Chapter Text
Matt sat perched on the edge of an old rooftop in Hell’s Kitchen, cowl pulled off and crumpled in his lap, his gloved fingers pressed hard against his temples. His head was splitting—worse than usual tonight—and even the subtle pulse of distant traffic and buzzing neon signs felt like nails dragging across his brain.
He rubbed at his eyes uselessly, trying to will the pain away. The pounding behind his sockets wasn’t just a nuisance anymore—it was gnawing at the edges of his senses, making his radar hazy and unreliable. It had been building for hours, creeping like a storm behind his skull.
Matt barely heard the soft thud of sneakers landing behind him, making him jump.
"Woah!" a familiar voice chirped, teasing. "Didn’t think I’d ever catch you off guard. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the guy who hears ants breathing three rooftops over?"
Matt jerked, startled, and in a flash yanked the cowl over his face. He rose to his feet a little too fast, wobbling just slightly before catching himself.
“Spider-Man,” Matt said, voice stiff. “I—uh, you just surprised me.”
“Right,” Peter said, tilting his head behind the mask. “That’s... never happened. Not once. You okay?”
Matt adjusted the cowl, fiddling with the seam more than necessary. “Yeah. Fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Peter stepped closer, casual but watchful. “Something’s wrong. You’ve been weird all week. Snapping at people. Off your game. What is it?”
There was a long pause, and then—quietly—Matt exhaled. “It’s... migraines.”
Peter blinked. “Like, bad headaches?”
“Worse. They come in waves. Sometimes I can’t think straight… Tonight’s one of the bad ones. But it’s - it’s what ever. Its fine, don’t worry about me.”
Peter’s voice softened. “Dude.”
“I’m fine, I can handle it.”
Peter shifted his weight, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he looked Daredevil up and down. “You don’t look fine. No offense.”
Matt turned his head slightly, masking a wince as a fresh throb of pain pierced behind his left eye. “I said I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Peter asked, voice quieter now. “You don’t usually miss me sneaking up. And you’ve been holding your head like it’s gonna fall off.”
Matt’s jaw flexed beneath the mask. “It’s just a headache. It’ll pass.”
Peter didn’t buy it, not for a second. “You just said it’s one of the bad ones.”
Matt gave a half-shrug, more defensive than nonchalant. “It’s manageable. It always is.”
Spider-Man was silent for a beat, like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Okay... but if it’s not? If it hits harder while we’re out there, I mean—what happens then?”
“I can handle myself.”
Peter huffed softly. “You don’t have to, y’know.”
Matt didn’t reply. He just turned toward the ledge again, lifting his chin as if to listen to the city below. But Peter caught the way his hand subtly braced against the wall. The way his breath hitched for a second. The mask was back on, but it didn’t hide everything.
“…Alright,” Peter said finally. “If you say you’re good, you’re good. But I’m sticking close tonight.”
Matt didn’t argue. Which, to Peter, said more than words ever could.
Xxxxxxx
It was colder tonight. The kind of chill that crept through the seams of your suit and made bones ache long before muscles caught on.
They were on a different rooftop this time, overlooking the edge of Chelsea. Matt stood near the ledge, still and poised like usual, but Peter wasn’t buying it. Not tonight.
He’d noticed it a few patrols ago—how Daredevil’s hands would twitch to his temples when he thought Spider-Man wasn’t looking. The way he’d press his fingers along the side of his mask, slow and deliberate like he was trying to push the pain down through sheer will. Tonight was no different.
While Peter scanned the streets below, Matt stood with his back to him, one hand pressed lightly—too lightly—against the corner of his eye beneath the cowl. It was small. Subtle. But not subtle enough.
Peter pretended not to see at first. He didn't want to crowd him, didn’t want to accuse. But after five minutes of silence and barely any movement from the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Peter had to say something.
“You good over there?”
Matt straightened instantly, arm dropping to his side like he hadn’t been doing anything. “Fine.”
Peter raised an eyebrow behind the mask. “You keep saying that. But I’m not convinced.”
“I’m just listening.”
“To what? The paint drying two blocks over?” Peter asked, trying to keep the tone light, teasing. “Because you haven’t moved in ten minutes.”
Matt turned slightly toward him, face still mostly hidden in shadow. “I’m fine, Spider-Man.”
Peter let out a slow breath and stepped closer, arms folding across his chest. “You don’t talk much, which is cool, mysterious, yada yada—but I know body language. And yours is screaming that your head’s killing you.”
Matt tensed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, man. Just level with me. You’ve been rubbing your eyes, squinting under that mask. You flinched when that car alarm went off earlier. I might not have your fancy radar or whatever it is you do, but I know when someone’s hurting.”
“I said I’m fine,” Matt bit out, sharper this time. “Drop it.”
Peter stepped back, surprised by the edge in his voice. “Alright. Okay. Sorry.”
Matt exhaled and turned back toward the city. Silence stretched between them again, taut like a wire.
Peter leaned against the wall, keeping one eye on the street and the other on Daredevil. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke again. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I get it. We’ve all got our secrets. But just... don’t push yourself until you break, yeah? You don’t have to be bulletproof all the time.”
Matt didn’t respond.
But Peter saw the way his shoulders shifted slightly—like he’d just been handed something too heavy to carry, but was still holding it anyway.
Xxxxxx
They met just after midnight.
It had been a slow night—no sirens, no scuffles, just a quiet lull over the city. One of those rare evenings when the streets didn’t feel like they were on the edge of burning.
Matt stood near the water tower this time, a little off to the side, half-shrouded in shadow. Peter gave him space, but watched him carefully. More and more, he was starting to pick up on the little things. The way Daredevil would tilt his head like the city was too loud. How his fingers would brush along his brow bone when he thought Peter was distracted.
Tonight, it was worse.
Matt had his back turned, shoulders tense, one gloved hand pressed tightly against his temple. He leaned forward slightly, as if the motion alone could take the weight off his skull.
Peter landed a few feet away with a soft thud. “You okay?”
Matt flinched. His hand dropped immediately, posture snapping straight, putting his cowl back into place. “Yeah. Thought you were still checking that alley on 28th.”
“I was,” Peter said, stepping forward. “Takes less time when I’m not pretending I didn’t see you about to drill your fingers into your skull.”
Matt turned toward him, jaw tight under the mask. “I said I’m fine.”
Peter frowned. “No, you didn’t. You flinched, then lied.”
Matt crossed his arms. “Are you always this persistent?”
“Only when I care.”
That made Matt pause. Just a beat. Then his mouth tightened, and he looked away. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to handle it alone.”
There was silence again—just the rustle of the wind between buildings and the low hum of a bus passing below.
Matt finally sat down on the ledge, one hand braced behind him, the other gently massaging above his eye. This time, he didn’t try to hide it.
“…It feels like my skull’s too small,” he murmured. “Like everything’s pressing in. My hearing spikes, my balance goes off. Sometimes I can’t focus enough to tell what’s real.”
Peter didn’t say anything, just slowly sat next to him.
“I try to ignore it. But there are nights it hits harder. Like now. Can’t drown it out, can’t work through it. Every heartbeat, every flickering light, it all just... slams into me.”
Peter’s voice was soft. “That sounds awful.”
Matt exhaled through his nose. “It is.”
A pause.
“You don’t have to explain how all your powers work or whatever,” Peter said. “But if something’s hurting you—this bad—I’d rather know than just guess. I’ve been there. Pushing through pain just because it feels easier than explaining it.”
Matt was quiet for a long time. Then, finally: “It’s not easy explaining something people can’t see.”
Peter nodded slowly. “Yeah. But I’m still here. Listening.”
Matt didn’t look at him, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.
“…Thanks,” he muttered.
Peter smiled faintly beneath the mask. “Don’t mention it. Really. Just don’t keel over in the middle of a chase or something. You’d ruin my whole night.”
Matt gave a soft, dry chuckle. “I’ll do my best.”