Spider-Man: Brand New Day becomes much more wholesome when you remember that Jon and Tom filmed each others’ auditions for Frank Castle and Peter Parker. They both helped each other get into Marvel, now they’re in the same movie as the characters they auditioned for.
Summary: when a new tenant moves into your apartment complex, your life changes in ways you had not expected. What starts off as a sweet friendship with your neighbour turns into something much more sinister. Lives become entangled unexpectedly and obsessive tendencies start blooming gradually. He starts to become rather reliant and attached to his neighbour who keeps getting into dangerous situations.
notes: chronicles with neighbour!dex, but it's literally following the events of DD s3 lol, nickname is Star (has a sweet meaning behind it), slow burn? Platonic relationships, Karen is lowkey your unofficial guardian, reader used to work at Nelson & Murdock, symptoms of depression, grief, follows the events after defenders and spoilers for defenders/DD s3. mostly just wordbuilding. any feedback is welcome :) - 3.7k
Part 1 part 2 croc incident part 3 irony of comfort part 4 hold me closer part 5 part 6 the difference never enough
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The small apartment that you lived in was built in an area with little to no surveillance. Easy to slip in and out without being sighted, a place that people wouldn't take notice of.
Therefore, it didn’t cost much compared to other places, and whilst the security was lax, or non-existent more like, it was also the other maintenance lacking within the building that led to a more manageable rent for someone working part-time jobs with a small inheritance your father had left for you. It also did mean that the tenants did not complain too much.
A rat here, or the chipped infrastructure, even the old gym with rusted weights that was located on the top floor, there were only but hushed complaints from your gossiping neighbours.
And oftentimes, when the gossip did meet your ears, that was how you knew what was happening in real-time within the building.
Conveniently, this occurred when the tenants were passing by or conversing in two’s, naturally you caught wind of it, your primary source of news in regards to the apartment complex.
By overhearing the tenants, the ones that lived on a different floor to you, about a new tenant joining the club, your floor was mentioned, piqueing your interest. There hadn’t been many tenants moving in and out as of late.
You had been looking for some files for Karen who had requested you could fish out for her, some extracurricular digging skills you had acquired over the years came into use when you started helping Karen out for some of the articles she was writing. She was doing you a favour asking, because you had nothing more to do and the extra cash coming in was useful.
It was a hobby of some sort, and one you passively indulged in, which came into use for interning at Nelson and Murdock some time ago.
You push through the doors and into the lobby, it was just as cold in the lobby as it was outside. You make your way to the staircase, the elevator has been broken for about three weeks now, with no sign of it getting fixed by the manager of the building. It was better to keep your expectations low, knowing there would be no chance of it getting fixed anytime soon. Or ever, if you look at how nothing was changing around here.
It was good exercise too, taking the stairs, so you’ll take it. Not that you had an option in that manner. Exhausted and in your own world, you perk up a little when the name of your floor is being mentioned. You slow down, catching wind of the last bits of their conversation, piecing together the words, something about the new tenant and floor three.
You think it may be the apartment next to yours that has been empty for the last six months, nobody had occupied it thus far, so maybe it would be that one?
It would be a matter of time till you met the new tenant who would probably be moving their things in, not that you were looking forward to striking up meaningless conversations. It would likely end up with you giving them awkward smiles as you passed each other in the hallways.
Good thing you didn’t have a set schedule. Your odd hours allowed you to often snake through the lobby and into your apartment without exchanging pleasantries with your neighbours.
—
Since you had the day off from work, you had met up with Karen that day, unable to stay away from knowing what was happening, the curiosity getting the best of you.
It hadn’t been long since the disastrous incident. Fresh injuries still healing day by day.
Too close to the explosion, that is how you got a couple scrapes and bruises from the aftermath of Midland Circle. Cuts still healing, stitches to be taken out soon and fading bruises were still visible on your face.
In a place like Hell’s Kitchen, this was not often questioned, but you still felt the need to cover yourself, ducking your head down a little when people did a double take when looking at your face.
So you hid your face with a cap, tugging at it constantly, as if it would hide your face away even more. Disliking the attention you thought it was bringing, yet people were probably not even looking, but you still did it anyway. Who likes being perceived anyway?
Regardless of how much grief surrounded the aftermath, all of you had to move on at some point. That was what Foggy kept saying, but coming to terms with it was not an easy task. Karen still held onto some kind of cynical hope that Matt was still alive. How could she let go of him when there was a possibility he was out there somewhere.
You didn’t know what to believe.
A weird third thing of denial and acceptance, possibly bargaining with yourself. You were unsure of which stage of grief you were experiencing. It was familiar to you, the grief.
Acceptance came late when your father passed, and you were constantly reminded that recovery was not linear.
Some days your body just wouldn’t co-operate with you, and on other days, your body worked on autopilot. A part of you held onto that hope Karen had, the idea that Matt was still alive, but logically speaking it was unlikely, a whole building had collapsed on him after all.
So you were floating around that third thing. Not knowing. Not fully believing anything.
But still you worked, researched at the city archives, asked around for information per Karen’s request. It wasn’t all too bad, just tiring, lonely. Nothing new, it had become a normal aspect of your life.
It had been about a couple weeks since your new neighbour had moved in, and so far you hadn’t crossed paths thankfully. In no way were you the kind of person that gave your new neighbours a welcome gift.
The only thing that you had noticed from your amazing investigative skills is that his work was pretty demanding. Not that you were keeping tabs, but you can’t exactly not listen when the doors are opening and shutting close rather loudly.
Then when your timings did align, when you came back from your shift, he was exiting the lobby, and when you crossed paths in the hallway upstairs, tight lipped smiles were exchanged.
After your day of running errands is when you had a silent introduction to your next door neighbour.
It involved meeting up with Karen at her office, she asked if you could proofread some pieces for her, she knew you had some insight into the Midland Circle crisis situation.
You were able to subtly overhear what some of the officers were saying when all of you were holed up at the precinct, which came in pretty handy for the multiple articles that were published by the Bulletin.
Your time with her was spent sitting in her office as she worked. At times, passing out from the lack of sleep, which would eventually catch up to you due to the relentlessness of night shift cleaning. But all in all, it was nice having her around. Maybe it was the other way around, glad she kept you around.
To stick together despite how difficult the circumstances were and how quickly things were changing around here. For all of your sanity, not wanting to break off the bond that had been forged many years since.
You walked back, grabbing some groceries, as well as passing the library for a new book to read before heading back home. As you make your way up the three flights of stairs, pushing the door to enter your floor, you hear a couple tenants talking amongst themselves.
You walk towards your door, bag rustling as you lightly swing it in time with your steps. As you pass the old ladies, you hear them speaking in hushed tones, only catching a part of their conversation as you reach your door.
Coincidentally, you note that your new neighbour is also at his door, messing with his keys, trying to find the right one to open the door to his apartment.
A short glance his way, seeing as his mouth is quirked to the side, it’s evident that he’s listening. Looking away from him to shove your key into the slot.
Your head is tilted slightly to the side, aware of your surroundings, always heedful of your environment when you are uncomfortable, especially now.
You both are taking your time, ears subtly peeled for the useless gossip that is more amusing than it should be. His eyes stray from his keys to your direction, and just as they land on you, he can see your brows raised at the old ladies’ comments.
Given your reaction, he assumes they were talking about you. Something about being in an accident. The bag hanging from your hand clenches into a fist, and before he can fully register the comment, you're already halfway through the doorway.
The door echoes shut with more force than necessary. A resounding click snaps the small group into silence.
He huffs a little, a small smile present on his face at how easily the tenants had shut their mouths. He then enters his apartment, closing his door with considerably less force.
—
With Nelson and Murdock dissolved, no longer partners in law, but people who had separated into four individuals. A journalist, a lawyer, a cleaner, and one dead. Or presumed dead.
You had to get a new job because you were no longer interning. A job that paid enough to stay afloat since it had been somewhat a struggle up until now with affording things other than food and rent.
Usually the rent was covered by your small salary from interning at the law firm, and the food was covered by Nelson and Murdock's payment that they received through food, or you made do with what you had. Sometimes Karen would lend you things that you couldn't get, she'd always frame it like she didn't need it herself, or that she had it in excess.
From the beginning it was her willingness to help others that then led you to intern for the small law firm. Having convinced the two lawyers that you needed a job along with experience, whilst they needed an assistant/intern. It worked well for both parties, a mutually beneficial partnership.
Your apathy towards slipping into situations was rather perturbing for all of your co-workers that happened to become your friends. That was your reaction when coming across Matt’s identity. Funnily, you handled it well enough in his opinion.
What brought Karen to vouch for you the quality you possessed where you couldn’t rest till you had an answer. Otherwise you would stay awake thinking about what more or how differently it could've gone.
Similar to Karen, yet not similar enough for you to make it your day job like she had. Rather choosing to lend a hand in the investigative process where you could just find and report. You think that you were never meant to be a lawyer, or a journalist, you never really knew what you wanted to do.
Having a dream and working towards a career was not something that you had focused on when growing up, not like your peers did. You just floated around, working odd jobs. Mostly enjoying the present, not looking towards the future when your father was sick. Cherishing the moments you had left with him, despite the sorrow that would soon be dealt with, you had appreciated the moments before they became memories that you would look back on later in life.
Tired, always tired after your father passed.
You needed a purpose, and that wasn’t something you could just find easily. You had to work for it, connect with something, because it rarely lands in the palm of your hand. What did ease your worries was interning at Nelson & Murdock.
It kept your mind busy as you helped people. Making a difference this way was a good and honourable thing, finding the truth, though it ended up in running into trouble no matter how much Karen, Foggy or Matt tried to steer you away. You always did follow in their footsteps.
You think when Karen finally understood why you were relentless in your pursuit of discovering the facts was after how the Frank Castle case panned out. Into the line of fire. It was exhilarating, and for a person with no purpose, this was turning out to be a great purpose to have. It made you feel alive. Skin prickling with goosebumps, those lightbulb moments that allowed the ‘case’ to be cracked, the most important of them all advocating for those who needed someone.
It probably wasn’t a good thing that you felt this way about getting into risky business. Some may say you were an adrenaline junkie, but that was far from the truth.
With one of the people you had looked up to was now dead or presumed dead, you had toned down how you got your information for research purposes. That is what you called it. Research.
Finding a job where you cleaned ambulances at night turned out to be mediocre, systematic. Sometimes it was cleaning blood off the walls of the vehicle, but mostly it was disinfecting everything, the equipment, deep cleaning from top to bottom, then re-stocking it all. It was methodical and mindless work. And you got a lot more days off than the average person due
To the timing of the shift.
The rest of the time you were holed up in your apartment, keeping busy, mostly digging up stuff at the city archive or on the internet.
A new beginning, which didn’t feel like it was. Mindlessly surviving each day, with no direction, and a declining will to live. But you kept waking up each day, so that was something.
The soft clinking of the wind chime that had been gifted by Matt for your birthday hung outside your bedroom window. The sound puts you to sleep most nights. Your kind of white noise, preferring it over a fan or meditative music to lull you to sleep.
It clinked softly, the thin metal chains that hung at the bottom adding an extra chime. Wafting around in the wind, the little stars at the end of the chain rattling against each other, your favourite part of the whole thing. The stars. And now they all called you Star, it had stuck ever since it had been gifted to you, a reflection of who you were.
The reasoning was simple, you had flourished under their guidance, being useful to building their cases more than once, it had slipped out, but it fit you.
Sometimes when your alarm woke you out of your unconscious state, you’d contemplate your life choices, as one does, you hear the little clinks of the stars at the bottom of the wind chime, the tubes creating such a melodic sound that roused you enough to get out of bed.
The last physical memory of him was what put you to sleep at night.
The chimes were how you got that name, Star. Ironic wasn’t it?
—
The second time you were introduced to your neighbour was about two weeks after the indirect exchange. By now, your stitches had been taken out leaving a red line above your brow, faded bruises were now a yellowish green colour. Enough for you to forgo wearing a cap whenever you left the building.
It was still pretty early in the morning, the time where only a select amount of people were awake, including you. You opted to get a few things out of the way. For example, grab the mail, maybe you’d even grab a coffee later and then go poke around places that were probably off limits to someone who wasn’t even a journalist.
Karen’s hands were full with another Midland Circle piece, so she had politely asked for you to follow up on finding out who had become sick from the release of emissions during the explosion. So rifling through files and reports it was for the rest of the day. Your employment at the hospital granted you access to the filed units upstairs, well more like you snuck in, kind of illegal but no one had to find out.
Shoving the key into the slot, you twist it open and grab your mail. With your eyes glued on the letters in hand, you start rifling through the small stack, only for your eyes to shift to the side where a pair of boots is visible from your peripheral.
Your eyes trail up slowly, only to be met with your neighbour’s eyes, already watching you. Your fingers loosen a little, taken aback from the sudden eye contact and your letters sill onto the floor.
You curse softly, bending down, only to be met with his outstretched hand before you could even pick it up.
“Here.” He hands you the fallen envelopes.
“Oh, thanks,” you give him a lopsided smile, slightly embarrassed at how this interaction was going. So you stay quiet, toying with the corner of the letter, he watches you curiously.
He thinks back on that day in the hallway, overhearing some of the tenants talking about you being in an accident. He can see how they would assume you had been in one.
It definitely looked like it had been nasty, he wouldn't typically keep an eye out for this kind of thing, but the interaction that day stuck with him for some reason, given that he knew you were next door neighbours, he felt it would be polite to keep up appearances and exercise some empathy.
He knew what he did was questionable at times, borderline weird, he didn’t want anyone to assume the worst about him. It was unlikely that someone would pick up on his late night habits, he still had to be cautious.
He had a clean record, people who could vouch for him, the team’s psychiatrist who had already cleared him, partners and coworkers that knew him well enough, trusted him. So he was good. It wouldn’t be a terrible thing if he made himself look a good guy to the people residing in the same building as him.
Over the years he had developed questionable coping mechanisms and really didn’t want the trouble of explaining himself if it ever came to it that someone caught him when his story didn’t line up.
So at least if things blew out of proportion, these friendly exchanges between his tenants may be useful, he had to think further. A persona fit to convince people he was not a bad person.
It was far-fetched, the way in which he would overthink how he interacted or how his behaviour would be interpreted and now it meant he was walking on eggshells all the damn time.
It was exhausting, but in his mind it was a necessary burden he took on, especially now that he lived in a new and unfamiliar place. Not a threat exactly, but he had to take certain measures.
In his mind he had to portray himself as a normal guy, if he’s able to do that then he won’t be questioned. No one questions the guy who smiles, asks about your day and looks like he works a normal job, because he is a normal guy.
“I’m your neighbour, uh.. next door to you I think. Name’s Ben, but everyone calls me Dex.”
“Yeah, I've seen you around, nice to meet you.” You smile and nod, introducing yourself as well.
“I haven't had the chance to ask anyone, but I was wondering why the elevator didn’t work,” he gestures with his thumb. “It’s been out of order for weeks now. Any chance you know why.”
“Um, yeah actually. Remember that earthquake ages ago with a 4.6 magnitude, it caused a lot of damage, and the maintenance of the building doesn’t cover the cost of fixing the elevator. It’s been a real problem for some.”
“Oh I see,” he nods, he pauses before asking, “so you a student or…?”
You shake your head, “no I uhh...work as a cleaner. You?”
“I work in law enforcement, FBI.” He crosses his arms, watching as your eyes crinkle a little after hearing his occupation. He’s curious about what you think, that kind of reaction definitely has a response behind it, but you don’t say anything, rather you avert your eyes elsewhere.
“That surprising?” He probes a little.
“I guess, sure.” you shrug your shoulders, “you do look pretty young to be in the FBI, I mean dunno about age requirements but..”
He’s sporting a smile, mouth quirking to the side, he winces from the cut on his lip that you hadn’t noticed before, “what happened there?”
“Work,” he replies, of course. You assumed so, “you?”
“Accident,” a sort of smirk makes its way onto your face, he huffs out a short laugh, both finding it a little funny. You both knew where he had heard about your little accident.
“Yeah I heard. It looks like it's healing well though.” He nods towards your face, eyes trailing back to the cut where your stitches previously had been.
So he’s been observing you. You didn’t expect any less from a guy who does that for a living. “It’s much better than before.” you check the time, “I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you Ben."
You push into the entrance of the lobby, not before giving him a little wave. You need to get a move on, the files would take a long time to rifle through, best to get an early start before the hospital is flooded with people and there would be a higher chance of getting caught in the middle of it. Wasn’t exactly legal.
Dex stands there, you had called him Ben. A name he hadn’t been called in such a long time.
As curious as he was, there wasn’t much about you that stood out, except the obvious accident you had been in.
He knew you were young, worked odd shifts by the look of your dark eyebags, and a little awkward, endearingly so. No threat, that was clear to him. So he clearly had nothing to worry about.
Love how daredevil has Matt talking about what he learned in trauma recovery in the very first episode and then proceeds to show him being thee least recovered person you have ever seen for 3 seasons straight. Character of all time.
