Peter V
Peter settled into a new normal as both Peter Parker and Spider-Man. To his great relief, most people seemed to believe the story spun by Pepper, with the last of the skeptics convinced when *Peter Parker* attended a Stark Industries charity event while Spider-Man simultaneously stopped a bank robbery on the other side of Manhattan.
As it was, none of this was on Peter’s mind as a blind lawyer kicked his ass in a boxing ring in an old gym. Peter dodged Matt’s fist and found himself on his back with a hand around his throat and a Daredevil snarl in his face. Peter huffed.
“It’s not fair,” he whined. “I have to pull my punches with you. It takes a lot of - “
“Can’t you lift an airplane?” Matt interrupted.
“I mean, probably?”
“So you’ll always have to pull your punches.” Matt stood up, unwrapped his hands and gracefully slid out of the ring. Peter took his chance and sprinted up behind him, with no plan but a hope that instinct would take over. Matt grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face down onto the mat. Blinding pain shot from his nose to his forehead, but it was nothing Peter couldn’t handle. It was his pride that was wounded, he thought bitterly as he sighed without bothering to move.
“Are you bleeding?” Matt asked, suddenly concerned. He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder that was angrily shaken off.
“Yes, fuck, it’s fine,” Peter said, sitting up on the edge of the ring and pinching the bridge of his nose. He winced. “It’ll heal in like, 45 minutes.” Matt looked contrite. Peter felt guilty for making him worry. Matt had concerned adult face, and Peter was just so done with everyone looking at him like that.
“Okay, I think we’re done here today,” Matt said, reaching out to squeeze Peter’s arm affectionately. “Let’s not, uh, guilt spiral about this.” Peter laughed, and Matt smiled.
“But Peter,” he started, suddenly serious, and here we go with the lecture, thought Peter. “You have to - “
“I know, I know, stop relying on the spidey sense so much, but it’s not like I can turn it off! Or on!” Or explain how it works at all. Matt had been testing the spidey sense for weeks. It was fascinating to him. Less so to Peter, who was living it and quickly realizing that it didn’t work on people not perceived as a threat. Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t pinpoint what made a person threatening, because it apparently wasn’t breaking his fucking nose.
Matt was observing Peter silently in that way where it was like he knew Peter’s soul. It always made Peter nervous. “Let me see your nose.”
“Can I - are blind jokes off limits, or...” Peter trailed off as Matt laughed.
“I kind of gave you that one, didn’t I?” he said as he gingerly touched Peter’s face, his fingers running over Peter’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t need to be set. It should heal fine.”
“Yeah, it always does.”
“You’ve broken it before?”
“Sure, Spider-Man stuff. I’m not getting in fights at school.” Peter heard his phone notifications ping from across the gym. “Speaking of fights at school,” he grumbled as he dug through his backpack.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time to set up notifications for Spider-Man news, but this was Flash’s latest live feed, and he didn’t really feel up to hearing about how much Peter Parker sucked. But it was probably smart to know how much shit he would be in before school started back next week.
For the most part, Flash went on and on about his sweet new car, which was better than the last few weeks of rants about how OBVIOUSLY Peter Parker was not Spider-Man. These rants were interspersed with a begrudging admittance that Peter was apparently smart if he was allowed to touch Spider-Man’s suit, but that didn’t make him cool or interesting, and he could still be the dumbest guy at smart kid school. Flash’s car superseded all this, though.
But of course he couldn’t resist in the end.
“And you still suck, Parker,” Flash said as he signed off. Peter sighed.
“You want me to kick his ass?” asked Matt.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the adult here?” asked Peter, but it brought his spirits up a little. Matt was joking, but he was also still Daredevil. He would probably menace a high schooler if Peter asked and was really pathetic about it.
After the obligatory fussing from Matt about being careful on patrol, Peter had a pretty normal night and was settling into an uneventful late morning. This lasted until Ned interrupted Peter’s sleeping-in by bursting into his bedroom and immediately interrogating him.
“Dude, what happened to your face?” asked Ned. Peter poked the side of his nose and winced. What a way to wake up.
“It’s not really healing like it usually does, I guess.” Peter pressed on his ribs where he’d been kicked by a mugger the night before. No bruising, that he could tell. “It just must’ve been a harder hit than I’m used to.” But Peter was unsettled. He tried to distract Ned with a LEGO set he’d found at Goodwill, but Ned kept coming back to his nose.
“You’ve been hit by a train, Peter,” Ned questioned, growing more frantic by the minute. “Are you sure your healing is working?” No, is decidedly not what Peter answered.
“Of course,” he said lightly. “I’m fine from patrol last night and I always get hit a few times.”
“Fine from patrol, huh?” Ned crossed his arms and waited for Peter to incriminate himself. “You walk into a door then?”
“No,” he said reluctantly. Ned waited. “Okay fine, it was Daredevil, but it was an accident.” Ned didn’t look any less skeptical. “He felt really bad about it!”
“Peter,” Ned started, in that pleading voice that always made Peter’s stomach tighten into knots. “Just be careful, okay?” Some variation of this conversation happened between Peter and Ned nearly every day, and it made Peter fee guilty and exhausted with the knowledge that he couldn’t really do anything to be safer.
Over the next couple days, the bruising faded and the memory was pushed to the back of his mind. Peter continued sparring with Matt because he really was learning a lot, not just fighting but also honing his senses.
Still, Peter was pretty sure that this is not what Ned had in mind when he told him to be careful. But Matt was worrying his bottom lip and had been otherwise distracted for a couple days, and Peter caught him at a weak moment and managed to needle the reason out of him. Peter used this chance to demand extra training.
“But ninjas!” said Peter, for approximately the eighth time. Matt rubbed his forehead with his eyes closed. He sighed, opened his eyes, met Peter’s gaze which was always so weird, and Peter knew he’d won.
Matt tossed Peter the knife he was holding, which he had been using to gesticulate animatedly about why he wasn’t going to teach a high schooler to dodge bladed weapons. Peter caught the knife reflexively. “Good,” Matt said, pleased. Peter preened. He was a sucker for approval. “The first rule of fighting someone with a knife is usually to expect to get cut, but control where it lands.” Matt held up his arm and drew an imaginary blade across his wrist. “Not here,” he said as he turned his hand and drew the blade across the back of his arm. “Here, where you won’t bleed to death.”
“I probably won’t - “ Peter started and Matt immediately interrupted.
“Don’t assume your healing will work,” Matt said. “We don’t know what is going on, or who is controlling them, or what mutant-targeting bullshit they have. You’re fast, so controlling where you get cut is a last resort. Don’t let them touch you.” Matt sighed again, and he sounded tired. “This isn’t for fun, Peter.”
“I know,” Peter said quietly, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m taking this seriously, I promise. And I won’t go looking for trouble, and I know this is just in case...” Peter trailed off, and Matt scrutinized him silently for a long minute.
“Aright, lets do this,” Matt said finally. Peter tossed the knife back to him, and Matt immediately went for his arm. It was easily telegraphed, a gimme for Peter that he dodged easily. They both sped up as they sparred. Matt matched Peter’s speed but held back. While Peter was stronger, Matt was more skilled. He often told Peter that he was more reckless than he needed to be. Peter, if he was being honest with himself, spent a lot of time fighting idiots with guns and giant monsters he could hit with his full strength. It didn’t do much for finesse or close combat. Adding that to Peter being distracted recently, and zigging when Matt zagged should have been predictable.
“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Matt exclaimed. Peter was too stunned to resist when Matt pulled his hands away to get at Peter’s bleeding forehead. Peter stared down at the blood on his hands. He closed his eyes. His stomach was in knots, and he was suddenly freezing.
“Peter, hey, are you with me?” Matt was above him, holding his shirt to Peter’s forehead. Nothing hurt but the scent of blood was overwhelming. Matt helped him to his knees and Peter threw up Gatorade and stomach acid. It was awful. Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at Matt, who was still pressing the t-shirt to Peter’s head.
“Why am I down here?” Matt looked stricken.
“You started going into shock,” he said. His voice was gentle, but he sounded desperately guilty.
“It’s, it’ll be fine,” Peter said. “Really.”
“Don’t try to comfort me,” Matt said sharply. “I stabbed you in the goddamn head.” He left Peter in charge of holding the shirt against his forehead and fetched a bag from across the gym.
“Tis but a scratch,” Peter muttered, prodding at the wound. It was deep, but it would heal in no time.
“Stop touching!” Matt snapped. “And don’t quote Monty Python at me.” He dropped the bag in between them with a huff and started rummaging through it. “You need to be seen.”
“Uh, no,” said Peter, terrified of the idea of Spider-Man in a hospital.
“I have a friend who sews up vigilantes,” Matt clarified as he finally pulled a clean shirt out of the bag. Peter watched with apparently no chill as Matt pulled the shirt on, covering most of his scars. “Go ahead, ask.”
“Man, I mean, how are you still alive?”
“My friend who sews up vigilantes,” Matt answered. He seemed to anticipate the next question. “She found me in a dumpster. The first time, anyway.” Peter blinked at Matt, bewildered.
“Oh,” Peter said. “But I mean, I heal super fast. I will be totally fine in like, two hours or whatever.”
“You almost went into shock because I stabbed you in the head.” Matt tilted his head in that way that meant he was looking into your soul. “Are you actually going to try to convince me that was a panic attack?”
Peter shrugged. “Why not both? You know, I’ve had an entire building dropped on me, so I’m experienced in recovering from both shock and panic simultaneously.” Peter shrank away from the deadly look Matt gave him. How was that even possible? It’s not like he could practice death looks in the mirror. “Okay, fine, take me to get stitches or whatever.” Peter rolled his eyes and Matt pointedly ignored it.
Matt made the world’s briefest phone call before leading Peter through alleyways and up fire escapes to knock on an apartment window. The woman who let them in did not look amused.
“At least it’s not 4am, like usual,” she said dryly. She looked Peter up and down and put her hands on his cheeks. “What did you do to this sweet baby?” She basically cooed at Peter, who hated himself a little bit for leaning into it.
“I am not even a child,” grumbled Peter. They both ignored him.
“I may have stabbed him in the head, so...” Matt trailed off. Peter didn’t need super senses to know that vigilante nurse friend was pissed.
“Matt, what the fuck?” she said as she washed her hands in the kitchen and motioned for Peter to sit at the table.
“I’m actually Spider-Man, so it’s not as bad as all that,” Peter started.
“Matt.”
“Claire, I - “
“Are you training a CHILD?” She gently pressed at Peter’s wound while admonishing Matt. Peter had to admire her multitasking. “I can hear your brain coming up with a bunch of bullshit lawyer justifications, but my question to you is: do you think, with your background, that you are an appropriate teacher for anyone, let alone a traumatized teenager?”
“I’m not - “ Peter started, completely intending to lie, before Matt interrupted.
“Are you still bleeding?” Matt looked panicked. Peter went to touch his forehead before Claire batted his hand away. “Shouldn’t you have stopped bleeding by now?”
Yes, absolutely. Peter felt panic start to rise. “It’s not consistent, always...” he lied weakly. Oh my God, it’s Matt. Matt can hurt him? Is it the ninja thing? Can all ninjas hurt him? Does Matt even count as a ninja?
“Please don’t lie to me,” said Matt. “It’s just a frustrating exercise for both of us.” Peter laid his head down on the table, remembered he was bleeding and immediately bounced up, leaving a streak of blood across the wood. Seeing his own blood again made Peter woozy, which was a new and unexpected part of this fucked up adventure.
Claire discreetly sat a trash can next to Peter’s chair.
“I don’t think there’s anything left, but thank you,” he said miserably. Claire patted his hand sympathetically.
“Let’s get you fixed up, and Matt will get you home before I kill him.” Peter nodded and tried to will his stomach to settle.
“Why aren’t you healing?” Matt was pacing. It was stressing Peter out. Matt was stressing Peter the hell out.
“Go to the roof,” said Claire. Matt’s head swiveled in her direction.
“What?” Matt was so shocked that it was almost funny. If Peter could have laughed without dry heaving, he would have.
“He’s going to have a panic attack if you can’t settle down,” she said. Matt stood unnaturally still, blinking at her. “So. Fuck. Off. I’ll call you when I’m finished.” Matt wordlessly disappeared out the window.
“Um, wow,” said Peter. He was slowly realizing that for being Daredevil, Matt had an awful lot of people in his life who were willing to call him out. Peter wondered if Matt did that on purpose, or if it just happened that way.
“Eh, don’t be too impressed,” Claire said. “He’s listening to us from up there anyway.” She handed Peter a bottle of orange juice before she started stitching him up. “So why aren’t you super healing this gaping head wound?”
Peter knew Matt was listening, but it was easier to talk when they weren’t feeding off each other’s panic. “I have some theories,” he said. Claire raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so I can kind of sense danger, like before it happens. It’s why I’m pretty good at not getting shot or whatever. But my aunt threw a banana at me and hit me in the face, and I thought maybe I just needed a break.”
“Do you need a break?” asked Claire. She was so gentle, and Peter’s chest ached from it.
“Desperately,” he whispered. He took a deep breath, gathering himself together. He could get through this without crying. Everything was messed up, but he could fix this. He just had to get through this explanation and the fallout that was undoubtedly coming from it.
“But it’s not that,” Peter continued. “I can still dodge some asshole’s bullet. And if that asshole gets a hit in, I feel fine.” Peter stopped. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that he couldn’t see Matt’s reaction.
“But?” Claire questioned after he’d been silent for a while. She’d finished stitching up his head and had applied steri strips for good measure.
“Matt got me in the nose last week and it took two days to heal,” he rushed out. Claire sucked in a breath.
“Oh, boy,” she said. She stripped off the gloves and took Peter’s hand in hers. “Breathe, honey.” Peter was panicking, but he managed a few breaths. “And?” Her voice was soft, but Claire was firm. He needed to get this out.
“I didn’t - it didn’t really connect... before. I mean, that was not the first time I was punched in the face and it’s all just kind of background noise but I swear I wouldn’t have been like ‘hey, let’s do knives!’ if I thought Matt not triggering the spidey sense - which he doesn’t, because I don’t think it works on people I trust - if I thought that the spidey sense was related to healing.“ Peter inhaled deeply after his rushed explanation. He felt a little better, getting it out, until Matt climbed in the window. Peter tried to will his heart to shut the hell up, but to no avail.
Matt came over to them and put his hands on Peter’s shoulders with a light squeeze. “I can hear every part of you panicking.”
Peter dropped his head to the table and groaned. It stung, but at least he wasn’t bleeding all over a stranger’s furniture anymore. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Matt ruffled his hair.
“It’s okay, Peter,” he said. Peter exhaled heavily. Matt didn’t sound mad. He just sounded tired, but he always had that aura of exhaustion that Peter associated with superheroes. Vigilantes. Whatever.
“Are you going to yell at me?” Peter asked, head still on the table. Matt sighed sadly.
“No, of course not.” Peter looked up. Claire was giving Matt the evil eye hard enough that he was probably able to feel it. Her gaze flicked down to Peter.
“Does he yell at you?” Peter frowned in confusion and shook his head. “Then why did you ask?” Her gaze settled on Matt again, and the evil eye reappeared. Peter put his head back down on the table, utterly exhausted. He did not say, because Tony Stark. He did not say, because he took the suit and I almost died. He did not say, I thought I was over it, but I’m not. Instead, Peter said nothing.
“Let’s get you home,” Matt said when it was clear that Peter wasn’t sharing. “I’ll call you a cab.” Peter shook his head and turned around to look up at Matt.
“You don’t have to do that, I’m fine to web home,” he objected. Peter stood up and wobbled, dizzier than he expected to be.
“No,” said both adults in unison. Peter frowned unhappily.
“A cab is fine,” he grumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, catching a tangle that was sticky with blood. He shuddered. Peter needed to figure out the blood thing and fix that fast. Spider-Man can’t be swooning at the sight of his own blood. Matt and Claire were giving him identical concerned looks. “I’m fine though, really.
“‘Had worse’ can stack up,” Claire warned. Obviously, thought Peter. It must’ve shown on Peter’s face because Claire looked sympathetic. “Just take care of yourself. You have friends, family, who understand what you do?” Peter nodded. “It’s okay to lean on them.” But he already did, all the time. There was only so much you could expect from people. Everybody had a breaking point, and Peter felt like lately, he was pushing up against it with everyone.
Something about him must have screamed sadness because Matt hugged him before he put him in the cab. It was nice, but Matt had his own life to deal with. Training was one thing, and managing Peter’s neuroses was quite another. Peter’s problems were his own, and he was sure he could cope without dragging anyone else down with him.