touch grass
Matt noticed there was something bothering Foggy that day. Well, actually there'd been something bothering Foggy all week but he digresses. That morning, Fogs had lied to Karen about how he was doing and was slowly falling asleep to the slow drone of his client that very moment.
Hmm.
Matt tells himself that it's fine. He should let Foggy finish with his client first because that's what normal people do.
But because he had the emotional capacity of a goldfish and 'cause Karen was out chasing a lead (thus wasn't there to provide adequate distraction in the form of new crime rings), Matt decided he would solve whatever problem Foggy had with the world.
He heard Foggy sigh through the walls of their office following his client's departure.
It was time, Matt's boyfriend senses were tingling.
Foggy didn't even bat an eye when Matt kicked the door open and barged into his office with a six-pack in one hand and a bagel sandwich in the other. He was completely focused (read: distracted) with amending his client's housing contract.
Matt wrangled the bagel into Foggy's fingers and cracked open the first beer. He sat on his desk like a pinup model and waved the beer in front of his face, blocking the computer.
Foggy accepted the bagel and took a bite out of it, but pushed away the beer with a soft grunt. Matt gave him what Karen called the 'unimpressed boyfriend' look, and tried.
"Matt, we're supposed to be lawyering right now,"
Matt would not be phased. He inched the can of beer closer until it bumped into Foggy's ear.
"Matt," Foggy warned tiredly, still typing amendments.
Nuh-uh. Absolutely not. He was mot having this. Foggy was upset about something, and he would be dammed if he didn't stop Foggy from bottling it up and into his work. No. Matt would solve this problem, so help him God.
He shut Foggy's computer. Foggy squawked and panicked and tried to save his files, now fully awake.
"Matthew, what the fuck?"
Mat pushed the can across the table into Foggy's hand, sat on the desk, and smirked.
They were gonna talk feelings now, whether he wanted to or not. Matt cracked open a second beer from his pack and took a sip.
Okay, that was a lie. First, they were gonna get smashed. And then they were gonna talk feelings. Jessica would have been so proud.
"Remember last year? Ya know, when you were all 'angry-punchy' and stuff. After that fight?"
They had turned off most of the lights and were cozied up together on the couch in the waiting room. Matt played around with the lose strands of Foggy's hair with an arm around his shoulder as he tried to explain The Feelings. They were definitely toeing the line between tipsy and drunk with only one can left.
Matt hummed, encouraging him to keep going while trying not to cringe at the same time. "Yeah?"
He cuddled closer into Foggy's shoulder, cringing. Foggy huffed and tucked the strand of hair Matt had pulled out of his bun, behind his ear.
"You think that's, like, a normal thing you vigilantes types go through?"
Uhhh?
Matt was genuinely caught off guard. And a little disappointed in himself. Looks like he never stopped making Foggy upset after all. Ignoring that, and thinking about Foggy's question more, Matt wondered.
Do they?
He didn't think so. But he hadn't exactly asked anyone else like Danny, Luke, and Jessica so it was hard to assume.
Like, was it normal to go through a period of anger at the world and the feeling that God abandoned them normal in vigilantism? To abandon everything that made him happy because he was too stupid to know better?
Matt stopped his almost spiral there.
"I, uh, dunno," He found himself saying. "Haven't asked any other vigilantes to tell."
Foggy hummed in acknowledgment and took another sip of his beer.
"Why'd ya ask Fogs?"
His heartbeat got a little faster than before. Matt cuddled deeper to try and comfort him.
"Well," Foggy paused, thinking, "I'm worried about one of you. Spiderman, actually."
Spiderman?
The avenger?
The fuck was his problem? Matt had no clue. All he knew was that Spiderman did good work and Spiderman kept out of Hell's Kitchen.
He asked Foggy what Spiderman did.
Foggy picked up the last can in the pack and said, "Well, Claire told me about a guy they pulled in at Harlem who was, like, beat up real bad. Apparently, that was Spidey."
In Harlem?
"Doesn't he usually work in Queens?"
"No, you're missing the point," He said, taking a decent gulp from the can, "Claire said she reached out to some friends in Queens as well and they told her that our Friendly Neighborhood Spidey's been getting more an' more brutal as of late."
Matt paused to think about that, he pulled out the hair Foggy had tucked away and tried to make a tiny braid.
"So, what should we do about it, Fogs?"
"I have no idea."
Foggy sighed and emptied his drink. "Can you-" he paused, "Can you check in on him? To see if he's okay? I know you don't like dealing with Avengers-level stuff, but I think he could use a friend like you. He's young, ya know."
"He's an avenger."
"Maybe show him the ropes a little?" He continued.
Matt huffed and tucked the tiny braid back behind Foggy's ear.
"I just feel like he's going through something rough. Or maybe somebody's forcing him? I dunno, either way I can feel it. I mean, he-he's gone to space and fought aliens and stuff but-"
Matt tased the salt start to water in Foggy's eyes and fall down in face. Letting his head fall to his lap and covered him with a nearby throw blanket. Matt felt the beating drums of Foggy's heart begin to slow.
"Claire told me that Spidey sounded like a kid. Like high-school-age."
Matt darkened to the sound of that. Could someone like Stick be manipulating Spiderman too?
"Would checking on him make you feel better?" He asked.
Foggy answered that with a yes, yes it would Matthew.
"Then don't worry. I've got it covered."
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
It wasn't supposed to be just Peter in some Hell's Kitchen back alley, fighting a mutate that called herself Angel Dust.
The walls obstructed the soft yellow glow of the gentrified streetlights and cloaked them both in dark shadow. Peter slammed her limp body into the dingy brick wall, then let her drop, hard, onto the cold concrete.
Peter looked into her eyes through his goggles and wondered what got them both here. No, that wasn't right. Peter knew exactly what got him here. That was all Parker Luck and his bad decisions.
She was strong, Peter commended. Unfortunately, not quite strong enough to overpower him. Angel Dust propped herself up with the wall she and tried to reach the small knife in her belt. Peter sighed, he couldn't have that. He grabbed her knife with his webbing, sticking it to the opposite wall, and kicked the air out of her lungs with a smidge of super strength. Just to let it sink in.
Still, nice try.
On the ground again, Angel Dust coughed up blood and slumped over making a weak noise from the back of her throat. Gross.
"Tell your boss to stay away from Ms. Fisk's operations." Peter vacantly spoke.
Angel Dust simply groaned in acknowledgment.
Thank fuck.
Pummeling people who just wouldn't get the point was his least favorite part of the job. And he despised the job.
At Angel Dust wasn't like Dave from Harlem.
(The Spidey Sense prickled down his spine in disgust. Peter tried to ignore it.)
He pulled himself out of that alley and into the night, he needed to get out of there. Besides, he could sense somebody following him.
Peter needed somewhere private to confront this guy.
Landing on a somewhat-taller-than-most-yet-just-as-dingy residential building, just out of view from most pedestrians, Peter waited for this guy to show up in the shadow of the roof shed. And soon enough a man, clad in what looked like black pajamas and a piece of black cloth around his head, climbed his onto the building.
Peter's eyes widened behind the mask. He recognized him from the few photos and videos he and Ned dug up way back when they were super invested in vigilantes.
It was Daredevil.
Peter was, actually, quite excited to talk to him. The fanboy inside of him was vibrating under the spandex.
And then his thinking brain caught up to him and he realized, oh fuck, it was Daredevil.
The same guy who left the toughest of perps, the baddist of the bads in hospitals breathing out of a tube for the rest of their miserable lives. The guy who amost single-handedly took down Wilson Fisk, twice.
Fuck. Peter really didn't want friggin' Daredevil, oh my god he was so cool, to hate him.
"Hey there, uh, Daredevil," Peter held his hands up in surrender, "Fancy seeing you up here."
Peter's gloves were still covered in blood. Then again, it was dark and his whole outfit was a solid dark red and blue. Peter hoped Daredevil wouldn't notice.
Daredevil kind of just stood there staring him for an uncomfortable amount of time, twitching his head a little.
Umm, so.
Like, what was this about?
"You work for Fisk?" Daredevil blurted.
"Uhh."