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Peter was, all things considered, quite a smart individual. He did well in school, was capable of making big decisions (with a remarkable amount of anxiety, but still) and juggled hiding his illegal vigilante activities from most people in his life with being a teenager. And yet, if you asked anyone who knew him well, they’d say that Peter Parker made some of the stupidest decisions they’d ever heard of.
It wasn’t that he did it intentionally. He just had some bad ideas about what was and wasn’t normal, and a severe lack of impulse control (see: became a vigilante at the age of sixteen and immediately got involved in an international incident although he was blackmailed into that one). That wasn’t to say that all of Peter’s dumb ideas ended badly, it just so happened that this one was ending badly. In his defence, he didn’t choose to have dysphoria right before he had to meet up with Daredevil on patrol. He'd been binding for years at this point, and he knew full well what the recommendations were for wearing binders; don’t bind for more than 8-10 hours at a time, have a few days per week where you’re not binding, don’t bind too tightly and don’t exercise while binding. But he’d glanced in the mirror while he was getting ready for patrol, and while the suit was designed to minimise all of his ‘natural’ (wrong) body shape, it was still obvious that they were there (to Peter, anyway, most other people probably wouldn’t notice, but they couldn’t feel them, the way they deformed every piece of clothing he wore over his chest, the way they would hurt, the way nothing made him feel worse than when he forgot they existed and then remembered suddenly that they were still there and would continue to be unless he managed to earn enough money for top surgery.) So Peter hadn’t even thought twice about putting his binder on and slipping out of his window for patrol. In fact, he hadn’t noticed anything was wrong for about an hour, he was so focused on stopping crime and saving people while he made his way over to Hell’s Kitchen (he’d learnt his lesson about how much time he needed to make it in time to meet Daredevil without ignoring anyone in need of help.) He had, however, noticed something was wrong when he dropped down to stop a drug deal gone wrong and he’d gotten kicked in the chest halfway through the fight. Usually, it would have just winded him slightly, and then he would have been moving again within moments, but this time something was different. Peter had finished the fight, but the entire time, his breath was still coming in short sharp gasps, and it didn’t appear to be getting better. Even after webbing the drug dealers up and swinging to the top of the nearest roof, he couldn’t catch his breath. That wasn’t to say that he couldn’t breathe at all; he was still getting enough oxygen to think clearly and keep his body functioning as it should, but something felt wrong. It was like there was something constricting his lungs, wrapped around them, stopping them from fully expanding. In his panic, Peter missed the arrival of Daredevil next to him. He did become fully aware of his presence when an arm wound its way around his shoulders, offering support and holding him upright. It took several minutes for Peter’s chest to clear and regain the ability to intake a healthy amount of air, but there was still a distinct ache where the kick had connected, making it painful to breathe. Daredevil seemed to pick up on this, and Peter watched his jaw tighten as his head tilted, like he was listening intently to something. The air seemed to tense, and Peter felt like he should say something, but the tight feeling returned to his chest, and he didn’t think it was to do with the kick this time. The seconds dragged past, and just as he felt his breath begin to quicken again, Daredevil moved, no longer listening to whatever it was that had caught his attention. Peter prepared to move, ready to go wherever Daredevil went, as it was typically only a faraway crime that caught his attention like that. (Peter still didn’t know how heightened Daredevil’s hearing was, but he only heard about half the crimes that Daredevil took him to, and even then, only barely, so it had to be amazing loud for him at all times.) Given what his expectations were, he was intensely surprised when a hand was placed on the middle of his back, pushing him towards the raised portion of the roof. Peter was caught off guard enough that he didn’t even think to question it, to ask about what was going on. Daredevil’s other hand pressed down on his shoulder, guiding him to sit, and Peter went with the pressure, still not having quite recovered enough air to argue. (If it also had something to do with not receiving quite enough friendly touches in his life anymore, outside of Aunt May, Ned and MJ, then that was his business and his alone. If he was ignoring that Mr Stark had been the only one to really put a hand on Peter’s shoulder like that, then that was also irrelevant. This was different anyway. Daredevil was different.) He hadn’t even really zoned out until he heard Daredevil’s voice calling for him, gravelly, but so much softer than the voice used on criminals, even softer than the voice used during their training. “Spider-Man?” Peter wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the concern that he was pretty sure was in the voice (he kept making people concerned and he really, really didn’t want to but he didn’t seem to be able to stop-) but he figured his best bet was to try and assuage that worry, smooth it out, so that that concern wasn’t being directed at him anymore. “I’m alright, it’s fine, don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” It came out in a rush, and even if he couldn’t see it through the mask, he could feel the disbelieving stare being directed at him. Peter couldn’t even be offended. Even he hadn’t believed that, and it was his not-lie. In his defence, it still felt like something was restricting his breath, and his words had come out far more breathless than he’d intended. “Did you want to try that again?” “…No.” Daredevil huffed a laugh, a small grin appearing on his face. Peter felt his own face shift into a smile under the mask, though it faded when Daredevil’s expression changed back into something more serious. “What happened?” Daredevil’s voice was still laced with that concern, and an underlying emotion Peter couldn’t fully identify, but it set alarm bells off in his head. “I’ve seen you get hit before, and you’ve never reacted like that. Are you injured? Were you injured before you came out?” “No!” Peter’s voice came out strangled with panic. “Nope, wasn’t injured, definitely not injured before, a hundred percent fine over here, nothing wrong at all, nope, nuh-uh.” “You’re an awful liar.” “I’m not lying though! I wasn’t injured before!” “I know that. You’re still injured in some way now though.” “That’s not-” Peter broke off, ignoring the way Daredevil was staring at him accusingly. He’d just realised why his chest still felt so tight, why he hadn’t fully recovered his breath yet. His ribs were definitely bruised, he knew that, and he had a feeling Daredevil knew it as well, but that wasn’t the reason he’d paused.
He’d gone out with his binder on.
He’d never done that unintentionally before. His… chest usually wasn’t an issue, since he’d been lucky enough that Aunt May and Uncle Ben had managed to get him on puberty blockers and then testosterone before – before puberty, before Ben died, before they’d lost Ben’s pay check and struggled to make ends meet - and the insurance May got from her hospital job had covered it for a little while longer. (It hadn’t, not really, but May didn’t want to let him stop until it had been necessary to keep the apartment and food, but Peter had never said anything, and he wasn’t going to any time soon.) They couldn’t afford it anymore, but it had done enough to prevent any major chest growth, and he’d made his new suit with a compressive section around his torso, both to provide thickness to protect from blows, and also, well, dysphoria. And if it was a bad day, he was just extra careful about avoiding hits to the chest and ribs. So a chest injury with a binder on? Not an experience he was particularly used to, and not one he was planning on repeating again any time soon. How he hadn’t realised he was wearing it was honestly beyond him, but in his defence, he was pretty used to having some form of compression around his chest most of the time. It wasn’t always a binder or his spider suit, he actually spent most of his time wrapped in bandages to prevent himself from bleeding out because of the stab wounds. (Daredevil usually did the bandaging. He seemed to have a knack for finding Peter when he had just gotten injured, and Peter was honestly starting to get worried that he was being stalked. None of them had been as bad as the first one, so he honestly thought it was a bit much at this point.) Eventually, Peter dragged himself out of his musings (he had a lot of thoughts, leave him be), and promptly got the shit scared out of him when Daredevil was still crouched in front of him, waiting patiently. Well, he’d been waiting patiently until Peter had managed to choke on oxygen by being startled (he was a very successful vigilante, he was capable of breathing like an alive human being) and was now holding Peter upright as his lungs died, giving off an incredibly nervous and concerned air. The moment the coughing fit passed, and Daredevil seemed satisfied with the fact that Peter was not going to be trying to remove organs via his trachea again, Daredevil’s attention laser focused on Peter. Oh fuck. Peter was up and on his feet before he knew it, instinct making him move. The only thing that kept Peter from booking it was the fact that he wouldn’t even make it a step before Daredevil caught him – both because Daredevil was less than a metre away, and also because he was Daredevil. “What was that.” “In my defence you scared me.” “Spider-Man. What. Was. That.” “You scared me!” “I scare you all the time! You never react like that! You sounded like you were dying.” “I knew you scared me on purpose. You asshole!” “Language.” Peter nearly choked again. “Coming from the man who regularly says things worse than I’ve ever heard, and we live in New York. I ride the subway regularly, and you hold all the top ten spots for ‘most fucked up sentences I’ve ever heard.’” “Language.” “You can’t tell me off for swearing if you swear too!” “Out of the two of us here, who’s the adult?” Okay, now that was uncalled for. “I didn’t know you were a minor, Daredevil! This is dangerous work, you should go home, and maybe I won’t tell your parents.” “I can’t believe you’re still bitter about that.” “I’m a vigilante and you thought that my parents were alive. You brought this on yourself.” “Very funny. I still stand by it. Children shouldn’t be out this late.” “I’m an adult.” “Try again.” “I’m nearly eighteen!” “Wrong answer, better luck next time.” “I’m old enough!” (The voice crack did not help his case.) “You’re a child.” “Teenager.” “Baby. Practically a fetus.” “I will kick your ass.” “You’ve beaten me once. And language.” Was it even possible for Daredevil to sound more exasperated? “I’ve won more than once.” “Those were ties, and they only ended because you were too stubborn to tap out.” Apparently it was. Peter was doing a remarkable job of distracting Daredevil from asking questions. “I stand by the fact that you called the spar off first, so it was you conceding. Therefore, I won.” “That is not how that works.” “I’m pretty sure it is.” “Stop deflecting.” “As far as I can tell, you’re the one deflecting. Stop trying to change the subject. I won more than once.” “The fact that you actually thought that that would work is pretty sad.” “I’m insulted. I would be fantastic at deflection, if that were, in fact, what I was attempting to do.” “You’re still an awful liar.” Daredevil had the audacity to sound amused. “That’s just rude.” “Spider-Man.” Damnit. Peter actually thought he’d managed to get somewhere too, but alas, Daredevil was insisting on being concerned. “Yes?” Not a day went by where Peter wasn’t grateful for the innocent act he’d developed as a child. Sure, May had always been able to see through it, and Ben had only ever let him get away with stuff if it wasn’t that big of a deal, but he’d always been able to use it on unsuspecting adults, and while he didn’t use it to get away with a lot, getting out of detention for late homework was a very useful skill. Unfortunately, it appeared that Daredevil was in fact one of the adults who was able to see through it in an instant and was therefore not having it. “What happened kid? And don’t try bullshitting me, I will know.” Peter hated it when he did that. It meant he felt bad for even trying to lie. (Not really, but that was for him to know, and everyone else to suspect.) “It was just a one off hit, lucky for him, unlucky for me. Caught me off guard and winded me.” There. That wasn’t a lie. “Okay.” Oh thank god. “Now the rest of the truth, please.”
Never mind.
“That’s it.” “Bad liar, kid. Your breathing still sounds wrong. It’s too fast and shallow.” Okay, how the hell did he know that. Peter can definitely hear people breathing, but he wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation and keep track of how fast a person was breathing. “How do you keep track of that? Can you teach me, or is it because your hearing is sharper than mine? Do you just know the average breathing rate of a human person, or is it individual for everyone? Do you have to be around someone for a while before you can get a feel for how their breathing is usually? How fast do I usually breathe? Is that as much as you can hear or can you hear other things? How far away can you hear breathing from? Do you need to-“ Like he’d said, Peter was smart. He was just also incredibly forgetful. Like how he just forgot that he couldn’t breathe properly, and so couldn’t go on question asking sprees like normal – even though that was what he was just asking about. (Look, he was having a rough time. He’ll be using oxygen deprivation as an excuse.) For the third time that night, Daredevil was supporting him through a coughing fit, but even though this one lasted for a much shorter period, he didn’t let go once it was done. In fact, he seemed to hold on tighter. Peter couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed at the concern, since his chest hurt so much more now, and he was seriously considering that he might actually be more injured than he’d thought he was. “I need to check your chest and ribs. Sit.” Following directions, Peter sat, and Daredevil immediately crouched in front of him, hands pressing gently against Peter’s chest. “Tell me where it starts to hurt. I need to know if you need serious medical attention.” Peter nodded, and that seemed to satisfy Daredevil, since his hands started moving, putting gentle pressure on his ribs, and moving on when Peter didn’t say anything. His lower ribs were fine, sides weren’t too much of a problem (although Peter was highly aware of the fact that Daredevil lingered over the old stab wound scar. Neither of them were particularly fond of remembering that night, since despite the fact that they had seen each other injured fairly regularly, that was probably the worst injury so far. Neither of them were under the illusion that it would remain the worst, but they could hope.) When Daredevil’s hands moved to carefully push in the centre of his chest, Peter tensed. Initially it was for reasons, and then almost immediately he was overwhelmed with white-hot pain. A pained groan forced its way out of his throat, and the pressure was gone in an instant. The pain receded, slowly, leaving an ache in its wake, but it was bearable, and Peter could still breathe properly. A hand on his shoulder drew his attention upwards again, where Daredevil still crouched, a grim tension to his jaw. “I’m gonna have to check it.” Peter’s breath caught, worry flashing through his mind.
He can’t know. He started pulling away, making up excuses, ready to make a hasty exit, but Daredevil just grabbed his wrist and tugged him back, not harshly, just firmly, and Peter felt the fight leave him. It’d be fine. And if Daredevil left him too, then that was fine, he’d been fine before and he’d be fine after. (He was lying on both accounts. He hadn’t been fine, and he wouldn’t be fine.) He felt his mind detach from his body, desperate to miss this, to not actively witness Daredevil’s reaction. Peter wasn’t ashamed of himself, not in any way shape or form, but he knew how bad other people’s opinions could get, and he didn’t know what he’d do if Daredevil ended up being one of those people. So he floated, weightless, not fully aware of anything around him. He would know when Daredevil found out, of course, but if he floated far enough away, it wouldn’t affect him. A calming numbness washed over him, and Peter braced himself. But Daredevil hadn’t moved to do anything. He was just waiting, Peter’s wrist held in a loose grip, enough to hold him there, but not actively restraining him. Peter focussed his attention on the feeling of Daredevil’s hands through his suit, feeling the pressure, however light it was, and using it to ground himself. “Kid? You back with me?” That was the softest Peter had ever heard that voice, and he felt himself settle back into his skin slowly. His bones weighed him down again, and anxiety washed over him, but his hand was pushed against Daredevil’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of every breath, until his own breathing matched the even rhythm, and he calmed slightly. It was still there of course, but he was firmly in his own body (even if he didn’t necessarily want to be in this body right at this very moment) and Daredevil still hadn’t moved to do anything. “Kid?” Peter hummed in response, suddenly too drained to respond fully. He heard a soft sigh, and almost felt bad, but he just leant his head back against the wall behind him and let his eyes slip shut. “Can you pull your suit up for me, kid? Go at your own pace, as far as you want, but I need to be able to see that bruise I reckon is under there.” He hesitated; but slowly, Peter removed his wrist from Daredevil’s grip, and used both his hands to detach the top half of his suit from the bottom and pulled it up slowly. Daredevil waited, not moving at all, beyond moving his hand to rest on Peter’s knee, the same way he’d been holding his wrist earlier – gentle and grounding. When the suit was out of the way, Peter gripped the bottom of his binder and moved it up as slowly as possible, doing his best to avoid accidentally putting more pressure on the bruise as he folded it over itself, letting it rest just above his chest. He kept his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to look at Daredevil’s reaction or his own body. Daredevil moved his hand back over the bruise, being cautious to not press anywhere other than where he needed to. Peter hissed as he pressed on the bruise, no longer having the protection of layers to cushion the pressure, but Daredevil kept prodding gently, pushing the boundaries of where Peter could feel the bruise spreading. He was quiet as he worked, and Peter felt himself grow nervous, heartbeat quickening. He was about to let himself float off again when Daredevil spoke. “My best friend is trans, you know.” Peter froze, mind going blank. Daredevil paused for a moment, then continued making sure the bruise wasn’t anything more serious than that. Peter couldn’t think, or maybe he could, maybe everything was suddenly moving too fast and how was he supposed to understand what that meant was that the truth or was Daredevil just lying to him to make him relax to make him let down his guard did he really not care about it or- “Breathe.” Daredevil’s voice cut through the maelstrom of thoughts inside Peter’s head, giving him something to focus on, to draw his attention back outside of his mind. Peter’s eyes opened slightly, and he caught sight of Daredevil looking at him, concern evident. He forced his breathing to even out, and Daredevil nodded, going back to his task. “He was nervous to tell me as well. It’s alright. It doesn’t change anything, okay kid? You’re alright, you don’t have to worry about my opinion, but it hasn’t changed. You’re still exactly the same person to me, okay? “Okay.” Peter barely managed to croak it out, throat choked up with holding back the tears that were threatening to force their way out. Whether he’d already been crying, he didn’t know, but he was pretty sure these ones were tears of relief, not pain. Daredevil didn’t speak again, simply letting the silence sit as he finished checking the bruise. When he was done, he sat back and placed a hand on Peter’s knee again. Peter pulled his binder down instantly, still careful to avoid the bruise, but relishing the feeling of being covered fully. His suit was quick to follow, and he breathed in deeply. The few tears that escaped were slow, and absorbed into his mask almost immediately, but Peter was still acutely aware of their presence. When his emotions settled, and he became aware of his surroundings again, he felt Daredevil’s hand still on his knee, but also his (incredibly warm) presence on his right side, not too close but definitely there. Daredevil seemed to sense that he was calming down and spoke again. “It’s not anything more than a bad bruise, but it was probably made significantly worse because of your binder pushing down on it. I assume it’s a bit better now since you’re breathing more evenly?” “Yeah. Doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Probably be mostly gone by morning. Healing factor n all.” Peter was absolutely ignoring that his words were slurring a bit. It had been a night, okay, he was allowed to be tired. Very tired. “Honestly, I think everyone in my life would be thrilled if I healed anywhere near as fast as you do. Even if most of my injuries actually come from me walking into things and not fights. I just let them think that. It’s less embarrassing for me.” A snort burst out of Peter, quickly falling into uncontrolled laughter. He felt Daredevil’s grin on him, and he just let himself smile wider. His laughter fizzled out eventually, and Daredevil shifted beside him. “I assume you know that wearing a binder while on patrol is incredibly stupid.” Peter groaned. “Can we skip the lecture? Please? I think the injury has given me enough incentive to not do this again.” Not any time soon, at least, and not without being aware of it. “The fact that you got injured is exactly why we will not be skipping the lecture.” “Damnit.” “Stop complaining. What are the recommendations for wearing a binder?” “Seriously!?” “Recommendations. Binder. Go.” “Fine. Don’t wear it for more than 8-10 hours, only wear one if it’s the right size, only wear it for a few days each week, don’t wear more than one at once, and don’t intentionally bind. And-” Peter broke off, knowing exactly what Daredevil wanted from him, but wanting to postpone the lecture at least a little. “And?” Never mind, not postponing it, abort, Peter did not like that tone. “And don’t exercise while binding.” “And you did what?” “Went on patrol, which I would technically not consider exercising, since it’s not deliberate movement with the intent for health improvement.” “No.” Not even a witty response. Damn, that meant that Daredevil was actually really serious about this. Unfortunately. “Yeah, I know.” Peter sighed. “I don’t usually wear it, that’s why you don’t usually see me react like that. And if I do wear it, I’m usually really good at avoiding chest and rib injuries. Tonight was a one off.” Daredevil paused, which made Peter incredibly suspicious. “Why was tonight a one off?” “… No comment.” “Kid.” Ah, the exasperation was back. Unfortunately, Peter didn’t feel like being a shit anymore. “… I didn’t notice I was wearing it.” “What.” “I didn’t mean to put it on! It was just a bad day for that. And I’m used to things around my chest, so it didn’t feel like anything was different!” “How often do you bind that you’re so used to it?” Hey, that was an unfair assumption to make. Peter was capable of making good decisions, thank you very much. “Only a couple times a week, I’m not that stupid.” “So then why are you used to things around your chest?” “Bandages. From the stab wounds. And other injuries. Usually the stab wounds.” “Oh, so you’re just a different kind of stupid.” Rude. Entirely unnecessary. “Do you regularly patrol with healing stab wounds?” “No! They’ve usually already healed! The bandages are just a precaution. Healing factor, remember.” “I’m getting grey hairs because of you.” “I’m pretty sure that’s just because you’re old.” “You’re grounded.” What the fuck, no. “You can’t ground me.” “I definitely can.” “You have literally no authority over me.” “I will find a way.” “What, are you going to tell my parents?” “For fucks sake kid, let that go.” An opening, perfect. “Language.” “That’s it.” Peter shrieked as Daredevil charged at him, ducking under his arm and darting away. Daredevil didn’t hesitate, spinning on his heel and giving chase. Peter panicked and looked for the nearest place to jump off the roof and swing, but a hand grabbed his wrist. In a split second, he was in a headlock. “Apologise.” “No!” “I’m not letting you go until you apologise.” “This is assault!” “That’s a stretch. And I don’t think you’d be able to press charges, given that you’re a vigilante.” “You are too! And I’m a minor, so it’s worse.” Daredevil paused, and Peter had the feeling he’d made a terrible mistake. “You’re right, you are a minor.” Peter had about half a second to realise he’d fucked up, before Daredevil had released him from the headlock, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, avoiding the bruise on his chest. “Hey! Put me down!” “Nah. You’re a minor, and since you’re a child, you shouldn’t be out on your own so late.” “Fuck you.” “Children shouldn’t swear either.” Daredevil started walking towards the edge of the roof, and Peter was suddenly filled with dread. “You are not parkouring while holding me.” “Funny, I remember saying something like that a few weeks ago, but that didn’t stop you from swinging with me.” “You were injured!” “And you’re currently injured. I’m just stopping you from making it worse.” Peter couldn’t get another word in, since Daredevil jumped for the next roof, and Peter closed his eyes tight, letting out a high-pitched yelp. The jump itself was smooth, and Peter barely felt any impact when they landed, but the fact remains that he hated that. Daredevil put him back on his feet, giving him a moment to get his bearings before fully letting go. “I hate you.” Daredevil just laughed at his misery. Terrible conduct from someone who claimed to help people when he’d just traumatised Peter for life. Peter was too busy grumbling and making sure his suit was still on right to notice when Daredevil stopping laughing and sobered up. He did, however, notice when he started speaking. “I meant it, kid. My opinion of you hasn’t changed. You’re still the same idiot kid who keeps getting injured while doing an amazing job helping people.” The sheer sincerity in his voice nearly fucking broke Peter. Before he’d really registered what he was doing, he’d slammed into Daredevil’s chest, wrapping his arms around him tightly. There was a brief moment of hesitation before Daredevil’s arms settled around his shoulders and squeezed him back. Peter let out a shuddering breath, letting his anxiety disappear for the moment. “Thank you.” “It’s the bare minimum kid. I wouldn’t leave because of this. Not because of anything.” Oh, that bastard. Daredevil knew the bare minimum about Mr Stark, and Peter knew he had some opinions on the subject, but he knew exactly what saying that would mean to Peter. Exactly just how much it would reassure him. Peter would have had a warm feeling in his chest (not pain this time) but he was too busy trying not to cry. Daredevil let Peter collect himself for a few minutes, before pulling back, but not entirely letting go. “Go home for the night. I’ll see you soon, but you need to get home and let that chest heal properly. And don’t forget that you actually have school tomorrow.” Peter let out a drawn-out groan of annoyance. “Why did you remind me?” Daredevil huffed, shaking his head. He poked Peter in the forehead, ignoring the muttered “ow”. “Go home. Sleep. And take your binder off when you get back.” “Yeah, I know.” Peter turned to leave, pausing on the edge of the roof. Daredevil glanced back at him, smiled and made a shooing motion. “Go. It’s gotta be well past your bedtime by now.” The only response Peter deigned that with was a middle finger as he jumped off the roof, swinging away, the sound of Daredevil’s laughter following him. So yeah, Peter was technically smart, but his stupid decisions were in a league of his own. He didn’t mind that much this time, since even though it’d left him with an aching chest, the other ache, the one that stung of abandonment and loneliness, had been replaced by a warm feeling. One that almost felt like family.