magical firepower. The other man sighed, the runes fading from his hands. 

​​“Fine,” he said, his voice heavy with reluctance. “Talk. And make it quick. I have actual responsibilities to deal with.”

Peter sagged in relief, straightening slightly, though his muscles protested as he shoved himself out of the broken case while wincing at the damage. Peter straightened, grimacing as the movement pulled at his cut. “Uh, thanks. First, can I just say that I really appreciate you hearing me out?”

“Get to the point,” Strange interjected, already sounding like he regretted the truce.

“You helped me cast a spell,” he began a little desperately, his words tumbling out quickly as if Strange might change his mind. “I screwed it up. Everyone’s— no one remembers me.”

Strange’s eyes narrowed at him. “Everyone’s forgotten you?”

 “Yeah,” Peter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I only wanted some people to forget about, you know, a part of me. But I interrupted you during the casting because you mentioned you could make exemptions to the spell.”

Strange stepped closer, his cloak swishing around him. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You mean to tell me,” he began slowly, “that you tampered with a spell mid-casting? Do you have any idea how reckless—”

“Yes!” Peter interrupted, throwing his hands up. “I know. Believe me, I’ve had months to regret it.”

Strange’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his tone grew colder. “The spell you’re describing, at its peak potency, can erase any trace of an entity’s existence — memories, records, even their physical impact on the universe.”

“Yeah,” Peter said tiredly, his voice softening. “I know.” 

After a pause, he continued, gesturing toward MJ and Ned, who were standing awkwardly by the door. “I just… I want to know if you can make alterations to a spell after it’s been cast. I just… want them to remember me.”

There was another heavy beat of silence as Strange frowned.

“It’s a difficult spell,” he said finally. “Extremely rare. Very little is known about it, even among the most experienced sorcerers. Making alterations after the fact would be...” He trailed off, searching for the right word. “Complex.”

Peter scrubbed a hand down his face. “Right,” he said, his voice tight. “Well. Thanks for your time, and, uh, sorry to barge in on you like this—”

​​​​ 

“But I’ll see what I can do,” Strange interrupted, his tone softening ever so slightly. Peter’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in disbelief. Strange gave him a measured look. “I’ll work on it. It sounds like I cast the spell - if what you’re saying is true… I feel like it is my responsibility to try to resolve it. It might take some time, but I’ll be in contact, Peter Parker.”

Peter stared at him for a moment, stunned. “You— really?” His voice cracked slightly on the word, and he cleared his throat.

Strange’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his expression that made Peter want to cry. “Really. But don’t expect miracles overnight.”

“Got it,” Peter said quickly, nodding. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”

Strange inclined his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he turned away. “Try not to break anything on your way out.”

—

Matt stiffened the moment Peter stepped into the office. He didn’t need sight to pick up on the faint, metallic tang of blood wafting through the air, mingling with the distinct smell of something like chemicals. It was familiar in a way he couldn't identify, and his stomach tightened.

“Hey, Peter,” he said, forcing his voice to remain casual despite the alarm flaring in his chest. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head in Peter’s direction. “How was your morning?”

“Long,” Peter replied, his voice tight. Too tight. The kid took another step forward, and Matt heard the soft, wet sound of something tearing. Peter froze, his breath hitching audibly. “Uh… do you have a Band-Aid, maybe?”

Matt didn’t get the chance to respond.

“Peter?” Foggy’s voice came from the hallway, accompanied by the quiet clink of a coffee cup. Matt turned his head just as Foggy appeared, his footsteps faltering. “Oh, my God,” Foggy said, his voice climbing an octave. “Holy—Peter, what the hell happened to you?!”

Peter glanced down at his hoodie as if only now noticing the spreading stain of blood near his side. “Oh, uh…” He tried to wave it off with a weak laugh. “It’s, uh, not as bad as it looks?”

“Not as bad as it—Peter, you’re bleeding!” Foggy set his coffee cup down on the nearest desk, nearly spilling it in his haste.

Matt stood, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Peter,” he said, his voice low and measured, “what happened?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, one hand clutching the edge of his hoodie as if that would somehow stem the bleeding. “Nothing! I just… tripped on the way here, you know? It’s no big deal. I’ve got it under control.”

Lie.

Foggy set the coffee down, his jaw dropping. “You tripped? That’s why you have stitches?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Peter said, nodding vigorously. “Happens all the time. But… I don’t have stitches, yet.”

“Peter,” Matt pressed, stepping closer. “You’re injured. This isn’t just tripping. Sit down and let us help.”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Peter insisted, taking a step back, but the movement only made him wince.

“You’re not fine!” Foggy exclaimed, already rummaging through one of the desk drawers. “You’re bleeding through your shirt, man! When did this even happen? Why didn’t you go to a hospital?”

“It happened this morning!” Peter raised his hands defensively. “Hospitals are expensive, okay? I took care of it myself.”

“You call this ‘taken care of’?” Foggy gestured at him, exasperated.

Matt took a slow, deep breath. His heightened senses were picking up more than he wanted—Peter’s elevated heart rate, the faint tremble in his voice, the smell of sweat and blood. His frown deepened. “Is there blood everywhere right now?” Matt asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“No!” Peter said quickly.

“Yes,” Foggy said at the same time, gesturing to the small trail of droplets Peter had unwittingly left behind.

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Peter, sit down. Now.”

Peter hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “I really don’t think this is necessary—”

“Sit,” Matt said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Peter slumped into a chair in the break room, hissing as the motion pulled at his wound. Foggy grabbed a first aid kit from the cabinet, but his hands hovered uncertainly over the supplies.

“You’re gonna let us help you, right?” Foggy asked, looking at Peter like he might bolt at any second.

Peter waved him off. “I can do it myself. I’ve got practice.”

“Practice?” Matt echoed, his voice sharp.

Peter winced, realizing his slip-up. “I mean… I’ve had my fair share of accidents. You know, clumsy teenager stuff.”

Matt didn’t look convinced. His jaw tightened, and he leaned on his cane, his expression unreadable.

“Peter,” he said quietly, “we’re worried about you.”

Peter’s shifted uncomfortably. He obviously hated this — the concern, the probing questions, the way they looked at him like he was an idiot, or worse: someone to be pitied. He forced a grin, although it looked like it could crack at any moment.

“I appreciate it, really,” he said. “But I’m fine. Promise.”

Matt’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence more damning than anything he could’ve said. 

Matt heard Peter take the kit from Foggy and walk into the next room, settling on the floor by the printer. He winced. That couldn’t be comfortable—those old wooden floors weren’t nice to walk on, let alone sit on.

He listened to the boy stripping something that sounded like a bandage—except it seemed wetter, less of the velcro-stickiness of traditional wrappings. It smelled more like chemicals too, in that way that Matt couldn’t quite place.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Matt blinked, forcing his expression into something neutral.

“Hmm?”

“I said, should we, like, call someone?” Foggy gestured vaguely toward the other room, where Peter was probably digging through the filing system. “He’s not looking great, man.”

Matt shook his head, trying to focus. “No. Not yet.” A pause. “Besides,” he said with a wry smile, feeling more than a little miserable, “who do we even call?”

They couldn't call Wade again. Especially not if he was the one responsible.

Foggy frowned. “You’re sure? Because I’ve gotta say, if we get one more ‘he fell off his bike’ situation, I’m not buying it.”

Matt forced a tight smile. “Let’s give him a minute before we ambush him.”

Foggy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t argue.

It only took a minute for Peter to remove whatever he’d used as a wrapping and disinfect the opening with rubbing alcohol. Matt could always smell the sharp scent of alcohol, but instead of his usual annoyance at the lingering smell, there was only worry.  

Foggy shifted impatiently, and Matt tightened his grip on his cane. Peter wasn’t going to come out. If the sound of his nervously fluttering heartbeat was anything to go by—followed by the sound of the freshly broken scanner being shuffled around—Matt figured he was going to try to go back to work like nothing had happened. Once there was the sound of tools being picked up, a part being unscrewed and pulled out of what Matt assumed would be the scanner, he’d run out of patience.

“Hey, Peter?” Matt called, kicking back in his chair. “Can you come out here for a second?”

The kid’s heart gave a telling stutter, and Matt could almost feel the nervous energy rolling off him. After a moment, the sound of Peter’s footfalls ducked into the office.

“Uh… yeah?” Peter asked, and Matt could practically hear the fidgeting in his voice. Behind him, Foggy leaned against the door frame. Matt didn’t need sight to picture the way Foggy had crossed his arms, trying to seem casual but dreading the misery that was sure to follow.

“We need to talk,” Foggy said.

Peter shifted, the faint scuff of his sneakers scuffing the floor. Matt tilted his head as he heard Peter’s heartbeat spike. “Okay…?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Matt suggested, gesturing to the couch. 

Peter hesitated, glancing between him and Foggy. “I’m fine, really-”

“Sit,” Matt repeated.

“I’m good right here, thanks,” Peter replied quickly, far too quickly.

Matt sighed and leaned forward. “Peter. Please.”

There was a long pause, filled with the sound of Peter’s racing heart, before the kid finally shuffled over and slumped into the nearest chair, wincing slightly as he did. He sat stiffly, his shoulders tight and his fingers picking at the hem of his shirt. A nervous habit, Matt had realized quickly enough. The kid did it often, but at least it wasn’t as annoying as the sound of Karen’s nails tapping on the table.

“What’s up?” Peter asked, trying for casual but failing miserably.

Foggy leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Okay, kid. Level with us. What’s going on?”

“Um…”

Matt exhaled slowly. “You’re injured a lot, Peter. Too much for it to just be clumsiness.”

“What? No,” Peter said immediately, his voice edging toward defensive. “I mean, yeah, I trip sometimes, but-”

“Peter,” Matt interrupted, his voice soft but steady. “We know you’re lying.”

The room went silent. Peter’s heart skipped a beat, the sound loud and erratic to Matt’s finely tuned senses.

“I’m not-” Peter started, but Matt cut him off.

“Enough.” Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His expression was calm, but there was an awful sort of weight to his voice that made Peter’s stomach churn. “I don’t care how good you think you are at hiding it. You’re hurt. You’re exhausted. Whatever it is you’re involved with...” He trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

Peter swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. He couldn’t tell them the truth. He couldn’t.

“I appreciate the concern,” he said, forcing a weak smile. “But I’m really okay. I promise.” Matt’s jaw tightened. He wanted to push him, but he couldn’t when he wasn’t sure how Peter would react. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. 

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Peter blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“But if you ever need help,” Matt continued, his voice softening slightly, “you know where to find us. But just tell me, Peter,” —he lowered his voice— “Are you safe?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken truths crackling like static electricity.

“What?” Peter blinked, caught off guard.

“At home,” Matt clarified. “Are you safe?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“You can tell us if something’s going on,” Foggy added, his tone gentle. “We just want to help.”

Peter forced a laugh. It sounded overwhelmingly hollow, even to his own ears. “Guys, I’m fine,” he said. “Really. I’m not being… I’m not in any danger or anything.”

Lie.

Matt’s shook his head, his unseeing eyes narrowing. “If that’s the case, then why do you keep showing up injured? Why do you always look like you’ve been through a war zone? Is someone hurting you?”

Peter’s heart skipped again. “No one’s— what? No! No one’s hurting me!” he blurted. “I… I'm clumsy.”

Lie.

“Peter,” Matt cut in gently. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “If…” he paused, wincing as he struggled to figure out his phrasing. “If someone’s doing this to you, you can tell us.”

Peter said nothing.

“Is it…” Matt hesitated. “Is it Wade?”

Incredible, stunned silence. He pushed on. 

“Because Peter, I understand. I know him, and I… I know what he’s capable of. And while I wouldn’t want to assume… I know how brutal the man can be. What he’s tied up in. If you’re worried to oppose him because of that—”

“No!” Peter insisted, “No, it’s not—God, Wade wouldn’t—he’s not like that.”

Matt frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m— of course I’m sure! ” Peter insisted, his voice climbing higher. “No one at home, no partner, no… whatever you’re thinking.”

The phrasing was careful and deliberate. Matt’s frown deepened. He couldn’t see Peter’s face, but he didn’t need to. Foggy stepped forward, his elbow brushing Matt’s as his voice softened. “Look, Pete. You’re coming in here half-broken every other week. That’s not normal. Whatever’s going on, it’s not okay. If it is someone at home…”

“ What? I told you, it's not someone at home. I don’t even live with anyone. I’m just… clumsy,” Peter assured them. “I trip over my own feet half the time. You know me.” 

No, that was the problem. They didn't know Peter. Matt tilted his head, listening intently to his heartbeat. He didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes.

Peter squirmed under his gaze, the weight of their concern pressing down on him like a physical force. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I get it. You’re worried. That’s great. But I promise I’m not being abused. End of story. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Matt stayed seated, his hands clasped together tightly. Foggy let out a long breath beside him. “He’s lying to us, ” Foggy said, his tone half-frustrated, half-worried.

“I know,” Matt replied, his voice low.

Foggy scrubbed his hand over his face, the sound of his palm dragging against his stubble filling the quiet. “But what are we supposed to do if he won’t tell us the truth?”

Matt sifted through Peter’s words, focusing on the odd gaps and deliberate phrasing. Who talked like that? It seemed so… specific. “He’s not lying about it not being a parent or partner. But someone is doing this to him. And he’s terrified of us figuring it out.”

“What could it be?” Foggy asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think he’s caught up in something illegal? Or, God forbid, homeless? Or both ?”

Matt pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know.”

Foggy sighed again, resigned but determined. “We have to tread carefully. The kid’s skittish. Last thing we want is to scare him off.”

“Too late for that,” Matt muttered a little bitterly. He hoped Peter was okay. He couldn’t hear crying or anything, but…

He stood. Even if Peter wasn’t upset, he should apologize. It wasn’t fair of him and Foggy to ambush him — they were his bosses, putting pressure on him to disclose personal information. It wasn’t part of his job; and sure, while Matt was asking out of a place of concern, it wasn’t any of his business.

Click.

Matt’s head snapped up, his senses narrowing in on the sound. Click. Click. His brow furrowed. He recognized that sound. He’d heard it dozens of times during patrols, echoing across rooftops and alleyways.

Click.

His jaw tightened, his grip on his cane turning white-knuckled.

Oh. 

Oh no.

—

Matt sat back in his chair, trying to appear casual as Foggy continued to ramble about whether they needed to send Peter home early. The sound of Peter’s heartbeat echoed faintly from the bathroom, uneven and quick, a telltale sign of the stress he was under. Matt’s mind, however, was no longer focused on the boy’s injuries or flimsy excuses.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that click .

It wasn’t just a sound. It was the sound. The one he’d heard countless times during patrols - on rooftops, in alleyways, wherever Spider-Man happened to appear. The mechanical, precise click of web shooters firing.

Peter was Spider-Man.

The realization made him feel a little sick. It wasn’t entirely surprising. There was that familiar sped-up heart rate, the constant injuries, the smell of rooftops, and alleyways, and fresh air. 

But hearing it confirmed like this, through a careless slip of sound, made Matt’s stomach twist in ways he couldn’t explain. It all made sense now, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Peter was seventeen . He’d been Spider-Man for years . What the hell? Should he… stop him? Watch him to make sure he didn't bleed out? God, how did he even get his powers?

He’d been stabbed. 

The thought slammed into him, and Matt wanted to throw something. Peter had been the one who’d tried to save that woman, he’d been the one who’d gotten stabbed in the side, and as he was lying there bleeding and in pain all Matt had done was yell at him about letting the other guy get away.

Another miserable stab of guilt lanced through his gut and he pressed his palms to his face, letting out a tired breath. He’d get Wade to schedule a patrol. He needed to talk to him — very much out of the office, and ideally with the mask on. Scaring him here, in his place of work was a dick move. Matt knew that much.

He shifted back in his chair and caught the sound of the bathroom door opening, and of Peter sliding into his usual spot in the other room as he began to pick up his tools and pick apart the scanner again.

Matt just had to sit here, continue his day as normal, and pretend his intern wasn’t Spider-Man for another eight hours. Great.

—

Peter hadn’t had the best day.

Work was long, miserable, and awkward. Ned and MJ weren’t overly happy that they still didn’t have their memories back yet, but they were at least still talking to him. Hopefully Strange would figure out the spell’s partial reversal soon. But at least Wade had texted him that Daredevil wanted to meet up again. Although, honestly, he was half dreading it at this point. After how badly he’d screwed up last time all he wanted to do was apologize and hide his face.

He sank back against the rooftop with a sigh, palms pressing to his face. God, this was going to be miserable. Whatever. Maybe the man had some news. Maybe Wade would bring something from that cool Mexican place again.

He wondered if there was another charity shop to raid ( Jesus , that sentence sounded bad out of context) but there had to be something-

“Peter.”

Peter let out a startled noise, whipping around to face the familiar dark mask of Daredevil. He gripped the concrete a little desperately with his fingers as he tried to re-orient himself, because who the hell snuck up on people like that? That was like, bad manners in the vigilante community. Or, it should be. You’d think that there would be more accidental friendly fire if people did shit like that so often.

He turned around, mouth opening to tell the guy as much, before he realized it. Peter. He’d called him Peter.

“What the hell?!” Peter squawked, whipping around to face the masked man. His voice pitched up, teetering on hysteria. “I mean, who’s Peter?”

Daredevil just tilted his head. “You.”

“No… I just, what?” He forced out, trying to ignore the feeling of his chest caving in. No, no way Daredevil found him out. Was he so mad that he tracked him down after the other day? That didn’t seem like it was something he’d do, and who had the time? “No, I’m not Peter. Why do you-?”

Daredevil tilted his head. “Lie.”

Peter gaped. “What do you mean, l-? No, wait, what?”

“You’re lying. Your heart skipped.”

“Did you just— what —” Peter stammered, standing on shaky legs as he jerked a finger towards the man. “How do you know my name?!”

Daredevil crossed his arms, tilting his head, and Peter’s heart rate spiked again. “Really? You’re asking that?”

“Yes!” Peter hissed. “You can’t just—what do you mean, really ?”

Daredevil let out a long sigh, clearly unimpressed. “Peter, I’m your boss.”

A beat. Then two.

“Foggy?” Peter blurted a little incredulously, and the man’s expression soured. “No, you’re not - he’s like a foot shorter than you! Or, well, not that much but - you’re not him! You’re not - great, now I just gave you a name, and you’re probably gonna track down and murder my employers, and-”

“Peter,” the man said flatly, and his jaw clicked shut. “It’s Matt.”

“Oh,” Peter breathed. There was another, longer beat and Peter’s head swung up to face him a little more. “But wait - how - are you…” he trailed off, face screwing up underneath the mask. “How do you do this? Are you really…”

The other man frowned. “Am I really what?” It was obvious he knew what Peter’s question would be.

“I just didn’t think— I mean, I thought you were blind,” said Peter, immediately regretting his statement.

“I am blind,” Matt said firmly, crossing his arms. He seemed defensive, like this was a touchy subject. “I was in an accident when I was a kid, and there was a chemical spill. It took my sight, but it heightened my other senses. For example, I could hear you fiddling with your webshooters in the bathroom today.” 

“Shit,” Peter whispered, unconsciously shaking out his wrists. “Oh. That was dumb. And… I’m sorry if I was being insensitive, or something. I was just confused.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah. So am I.” He sat down on a boxy exhaust vent. “I’ve got all the time in the world. Or, until my next meeting. So keeping it short would be great .”

“Keeping what short?” Peter asked, playing dumb. It only took one disapproving look from his boss for him to become complacent. “Alright, what do you want to know? About how I became Spider-Man?”

“Sure, if that’s pertinent to why I can’t seem to find any proof you aren’t a shared hallucination being experienced by my law firm.” 

“I actually do have an explanation for that, yeah,” said Peter, taking a deep breath. He’d only repeated his story completely to one person before, and that had been Wade. Wade, who had no right to judge his actions. This was Matt Murdock. His upstanding Catholic lawyer vigilante-by-night boss. 

“Back in middle school, I was bitten by a radioactive spider on a field trip to Oscorp. I started going out as Spider-Man a few months after that. A couple of years later, I accidentally gave a crazy supervillain some world-destroying tech that Mr. Stark made. Before he died, he made a video revealing my secret identity to the world. After that… well, everything fell apart. My friends weren’t getting into college, my aunt was being interrogated by CPS—”

“The May Parker case,” Matt whispered. 

“—so I had Doctor Strange cast a spell that would make everyone forget I was Spider-Man. I messed that up too, and it created a rift in the multiverse. The only way to stop our universe from being torn apart was for the world to forget who Peter Parker was.”

Matt didn’t respond immediately, tilting his head as though he were processing. Then, to Peter’s surprise, he said, “Huh. That… actually explains a lot.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Matt confirmed and nodded. “The constant lying, injuries, general moodiness? Sounds like a vigilante.” 

“You would know, I guess,” Peter joked, a slightly crooked grin spreading across his face. Even Matt couldn’t seem to help the way his lips turned up. Wow. He’s already friendlier now that I’m telling him the truth. Who would’ve thought?

“What happened this morning?” Matt asked after a beat, looking up expectantly. Peter chewed on his cracked lips.

“There was… a wizard,” he began, giving a loose shrug. “Got distracted.”

“Distracted?” Matt echoed, dubious. 

“Got stabbed,” Peter clarified, glancing away as his cheeks and ears flushed. “That usually doesn’t happen to me, I promise.” Matt stiffened. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t real stabbed, anyway. Wizard stabbed, or whatever their version is. Shanked. With the magic and the…” He trailed off, swallowing audibly. “...Display case.”

Matt stared in Peter’s direction, the words hanging between them. "You got wizard stabbed," he repeated flatly. 

“Yes, sir.”

“You got stabbed?” he hissed, kicking a small pile of gravel across the roof. “And you still came to work?” Matt’s voice rose, incredulous. 

Peter shifted backward on his perch, holding up his hands defensively. “Hey! I need the money! And it wasn’t that bad.” The blush was creeping down his neck. “I just… webbed it up.”

Matt blinked. “You webbed it up.”

“It would’ve been fine,” Peter insisted, “if the webs hadn’t dissolved so quickly.” He scratched the back of his head, his voice dropping to a sheepish mutter. “I’m, uh, running out of chemicals.”

Matt inhaled sharply, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, his tone dangerously calm, “that you were stabbed, patched yourself up with spider silk, and then came to the office like it was nothing?”

Peter gave a half-hearted shrug. “I mean, rent doesn’t pay itself, you know?”

“Peter.” Matt’s voice dropped, and even with the darkness obscuring the parts of his face he had previously been able to see, Peter could feel the judgment. “That’s not normal. You’re not okay.”

“I am okay!” Peter shot back a bit too quickly, his voice wavering. “It’s fine! It’s just… this morning was a little rough, that’s all.”

Matt let out a slow, controlled breath. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re running out of chemicals—for webbing —and you’re showing up to work half-stitched up and bleeding. This isn’t sustainable.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue but faltered, looking away. “I’m doing the best I can,” he muttered. 

Matt exhaled, forcing his shoulders to relax. “You need to take care of yourself, Peter. This— whatever you’re doing—it’s going to catch up with you.”

“I am taking care of myself,” Peter said, but his words lacked conviction. “I’ve been doing this for a while now. I’ll figure it out.”

Matt didn’t look like he believed him by the way his lip downturned. Not entirely. “We’re going to talk about this again,” he said firmly. “But for now, just-” he faltered. “Well, you can’t go home just yet. I needed to talk to you and Wade about Fisk, first.”

“Wait,” Peter blurted, “I ended up patrolling with Wade by complete accident a few months ago. And when the three of us met on that first mission, you two already knew each other. You knew each other’s civilian identities . How did that happen? And why didn’t Wade, who talks about everything , ever mention it?”

“Someone put a hit out on me,” Matt said simply, as if that explained everything. And to some extent, it did. “Wade was nice enough to not complete his job. And he was enough of a pain in my ass to constantly bring up how he was my savior. I made him swear not to talk to anyone about it, or his employer would be informed of his conscious decision to spare me. Apparently, he’s more loyal than I give him credit for.” He reached a hand under his mask, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. 

Peter hummed, suppressing his own urge to yawn. “I promise I won’t tell him you told me.”

“Thanks, kid,” Matt said. “We will talk about this more. But… you know what? Forget patrol. I can get in contact with you whenever I want about this stuff now, although I’m not sure how happy I am about sending a teenager into battle.” Peter opened his mouth to complain, but Matt cut him off. “Right now, go home and get some sleep.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Peter offered as Matt stood up to leave. 

“No, because you won’t be coming to work tomorrow morning. You’ll be in your bed, healing, where you should be.”

“Do you do that?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It definitely is the point.”

Matt let out a long sigh. “Goodnight, Peter.” He paused before he reached the edge of the roof, turning back to face the younger vigilante. “You know, it’s really nice to be the less damaged one for once. Thanks for that.”

Peter… didn’t know how to respond. “...You’re welcome?” The other man just snorted, and Peter took that as his cue to leave. Man, this had been a weird day.