SpideyDevil

Unmasked

For the second time that night Peter’s body froze still as if cold water had been poured down his entire back. He felt all the breath leave his lungs as his hazel hues roamed Matthew Murdock’s sleeping face.
“M-Matt?” he gasped, dropping the mask to hang limply by his side. He shook his head in confusion, trying to add it all up but without any context Peter was left with more questions than answers.
The sweet lawyer he had met this morning, who had consulted with a heartbroken mother out of pure generosity and had gotten coffee with him and laughed at his jokes and teased with, was the same man capable taking down a building full of armed men on his own, who was so brutal in his take-downs the pressed had come to dub him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
He didn’t understand how that could be possible.
Also how did he know about him? Had he known when they’d met that morning?

Shaking his head, Peter snapped himself out of it.
That wasn’t important right now.  He had more pressing issues, like the blood that was slowly dribbling from the unconscious man’s lips and the deeper wounds that surely waited for him beneath the red suit.
With surprisingly steady hands considering the shaky emotional state he was in, Peter undid the buckle around his waist and tugged it off him, followed by his gloves, hood and shoes. Taking a hold of his top, he pulled it over his body, revealing the tight abs that decorated his stomach and the chiseled muscles that ran along the lengths of his arms.
Focus, Peter.
He then unzipped his pants and slid them off his lean legs, which he wasn’t surprised to see were also decorated with bruises and cuts, just like the rest of his body.
But he could fix this. All of this. This wasn’t anything new to the jaded superhero.
Starting with the wounds that needed stitching, especially the stitches on his side that had popped before it could even start to properly heal, Peter grabbed his medical thread and began sewing him back together again.

Peter wasn’t sure how long the whole process had taken, but he didn’t stop until he was sure every wound and cut had been disinfected and bandaged.
Pausing for a quick breather, Peter went into his bathroom to collect a cloth from underneath his sink and lightly soaked it beneath the cool faucet.
Returning back to Matt’s side, he caressed his face with the wet cloth, removing the dirt and dried blood that clung to his hair and temples. Working methodically, he gradually progressed down his body. He washed the soft curve of his nose, the sharp edges of his jaw, and the ridges of his well-defined collarbone, and to the dips of  his chest. He trailed the wet cloth over his ripped abdominal muscles. Over old scars and new ones, until Matt was as clean as he could be in this make-do situation.
However, he wasn’t quite done yet. He needed to do one last thing.
Getting to his feet, Peter padded over to his bedroom, fetching his blanket to keep him warm and a pillow for his head.

By the time Matt woke up, Peter had napped for a total of 3 hours in a nearby armchair and spent the majority of the night cleaning himself off, making trips to the top of the roof  to think (perks of being on the last floor of the building) and attempting to get some more sleep but to no avail.
Now he was unnaturally yet easily balanced on the arm of his chair, his knees retracted to his chest, his elbows pillowed on them. His chin rested on one of his hands while his other was busy with his 3rd cup of coffee that morning.
-
Matt had every intention of asuading the fellow heroes' fears, though any thoughts of the matter melted away as his world faded to black and the ground rushed towards his face at an alarming rate.
His last thought was of how red Peter's face would be when he realized. Too bad he would miss the moment of epiphany.
Matt did not dream, not that he wasn't perfectly capable, but his body was far too tired. It had essentially shut down on him and there was nary the energy for such frivolous things as gumdrops and fairies or even handsome young reporters.
It was a silky infinite darkness that enveloped the Devil, though if one were to ask they may find this was perfectly acceptable to Matt Murdock.
While Peter worked off his suit he likely would notice a few things. Firstly he also had a secret phone pocket in the thigh though the block had died long before morning rolled around so at least Peter didn't have to listen to the monotonous ringing. Secondly, his armor was remarkably light and not at all bullet proof, and yet there was not a single bullet wound on the man.
And third, only if Peter were boldly curious, (or paying very close attention when Matt awoke) Matt's eyes, big and brown and puppy dog-like, did not dilate to the light.