you dig?
Matt was.
Matt was feeling a lot of different emotions that he didn't know the names of. How was he supposed to say 'I just discovered Spiderman working for the crime lord that almost ruined my life and I'm rethinking all my life decisions?' Because that was what he was feeling.
He was right at the cusp of an existential crisis of the meaning of anything he tried to get Fisk off the streets. He could feel it.
He told all this to Wade at their 'Weekly Get-Together to Take Down the Italian Mob' while cuddling a massive weighted unicorn plushie named Jimmy (who was actually really soft, even by his standards). All he wanted to do was lie there and sink deeper into the beanbag chair at the back of Wade’s living room.
Wade, after taking a second to process what he said, proceeded to be an inconsiderate idiot through also becoming catatonic on top of the unicorn Matt was under.
Matt shoved Wade off of him citing a bad back, bruised ribs, and the fact that he was taken. He rolled off, thank God, but took Jimmy with him. The rat bastard.
"Lucy, but you sure we're talking about the right Spidey here?"
"Who else would I be talking about?" Matt groaned. He stole Jimmy back with enormous effort, embracing the only soft plushie he'll ever find in his lifetime. God, Matt didn't deserve Jimmy. Wade even less.
"I don't know, maybe a lookalike? Or some kind of chamaeleon?" Wade suggested.
"Maybe. I don't think so."
"Need some context here Satan."
Matt moved his arm around to pet Jimmy while he talked. The little beads in his beanbag shifted uncomfortably, but life was a slog of endless suffering. Across them, Wade sat up from off the (disgusting) carpet to face him.
"Eh, it’s just a hunch. don’t think Fisk would recruit someone pretending to be a superhero." It didn't really matter to Matt whether or not it was the right Spidey. There was an enhanced kid out there taken advantage of and used to fight a larger, blooddier battle. Just like stick.
Matt didn't want to think about it anymore.
Wade got up to stretch his back, cracking a few joints on the way.
"Well, whaddya say we do to help?"
--
Karen woke up that morning feeling fresh. By that, she meant she closed a shit stain of a case, and slept like a goddamn baby the last night. Thus today, she was pulling all the stops. She sang in the shower, did her hair into a pretty braid, and even rode a city bicycle to her office. She felt fucking amazing about herself, jeans and all.
Life literally could not have been worse.
Until it did. Karen blamed Matt.
"What do you mean Fisk is back?!" She demanded.
"Karen. Karen, please calm down-" Foggy called from the couch. He rubbed his eyes before going back to busily typing away at his laptop. Karen ignored his pleas. Because they were stupid.
"No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way. You know why? Because Fisk is in prison, and he's been there for the past two fucking years!"
"It's only been one and a half years Kare," Matt interjected.
"Shut the fuck up. This was your fucking fault to begin with.”
Foggy sighed, rubbing his forehead. He then tucked his laptop under his armpit and picked up his coffee mug to step in and say, “Third coffee hasn't woken me up yet so both of you, quiet." He made a little zit-it motion with his free hand. "We don’t know if it’s even Fisk who’s back. For all we know, it could be somebody else just using his name and connections.”
She and Matt took a second to think it in. The silence grew heavy in the air.
"Have either of you thought to have checked before jumping to conclusions? Maybe some prison records?"
Admittedly, Karen hadn’t thought of that. Still Matt’s fault though.
“Three whole brains in here and I still have to spell it out for you people.” Foggy grumbled while walking to the conference room, the only separate room in their office.
Which. Rude. Justified, but still.
Karen huffed. At least she wasn’t the one dealing with a housing contract written up by the Russian mafia. Yeah, she went there.
Foggy gave her the bird through the door frame.