Unheard & Unspoken

It was 1 AM. Clint was getting ready for bed, even though he was completely aware that he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he'd, eventually tired of staring at the ceiling in total darkness and silence, get up and watch TV or go suit up and scope out the area until sunrise. He was about done changing from the sweat pants and hoodie he'd been wearing for the last two days and was now staring at Lucky. The dog's sleeping form was lying at the foot of the bed, breathing even. The sight made something in Clint twist; probably the fact his dog got too tired of waiting for him to go to bed, so he curled up on his spot by himself.

He hadn't been wearing his hearing aids for the last hour, his ears started hurting from them. He thought "Surely, the city won't need saving this one time and I'll totally be able to sleep for more than three hours without waking up."

Though, Clint was sure that will soon be proven to be a lie. The archer simply glanced at the empty, dirty cups on his bedside table, shrugged tiredly in a way that said "I'll do it tomorrow," and let himself fall onto the bed with a soft thud. What he didn't count on (but to be honest, when does he ever count on things when he isn't on missions?), was for Lucky to stir in his sleep. He couldn't hear it, but he could feel the deep rumble the dog let out. With a small quirk of the corner of his lips, Clint got comfortable under the covers.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, and it probably was, the archer felt as if he will fall asleep in a matter of minutes. Drift off into a peaceful slumber. Wake up around noon, as always, and, for once, not feel as if he'll pass out whenever he closes his eyes for more than two seconds.

Everything was good, Clint even felt the warm arms of sleep reach out for him and cradle him, until he felt vibrations.

Vibrations? His phone is on the bedside table and turned to silent. With an exaggerated sigh, the archer lifted his gaze to look around the room. Maybe Lucky heard some random bird outside. As he suspected, when he looked towards Lucky, the dog was growling at something. Following his line of sight, Clint noticed a hand resting on the metal fence of the fire escape stairs. He bolted up, heart beating out of his chest momentarily before calming back down, and reached for under his mattress for his knife. Once he had a firm grip on the handle, he slowly got out of bed and crept towards the window, not taking his eyes off of it for a moment.

Clint took a steadying breath, although it didn't do much except prolong the inevitable, and jerked open the window, knife gripped tightly in his hand so hard his fingers ached.

He saw a familiar pair of round, red tinted glasses sitting crookedly on the bridge of the person's nose. The suit they wore was torn in several places, and it was very clearly stained with blood. He could see the person, it looked like a man, panting, but he couldn't exactly hear them. A few seconds went by in mere silence of the two just staring each other down, Clint's shaking breath, holding open the window as the man gripped tighter at the railing with bloody hands. A few seconds passed until it finally clicked for the archer.

So that's how he found Matt Murdock.

A gash in his stomach, legs shaking from pure exhaustion, a sleeve of the suit jacket completely missing, a split lip and bruises forming around his neck.

The undying determination to assassinate whoever dared to disturb him in his attempt to sleep completely faded and was replaced by concern.

Clint grabbed the other man's good arm with a firm grip before pulling him in through the window with a loud sigh, as if to make sure Matt would hear his endless disappointement. Clint was worried sick. Lucky, on the other hand, almost jumped the blind man, so Clint had to lure him out of the bedroom, only to quickly close the door once he was outside.

"In my defense," Matt began, too out of it to notice the lack of buzzing from the archer's ears. "I got beat up as Matt Murdock, not as Daredevil."

"Can't hear shit, give me a moment," Muttering mostly to himself, Clint dragged Matt over to his bed and sat him down with a firm hand on his shoulder and, in one fluid motion, reached over to turn on the bedside lamp. He didn't bother with putting in his hearing aids, he could read Matt's lips pretty well by now.