Archive of Our Own

“He’s being overbearing,” he grumbles to Daredevil, who’s perched beside him like a gargoyle and sitting just as still on top of the roof. Matt doesn’t say much, for a few moments, but then hums in thought and angles his head back toward Peter.

“Well, you’re fifteen years old.” His tone verges on being gentle, but it’s still largely unsympathetic. Of course, this has to be the only thing Matt seems to be perfectly in accordance with Tony over. The only difference is, Matt’s taken this as an opportunity to unsubtly keep an eye on Peter during patrols, while Tony tries to run distant surveillance during Peter’s every. waking. moment.

Which, incidentally, is why the argument had started.

“What is it with people and me being fifteen?” Peter demands, exasperated. “It’s not like I’m suddenly- fu-”

Though Matt doesn’t say anything, his head swivels slightly toward Peter.

“-Freaking,” Peter sighs. “Freaking …  a toddler. I’ve been doing this for a long time.” Matt hasn’t particularly condemned Peter’s language, but it’s clear it always startles him slightly when Peter  “drops the f-word,” as Tony would put it.

Matt snorts. “No, you haven’t, Peter. In the whole span of your life, you’ve been doing this for a tiny fraction of it. You still have a bedtime.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Peter says sternly, pointing an accusatory finger at Matt. The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches in amusement as he stares back guilelessly. “Eavesdropping is very rude.”

“I can’t help what I hear when I walk by your apartment,” Matt says, unapologetic.

“You weren’t walking by, you were keeping an eye on me. Admit it.” Peter groans, crawling down the side of the brick wall so he can aim a well-timed web right at the wrist of a sprinting purse thief. The guy yelps as the web pins his wrist down against a nearby car, the purse clattering onto the sidewalk nearby.

An angry lady fumes her way toward him and clobbers him right in the family jewels before retrieving her purse, and Peter and Matt both mutter “oof”  at the same time. Peter still has no idea how Matt ‘sees’ the way the event plays out so well, but he’s not really sure how to ask. It feels intrusive, after all.

“I’m not admitting anything, because there’s nothing to admit.” Matt says. “Anyway, it might be a bit smothering, but it’s good to have people looking out for you, kid.” It feels a bit lonely when Matt says it, even though Peter knows Matt’s got Foggy. Maybe they’re also fighting, but try getting that out of Matt. Dude’s closed up tighter than Fort Knox.

“I wish everyone would just do what Jessica does,” Peter mutters.

“What, force feed you on sight?” Matt cracks a small grin.

“It’s crazy,” Peter says, but he can’t help a smile either. “I don’t know where she gets it. But every time she sees me, she’s always got food. She keeps saying I need to keep up my strength. Honestly, it’s kind of starting to feel like a threat. I mean, before, I thought she just figured I was kind of skinny, but now it feels like she’s prepping me for a one on one where she just throws me through a wall.” Peter rambles.

“Yeah, that’s Jessica for you.” Matt says idly, but his grin doesn’t fade for a few moments still. “Look, kid, can I give you a word of advice from a fucked-up, jaded, old-timer?”

“Sure, but I don’t see anyone like that around here.” Peter quips, and Matt groans quietly.

“Cute.” He clears his throat. “Look, Peter, you… you’re still a good kid. Some of us have done shit we can never come back from.” Matt idly thumbs the side of his jaw, just under his ear.

“I’ve done things I regret,” Peter mumbles a little petulantly, and even he winces at how he sounds- like a kid, his brain snips at him irritably.

“Yeah, well,” Matt says shortly. “There’s regret, and then there’s regret. There's the point of no return. You fucked up, and there's no way back, and all you can do is just try to keep filling the hole." He turns, and in the shadows, the red of his mask looks almost black. “We-” Matt pauses, then sighs and seems to accept the inevitable. “Yeah, we, Stark included, want to keep you from the second one as long as we can.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Peter says, trying to be reassuring. There’s a sort of haunted gravity to Matt’s words, and sometimes, Peter feels like the other vigilante is miles away, like he barely knows Matt at all despite how frequently they’ve seen each other now. Like Matt is a ghost, and Peter’s speaking to his echo. “Maybe I won’t ever be in that position.”

“Everyone gets there, Peter. It’s just a matter of when.” Matt says flatly. “We all get there in the end. And all some of us can do is try to delay the inevitable for someone else.”

——

Actually, it’d been MJ who’d led him to Matt.

MJ had been running a project to advocate for underrepresented minorities from whom housing rights were being stripped under a particularly evil landlord, and someone had, out of the blue, recommended a particular lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen that had a track record with cases of that nature.

And that brought Peter, Ned, and MJ right to the Nelson and Murdock Law Office.

Nothing about Matt Murdock had, at the time, struck any wrong chords with Peter. In fact, for the days that they dealt with the case, Matt came off as polite and a bit standoffish, but a professional through and through. Nothing seemed to rattle him. Foggy, on the other hand, was open and cheerful, a stark juxtaposition to his partner. Together, they made a fearsome duo.

And then Peter met Daredevil at the landlord’s house four nights into the investigation.

During the day investigation, they’d found out that the landlord had put his hands on his tenants more than once. One elderly lady showed up in a scarf, and by the end of her story, cried as she unveiled the scarf and revealed hand-shaped bruises all over her neck. The landlord had claimed she was insane if she thought anyone would ever believe her. He’d said she needed real evidence, and that if she wanted to stay in her apartment, she’d leave it alone.

MJ’s expression toward Peter had said it all: get us some solid evidence so we can book this bastard. Peter had already resolved to do so, but he couldn’t help but look at Matt. Foggy was murmuring something to him- from what Peter could hear, a description of what they were looking at and how they were going to take him down -and Matt was nodding. But there was something that caused Peter’s Spidey-sense to tickle the base of his spine, something about the way Matt’s posture changed. The way he suddenly seemed so much more.

And then it was over, and Matt was saying, “don’t worry, Señora Diaz, we’ll take care of it. We’ll make sure you and your granddaughter are safe. Prometo.”

She was so hysterical that MJ and Foggy had to hold her arms to help her out on shaky feet. Peter turned to Matt and said, “what are we going to do?” and Matt just smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry, Peter. I have a plan.”

It turns out the plan had been hit the landlord until he became a tooth fairy’s wet dream, as Peter soon found out, when he was face to face with Daredevil later that night. He just hadn’t known they were one and the same, at the time.

“Spider-Man.” Daredevil said, flatly. “This isn’t your fight. How did you even find out about this?”

“I have a network of old ladies that gossip.” It wasn’t a lie, actually- some of them knew a lot about crime. To a concerning extent, really. “And besides. It’s not yours, either.” Peter argued. “You’re just going to beat him up, aren’t you?” The landlord was scum, he was, but Daredevil’s methods were less than neat. Turning the landlord into a mushy, bloody mess wasn’t on the docket; Peter’s plan had been to avoid the landlord, largely, and search for some kind of solid evidence. “He can’t show in court if you break every bone in his body.”

“Luckily, he doesn’t need bones to speak,” Daredevil growled, staring Peter down. He wasn’t that much taller than Peter, but with the way the shadows moved, he sure felt like he was. “You’re in my way. Move.”

Okay, so Peter was officially scared shitless. But Daredevil, he was about to ruin Matt’s plan, and all of the work the rest of the team had put into gathering evidence. They'd been up long nights, and even though Peter understood Daredevil's rage- especially after the day's questioning -he couldn’t let Daredevil go about it in his usual way. 

“I’m sorry.” He tilted his chin, trying to go for intimidating even though his legs felt like spaghetti. Oh god. Oh fuck. Maybe Daredevil was about to beat the everloving hell out of him, too. Daredevil didn’t seem to make a lot of distinctions, after all; he seemed like he’d be equally inclined to beat up anyone in his way without discrimination.

Equal opportunity beatdown, Peter thought hysterically, and willed himself not to start laughing out of stress.

“I can’t let you beat him up. Some people have been working really hard on this, and, uh.” Peter cleared his throat and lowered his gaze, because it kind of felt like Daredevil was staring holes into his soul. “It would really hurt their case if the landlord ends up beaten half to death. So I’m sorry, Daredevil, er- sir. I, I don’t think you should do it.” Pause. “Please.”

Daredevil just continued to stare at him for a few moments, fingers twitching a little. Peter was almost ninety percent positive he was about to get decked, but his Spidey-sense stayed quiet.

“What’s your plan.” Daredevil asked- or really more, said -roughly. Peter blinked, dropping his arms.

“Huh?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” Daredevil leaned in, and the air around him seemed to crackle. Or maybe that was just Peter's imagination. “Or did you show up here with no goal in mind, just hoping you’d figure it out later?”

“O-Oh, um.” Peter took a moment to relish in being blissfully alive, still, and then gestured around back. “There’s a cracked window back there, so I was going to sneak in, see if I could find any evidence of him overcharging his tenants or abusing them.”

Daredevil regarded Peter for a moment, and then he turned around. “Fine,” he said eventually, through gritted teeth. “If this doesn’t work, or we don’t find anything, then I’m taking matters into my own hands. And if you try to stop me, I’ll consider you in my way.”

“Sir yes sir,” Peter chirped, a little giddy. Now that the stress had faded, he took a moment to be a fanboy. It was Daredevil, after all. Peter hadn’t expected to run into him, and he hadn’t actually met him before (not that this could really be considered a meeting, but…). Though his methods were unorthodox and a bit bloody for Peter’s tastes, it didn’t mean Daredevil hadn’t plowed through some of the worst villains that had plagued the Hell’s Kitchen area. He was a badass, and Peter had survived an encounter with him. So, pretty fucking cool, actually.

They’d gotten lucky that night, actually- not just with recordings, but also hours and hours of tapes suggesting that the landlord had been spying on his tenants unlawfully. Some of the footage had even captured his abuse of them.

“We’ll be in trouble if we steal the evidence from him, especially if he can prove that it was done unlawfully,” Daredevil said shortly. “But we can use these accounts of fraud to get a search warrant on his house. We should take a couple tapes in case he tries to hide everything, but I know someone who can tip off the officers to look in specific places.”

“Wow, you know a lot about law.” Peter remarked as he thought about how Daredevil had showed up the same night Matt had said he had a plan, and it wouldn’t have been weird, it wouldn’t, if he hadn’t immediately said “oh, shit.”  Then, of course, it had no choice but to be a thing. Seriously, him and his mouth.

Daredevil stiffened and stared at him, just as some sort of shuffling came from upstairs.

“Outside. Now.” Daredevil hissed through his teeth, so quiet that even Peter barely heard it. In shock, he allowed himself to be herded out of the cracked window, numb as he went over every interaction he’d had with Matt Murdock, trying to reconcile the man he’d been working with with the man pacing furiously back and forth in front of him.

“I don’t know how you know me.” Daredevil- Matt -was breathing heavily. Peter’s mouth moved, but no words came out. “But you’d better forget. And fast.” As he was saying this, he was essentially stalking toward Peter, fists clenched, and his Spidey-sense sounded off a frankly unnecessary alarm, and-

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It was an accident!” Peter yelped, hands raised in surrender. His voice cracked from fear, and Matt stopped mid-step as if he was in a comedy short.

As Peter scrambled to back up, Matt lowered his foot. “Peter,” he breathed, like everything suddenly made sense. His fists unclenched. “Fuck.”

Maybe Peter should’ve been worried about Matt knowing his identity, but in all honesty,  it saved him from getting his ass kicked. In theory, the thought of having a friendly fight with Daredevil was really cool. Getting thrown around like a rag doll during a bout of Matt’s rage? Less cool.

Matt was back to pacing. Peter watched him burn a hole into the asphalt meekly.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Matt said, and now he seemed calmer, even though he was speaking through his teeth again. Honestly, he sounded a bit strained despite the forced measure.

What he said stung, though, and Peter’s hackles rose. “Dude, I know what I’m doing!” He sighed, exasperated. “I don’t need the you’re just a high schooler, you shouldn’t doing this speech again. I totally had a good point back there, and you know that.”

“Wait.” Matt straightened, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “How many people know your identity?”

Peter considered the question. “Not that many,” he admitted grudgingly. “My friends, and … the Avengers. You, now.”

“Okay.” Matt nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay, good. Not that many. You need to keep that shit to yourself, especially considering your age.”

Well, he knew why he had to keep his identity a secret, but the age aspect of it... “Why?” Peter shuffled closer to Matt again, and though Matt stiffened, he didn’t move away, and allowed Peter to stand a couple feet away.

“Fuck. You’re too- you-” Matt sighed. “There are twisted fuckers out there, kid.”

Okay. No elaboration needed. Fair enough. Actually, Peter hadn't considered that as much as he maybe should've.

“Does Foggy know?” Peter asked, tilting his head. Or are you alone? lingered in the back of his throat, but he didn’t say it.

Peter knew Matt was blind, but it still felt like he was examining Peter for a moment. Peter attempted to look as harmless as possible despite the mask, and he wasn’t really sure why he did.

“Foggy knows,” Matt said, and then he sighed again. “Look, our job’s done here. You should go home. Isn’t it- late- for you?” It was said somewhat awkwardly, as if Matt had no idea how in the world an average teenager operated, and Peter couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing- and also a bit insulting, at the same time.

“Dude, I’m fifteen, not seven,” Peter said, and laughed as Matt shuffled slightly. “It’s only 1 AM. I’ve stayed up later to play video games.”

Matt turned, mouthing video games as though in disbelief. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow in the office. Go home, kid.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Can I drop you off somewhere?”

Matt just blinked at him. “No….?” He said uncertainly, as if even he wasn’t sure, and Peter shrugged, catapulting himself into the air to make for home.

It had, all in all, been eventful, and yet … not, somehow. Peter hadn’t expected a lot to change after that night, but for some reason, he actually had started to see Daredevil more and more. The reason would quickly become obvious; it was Matt’s brand of distant concern, even if he feigned poorly-acted surprise every time he saw Peter.

At some point, he just stopped acting, which was relieving for all parties, honestly.

“Dude,” Peter said at some point, fully aware that Daredevil was in the shadows, keeping an eye on him from a distance. “You know you don’t have to creep like that, right?”

“I’m not creeping.” Matt said roughly, but emerged from the shadows like a bat. A bat man. The image was pretty funny. “Just patrolling.”

“Pretty far from your usual haunt, isn’t it?” Peter asked flatly, taking a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I know you’re tailing me, and you don’t have to. I’m fine. And besides, Mr. Stark already tails me plenty. I don’t need two of you.”

Matt gave him a displeased look. “You get into a lot of trouble.”

Peter gestured to his suit in disbelief. “Duh, DD, I’m a vigilante.”

“I heard Jessica found out, too,” Matt said, taking a seat a few feet away. He seemed to be contemplating moving closer, but kept his distance. “That must have been … fun.”

“She accidentally broke my arm,” Peter said with a grin. “It was kind of funny. My mask tore when some scaffolding caught it, and you should’ve heard her. I learned, like, a whole bunch of new swear words. Some in languages I don’t even know.”

“Are you… okay? I wasn't able to be there, I was ....” Matt said, stilted. He seemed a bit stressed again, but Peter wasn’t sure why. It was just a broken- oh.

“Oh yeah. Healing factor.” Peter swung his arm around. “Good as new.”

Matt muttered something that sounded a lot like “and thank fuck for that.”

Peter obstinately ignored him. “You know, DD, you could save yourself a lot of creeping and just patrol with me.”

“I’m not c-” Matt sighed. “Look, kid, we’re very different, you and me. I don’t do things in a particularly heroic way, if you catch my drift.” In the darkness, the little light caught the reds of Matt’s suit, and they eerily resembled blood. Peter swallowed and looked away.

“I mean, I get it, but it’s not like you’re getting any work done by following me around, either.” When Matt didn’t respond, Peter pushed on. “Your senses are enhanced, aren’t they? If I just yell for you-”

“Risky,” Matt muttered. “I may not hear it.” Then he straightened. “But I have a better idea.”

The thing about calling Matt is that while he does almost always pick up (as long as he's not horribly injured, which he seems to be, quite a lot), he’s also almost always half-killing someone during the conversation.

“You need help, kid?” He barks. “Hold on. I think I can smell you. I’ll be there in five.”

Peter glosses over the first part. It’s hardly the weirdest thing Matt has ever said to him, including mentioning he could “hear Peter’s muscles” and “always knew when he was lying.”

"No, it's not anything urgent," Peter remarks lightly. He examines the note left at his usual patrol pitstop with concern, making note of the excessive smiley faces and hearts. "Do you know a guy named Deadpool?"

Matt swears. For like a good minute. Some real creative stuff, too, stuff that would give JJ a run for her money.

"I'll be there in two minutes."

Deadpool. Wade Wilson.

PP, DD (or MM, it works both ways!), WW, Peter thinks with growing amusement. JJ, if you add Jessica. Matt doesn't seem as amused, though. He's pacing again, and muttering to himself.

"Peter, can you think of anyone that may have placed a hit on you?" Matt asks urgently, pausing mid-mutter.

Not for the first time, Peter says, "DD, I'm a vigilante. Yes. People want to kill me, like, all the time."

Matt points at him. "You shouldn't be so cavalier about this," he says, irritated. "Firstly, because you're a kid, and secondly, because you shouldn't want Deadpool on your tail. For any reason."

"The name seems familiar.” Peter frowns. "But I can't recall why. Is he that dangerous?"

"Sure." Matt clips. "But mostly, he's really fucking annoying."

"Are you guys close?" Peter asks, curling his arms around his knees. Lately- he's not sure if it's Matt's influence -his particular patrol area has been awfully quiet. It's one thing to have to face down Spider-Man. It's another thing entirely to have to face down both Spider-Man and Daredevil, who always seems to be only a phone call away- literally.

"Close!" Matt barks out a sound that's too sharp to be a laugh. "We're close in the sense that we like to get close to each other and punch until the other stops moving." He grits his teeth. "Or in his case, dies."

Peter opens his mouth to ask, but before he can, his Spidey-sense blares. Matt tenses. An absolutely hulking figure hoists itself over the edge of the rooftop.

"Aw, Spidey. You got my note and made it a party!" Deadpool ambles toward them all-too-casually, and he's not exactly what Peter was expecting. Firstly, he's all smiles, which is frankly comical next to Matt's scowl. He's got what looks like an entire arsenal strapped to his back, and...

"You're wearing fuzzy slippers," Peter points out numbly, half-poised to leap off the roof. He still might, to be honest.

"You're damn right I am," Deadpool leers, lifting one muscular leg to wiggle the cat-eared fuzzy slipper in Peter's direction. "I misplaced my sexy boots, so this is what I'm reduced to. Don't let it throw ya off, though. Unless..." Deadpool grins wider, taking another step toward Peter. Matt moves quickly, sidling halfway between the two of them. "You got a foot fetish? I could go bare feet for you, Spidey, anything to please my favorite little web-slinger. Don't you worry, I'm planning on starting an OnlyFans for everyone who wants the good goods, yanno. Only a couple bucks a month, and you too can see everything that goes on under the Corinthian leather. Think I'll make a movie. Leather or Not, how about that. It's gotta have an M. Night worthy twist, too, Spidey, what do you think? I'm thinking, I strip, and that guy Ryan fucking Reynolds steps out, bet that'll throw everyone off. Nobody will expect that baby face to be behind the mask. Oh, or maybe-"

Peter just stares at him. Matt's grinding his teeth so loudly he could've started a fire.

"Wilson." He says, and that's his cut-the-shit tone.

"Daredevil! Double D, paso doble- wait, that doesn't make sense. Deep dish pizza! The Diablo of Hell's Kitchen himself. Sweetheart, you came all the way? For me? For moi?" Deadpool mimes fanning himself and leans against a radiator, blowing a kiss toward an incensed Matt. "You never call, you never write, but this- gosh, how romantic."

"Wilson," Matt repeats. The cut-the-shit tone intensifies, and his volume crescendos. Peter's a little worried they're going to come to blows, and honestly, he's not sure who'd win. He's never seen Deadpool in combat.

"Look, Darling Dearest, it ain't personal." Deadpool sighs, using a katana as a backscratcher. "I love Spider-Man. I'm not even here to kill him, cross my heart, hope to die, blah blah blah. I just need to get an itty bitty kernel of information from him, just a nugget, and as long as he's a good boy and tells me everything I need to know, I'll be on my way without a peep. Pinky promise. You can cut off my pinky if I lie."

"It'll just grow back, and you know it." Matt doesn't look impressed. "And stop flirting with him."

"What, you want me all to yourself?" Deadpool wriggles his fingers in Matt's direction. "I didn't know you were so possessive, Red. Oh, or maybe, the two of you?" He swings his index finger rapidly between Peter and Matt.  "Oh, you rascal. I guess it's a Red Party, huh?" Though the indent in his mask makes it look like he's smiling, Peter can't help but tense away from the menace that seems to lurk in every casual movement, in the way Deadpool reaches back toward his other katana.

"Well, you should have invited me." Deadpool says, low and unexpectedly cold.

"I don't have time for your pity party," Matt responds, irritated. He's clearly struggling to ward Deadpool off without revealing Peter's age. Peter's mostly undergoing severe whiplash from the switch from flirty to frightening. "He's not going to tell you anything. The entire Avengers tower has their eye on him."

"This can be easy." Deadpool says, and gone is the joviality. He's pissed, now, staring Matt down as if looking for a fight. "And you know I really don't give a shit about the Assholes with a capital A. That's fucking more incentive. Bring it on, I say. And you'd better get out of the way if you want to keep that pretty head of yours, Red. I already said I wouldn't fuck him up, as long as he hands over some nifty alien weaponry he stole. Then I can go back to longingly staring at his ass from afar, you can go back to your weird posturing, and-"

"First of all, don't say that, and second of all, Wilson-"

"Erm." Peter speaks up. They both look at him. Well- partially. "How- Er, how old are you, Deadpool?"

The question clearly catches Deadpool off-guard. "Trying to find out if I'm boyfriend material or daddy material, Webs?" He grins, recovering quickly, and Matt buries his head into his hands. Peter kind of feels for Matt at the moment; Deadpool seems like... a lot. "You should never ask a Deadpool her age, but since it's you, I'll toss you a nickel. I'm 33."

"Right," Peter says nervously. "I'm- I'm young."

Deadpool dismisses that with a scoff. "You're still Spider-Man, aren't you? I mean, I like a good age difference as much as anyone else. After all, I'm just flirting with-"

"Very young," Peter stresses. It's the only time he'll ever admit it, like this at least, but he wants to at least give Deadpool the chance to backtrack. He hopes he does. "Very- really- young."

"-Anyone else," Deadpool says, strangled, and though he's fully masked, Peter can almost feel him go ghost white. He surprises Peter by turning around. "Matt."

Matt's mouth twitches in irritation at the use of his name. "It's true," he says flatly.

"Aw, fuck me," Deadpool says, looking all sorts of pissed. He glances back at Peter, and then at Matt, and then back at Peter, before kneeling down and placing his hand palm-side-up on the ground. "It's no use. I'm just going to have to cut my own hand off."

"Wade," Matt snarls warningly.

"Fuck, you're right," Deadpool says, and now his voice is so eerily flat that it almost burns. He brandishes the katana toward Peter. "Spidey? You wanna do the honors?"

"What? No!" Peter blanches. "No, I just- I just- I was just embarrassed, dude. Please don't cut your hand off." 

"Damn it," Deadpool groans, and gets to his feet. Now he's pacing. Peter's starting to wonder if that's just a thing stressed-out adults do a lot, since, now that he thinks about it, Tony also does it a hell of a lot. "That fucking shit-nugget rat-eating bastard."

"Is it Mac?" Peter asks, a little timidly, and the whites of Deadpool's mask-eyes swing over to meet his. "Not to, uh, defend a criminal, but. He doesn't really... know I'm fifteen."

"Fifteen," Deadpool kind of gurgles. "Fuck, Spidey, I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry, alright? No more flirting."

"It's okay," Peter assures, shaken. "It's- Can I- It's kind of been a long day, can I-"

"Yes. Go home, kid, I'll take care of Wade." Matt places a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know he's intense, but he won't hurt you, Peter. Surprising though it may seem-" He glares in Deadpool's general direction, and though Deadpool clenches his jaw, he nods his assent. "-He does actually have a code. You're safe. And also way past your bedtime."

"You have a bedtime?" Deadpool moans.

"No!" Peter blurts out immediately, trying to laser-eye Matt. "Dude!"

"Go home," Matt insists again, and then the smile he cracks would've sent shivers down even the most well-seasoned mercenary. And Peter would know, because Deadpool kind of looks like he'd rather be losing his hand than facing Matt. "I need to have words with Wade."

As Peter finds out over the next few weeks, Deadpool's apology language is Mexican food. Lots of Mexican food.

Also, now he has two guys costumed in red trailing behind him.

Neither of them are being particularly subtle.

"You don't also have to follow him around, Wade."

"Who says I'm following him around? I'm just casually running into him sometimes when I'm out and about. Also, you just admitted you follow him around, you creep."

"I'm not c- I hadn't been following him that much, but now with you around, I feel like I have to, again."

"Guys," Peter says, pleadingly. Even the webbed-up bank robbers look baffled. Peter kind of feels bad for them; if he on his own wasn't bad enough with all the usual sarcasm and ill-timed quips, these guys now have to worry about his all-red entourage, both of whom are notoriously more violent than he is. "Neither of you have to follow me."

Deadpool doesn't even deign that with an answer. "Where to next, Spidey?" He bellows cheerfully, draping an arm around Matt's neck. Matt looks at it murderously. "Lemme guess, a bike thief? A vandal? Carjacker? Ooh, or don't tell me, you're going to get spicy with an abduction or something?"

"Take your arm off before you lose it, Wilson."

"I love when you talk dirty to me, Red-"

Peter's phone beeps, and he turns a deaf ear to their bickering and glances down. It's the fifth text from Tony today, and he seems to be getting more and more impatient. Between the three of them, smothered is an understatement for how Peter feels. He kind of wishes they'd all forget about his existence.

Look, kid, I know you're mad about the suggested protocols. We can talk about it, okay? I'll send a guy to pick you up Friday. Not Happy, he's finally taking a long-awaited vacation, but. I'll send a guy. One of my personal bodyguards. I'm trying to be better about the whole communicating thing. Promise. By the way, before you freak out tomorrow, I'm not at the facility. I'm taking a few days off with Pep. We're staying in a cabin a little out of town.

It's oddly introspective, coming from Tony- Pepper's influence, probably; Peter really ought to send her a thank you note, at some point. For now, he sighs and taps out a-

Fine. 5:30

-and tucks his phone away, turning around just in time to see Matt swing.

Shit.

He backs up slightly, expecting a full brawl to begin, but Deadpool just brings one swift arm up to block the punch and grins like a menace.

"Oh, are we fighting, Red? Are we fiighting?" Deadpool crows. "Spidey, you gonna be our emcee? You gotta give us cute titles. Let's see, how about, I'll be Deep-Fried Cauliflower, and Red can be... Ah. The All-Seeing Eye. Get it, y'know? It's funny because he's blind." Deadpool dissolves into hysterics over his own joke. "God, I crack myself up. Deep-Fried Cauliflower is because that's how I look under the mask," he elaborates to Peter. "All lumpy and holey and shit. It'd be endearing, if it wasn't so butt-ugly."

Matt huffs out a sharp breath and growls something indecipherable before shoving Deadpool aside. Peter's not really sure how to respond, so he just blinks at Deadpool and nods, uncertainly.

Deadpool pauses all of a sudden, and silver flicks through the air so quickly that Peter barely registers it. His Spidey-sense barely registers it. The katana rests on Matt's shoulder, centimeters away from his jaw, and Matt visibly tenses.

"No trick punches, Red." Deadpool says. The dark edge is back, and it cuts deep into his voice. "I could fucking kill you. You know that, right? That I could fucking kill you. And I'd sleep well, too."

Peter freezes. Everything seems to move in slow motion for a few seconds.

"Fuck you," Matt says after a beat, with feeling.

"Only on days that end with -y, lover," Deadpool chirps, tucking his katana back. "Sorry, Spidey, did I freak you out? Just had 'ta talk manners to Red, yanno. It's kinda like BDSM. You know what BDSM stands for? Beadpool, Daredevil, and Spider-Man. I'll take the loss on this one." He seems to remember something, and then swings around to wag a finger at Peter. "Don't go looking that up, by the way. You're too young for that shit."

"Stop talking, Wade." Matt mutters, while Peter rolls his eyes.

He'll never understand why Deadpool and Matt think he's basically a nun.

Being all cooped up the way he is with Wade and Matt, Peter's frankly surprised that he hadn't accidentally outed himself as Peter Parker to Wade before this moment.

It’s kind of funny, really; Peter had actually been spending a lot of time lounging around Matt’s office out of the suit as well, and Matt hadn’t … openly opposed it. Then again, Matt isn’t the same as Daredevil, not exactly; Matt is tidier and more careful where Daredevil takes messy, difficult risks. If it hadn’t been for Peter connecting the right dots at the right time, he probably never would’ve figured out that they were one and the same.

“Hand me a pencil, Peter,” Matt says lightly while they’re alone in the office one day. Peter doesn’t even think as he webs up a pencil and thwips it toward Matt, and Matt does about an equal amount of thinking as he snatches it out of the air immediately. Peter’s dying to know, but he doesn’t ask; this time, Matt seems to hear the unspoken question.

“You’re wondering how my senses work.” He says, not really as a question. It’s one of those things he does both in and out of the suit.

“It’s really cool,” Peter mumbles, twisting the pencil between his fingers. “But I thought you might be- I don’t know-”

“I can be sensitive about it.” Matt says, and it’s so agreeable that it frankly catches Peter off-guard. “More so when I’m in a mask. Like this, with the glasses, and the cane, people know. They try to make it easy on me. They can’t tell with Daredevil, so it inadvertently becomes harder. It feels like that would be my reality, if people didn’t constantly take pity on me. And I hate it.”

“I- I couldn’t understand,” Peter admits. “But that sounds really difficult, Mr. Murdock. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” He wiggles the fingers of one hand loosely. “My other senses are really heightened, and I have great reflexes. You too, right?” He flings an eraser toward Peter without warning, and Peter catches it out of the air immediately.

“Yeah.” Peter sits up, examining the eraser. It’s a caricature of Foggy’s face, with a good chunk erased out. “Except for me, I call it, er.” He flusters. “Spidey-sense.”

“Spidey-sense,” Matt echoes, amused. “And it warns you that things are coming?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and then he smiles a little. “It’s corny, right?”

“Sure it is. But that’s why you should keep it.” Matt gets to his feet. “I’m sorry to have to send you home, kid, but I do actually have to go do the job I’m actually being paid for, now. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, sure-”

Except, both their plans are shot right to hell, because that’s about when Wade crawls through the open window, lands with a thump on the floor of Matt’s office, and proceeds to bleed pretty much all over everything.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. On my fucking wood floors.” Matt says, pissed. He ignores the pooling blood and swearing as he maneuvers around Wade and slams the window shut, along with the blinds.

Peter’s frozen. On one hand, he should run, like hell, because Wade is close and Wade already knows his age and Wade really shouldn’t know what he looks like, too, but-

But he’s also injured, like, really badly. Still running his mouth, despite it, but.

“Don’t worry about him.” Matt leans back, eyeing the man with no small amount of loathing. “He heals fast.”

“Your bedside manner needs a lot of work, sweetheart.” Wade grunts, then props himself on one elbow and extends a very bloody hand out to Peter. “Nice to meetcha. Wade, better known as Deadpool, better known as Miss Most-Bangin’-Behind in New York, specifically. I would’ve gotten Jersey, too, but I got beat out by Genny, a hippo at Hippo Haven. But does Genny wear Corinthian leather? I think not.”

Peter smiles a little shakily. “I’m Peter. Are you okay?” He asks. “Should I get bandages or something?”

“Nah, I’ll get over it. Watch me.” Wade winks. Sure enough, right in front of Peter’s eyes, he starts to heal up. The biochemist in Peter drools. Both Matt and Wade are fascinating in their own rights, totally different but totally weirdly awesome at the same time. Then again, Peter had gotten bitten by a radioactive spider, so is he one to talk about weirdness?

Suddenly- Spidey-sense takes over.

“Get down," he says quicker than he really thinks, almost as a mumbled instinct. Matt doesn’t question it. He doesn’t say anything at all as he drops down, which is good, because a bullet explodes hits the wall right around where his head would’ve been.

“Fuck.” Matt shimmies around the desk and crouches beside Deadpool, grabbing him by the neck. “This is my work office, you bastard. Who the hell is that?”

“Save the breathplay for the bedroom, Red,” Wade says cheerfully, swatting at the hand. “It’s just some very nice men who want to negotiate with me, very nicely. And they may have brought guns to this very nice negotiation.”

“It’s broad daylight.” Matt snarls, dropping Wade. “Fuck.”

“I don’t decide when these things happen!” Wade exclaims, then turns to Peter. “You an intern, kid? You should dip while you can. It’s about to get reaaaaal messy in here.” As he says it, he’s grinning, and Peter watches in amazement as he unfurls himself back into standing position. He usually can’t tell as much when they’re out and about, but in Matt’s little office, Deadpool is huge. “Messy in a fun way, for me at least. You might need some bleach if you stick around, though.”

And Peter does consider leaving, for a moment, but then he catches the dark look Matt is directing at Wade, and he worries that if he leaves them, one of them will end up dead. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because as he’s making for the door, the alarm rings again, and it busts open and slams into the wall. Four men crowd into the room, guns waving; they start yelling messy commands at Deadpool, who just stands by and examines his nails- which, by the way, are gloved.

“My office,” Matt rages. Peter feels so bad for him. Mostly, he feels bad for him when Foggy gets a look at this. Foggy can be very, very nice, but Peter’s seen him patch Matt up, and he knows that Foggy can also be very, very scary.

Peter ducks around Wade, diving for his backpack. There’s no chance he’ll be able to get his suit on with Wade right there, but his webshooters-

He manages to drop to the floor just as another bullet clears the air right above his head. Fuck. Close call.

Matt twitches.

And then he explodes.

Now, Peter’s never seen Matt fight out of suit. Frankly, it’s scarier than seeing the Devil fight. Mostly because Matt makes very gratuitous use of his cane, which he’s currently using to bash the shit out of one of the assailants.

“Attaboy, Matt-a-boy,” Deadpool crows, ecstatic, as he slides across the floor to kick out one of the guy’s ankles. Mild disembowelment occurs shortly thereafter. Peter’s pretty sure the guy Matt is whaling on is pretty much half-dead. Watching the two men live up to their violent reputations is kind of a thing to behold, but Peter’s not sure if it’s in a good way or a bad way. Mostly because he realizes he’s having a hard time looking directly at the carnage unfolding in front of him.

They’re messy. Really messy.

“Fuck. Sorry, Peter.” Matt expels a harsh breath, leaning back and resting a hand on his desk. Peter just nods wordlessly, thumbing at his webshooter and feeling largely useless. Blood flecks Matt’s face dramatically; he nudges the unconscious, barely-breathing guy under him with a foot. There’s still one intruder standing a few feet away, but he stands there like he’s the one who got dragged on this mission reluctantly. He doesn’t look like he’s about to shoot; mostly, he looks scared shitless. Understandably.

“Aw, he can handle it. It’s just a bit of blood, don’t ya worry.” Wade grins unhelpfully, freeing his katana from one of the guy’s insides with a wet snick. “Kid’s probably seen a hell of a lot worse.” And, well, it’s true, but-

Then there’s movement; out of the corner of his eye, Peter notices one of the guys, sprawled near the door, lift a gun in Wade’s direction. His hand moves before he thinks. A web springs out from his webshooter, plugging the barrel with a splat.

And then there’s a very loud silence.

“Motherfucker,” Wade mutters, staring right at Peter, and Matt lets his head fall against the wall with a thunk.

“Sorry, I- I got nervous,” Peter says, curling his wrist inward. “I…”

“Wait a fucking second,” the guy near the door says. His eyes widen with realization, and he fumbles backward. “You’re the spider guy. Spider-Man. The one who stole all that alien tech.”

“Really hate how my reputation is becoming stealing alien weapons from people who were trying to steal alien weapons,” Peter mutters.

“Aw, man, Mac’s gonna flip,” the guy mumbles, and Peter’s heart freefalls into his stomach. He’s not sure what to do; he knows he can’t let this guy let his secret out, but-

The guy moves.

Wade moves quicker.

Tempered steel plunges out from the guy’s chest, and he teeters forward, then back, as Wade yanks his katana free.

“Wilson,” Matt snarls. Peter just stares, and he has no idea if Matt’s seeing exactly what he’s seeing, or if he’s hallucinating. His mouth moves, but no words really come out.

"Y-You didn't have to-"

"What? I didn't have to kill him, Spidey?" Wade gets into Peter's space, sudden and huge and in his face, and for a fleeting, terrifying second, Peter thinks maybe Wade's lost patience, maybe he'll hit him, maybe-

Matt makes an ill-concealed warning sound; Wade seems to realize the effect he's having and steps back.

"You need to fucking look out for yourself and only yourself." Wade says coldly. He gestures his katana to the guy sprawled out on the floor. "He would've sold you out for fifty bucks and a bubblegum wrapper. You want them to come for you? For that precious aunt you mentioned the other day?"

Peter flinches.

"Fuck, Webs, you and your baby-face. Keep your head up or you'll lose it. You see, me?" Wade jerks a thumb toward himself as he wipes the blood off on one of Matt's curtains, and Matt thankfully either doesn't see or is lost in thought. "I tell every-fucking-one my name, because I don't fucking care who comes for me. Shit. Let them show up at my front door. It's on my business card. You don't get that luxury. Ask Red over there if he'd have let any of these guys walk out if they'd found out who he was."

Matt hesitates, but only for a moment.

"Wade's methods are shitty." He says, scowling and rubbing a hand over his face. "But he's right. You're just a kid, and this kind of attention could ruin your life. Last thing you need is a bunch of assholes showing up on your doorstep and finding out your biggest problem is prom. Did anyone else see?"

The resounding answer, upon examining the either dead or unconscious forms around them, seems to be no. Or at least, it satisfies Wade, who finally sheathes his katana again. Peter just takes in the mess and feels a little terrible, honestly. It's not really his fault to have acted on a reflex that could've saved someone (even if that someone is Wade, who would've healed in seconds, probably), but-

"You need to go home." Matt says sternly, and Wade just leans against the wall, silent for once. "You shouldn't have to clean up this mess. He is going to do that, while I watch and make sure it's spotless before Foggy gets back tomorrow."

Wade groans obnoxiously, but seems to non-verbally acquiesce.

And Peter, well- He doesn't really need to be told twice. He goes home, hugs May, and breaks down in the privacy of his room, just like any other hero would.

At 5:30 sharp the next day, there's a nice, shiny, black-tinted car waiting in front of May's apartment. Peter cringes when he sees how inconspicuous it is, especially since he'd just been standing outside in a very unobtrusive hoodie. There had been a point when he did appreciate Tony's flashiness, but right now, after what Wade and Matt had drilled into him the night before, he's a bit afraid of the attention.

"Get in." The not-Happy driver says, looking disgruntled. He glares impatiently at Peter over black sunglasses, his expression unwavering as Peter timidly crawls into the passenger seat and fastens his seatbelt.

"Where are we-?"

"I'm not gonna answer any questions, so you're better off not talking." The driver doesn't mince words. Peter snaps his mouth shut. "I can't believe I got demoted to driving some kid." He mutters, half to himself. In his defense, Peter may not have heard his quiet muttering if it hadn't been for his hearing, but it still stings; he just wishes someone would take him more seriously. Right now, it feels like that's only Ned and MJ.

As he'd expected from Tony's message, the car glides out of the city limits and through the woods on the outskirts. It makes sense that Tony wouldn't want to be too far away, just in case. Peter can't imagine what possessed Tony of all people to want to take a mini-vacation in the woods, but when he sees the 'cabin,' he kind of understands. It's so lavish and beautiful that Peter's frankly a little intimidated by it- 'cabin' is definitely a misnomer, because it sort of looks like its own entire three-story house. It even has a security keypad, which the bodyguard swipes his pass against. It beeps and flashes green, and the door clicks open, so Peter tentatively follows the man inside.

Inside, it's just as beautiful as it is outside, cozily decorated and woodsy. There's also shag pretty much everywhere- a shag carpet on the floor, shag throws on the couch, shag pillows.

"Sit. I'll bring the boss." The bodyguard says curtly, and then he vanishes into the hallway.

Peter sits. He twists a tassel on one of the couch pillows while he waits, and even though he knows Tony's here, he can't help but feel like... Something's wrong. Something feels a little off. He can't place what, but it kind of feels like being watched. He sits up a little straighter, examining the windows and checking to see if anything is out of place, but-

"Psst."

Fuck.

Peter swivels around, and to his utter mortification, Wade is crouched next to the slightly-cracked window, peering in at him without any sort of discretion whatsoever. Peter speed-walks over to the window, looking back into the room before hissing out a, "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" And there's Matt, because of fucking course there's Matt. "Some guy forces you into a tinted car, brings you out into the fucking middle of nowhere-"

"It's not the middle of nowhere." Peter buries his head in his hands. "It's-"

Wade tries to crack open the window further. Naturally, because he's strong as all get-out, he breaks it.

And that's when the alarms go off.

This surprises only Matt and Wade, because Peter had already had an inkling that Tony would've cracked down on defense, especially in a place he was staying with Pepper. Except, instead of causing Matt and Wade to scatter, it just stresses them out even more. Since the window is fucked anyway, both of them clamber into the cabin, where Peter decidedly needs them not to be. The last thing he actually needs at this moment is for Tony to see that Peter had turned down his offers to be babysat, only to go find himself two other babysitters, both of whom favor considerable amounts of violence to a much greater degree than he does.

"You two need to get out," he says, but of course it's too late, because then Tony is barreling into the room, fully suited up, with the bodyguard on his heels.

"What the hell happened?" Tony erupts, one hand up as if he's about ready to blast Wade and Matt into the stratosphere. Peter's not actually sure he won't even after the misunderstanding clears up. The three of them are just aiming at each other now; Matt's in full fight position, and Wade has not one, but two pistols trained on Tony. Peter privately thinks it would've been almost hysterically funny if it wasn't so shit, and also, if he weren't in the middle of it.

Tony squints. "... Daredevil?" He questions in disbelief, though he doesn't immediately lower his hand. "That is you, isn't it? What the hell are you doing here?"

Matt pauses. Opens his mouth, closes it.

"We may have... Misunderstood a couple of things," he says after a long moment, like it pains him.

Peter could kill him. He could kill both of them, actually.

"Oh! Tin Man!" Wade catches on a beat after and lowers his pistols. "Wait, shit. Oh. Okay, I see now." He scratches at the side of his head with the pistol, shrugging one unapologetic shoulder at Peter. "But look, you can't really blame us."

"Would somebody like to explain to me what the hell is going on here?" Tony asks through his teeth. Peter just glares at Wade and Matt, fully expecting them to dig their way out of the hole they put themselves in, and they steadfastly ignore eye contact with him. As they should. Looks could've killed, right about now.

“He got into a car with tinted windows and an asshole driver,” Matt says, very slowly and stiffly. “We thought he was being kidnapped.”

“It’s not that weird.” Wade chirps, though it doesn’t make Tony look less like he’s going to pop a fuse.

Peter sometimes can’t believe his life.

"Why would I kidnap Peter?" Tony asks in disbelief as he walks over to the keypad on the wall to disable the alarms. His suit peels back, revealing an unusually normal-looking sweater and jeans. It's the most casual Peter's ever seen him, and he still looks more put-together than most people he knows.

"They know, Mr. Stark." Peter mutters, and Tony's eyelid twitches.

"It's not as if it makes any more sense for me to have kidnapped Spider-Man, either," he says, irritated. "Obviously, a lot has happened since we last talked."

And so Peter catches Tony up, as he'd intended to before everything had gone to shit.

For a moment, Tony just sits there and looks at Wade and Matt blankly. Wade's made himself comfortable during Peter's speech, boots sprawled on the coffee table and face buried in one of Tony's lifestyle magazines, whereas Matt's shuffled into a corner to apparently try to disappear. He's standing there very awkwardly, trying to take up as little space as possible, and now that Peter's less furious, he kind of feels bad for the guy. This much attention can't be good for Matt.

"So let me get this straight," He says as he walks over to the counter to pour himself a drink. "These two overgrown bozos saw you get into a black car and followed you all the way out here to make sure you didn't get kidnapped?"

"I take offense to that kind of language, Tin Man," Wade chirps from the couch, flipping a page of his magazine. "You shouldn't bully me too much, or I'll develop a complex." He lifts his head, and Peter can see the ear-to-ear smile even beneath the mask. "And then I'll just have to keep showing up here to annoy you, allll the time. It could be fun! I have all sorts of board games at home, after all. What's your poison? Jenga? Trivial Pursuit? Sorry? No... Wait, let me guess... I bet you just love Scrabble. I bet you love to wow everyone with the big words and fancy-pants talk, because you talk so good."

Tony turns to Matt, brow pinched. "I'd forgotten how fucking annoying he is. This is your partner in crime? Really?"

Matt doesn't say anything, though the telltale twitch of his mouth conveys all the misery in the world.

"Aw. Sweet-talker." Wade goes back to reading, whistling as he does, and doesn't even flinch when Tony forcefully shoves his feet off the coffee table. "You two frown too much. This magazine says you'll develop wrinkles if you keep that up. Gotta hold onto those good looks, Red, they're all you have left. Rate you're going, you'll be a raisin in your 40s."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark." Peter sighs, and now he's tired enough that he just plops down onto the couch. "They- They meant well."

Tony takes a long drink, puts his glass down, and sighs. "I know they did."

"Huh?" Peter swivels around to look at him. "You do? I mean, you're not mad?"

"I mean, I'm pissed as hell about my window," Tony says, gesturing to it. "And I'm less than thrilled that a contract killer is your idea of a capable babysitter, but I'd rather these two be on your side than not." It's pretty sound reasoning, actually. Peter really doesn't want to imagine being on either Daredevil or Deadpool's bad sides, and especially not both at the same time. "I am kind of hurt, though." He sniffs. "I thought you didn't want someone watching out for you, and I might not be the soundest of mind, but I like to think I have these two beat."

"Oh, you definitely have me beat," Wade mutters. "I'm crazy. But like, in a cute, endearing way."

"Let me be clear," Peter says a bit loudly, garnering everyone's attention. "I don't want it from anyone. I don't need anyone to follow me around. I came here specifically to say that I wish everyone would take me more seriously." He sighs. "It's not that I don't appreciate all of you looking out for me, but it's kind of a lot. I already have an aunt who mothers me. I just want you guys to be there if I need you and not talk around me like I'm a toddler." He shoots a frustrated look at Wade. "I'm fifteen, almost old enough to drive. I've been on the internet, before. I probably know more about it than all of you combined."

Matt and Tony look a little chagrined. Wade's still got the magazine open in front of him, but Peter knows he's looking at him, now.

"You're right, Peter," Matt says after a moment. "Of course, maybe we've been... a bit much. I know what it's like to be smothered. It can... be a lot."

"I'm telling Foggy you said that," Peter quips, and Matt seems to pale slightly.

"Shit," Tony sighs. "Pepper was right. She always is." When Peter tilts his head questioningly, Tony elaborates. "She said that I was holding on too tightly, and that you were going to want to do things on your own."

"Pepper is really wise," Peter says, and then smiles. "You should really listen to her more."

"Alright, smartass." Tony rolls his eyes, but it's fond. "Fine. As long as you promise to call for help when you need it, I'll loosen the chain a little." He rubs the side of his head. "Happy misses your little updates, so you should, you know. Do those again."

Peter examines him curiously. "Happy misses them, huh?"

Tony stares back guilelessly. "He does."

Deciding not to push it further, Peter nods. Then he flicks an inquisitive look toward Wade, who sighs too-loudly.

"I'm not making any fucking promises." He says, getting to his feet. "I know you're a kid now, and I can't help wanting to curb-stomp anyone who looks wrong at a kid. I'm not wrong for that. And I'm not going to fucking apologize for it, either. But, I'll stop riding your a-" He clears his throat. "I'll stop following you around. Too closely. If you wanna get rid of me for good, fucking turn eighteen or something."

Peter supposes that's the best he's going to get from them, communication All-Stars that the three of them are.

In hindsight, he should've asked Pepper to mediate it. Now that would've been funny.

Matt finds him at his rooftop spot again a couple weeks later.

"Patrols going okay, Peter?" He asks, sitting down next to him. Peter nods enthusiastically, mid-sandwich- bite. It's Nutella and peanut butter, today. He offers half to Matt, who shakes his head no. "You need to keep up your strength, but thank you. Have you seen Wade?"

Peter swallows. "He's around here somewhere. Probably picking a fight with a pigeon that stole his fries, or something."

Matt cracks a small smile. "He'd do that, wouldn't he."

Peter imagines Wade throwing down a gauntlet, challenging an unsuspecting pigeon to a 1v1, and duking it out with a bird in a dimly lit back-alley. Then he starts to laugh. It's just a little snort at first, but it soon erupts into full-blown laughter, and amidst his own howls, he hears Matt chuckle along as well.

"He's so," Matt says, once their laughter dies down. He sounds somewhere between exasperated and a little bit ... Well, Peter's not sure how to place that other emotion. But he kind of understands.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking up at the sky. He waits a few moments before speaking again. "What you said the other day, DD. About the point of no return, and all that. Does... everyone really get like that? Y'know. Jaded, and ... Tired."

Matt's expression is totally indeterminable, now. Peter can't imagine what the other vigilante might be thinking.

"I think so, Peter," he says and then looks up at the sky as well. "I just hope it takes you a hell of a long time to get there."