Peter WHY...

A few days had passed since the daring robbery attempt at Goldman's Gems, and the story still rippled through New York City like a holiday rumor gone wild. Newsstands overflowed with papers, TV screens flickered with grainy footage of webbed-up robbers, and the Daily Bugle, as always, led the charge with its latest tirade. "SPIDER-MAN: HERO OR HAZARD?" screamed the headline, J. Jonah Jameson's editorial ranting about reckless vigilantism and the "messy web of chaos" left for police to untangle—no clear reason beyond his usual grudge. 

Peter Parker, swinging through Queens under a snowy evening sky in his red and black suit, barely gave it a second thought anymore. Jameson's got a one-track mind, he mused, his web line catching a streetlamp as he soared past twinkling holiday lights. Save the day, and he still finds a way to spin it sour.

Tonight's patrol had a different flavor, though. Peter wasn't out to chase crooks or foil heists—he was headed to Hell's Kitchen, curious to catch up with Matt Murdock, the guy he'd met in that yellow and black suit a while back. 

Daredevil, Peter thought, swinging toward the grittier side of the city where shadows stretched longer and the festive glow dimmed. Been meaning to see how he's doing—guy's got guts, starting out like this. The snow fell in lazy flurries, dusting rooftops and fire escapes, and the air carried a sharp chill that bit through his suit as he crossed into Hell's Kitchen's territory.

He spotted Matt atop a weathered building near the edge of the neighborhood, standing silhouetted against the snowy skyline. The yellow and black costume hugged his frame, homemade and rough around the edges, the mask leaving his mouth bare. 

Peter paused mid-swing, hanging from a web line as he took in the sight. From this angle, he almost looks like Batman, he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips beneath the mask. Brooding on a rooftop, all dark and mysterious—just needs a cape and a scowl.

Peter released the web, landing lightly a few feet behind Matt, his boots crunching softly in the snow. He straightened, hands on his hips, and called out in a warm, easy tone, "Hey, Daredevil! Fancy meeting you up here—how's the night treating you?"

Matt turned sharply, his head tilting as if zeroing in on the sound, then relaxed, a faint grin spreading across his face. "Spider-Man? Didn't expect a drop-in from the web-slinger tonight. What's bringing you to my corner?"

Peter strolled closer, keeping it casual as he brushed snow off his shoulder. "Just felt like a chat—y'know, catch up with the guy in the cool suit. Been a wild week, so I figured I'd swing by, see how you're holding up out here. How's the hero gig going?"

Matt chuckled, leaning against a rusted vent stack, his posture loose despite the cold. "It's keeping me on my toes," he said, his voice friendly and open. "Heard about that jewelry store robbery on the news—seven robbers, hostages, and you took 'em all down solo? That's incredible. Makes me hope I can be like you someday, handling things that smooth."

Guess Spider-Man's got a fan club starting. Peter thought, amused by the admiration. 

"Aw, thanks, man," he said, grinning beneath the mask. "It was a mess, but it worked out. You'll get there—takes time and a lot of tripping over yourself. What've you been up to lately? Any good stories from the streets?"

Matt nodded, his grin widening as he crossed his arms. "A few, yeah—not as big as your heist takedown, but I'm finding my rhythm. Last night, I caught a couple of muggers near the docks—two guys trying to snatch a lady's purse. Took 'em down with my baton and some rope I grabbed off a dumpster. Night before that, I broke up a bar fight—drunk guys swinging bottles at each other. Nothing fancy, just quick and dirty."

Peter laughed, settling against the ledge beside Matt, the snow crunching under his boots. "That's solid—muggers and bar brawls are the backbone of this gig. Keeps the little guys safe. You're already making a dent out here."

"It feels right," Matt said, his tone earnest. "I hear stuff—people yelling, struggling—and I can't just walk away. That's why that jewelry store thing stuck with me. You saved those hostages, webbed up seven armed guys like it was nothing. That's the kind of difference I want to make."

"Appreciate that," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not always that clean—sometimes I'm just swinging around, praying I don't faceplant. Speaking of messes, though—you catch the Daily Bugle lately? They're on my case again, calling me a hazard or some garbage."

Matt tilted his head, curious. "Yeah, I heard that—'Hero or Hazard?' What's their problem? You pulled off a win, and they're still griping?"

"Same old, same old," Peter said, his voice tinged with mock exasperation. "J. Jonah Jameson's got it out for me—thinks I'm some reckless punk making life harder for the cops. Never mind that I stopped a robbery and saved five people without a scratch. They'd rather sell papers than give credit where it's due."

Matt snorted, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous. You'd think they'd ease up after something like that. Guess not everyone gets what we're trying to do."

"Nope," Peter agreed, kicking at a snow pile. "But I don't do it for them—do it for the folks who need it, like those hostages. Keeps me sane. What about you? Any wild moments out here lately?"

Matt paused, then grinned, leaning forward slightly. "Had one last week that was a close call—chased a carjacker off 10th. Guy swiped a beat-up sedan, and I went after him on foot. Slipped on some ice mid-jump and nearly ate it, but I chucked a trash can lid at him—caught him square in the back. Knocked him flat, pure luck, but he didn't get far."

Peter burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the snowy rooftops. "A trash can lid? That's genius! You're already improvising like a champ—Batman vibes all the way."

"Batman, huh?" Matt said, chuckling warmly. "I'll take the compliment. Beats wiping out in front of a crowd. Still working on the landings—your webs make it look effortless."

"Years of crashing first," Peter quipped, his thoughts flickering to his own early flops. "You'll nail it. What else you got? Hell's Kitchen's gotta be full of stories."

Matt nodded, his voice growing thoughtful. "Few nights back, I stopped a break-in—small-time crook smashing a pawn shop window. Got him with a kick and tied him up with some cable I found. Then there was a kid pickpocketing near the subway—caught him red-handed, but he was just hungry. Gave him a sandwich I had instead of turning him in. Little wins, you know?"

"Those are the best kind," Peter said, clapping Matt on the shoulder. "Big heists are flashy, but the small stuff? That's what keeps the city ticking. You're doing good out here—better than you think."

"Thanks," Matt said, his grin softening. "Means a lot coming from you. That jewelry store thing—it's all over the radio. People owe you big time."

Peter shrugged, leaning back against the ledge. "Just another night—keeps me sharp. But yeah, the Bugle's probably cooking up some new rant as we speak. Gotta keep 'em guessing."

Matt laughed, the sound bright against the cold. "Let 'em rant. You're out there making a difference—I hear it in the chatter. People talk about Spider-Man like he's a legend."

Legend, huh? Peter thought, warmth spreading through him despite the snow. Matt's solid—doesn't even know I'm just Peter messing with him last time. "Appreciate it," he said aloud. "Guess we're both just trying to carve out our spots, huh?"

"Pretty much," Matt agreed, his voice steady as the wind whipped around them. "One block at a time."

The snow fell thicker now, blanketing the rooftop as the two stood in companionable silence, the city sprawling beneath them—a mix of holiday cheer and gritty reality, their friendly chat a quiet anchor in the night.