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‘Spider-Man.’
Peter only just manages not to flinch, putting on a grin as he turns around. It can’t be seen, because mask, but he knows it comes out in his voice. Daredevil’s standing there, arms crossed and giving off this whole vibe of angry, disappointed Dad. No, not Dad, maybe brother? He’s got nothing on Uncle Ben - he has… had the most disappointed Dad angry face you can imagine - but man this one is still pretty good.
And Peter’s off topic. ‘Daredevil! Hey! Wow, didn’t think I’d see you again out here tonight? What.. what are you doing here?’ He tries to push down the butterflies in his stomach, their jittering making him want to hop on the spot. But Matt - no, Daredevil in the mask, they agreed - just keeps staring and Peter finally can’t keep the nerves down. ‘I ah, did what you said?’
‘You went home,’ Daredevil says in a toneless voice.
‘Yes,’ Peter tries to project every inch of sincerity into his voice, to cover the lie.
As usual, it doesn’t work. ‘Pe- Spider-Man.’ Oh man, that’s Daredevil’s ‘you’re lying and don’t make me call you out on it, I hate calling you out on it’ voice.
‘Okay, so I went back to Queens… and then came back.’
‘I got the came back bit,’ Daredevil says and there’s a touch of amusement in his dry voice. Yes! ‘Even though it’s too late for you to be here and not safe .’
‘I can’t believe you’re enforcing a curfew ,’ Peter grumbles trying to keep the vague hurt he feels out of his voice.
‘If I don’t, who will?’ Daredevil sounds almost weary as his hands fall to his side. ‘You’re not going to go home, are you?’ Peter doesn’t even bother reacting, Daredevil doesn’t need him to; something his sigh confirms. ‘Since you’re here anyway, you might as well come.’ Peter smiles genuinely this time, a bounce in his step as he moves to Daredevil’s side. ‘But I want you to watch only.’
‘Seriously?’
Another sigh. ‘I sent you home for a reason, and not just because it’s nearly two am. Stay high, stay out of sight and for the love of God, stay safe.’ Before Peter can react, Daredevil’s off and running, leaping for the next roof with barely a look at where he’s going. Peter scrambles a bit in his efforts to keep up, ignoring the web-shooters on his wrists in favour of practicing the Parkour Matt’s been teaching him. He can’t quite manage the not looking thing yet but his senses are nearly as good as Matt’s so it’s only a matter of time.
Right?
********
Matt - no Daredevil, come on Peter head in the game - directs Peter to a nearby rooftop before he slips into the shadows of the alleyway below. It’s too dark to follow his progress visually so Peter doesn’t bother, instead listening for the progress of his footsteps and breathing. He can get the footsteps easily enough but not always his breaths. Matt says it’ll come with practice.
He always says that.
Slipping into the warehouse, Matt taps his baton on the doorway - Peter’s signal. He jumps onto the warehouse’s roof, landing lightly before scurrying into the shadows behind the door. Focusing, he listens. Grunting, groaning; Matt’s got them fighting. Pounding steps but none coming closer… he’s clear. Peter rips the door open, darts inside and slams it shut. He’s on the roof before it even hits its frame, racing along the corridor until he enters the warehouse proper.
As they thought, it’s full of crates and crates of things. Peter makes a face at an open one, full of guns that look familiar in a way that makes his chest tighten and his heart pound. These guys may not have sold it to him, but the asshole’s gun was definitely one of these. Getting them off the street is only going to do awesome things to the world and save more uncles.
And Matt wanted Peter to sit out, like he’s some kid. These guys are idiots, amateurs - Peter ignores the voice that sounds a lot like Matt calling him an amateur too - who, by the look of their fight with Matt - Daredevil - aren’t even in fighting form.
‘Stay up there Peter,’ Matt says in a tone so low Peter barely catches it. He blinks, certain in the knowledge that Daredevil’s not looked up once during his fight. Man he can’t wait until he can out hear Matt; it’s going to be awesome.
‘Hey, I’ll be good. Do my civic duty and watch you kick ass. Maybe report it later; I hear you can remain anonymous when you report crimes. Did you know that?’ Matt shakes his head slightly, the only sign he’s listening to Peter. ‘Oh good, well there you go. You learned a new thing! Isn’t learning fun?’ And that’s a smile! Holy cow Peter got the Devil to smile. Is that like, a lifetime achievement? Should he add it to his resume? Got Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to smile - can do anything.
Below him, Daredevil ducks a punch and takes another to the gut. He stumbles, only a step but far more than he usually does. His breathing is laboured and his punches nowhere near as neat as the ones he teaches Peter with. Scanning the warehouse, Peter looks for movement - yes, there’s some. A quick count turns up a half dozen more men for Matt to fight.
Well shit. Peter’s gaze flicks from the men approaching Daredevil, to Matt and back again. He’s seen Daredevil in action, he knows these men are no match for a Daredevil in fighting form. But… is Matt in fighting form right now? Surely the whole ‘stay put, stay out of sight’ thing doesn’t mean staying put when Matt’s about to die.
Or get hurt. But maybe die. Peter has these powers and he has to use them to help. It’s his responsibility.
‘Sorry,’ he whispers and Matt’s head snaps up. Before he can say anything, Peter shoots a string of web and swings down to the floor.
‘Well this looks a bit unfair. How’s about I help even the odds?’ he quips as he lands, falling into the stance Matt’s spent weeks drilling him in, keeping Daredevil behind him. He’s got this. And facing the two men approaching him, Peter has to smirk, ready for their faces to light up in shock and maybe even fear.
But they don’t. The eyes of one on the left - with a frankly awful hairstyle, he looks like an evil clown - light up, the smile across his face somehow making it uglier not beautiful like smiles usually do. It’s a really disgusting smile. Dude on the right - pornstache and a filthy one at that, dude hygiene is awesome , get with the program - pulls out a radio.
‘Red two in.’
‘Execute.’ ’
Peter blinks in confusion and takes a step back. ‘Red two? I’m offended. I totally rate a red one point five or something, two implies I lost out-’
Evil clown pulls a gun. Ice races through Peter at the realisation they have guns they’re armed with and why the hell haven’t they used them and oh god one’s pointed at him, Spidey Sense screaming but he’s not fast enough to move he’s good but he’s not- he can’t dodge a bullet he can’t avoid this, can’t mov-
Something hits him hard, pushing all the air out of his chest and the balance from his limbs. He’s falling as the room explodes in noise, the bang of the gun pounding in his head and erasing all sound but it. He tenses as he hits the ground, waiting for the fiery pain of being shot to rip through him, to override even the pain in his head from sound of the gunshot.
There’s nothing. Just a dull ache from where he hit the ground. Peter opens his eyes and is confronted with dark red - Matt’s dark red. ‘The hell?’ he whispers and tries to get out from Matt. Why the hell is he even on P-
Matt groans, the pain in it sending a swooping feeling through Peter. Something makes him be gentle as he pushes Matt off, looking up to meet the confused eyes of Evil Clown and Pornstache, neither of whom smell like gunpowder. Evil Clown’s gun isn’t even pointing at Peter anymore, dangling loose at his side as it is. What the hell happened? And what’s this wet stuff?
Red wet stuff. Blood. Why is there blood? Should there be blood? He feels off, like he’s just spun in circles and is waiting for the world to right itself. Panic pushes through the numbness as his eyes widen at the sight of blood covering his suit, a shade darker than its red. But he’s not feeling any pain so it must be… must be…
Peter can’t make his mind make the connection. He can’t. But Evil Clown is raising the gun again so he doesn’t have to. Instead he has to shoot a web, throw the gun across the room. Follow it up with Evil Clown, not even bothering with the web. Just walk up to him, throw him across the room after his gun. Check he’s still breathing when he lands because Matt would be mad if he didn’t. Now onto Pornstache. Break his arm, step aside when Spidey Sense says to and avoid the bullet, oh that’s good. Throw Pornstache at where the bullet came from - a sniper how nice but not out of range for Peter - and it’s like bowling pins watch them fall.
That’s three. Weren’t there six? Remembering is like focusing through a haze but yes, six. Pounding footsteps mean they’re running, louder means towards him. Something dull that might have been pleasure runs through him but he’s too cold to feel it.
His hands are dripping in blood, so much blood, it has to be Uncle Ben’s blood, and it shouldn’t be outside him but it is and and and… it’s because of Peter. Because he wasn’t fast enough. He has to finish this. Maybe if he finishes this, finishes them, Uncle Ben will be okay, not shot, not dying.
A part of his mind, a distant somehow calm part, notes that he’s not speaking like he usually does, no quips with his every breath. But even opening his mouth feels like running a marathon right now, his desire to talk as frozen as his heart. It should feel wrong - his quips are one of the perks of being a hero - but he’s too empty to feel, a dark hole of emotion.
There they are, the last three. Peter has to defeat them, beat the bad guys and everything is alright, good guys win and go home. Throwing them is repetitive but punching them feels… something. It’s something, he can feel, a sting, an emotion, something .
‘Peter?’ Matt says fainting, groaning right after and Peter snaps to attention as a flash of panic tears through the numbness. ‘Peter, they’re dow- uh… own.’
The panic grows as Peter steps back looking at the bloody things at his feet. Oh God are they still breathing? He can’t focus, can’t get his breathing together enough to listen, to see, to know . ‘Peter!’ Matt snaps, more life in his voice than there’s been since he was shot. ‘Come on, we have… have to go.’
‘Are they alive?’ a small voice says and it takes Peter a moment to realise it’s his. He can’t look away from the mess he made, the thing he did. Oh God.
‘Yes,’ Matt says. ‘Peter, listen they’re breathin-,’ he groans and Peter’s turning before he realises it, facing Matt in an instant. A half instant. Fast. Matt’s standing, how the fuc-fudge is Matt standing, leaning on one of the crates and clutching at his side. Blood covers his gloves and what’s visible of his face is pale. Peter suddenly wants the numbness back, to return to the cold because then it means he doesn’t have to feel this breathless panic. ‘-ing. They’re… alive,’ Matt finishes and tries to smile.
It’s an awful attempt. ‘Oh God you’re standing. How are you standing?’ Something has frozen Peter’s feet in place because he can’t seem to make his limbs move; they’re lead. ‘Why are you standing, we gotta get help, get you a doctor - do you need a doctor? Does the Devil heal like a Devil or is there ritual-’
‘Peter,’ Matt says, calm coming through despite his shaking voice. ‘We have to leave. There… there’s more comi-’ he coughs, blood on his lips - did he bite them because of the pain or is he coughing blood, coughing blood is bad even Peter knows that -, ‘-more coming. You can… can’t be here.’
Because the shot was meant for Peter, until Matt got in the way. Fuc- Fudge. That thought sends a bolt of icy panic through Peter that’s somehow exactly what he needs to unfreeze his limbs. Which doesn’t make sense because ice can’t melt ice but hey, he’s moving! To Matt’s side, to take as much of his weight as Peter can without hurting him. Turns out that’s a lot, what’s a Devil compared to a truck?
‘Where do I go?’ Peter asks, carrying Matt on one shoulder even if he might argue he’s walking because he has his feet on the ground. He’s not walking.
‘Our roof,’ Matt says, his head resting on Peter’s shoulder. ‘I… I… My apartment’s there.’
Warmth should not be flowing through Peter at the trust here, he should not be pleased at this. Matt’s only trusting him because he got Matt shot . ‘Okay. Okay. We’re going to get there now. Hold on.’
Please hold on.
********
Matt’s apartment is kinda nice, if very very neat. Like, super mega neat, even by Aunt May’s standards. There’s not even a tiny bit of clutter, no knick knacks on any surface. Almost like one of those display homes but there’s a sense those don’t have, a warmness that makes the place feel lived in.
Or maybe Peter’s projecting, focusing on the details of the room to avoid thinking about the fact Matt’s dying on his sofa while Peter holds down a bandage and waits for the woman Matt had him call to show up. Apparently she’s a nurse and a friend of Matt’s - and again with the warm feeling, go away you should be sour. Matt’s only trusting Peter with his friends because he has no choice. Peter gave him no choice when he put Matt into a situation where he had to step in front of a bullet for him.
He swallows back bile as regret rushes through him. If he had just listened , done as he was told… Well, Matt’s blood would not be covering his hands.
There’s no knock at the door, just it banging into the wall as this Claire dashes through it, and only Matt’s careful training keeps Peter from hitting the roof. His heart pounds as every nerve screams danger at him, despite the fact it’s just a woman dressed in old cloths and are those scrubs? ‘Okay, it’s three am so I am not really in the mood for you to be- holy shit.’ Peter looks up to meet her eyes, knowing she’s taking in the sight of the masked Spider-Man holding a bandage to the still masked but otherwise in his underwear Daredevil. A part of him weeps at his cowardness but he can’t take off the mask, he just can’t… his identity is all he has to protect Aunt May and he’s going to fight tooth and nail and web to keep it.
‘Okay,’ she says, taking a step towards the sofa. ‘Am I to guess the idiot on the sofa got hurt while helping you?’ There’s nothing accusing in her voice - in fact it sounds more exasperated than anything - but it still strikes at Peter’s heart like a knife with a blow that leaves him breathless but is harmless compared to the bullet he should have taken.
‘He took a bullet for me,’ Peter says and he can’t keep the tears in his eyes from his voice. ‘Please, he can’t die.’
Her eyes widen. ‘Oh shit, you’re a kid.’ A flash of anger races through Peter but he pushes it down.
‘Why do people always say that?’ he manages to say, though it’s toneless and quiet.
‘Cause y- you are.’ Matt groans and Claire’s at his side in an instant, dropping her bag beside her. She nudges Peter out of the way to take over, which is fine by him.
He moves to Matt’s head. ‘Matt! You’re awake!’ But Matt doesn’t say anything else and his head drops a bit. He’s out. ‘Matt, come on, please don’t die.’ With a side glance at Claire, Peter bites his lips to hold in the begging but he can’t keep it out of his head. Please don’t die, please don’t die, pleasepleaseplease.
‘There’s an exit wound,’ Claire says, the relief in her voice breaking into Peter’s thoughts. ‘He should be in hospital but an exit wound means I might be enough to s- kid, where are you going?’
Peter takes another step back, as he tries to escape the enclosing walls. ‘I can’t… I have to… I need to go, I can’t, it’s my fault, I-’
‘Okay, I do not have time for you both right now.’ She puts more pressure on Matt’s side. ‘So what you are going to do is sit down, put your legs up, pull a blanket over your shoulders and stay there .’ Something in her tone reminds Peter of Matt, of his order to ‘stay up there Peter’, his voice echoing in Peter’s mind. The walls creep in more and the weight on his chest doubles.
‘I can’t,’ he repeats, a whisper through lips struggling to take in air. ‘I have to go.’
Claire eyes him. ‘Kid if you leave right now, you’re going to faint. Want to do that halfway home? Go right ahead and leave. But if you want to get home in one piece, you are going to sit down .’
Peter sits down. She pushes a blanket towards him and he pulls it over his shoulders robotically, lifting his legs as instructed. It does make him feel a bit better, the dizziness and nausea he’d been feeling retreating slowly. In his currently position he can’t see Matt and it’s almost a relief, even as his mind projects images of the last hours on the ceiling - Matt’s blood, Matt leaning on him, Uncle Ben on the ground beside the pieces of meat that were left after Peter was finished with the bad guys, blood flowing along the concrete…
Blood. Blood. Blood. So much blood. Isn’t that a line? About the old man and the blood?
‘Drink this,’ Claire says and Peter blinks, looking up at her. She just pushes the cup in her hands at him. ‘If you’re feeling better, you can sit up.’ With small movements, Peter sits up and takes the cup from her. It’s full of water, not cold but not hot. ‘Sip at it. You still wanna go after you’ve had two of those, I won’t stop you.’
‘Is he going to live?’ Peter looks behind her, at the battered Matt on the sofa. His head is turned away, but his mask is off; if Peter focused long enough he might make out some details. But he does because his eyes are drawn to the white bandage on his midside, standing out even against the paleness of his skin.
Claire sighs. ‘We’ll see. Probably. Bastard’s too stubborn to die.’ There’s fondness in her voice, for all her words. Where do they know each other from? ‘If he was going to get shot, I think he managed to get shot in about the right place. I’ve no idea if it hit bones or internal organs, not without a hospital, but for now, he seems to be surviving. Bleeding’s stopped and he’s breathing, not much more I can do.’ She fusses with the blanket over Peter’s shoulders. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m fine.’ I’m not the one with a bullet hole in me.
‘Uh huh. And since I don’t believe you?’
Peter starts to rise, ‘I have to go.’
Claire pushes him down. ‘I said, two cups. That’s not even half. Finish another and then you can leave.’
Under her careful supervision, Peter drinks three more glasses in complete silence. She gives him all sorts of looks and pokes his side once but lets him leave, telling him to go to a doctor if anything else happens.
Peter makes it across the bridge into Queens before everything is too much and he finds a rooftop to hide on. The tears stream down his face, his mask off to avoid ruining it. If only he had listened . If only… if only… if only…
********
A part of Peter wants to crawl back to Hell’s Kitchen the next afternoon, to see how Matt is going and if he’s still breathing. But then he feels the blood dripping down his hands, sees it covering his suit and the men he would have killed, hears Matt’s laboured breathing… and he can’t. He drags himself out onto the streets instead, chasing every crime he can find until the light of dawn sends him scurrying back into his bed.
He does it again the next night. And the next night. And the next night.
It’s better than the nightmares.
********
Peter’s sitting on the edge of the roof of his building, swinging his legs. He doesn’t usually sit here - what if someone makes the jump from ‘Spider-Man’s favourite building’ to ‘Spider-Man’s building’ and comes looking for Peter? - so this is a rare luxury he’s allowing himself. His shaking limbs and unsteady feet might have something to do with his choice but it’s not one he’s willing to admit to-
Thuds sound behind him as someone walks across the roof - without opening the roof access door. Only Peter’s fast relaxes stop him tumbling off the edge of the building and he spins around, expecting to see someone he knows.
Well, he does know them but it’s not who he was expecting. Ma- Daredevil is standing by the doorway to the roof, his right side held a little higher than the left, looking at Peter. He’s in the suit, complete with the bullet hole the sniper put through it, right on the very side. It doesn’t look that bad, from here. There’s no blood Peter can see though he swears he can smell it, sending a swooping feeling through his limbs that steals his breath away and makes his chest clench in fear. For a moment all he can see is the dying man, wheezing on his couch - the pavement - and covered in blood, cooper scent in the air.
‘Daredevil?’ he manages to say through the lump in his chest and Matt tilts his head. ‘What… what are you doing here?’
Matt sighs. ‘Making sure you’re okay.’ Peter blinks in confusion, trying to figure out what the hell Matt means as his words hit a brick wall in Peter’s mind. ‘I was worried Peter… Claire said you were in shock when you left and Spider-Man’s been so active lately… you can’t have been sleeping.’
‘I’m fine,’ Peter says tonelessly. ‘I wasn’t shot.’
Putting his left hand out behind him, Matt slides it down the wall as he lowers himself to the ground. Leaning back, he sighs. ‘Peter, this wasn’t your fault.’
‘You told me to stay put. You said to stay high. If I’d done that, you wouldn’t have been shot.’ Some life creeps into his voice as the anger Peter feels at himself tries to force its way out.
‘You didn’t pull the trigger,’ Matt says softly. ‘You didn’t tell me to put myself between you and that bullet. Yes you disobeyed but Peter, I screwed up too.’ Peter tilts his head too and shuffles towards Matt, away from the edge of the building. ‘I knew those guys had an interest in you, that’s why I sent you home. But I didn’t tell you that, and I am sorry. It might have made my orders make sense and I was wrong to assume you’d blindly trust me.’
‘Why are you sorry?’ Peter roars as the apology sinks in, feeling like a weigh in his stomach. ‘I got you shot . I should be saying that!’
Matt shrugs. ‘Then say it.’ Peter blinks in confusion, Matt’s calm words cutting through the fiery anger in his chest. ‘Say the words, if you mean them.’
‘I’m sorry I got you shot?’
‘I forgive you,’ Matt says, a half smile on his face and nothing but sincerity in his warm voice. He sounds exactly like he does when he has to repeat his praise for one of Peter’s punches or Spanish test ‘A’s - amused, kind, but almost confused, as if wondering why he has to state the obvious. Peter kinda loves that tone, its matter of factness cutting through any lingering uncertainty about his physical - and Spanish - abilities.
‘Is that what you needed to hear?’
It was actually, the weigh in Peter’s stomach lifting a bit. It’s not gone, not completely, but it feels less like a huge truck and more like a small car. Something manageable. ‘I… ah… what?’
That gets a smirk from Matt. ‘Oh you’re tongue tied? This is a wonder. I didn’t think your mouth could ever be stopped.’ Coldness runs through Peter as the memory of his voiceless anger after Matt’s shooting runs through his mind. Somehow Matt picks up on it with his usual weird knowledge that has to be some part of his superpowers, and he quickly adds, ‘Why are you even up here? The view is shit.’
Peter glances over his shoulders. ‘What do you mean? I’ve seen way worse from your building.’
‘Yeah but that’s Hell’s Kitchen,’ Matt says and Peter looks back to see him smirking. ‘Any view there is worth a thousand views here.’
‘Dude, is that some kind of old person logic? It doesn’t even make sense!’ There’s something comforting about falling back into their old banter, like slipping on a favourite sweater.
Matt splutters and then coughs, And coughs. And coughs, breaking the fragile moment. ‘Shit, he says as the fit ends.
‘Did you rip a stitch?’ Peter bounces to his feet, darting to Matt’s side. He can’t smell blood but that’s not saying much… things have been hard to compute recently.
‘No,’ Matt says with a quirk of his lips, ‘just ah, bit cold.’
‘We’ll go inside, my place is nearby, my aunt isn-’
Matt tries to rise, pushing past Peter’s hands. ‘No. I am not going into a fifteen year old’s home when their parent isn’t home.’ He manages to get up but he’s biting at his lips. ‘I’m fine. I’ll just get home-’
‘I’m coming with you.’
*********
It ends up in an argument but Peter’s too stubborn and Matt too weak for it to end any other way. They make the trip to Hell’s Kitchen together, the already long journey made longer by Matt’s constant need to stop for breaks. By the time they reach the roof of his apartment, it’s dark and Peter sends Aunt May a text that he’s staying the night at Tom’s and not to worry if he’s not home when she gets home.
She replies asking who Tom is and Peter resigns himself to making up details about a fake friend to please her tomorrow morning. Not the first time he’s done it.
‘Come in then,’ Matt says from the doorway and Peter looks up at him. ‘You deserve a drink at least after all that.’ Biting at his lip and rubbing at his hands, Peter opens his mouth to decline.
‘Okay,’ he says instead and blinks at his words. Did he mean to say that? Did he miss a moment there, sleepiness stealing his awareness and memories away?
Matt laughs. ‘I think I have hot chocolate in my cupboards somewhere,’ he says as he makes his way down the stairs, one slow step at a time. Peter follows, shutting the down behind them as he goes. He’ll stay for one drink. ‘Foggy insists on buying it, says no cupboard is complete without it.’
‘Foggy?’ Peter slips past the slow moving Matt and takes a seat at the table, fiddling with his gloves. He’s going to have to take the mask off to drink, or at least enough of it that Matt can see his jaw. It shouldn’t be a big deal so why does his stomach clench at the thought and his palms sweat? Matt’s brought Peter to his home, shown Peter his friends…
And kept his mask on too. Looking over his shoulder, Peter watches Matt stumble to the table wishing his friend wasn’t too stubborn to keep refusing help. Matt pants and leans his weight on the table, before taking a deep breath. He pulls off his gloves and dumps them together.
Then, in a quick movement, he takes off his mask. Peter jumps in surprise, his eyes wide as he meets Matt’s brown ones. The apartment is dark despite the lighting from the billboard coming through the window behind Peter but there’s enough light that even as tired as he is, Peter can see there’s something… off about the way Matt meets his eyes. What is it?
‘Hot chocolate or tea?’ Matt asks, turning away before Peter can suss it out. ‘I’m sorry but coffee is not happening at this time of night and I don’t think I’d give it to you in the middle of the day honestly.’
‘I’m sixteen in a month!’ Peter says, ‘I can have coffee!’
Matt just laughs. ‘The bathroom is over there,’ he says, pointing without looking, ‘if you want to freshen up or anything.’
‘Thank you,’ Peter says and goes to splash water on his face, hoping it might relieve the pressure in his head and the heaviness of his eyelids. It does feel good, making the world a touch sharper.
But when he goes to leave, Matt’s against the door. ‘Sorry, getting changed out here. Can you duck into my bedroom, take a seat there for a sec? Forgot I had company and I keep my suit out here.’ Laughing at the embarrassment in Matt’s voice, Peter goes through the second door into a big bedroom, dropping onto the soft bed with a minor bellyflop. The room is even bigger than Aunt May and U- Aunt May’s. Perk of living alone maybe? Though really, Peter’s apartment could fit into this place at least twice. Maybe more?
Peter blinks and notices his head is on something soft. Pillow. Nice. Should get up though, there’s hot chocolate. And he has to go...to go…
********
Jerking awake, Peter blinks in the bright light of the morning cursing his forgetful nature and his constant battles with his good for nothing alarm. He sits up.
And promptly jumps up because this is not his bed, this is not his bedroom and he’s wearing his Spider-Man suit without his mask . He spins around the room, struggling to take in a breath as he tries to force the memory of where he is and why he’s h-
Matt. Matt’s place. A softness creeps into him at the memory of Matt last night, helped along when his eyes land on his mask, neatly folded on the bedside table. He grabs it and yanks it on, his breathing slowing down. Okay, he’s at Matt’s and last night Matt took his mask off so Peter could see his face and apparently Peter fell asleep and Matt took that to mean he could take Peter’s mask off to-
‘Peter?’ Matt asks and Peter spins around. Matt’s in the doorway, unmasked and head tilted with that same weird look in his eyes. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I am so late, what time is it? Also I am so sorry I did not mean to sleep and man I must have been tired but thanks for the assist, you’re a pal-’
‘It’s eleven am,’ Matt says, cutting through Peter’s babble. ‘But it’s also a Saturday so I assume you’re not going to be late for anything.’ His calm words and soft smile break through most of the panic in Peter’s chest, bring his heart rate down. ‘I’m cooking some breakfast, if you want any?’
Peter nods, then fiddles with the edges of his mask. ‘You took my mask off,’ he whispers.
To his credit, Matt doesn’t even bother denying it. ‘I did. I was worried you might hurt yourself in your sleep with it on.’ He looks down then adds, ‘I ah, didn’t see your face Peter… even if I could, I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.’
Wait, what? ‘Even if you could?’
Matt tilts his head then laughs. ‘You’ve not noticed? Really?‘ He turns and walks away as Peter tries to think through the confusion muddling his mind.
‘Notice what?’ he yells after Matt and only gets a laugh in return. Adults. Peter ducks into the bathroom before he slips into the living room/dining room/kitchen/rest of apartment room. Matt’s dishing out bacon, his gaze focused on the ceiling for some strange reason. Peter looks up, trying to figure out what’s so interesting up there.
Matt laughs again and Peter scowls at him. Of course, that’s a completely wasted expression as Matt can’t actually see his face. As Matt puts the plate gently in front of him, Peter swallows the butterflies in his throat and pulls his mask off and looks up at Matt.
Who doesn’t react, just sits down to his own plate while still staring ahead at not- ‘You can’t see,’ Peter whispers and Matt smirks. The light reaches his eyes but they don’t react, don’t focus on Peter.
‘Knew you’d get it eventually. What gave it away?’ He cuts a piece of an egg and eats it, never once glancing down at what he’s doing. It’s a little unnerving actually but not so much as the whole, blind superhero thing.
Is that what using all your senses right can do? Can Matt teach Peter to do all this? ‘Your eyes are… off.’ Peter pauses as a chill runs through him at a horrifying thought. ‘You said you trained without your sig-’
‘Because I was already blind,’ Matt says and relief floods Peter. ‘I didn’t… I was nine when I lost my sight and got my ah, what do you call them?’
Peter smirks. ‘Superpowers. It’s not that hard a word to say.’ Matt says something in Spanish that’s either ‘superpowers’ or something unbelievably filthy that he’ll never translate. He does that sometimes. Peter makes a mental note of the sound to google later for a confirmation. ‘So… you can’t see my face?’
Matt shakes his head then taps his fingers on the table. ‘Peter… I never needed to. I recognise people by heartbeats and scents and voices…’ Coldness floods Peter at the realisation of what Matt could have done… but then warm floods at the realisation that he didn’t . ‘I understand if you’re up-’
‘Upset? Why? Because now you’re definitely, a thousand times cooler than the Avengers and they’re super awesome. Did you see - ah bad choice of words, bad choice of words. Um, they kicked butt in the Battle for New York and man I know they did bad shit but they’re pretty damn good at kicking butts.’ Matt raises an eyebrow and Peter decides maybe to tone back the language. ‘And then you’re so good at kicking butt you have to have a disadvantage so we all can keep up.’
With a smirk, Matt gets up. ‘That’s one way to look at it,’ he says, his sweater riding up enough that Peter can see the white bandage there. It is white, red free, and a part of him sighs in relief. ‘Want more bacon?’
Peter bites at his lip, trying to ignore the crawling feeling in his stomach. ‘I’m good.’
‘Without the lying Peter,’ Matt says and throws an apple at him, not bothering to turn his head in Peter’s direction. ‘I’m going to train you out of lying.’
‘Teach me how you always know and I won’t lie?’ Peter offers as Matt puts on more bacon.
‘Deal.’