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littlelovelyspiderling · 4 months ago

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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 11)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10

word count: 19,900

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“Still no luck figuring out what’s been eating at the kid, huh?”

Tony Stark stood in front of the mirror in the lavish master bathroom on the 96th floor, staring at his reflection while drowsily brushing his teeth. It was barely 6:30 in the morning, and Pepper had already gotten up, dressed, and left for work that day, whispering something about an early meeting with the recipients of a university grant they were sponsoring before kissing him on the cheek and hurrying out the door. He loved how committed she was to their company and her job; no one did more for the new mission of Stark Industries than she did. He just wished it didn’t mean waking up in an empty bed more monings than not.

FRIDAY took an unusually long time to respond to his question. “Actually…” she said, a strange hesitancy in her Irish-accented voice. “I’m fairly certain I have figured out what’s been increasing his stress levels as of late. I’ve had a theory about its origin for about three days now.”

Stark spat into the sink and wiped his face with a scowl. “Three days? FRIDAY—did I or did I not ask you to report back to me as soon as you found out what was going on with him?”

“You did,” FRIDAY confirmed reluctantly. “However, I concluded that the information I discovered was, to my understanding…uniquely sensitive. It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable just telling you outright.”

Tony scoffed, towel-drying his hair. “What has gotten into you lately? Has Pete been messing with your programming or something? I know I designed you to be as opinionated and bullheaded as myself, but this is getting a little out of hand—borderline mutinous.”

Stark’s creations had a lot of things in common with their creator: such as liking Peter more than Tony and frequently letting the kid’s desires outweigh their better judgment. The Avenger stole a glob of Pepper’s wildly expensive under eye cream and dabbed a little on the planes of his face where the lines were the most prominent; where they were beginning to look a tad deeper and darker than he remembered. “You do know I could just search through your logs and find out the truth for myself.”

“You could,” FRIDAY agreed. “But I believe you have more class than that. This is something you should ask Peter about in person, and only know if he feels comfortable enough to disclose it to you.”

Tony paused, considering the possibility that maybe he didn’t want to know what FRIDAY knew about the kid with the way she was being so cryptic about it. “Is he…in danger in any way?” he asked uneasily.

“No. I wouldn’t say so.”

“Does he have, like—a weird health thing he needs to go to a professional about?”

“No.”

“Does his aunt know about whatever this is?”

The A.I. was silent for a moment. “No. Not entirely, anyway.”

“Does she need to know about it entirely?”

“Not right now. But eventually, yes.”

Stark puffed out his cheeks in frustration. “Could you at least give me a hint about what I’m dealing with here? Teenage superhero babysitting is an art I’m still learning to navigate, and not something I ever imagined myself being implicated in prior to that pantyhose-wearing spider-baby web-swinging his way into my life.” He smoothed some gel into his salt and pepper locks. “Just tell me as much as May knows. I need some context to understand what the hell I should even be asking him about.”

FRIDAY considered this. “Very well,” she conceded. “The thing I believe is worrying him so much is that he’s developed a crush on someone.”

Immediately, the billionaire perked up. “Really?” he said. “A crush? That’s what all this angst and drama has been about? The way you were talking about it, I thought he might be purchasing strippers with my credit card, or—I don’t know. Shooting heroin?”

“He’s sixteen, boss. Having a crush is one of the most angsty and dramatic things sixteen-year-olds go through.” She paused. “Well. Normal sixteen-year-olds, anyway.”

“Right.” Which Peter was anything but. Still, it was nice to know Pete wasn’t so far removed from kids his age that he wasn’t going through the same formative experiences teenagers were supposed to have. Stark studied himself in the mirror, teasing his facial hair into a more stylish shape. “Well then. This is certainly an exciting development. Who’s the kiddo crushing on? Anybody I know?”

“I’m afraid that’s all the information I can give you,” the A.I. stated firmly. Tony let out a long sigh.

“Very well.” He slipped on a sports coat over his T-shirt and dabbed his wrists with a splash of Cairon Poivre. “Where’s the little lovebird now? Is it a good time for me to approach him about this? Should I even approach him about this? What do I say to him? Chill the fuck out? Make a move? Back off? What’s the end goal here? Am I even qualified to be giving him advice on this sort of thing?”

Whether either of them liked it or not, Tony Stark was, at present, the closest thing Peter had to a father figure. That didn’t mean he was any good at it—especially when it came to situations and subjects the two of them had yet to broach. Tony had jokingly questioned Peter about his romantic life in the past, shooting the breeze while the pair tinkered away the hours in his lab, but the kid had always brushed him off, timidly insisting he had zero time for that sort of thing.

Stark wondered what had changed since then. Who was it the kid found so darn dreamy, his shy little heart had no choice but to break its hiatus and worry itself sick with incessant teenage pining?

“It’s not even seven yet, boss,” FRIDAY said amusedly. “Peter is still asleep.”

Tony deflated with a slow breath out. “Oh. Right.”

“But I’ll let you know when he’s awake and ready for company,” she continued. “If you do decide to talk to him, I wouldn’t press him too hard for details or inundate him with advice. What I think Peter needs most right now is just…” the A.I. hummed thoughtfully. “A little encouragement. You know—support and reassurance from someone he admires and trusts.”

Stark cracked a smile. “So we’re in favor of Pete’s mystery crush, then? We want them to end up together? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” FRIDAY admitted. “I already know for certain that the person he likes likes him back.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “FRIDAY! You conniving little fiend! Just how much of your compute power are you funneling towards playing matchmaker with my intern?”

The A.I. ran a few rapid calculations in silence. “No comment,” she answered shrewdly.

Chuckling, Stark strode out of the bathroom into he and Pepper’s bedroom. “Well, ping me when the kid’s conscious and available. I’m eager to play my part in your Machiavellian plot to win Pete a hot date.” After lacing up his shoes, Tony stood and scratched his beard. “Speaking of, is May up yet? I’d be interested in getting her perspective on all of this.”

“How should I know? I don’t monitor the sleep schedules of people outside this tower. That’d be creepy.”

The Avenger rolled his eyes. “I didn’t—whatever. I’ll just call her.” Stark pulled out his phone and tapped Mrs. Parker’s contact photo, which was 3rd from the top on his speed dial list. Only Pepper and Happy eclipsed her in priority. He was pleasantly surprised when she picked up.

“Good Morning, May. Sorry for calling you so early. Yes, Pete’s fine. I took his stitches out yesterday. With the speed his body heals, he’ll probably come out the other side of this without so much as a scar.”

Tony stepped out of the bedroom into the rotunda with a monstrous yawn, his sights set on the 98th story’s commercial grade espresso machine.

“So, quick question. Has Peter mentioned anything to you about having a crush on someone…?”

__________________________

Sleep took its time prying its claws from Peter’s mind. He woke slowly, hazily, vision shifting in and out of focus, thoughts struggling to take shape. Something heavy and warm was laying on top of him. It felt like some kind of weighted blanket with a built-in heater. He was so cozy and comfortable, it was hard to convince his brain to come to.

What finally dragged his stubborn body to consciousness was the sour taste in his mouth. He must’ve fallen asleep without brushing his teeth. Now that he mentioned it, Peter couldn’t remember putting himself to bed last night. As he ran his tacky tongue over his incisors, realizing the room around him was not, in fact, his bedroom, Peter reached up to rub his eyes but hit hard glass instead. Still wearing my mask, his brain recognized sluggishly. Great. His worst breakouts always happened after falling asleep with it on. He must’ve passed out on the couch by accident while binging Love Island with Johnny Storm.

Peter stiffened. His attention returned to that warm weight lying on top of him from his chest all the way down to his feet (which also had his left arm pinned against the sofa cushions). He craned his neck to find a head-full of strawberry blonde hair resting against his sternum and two muscular arms wrapped snugly around his waist, hugging his midsection like a giant teddy bear.

The vigilante’s blood went red-hot beneath his skin. Suddenly, he was wide awake. Johnny had his whole self draped across Peter’s narrow frame and was spooning him like a Spidey-sized body pillow. Peter had no idea how the two of them had wound up in this position—or whether this was something Johnny had done on purpose, or by accident. Did he intentionally cuddle up to him like this sometime in the night? Or was it normal for him to wake up with all his limbs coiled unknowingly around the closest object in his proximity? The sleeping celebrity’s heartbeat thumped a lazy rhythm against his own—which was upping its pace faster and faster by the second.

He was just…so pretty. Golden shafts of particle-flecked light speared through Johnny’s hair from the tall, shuttered windows, gilding every strand in resplendent halos. His near-invisible eyelashes glowed like dove feathers at the break of dawn. Tiny, perfect freckles flecked his tranquil face, adorning his nose, his eyelids, his lips, his chin—even the delicate shells of both of his ears. He looked like a painting come to life, a poem in flesh and blood, a sacred hymn of rose-flushed cheeks and angel-soft skin. Peter swooned at the thought of running his fingers through that ruffled wave of sun-kissed locks, but didn’t dare touch him while he slept. That would be wrong. Especially since he still hadn’t mastered the courage to confess his feelings to him yet. Until he had the balls to do that much, Peter didn’t deserve to even think about things like that.

Unfortunately, it was hard for Peter to think about much else while the beautiful superhero snoozed peacefully on top of him, arms wound tight to his torso, breaths slow and soft. It was also difficult for Peter to, y’know—move without potentially disturbing him. Spider-Man gazed around the room as much as his limited range of motion allowed, sudden nervousness gripping him at the thought of being discovered in his current state. How the hell would he explain this? He spotted his phone on the ground a few feet away from the couch and managed to angle his wrist towards it, firing a line of spider’s silk at the device and whipping it into his free hand. The battery was nearly dead since he hadn’t charged it overnight, but he could use up what little juice remained while he figured out what to do about the warm lump of teenager he was presently trapped under.

Johnny had somehow gotten both the spit take video and the prank video edited and posted before daybreak. According to the time stamps, both videos were published on all his social media platforms between 4 and 5am. He hadn’t posted any of the footage of when Johnny had interrogated Peter as they were cleaning up the lab just yet, but churning the other two videos out that fast was a miracle in itself.

No wonder the Human Torch was sprawled across him, practically comatose. Peter doubted he’d slept more than a few hours last night. Maybe Spider-Man really was a bad influence on him—at least, on his normally methodic sleep schedule.

The videos—embarrassing as they were—were entertaining enough and very well edited. Johnny certainly had a gift for comedic timing: punching in on each of their faces every time one of them spat water across the room, adding in silly little audio bites of popular sound effects to punctuate different moments, replaying their teammates getting shot with glitter paint over and over again in slow motion. Peter found himself stifling a giggle every now and then as he let the videos run, making sure to keep the sound on the lowest setting.

Near the end of the spit take video, Peter opened up the comments to avoid having to watch himself be shoved against the wall by the Human Torch, blood rushing to his cheeks. But when he started scrolling through what people had been writing on the post, the heat in his face blazed tenfold.

so…johnny’s 100% into spider-man. is anyone else getting that vibe or…?

The way Spider-Man is making Johnny giggle SO much im?? 😭 Losing my mind??

do you think spiderman knows how badly johnny wants him

✨THEY’RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR✨

Oh they’ve explored each others bodies for sure

i did not have “shipping spider-man and johnny storm” on my bingo card for this year, but here we are 💁🏽‍♀️

I wonder if johnny knows who spidey is?? He has to know right?

this video alone may or may not have turned me from a spidey hater to a fan

God i hope spiderman isn’t too old to date johnny cuz they’d be SO cute together

The way he pinned him to the wall 😳 screaming crying throwing up

oh i knowww spidey is blushingggg behind that mask fr

my god just KISS ALREADY

Before he could stress-read a single more line, the screen winked to black before his eyes. His phone had officially died. Slowly, Peter’s arm fell limp at his side, the device slipping from his fingers onto the floor, heart on a pendulum as he gaped at the ceiling.

Okay…don’t panic, he told himself, panicking. On one hand, it was great to have his suspicions of Johnny’s feelings for him validated. Even if Johnny’s fans were being…a bit too enthusiastic about it (to an arguably feral and inappropriate degree), at least they were picking up on all the same signs Peter was.

Peter was not, however, in any way ready for the world to know about Spider-Man’s sexual identity. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. The fact that people were openly discussing it and debating it before he’d even had a full week to digest it himself set his teeth on his edge and his skin crawling. Eventually, of course, Peter did plan to come out to those closest to him—but on his own terms, on his own time table, as Peter Parker, not Spider-Man, and only to the individuals in his life he deemed worthy of knowing. No one else.

Johnny Storm deserved the same. Even if he was queer, and did perhaps exhibit more obvious indicators of that fact than Spider-Man did, that shouldn’t mean everyone gets free rein to make invasive comments and assumptions about his private life. As far as Peter was aware, Johnny had never disclosed his sexual orientation to the public, nor should he have to if that’s not what he wanted. Despite Johnny’s rather laissez-faire approach to how accessible he was to his fans, Peter felt protective of his right to privacy.

It took Peter a few minutes of stewing to conclude it wasn’t necessarily people making assumptions about his and Johnny’s relationship that rubbed him the wrong way. People made far worse assumptions about him all the time. What bothered him was that the assumptions being made about him now were true—or rather, dangerously close to the truth. He knew working on his image with Johnny would mean revealing more of his real self to the public. He just didn’t expect the public to tear through his defenses so fast, ripping open his cloistered heart for all to see.

In exchange for their trust and support, Peter was game to share pieces of himself with the people and world he was sworn to protect. But not this. Anything but this. Spider-Man’s crush on Johnny was never supposed to be part of this transaction. For now, that was between him and the Human Torch. Even if it seemed like most people were saying Johnny was the one with the crush, not Spider-Man, he still felt exposed, like a politician splitting their pants on live television.

Peter took a moment to breathe. People do this to celebrities all the time, he reminded himself. Anyone they’re seen hanging out with for more than five minutes is automatically assumed to be their latest fling. And it wasn’t like everyone on the Internet was drawing the same conclusions the fans on that post were. That was a very small, chronically-online faction of the public. They were probably the same nutjobs over-analyzing any and all interviews the Avengers did, insisting that every fleeting glance Natasha Romanoff shared with Hawkeye absolutely meant they were sleeping together, or the way Stark bumped shoulders with Dr. Banner whenever they stood side-by-side proved they were engaged in a sloppy secret romance. According to those people, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes weren’t just a group of highly skilled individuals dedicated to public service, but also a bunch of sex addicts in one big polyamorous super orgy.

Peter made a face at the unsightly image that train of thought had led him to. Point is, you’re fine, he told himself, letting his eyes slip shut behind his mask. Only when the Daily Bugle starts posting puff pieces about you and Johnny potentially being a thing are you allowed to freak out. For now, the general public isn’t going to see you two as anything other than friends.

Besides. None of this would really matter, anyway. Not until he cut the bullshit and finally told the Human Torch how he felt about him. Not until he learned what Spider-Man truly meant to the teenage heartthrob. Not until Johnny confirmed he liked him in the way Peter and all those crackpot commentators hoped. Not until Peter knew for sure if there was any chance of them pursuing something beyond a friendship.

A small grunt came from Johnny as the sleepy hero shifted positions, his head still resting on Peter’s chest but his arms loosening their grip on Peter’s torso. Peter scanned the room again with an anxious sweep of his gaze. One thing was for certain: Spider-Man would never escape the allegations circling their relationship if he was caught with Johnny Storm cuddling him like a baby koala. Plus, his left arm was starting to go numb. As much as he’d love to lie here, swaddled in the soporific tincture of Johnny’s supernatural warmth and dangerously sweet scent, Spider-Man needed to get up.

It took all of Peter’s superhuman strength, flexibility, and stealth to maneuver himself out from under Johnny without jostling the celebrity awake. Johnny twitched and murmured as Peter lifted his weight off his chest then gently lowered the teen back onto the couch, but thankfully, never fully stirred. Once he was splayed across the plush cushions sans his cuddle buddy, the Human Torch curled into a ball and resumed his quiet snoring.

Exhaling in relief, Peter leveled a smile upon Johnny’s delicate, slumbering form. He readjusted the blanket so it was covering the sleepy hero’s feet, then tip-toed into the kitchen, shaking out the pins and needles tingling across his left arm.

How do we wanna do this? Peter asked himself, leaning over the sink with his back to the Human Torch. Should I go old-fashioned, buy him some flowers and a box of chocolates? Is that something people normally do? Or just on Valentine’s Day? Would it be too much? Too little? Do boys even do things like that for each other? Either way, Johnny’s tastes were probably out of his price range, anyhow. He doubted a wilted bouquet from that crabby vendor on 23rd Street paired with drug store chocolate dipped in lead poisoning and child slavery would impress him.

Peter shot a glance over his shoulder to double check that the celebrity was still sleeping, then slipped the Spider-Man mask off his face, grateful there wasn’t a mirror around to show him just how bedraggled he looked. He laid the mask on the counter to his right and flipped the sink faucet on, cupping his hands beneath the icy stream.

Okay, no flowers, he decided defeatedly. He splashed his face with cold water, scrubbing his hands over his eyes and forehead. Maybe no gifts at all. You didn’t do any gifts for Liz—you just came right out and said it. “I like you.” And hey, that worked out just fine. Minus her dad trying to bury you under a building and tear you limb-from-limb and all. Why can’t you do the same thing now? Why is this so much harder and scarier?

Johnny’s sister coming after him with a bloodlust equal to the Vulture’s wasn’t the thing holding him back—despite that being a very real possibility. What all of it really boiled down to, Peter couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was a whole interconnected, messy web of things. Cowardice and insecurity, embarrassment and uncertainty—perhaps even a smidge of internalized homophobia, which only made him more ashamed and self-conscious about it all. Peter sipped from the faucet, sloshed the water around in his mouth for a bit, then spat. It wasn’t enough to wash the acrid taste from his tongue.

You just gotta do it, he told himself, glaring at the water trickling down the drain. You just gotta say it. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man. Quit being such a little bitch. All it takes is three words. Three little words. Just walk up to him, look him in the eye, open that big, dumb mouth of yours, and say—

“Your hair’s curly.”

Peter’s body went rigid, spine pin-straight. His fingers clamped around the lip of the sink as an exaggerated yawn sounded from behind him.

“It’s pretty,” Johnny continued, voice slurred with drowsiness. “I haven’t seen it ‘til now.”

Stiff as a board, Peter groped blindly for his mask, not daring to move his head an inch. It took his hand a few frantic passes to come in contact with the familiar fabric. He snatched the mask off the counter and immediately pulled it over his face, relief splintering through him once it was back in place. Spider-Man forced his muscles to soften, then turned towards his friend.

“Sorry, I was—I, er…thought you were still asleep.” The words tumbled out of him in a stuttery, pathetic tangle, making his cheeks burn against the inside of his mask. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, leaned against the counter, then stood back upright, fists taut at his sides, suddenly forgetting how to stand normally.

Johnny laid exactly where he’d left him: bundled beneath the blanket like a strawberry-blonde cherub, curled against the backrest of the crushed velvet sofa, except now his eyes were open. Exhaustion weighed on his features as he blinked at him slowly.

“I didn’t see your face, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Johnny reassured him groggily. “And I doubt I could figure out who you are just from seeing the back of your head. I’m not that smart.”

Peter's shoulders relaxed a little. He was grateful Johnny hadn’t pressed the subject of his secret identity much since they’d become friends. Part of him wondered if it was because he understood how much it meant to Peter to keep his superhero life separate from his civilian life. Another part of him wondered if it was because Johnny preferred not knowing what he looked like. Perhaps the Human Torch only tolerated his presence because of the unique mystery and intrigue his mask imbued him with. With his appearance hidden, Johnny could imagine Spidey as whoever or whatever he most desired. A model, a movie star, a prince, a god—someone so perfect and elegant, lambent with beauty devastating enough to finally match his own, Peter Parker could never measure up. Once Spider-Man’s true face was revealed, Johnny would see him for who he really was: another boring, unremarkable nobody, indistinguishable from the millions of others who fawned over the celebrity heartthrob 24/7. A bland-looking loser unworthy of wasting another second of his time.

“Did both of us fall asleep out here last night?” Johnny asked, kneading his knuckles into his eyes. “Ugh. That’s not like me at all. I have a very strict bedtime routine I normally can’t sleep without.”

A shrewd smile tugged at Peter’s lips. “Does part of that routine involve some kind of toy or pillow you wrap your entire body around and half-strangle all night?” Just because he was being sucked out to sea by his dull appearance and crippling self-loathing didn’t mean Johnny had to know about it.

Johnny lifted his gaze to Peter’s, a touch of scarlet blooming in his cheeks, riveting Peter’s heart with spellbinding affection. “How do you know about that?” he asked, baffled. Then he scowled at the couch. “Wait…” A couple seconds passed, and his eyes widened, a tiny plume of smoke billowing off his scalp. “Oh my god. Did I…?”

“Use me as your own personal body pillow last night?” Peter finished for him with a laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much. At least while you were actually sleeping, rather than editing TikTok videos until 5 in the morning.”

The Human Torch’s blush darkened in unison with the smoke spilling from the top of his head. The celebrity let out an incredulous groan, clamping a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he giggled helplessly. “You should’ve woken me up or shoved me off. Unconscious me is very clingy for some reason. It’s why I always sleep with my Puffy.”

Peter fought back a snort. “Your…Puffy?” he repeated back, monumentally intrigued. Johnny sighed, freckled skin tinted pink in the soft, spooling sunshine.

“Yes, my Puffy. I named him when I was four, so you can shut the fuck up about it.”

Peter’s grin stretched so wide it hurt. “And who or what, might I ask, is this so-called ‘Puffy’?” Out of the hours and hours of endless Johnny Storm content Peter had consumed online, he’d never heard anything about this.

Johnny wrapped the blanket around his head to smother the smoke still rising from his hair, transforming himself into a grouchy, sleep-deprived babushka. “If you must know,” he grumbled, holding his chin high with his arms crossed against his chest, “Puffy is a stuffed toy in the shape of an airplane that Sue crocheted for me when I was a kid. He was Sue’s gift to me for my fourth birthday, and I’ve had him ever since.”

Peter busted into a laugh before he could stop himself. “Really? An airplane? That’s ridiculously cute, but—why an airplane?”

“Because I like airplanes!” Johnny snapped defensively. “I’ve always liked airplanes! I’ve been studying aircraft models since before I could read! It’s why I went and got my pilot’s license the moment I turned sixteen, and why Sue and Reed actually trusted me to be Ben’s co-pilot for our space mission despite my age. If there’s one thing I’m a bigger nerd for than you are, it’s operating complex machines built for precision and speed.”

Peter had to remind himself that beyond being ridiculously hot, rich, powerful, and famous, Johnny Storm was also an accomplished auto mechanic and teen prodigy in both stratospheric jet piloting and space flight. Johnny had briefly discussed his background with cars and planes to the press in the past, but hadn’t spoken a word about it to Peter until now, which was unusually modest of him. The fact remained that he was a genius in ways Peter never would be—cooler, dreamier, more romantic ways. Spider-Man blinked at Johnny, startled by how much more attractive he suddenly found him.

“Sometimes I forget beneath all that hyaluronic acid and vitamin c serum and organic hair mousse, you’re actually, like—super smart,” Peter mused. “I mean, building cars and flying spaceships? Those are some pretty remarkable accomplishments if you ask me. I can’t believe I’m suggesting you brag about yourself even more than you already do, but…I feel like you don’t talk about that side of Johnny Storm as much as everything else.”

Johnny frowned, worrying the edge of the blanket between his fingers. “None of it really measures up to what my sister has achieved with her freakish science brain,” he explained quietly. “Fans and media outlets already get their genius Storm fix from Sue, so they come to me for other stuff. Music videos and fashion shows and modeling and skincare hacks.” He shrugged. “Which I get. Gotta avoid redundancy. And it’s best to play into our biggest strengths for the sake of the team’s brand.” The Human Torch gnawed his inner lip. “Besides…after what happened with the space mission, I don’t like talking about that stuff anyway.”

Peter studied Johnny’s troubled expression bemusedly. Have I finally found it? he thought to himself. Something Johnny Storm might actually be insecure about? His first instinct was to poke fun at him for it, but the remorseful look on Johnny’s face made Peter rethink his approach. He returned to Johnny’s side, plopping next to him on the couch.

“Why? What does that have to do with your cars and planes expertise?”

“Because it was my first time piloting a real spacecraft out of earth’s atmosphere, and I totally blew it,” he said, unable to meet Peter’s gaze. “While Ben was placing the sample collectors on the outside of the spaceship, I was in charge of piloting the craft until he returned. It was a routine procedure he and I had practiced a hundred times together. I did everything perfectly every time except the one day it actually mattered. When the alarms started blaring and I saw the dust cloud barreling towards our shuttle, I panicked.”

Peter recognized the dark haze muddying Johnny’s eyes. He’d seen eyes heavy with those same bitter storm clouds stare back at himself in the months following the murder of his uncle. They were the eyes of someone who knew they could’ve done more, but hadn’t. The eyes of someone plagued by a single moment in their past that was still hollowing them out with guilt and regret to this day. Eyes that would carry the weight of their owner's failure for the rest of their lives.

“I turned the ship when I should’ve just held steady. The movement threw off Ben’s course as he was making his approach back to the entry hatch. It took him an extra seven seconds to get back on board, which meant there wasn’t enough time to close the blast doors before the space dust hit. If I’d just kept our goddamn position like I was supposed to, maybe we all could’ve escaped the mission unscathed.” He shut his eyes, hanging his head low. “I did exactly what everyone feared I would do. I fucked everything up.”

Tears started slipping down Johnny Storm’s cheeks. Despite Peter’s increased exposure to it, the Human Torch’s tumultuous emotional state continued to both rattle and amuse him. The way he could flip from warm to teasing to embarrassed to tearful within minutes was a bit disorienting, yet painfully endearing.

“Johnny…” Peter said through a halfhearted smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. We talked about this. You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened that day. The whole thing was one seriously insane accident. And even if the cosmic radiation hitting everyone was partially your fault, you’re all superheroes now because of it.” He brushed his fingers along Johnny’s back in gentle, hesitant circles. “Why are you still beating yourself up about this?”

“Because Ben got turned into a freak because of me,” Johnny snapped, swiping his palms under his red-rimmed eyes. “His wife left him, took full custody of their kids, and refuses to let him see them. He lost everything because of what that radiation did to him, and I know he blames me for it.”

His words poked holes in Peter’s heart like tiny, colorful push pins. Ben and Johnny butted heads a lot, sure. But for Ben to actually hold a grudge that serious against Johnny? Peter couldn’t imagine it being true. “Johnny—” he started to say.

“Reed can’t hide how much he pities me. I know he can see how much guilt I feel after failing to follow through on the one responsibility he convinced everyone to entrust me with, which is somehow worse than him hating me. And Sue…” Johnny sniffled, voice caving in with grief. “Sue hasn’t been the same since that day. She isn’t the sister I remember anymore. That space dust…changed her somehow. Changed us. Everything’s changed since I turned that fucking ship.”

Peter didn’t know what else to do other than continue running his palm up and down the Human Torch’s back, trying to offer some kind of comfort to the anguished teen. But as Johnny’s lamenting went on, Peter snatched his hand back with a small yelp. Blue-tinted flames suddenly lapped off the teen’s shoulders, singeing the tip of Spider-Man’s index finger. Johnny buried his face in his hands, seemingly unaware of the wildfire currently engulfing his upper body.

“After the accident that killed my mom, I forced myself to learn exactly how every part of a car worked. I spent four summers in a row working with my dad in his auto shop, taking apart different kinds of cars and putting them back together again. When Sue first mentioned the mission she and Reed were planning to me, I rededicated myself to studying air and spacecraft instead. I spent months preparing for my pilot’s exam and begging them to let me come so I could make sure everything and everybody was safe. I did all of it so I could understand how to prevent her from meeting the same fate as—as Mom. I just…wanted to protect everyone. In the only way I knew how.” Johnny balled his hands against his eyes, digging his fists deep into the sockets. “Instead, I was the one who nearly killed everyone and wound up upending all our lives.”

One would think with all the money and fame and notoriety and pearly-smiled photoshoots the Fantastic Four boasted after gaining their powers that the quartet of superheroes adored their new lives. The truth of the matter was clearly much more complicated than any of the headlines or Buzzfeed interviews made it out to be. It diced Peter up inside to think of Johnny blaming himself for all the struggles his teammates had faced post-mission, even if they were completely out of his control, or how much the loss of his mother continued to weigh on him to this day. It cut even deeper realizing how much he could relate—recognizing his own guilt and regret reflected back at him in the tears staining Johnny’s cheeks.

“I know this isn’t the best time for me to be saying this,” Peter interceded reluctantly, leaning away from the sweltering inferno. “But…you’re sort of setting the couch on fire.”

Johnny’s hands immediately dropped from his face. “What? I’m—oh, shit—!” He flew to his feet, the blue hues in his flames flaring back to red. “Dammit! And then there’s—fucking this! Me destroying everything I touch all the goddamn time! Ugh! Do you know how infuriating this gets? I can’t do or feel anything without burning down everything around me!”

Peter winced back as a wave of heat and cinders blasted towards him. A gasp shuddered out of Johnny at the sight, and he banished the flames from his body as swiftly as he could. Ringlets of smoke continued to eddy from his shoulders and hair. Tears mottled his dark blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Johnny croaked out. “I usually—I can control myself better than that. I have to. I don’t know why this set me off so much. I just…” He dragged both his hands through his scalp. “I hate how angry these powers have made me, and how much worse the consequences are if I wind up losing my cool. I miss being able to scream and cry and get my feelings out without bursting into flame and torching what I assume is a four million dollar couch.”

Peter spared a glance at the blackened cushions. “Could’ve been worse. Pretty sure the couch on the penthouse floor is worth five million.”

Johnny’s lips twitched into a weak smile, but Spider-Man could tell he was still fighting back tears. Peter approached him slowly, watching the smoke spill off the celebrity’s body and dance across the ceiling.

“Your teammates love you, Johnny. Anyone with eyes and a half-functioning brain can see that. Whatever anger or pity or whatever else you think they might feel towards you because of that day, I promise their love for you outweighs it a hundred times over.”

Johnny just stood there with his arms hugged against his ribs and his eyes downcast, smoke and tears pouring from him in long, silent streams. Peter couldn’t bear to see him look so hurt. Without thinking, he lifted his hands to cup Johnny’s face on either side, brushing away his tears with thumbs.

“You’re more than your mistakes, Johnny. So much more. I need you to understand that. Okay?”

A few seconds passed before Johnny lifted his eyes to meet his, and Peter feared for a moment that he might be the one to spontaneously combust. The Human Torch looked so distraught, so beautiful, so wounded, so heavenly. He was bleeding in places Peter could never reach, could never fix. He was damaged in ways Peter could temporarily alleviate, but never fully heal. Peter wanted to drain all the pain from Johnny’s weary, fragile heart. He wanted to suck the guilt out of Johnny’s soul and replace it with everything Peter saw when he held his gaze. He—he wanted to kiss him.

Oh god. He wanted to kiss him so badly right now.

The panic that desire kindled rang through his bones like church bells. Maybe this is how I tell him what he means to me, he thought. Maybe Peter didn’t have to say anything at all. Actions spoke louder than words, after all—right? But was it wrong to kiss somebody without asking first? He considered it, then shrunk from the thought, then considered it again, weighing the choices before him like clay in his hands, his heart a thundering war drum in his chest. Right as he thought he might actually summon the gall to lay it all on the line and just go for it—

“Mr. Stark would like to speak to you, Spider-Man. He’s on his way down now.”

The A.I.’s words had Peter jerking back from the Human Torch as if he’d burst into flame again. It hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that FRIDAY was likely surveying Johnny and Peter’s every move and conversation while they were in the tower together. She was there for security, not to spy, but Peter had seen her recording logs firsthand after requesting to download the footage of a particularly explosive mishap in the lab earlier this year. She had eyes on everything and everyone, including the two of them at this very moment.

He couldn’t kiss him here. Not with her watching.

“Oh, uh—he is?” Peter stammered out, beads of disappointment pooling at the bottom of his stomach, his gaze still on Johnny as the young hero blinked at him slowly. He waved awkwardly at the ceiling. “Right. Got it. Thanks, FRIDAY.”

“You can talk to him,” Johnny insisted, eyes distant and thoughtful. “I’m, uh…I’m okay now.”

Swallowing, Peter bridged a portion of the gap he’d created between them, his hands moving way too much as he spoke. “You know, if you ever need to, like—let all your anger or stress or whatever it is out without worrying about torching anything, Avengers Tower has a room for that. You remember the battle arena where you and I fought? Every inch of that place is made of some of the strongest metal on earth—second only to vibranium. You can burn as bright and hot as you want—maybe even blast a few simulator drones if you need—without worrying about hurting anyone. It’s a great way to blow off steam for people like us. God knows how many times I’ve gone in there when I’ve felt low and needed to throw some punches without holding anything back.” Peter scratched a nonexistent itch on the side of his neck. “I can—I can take you there now, if you’d like.”

Johnny mulled it over for a bit, yawned, then shook his head. “I think what I need now more than anything is sleep. I’m always a big, blubbery, arson-prone grouch when I haven’t gotten my nine hours of REM.” He smiled at Peter, eyes foggy with much more than just exhaustion. “Thanks, though. I’ll let you know when I do need something like that. Which, with my track record, will most likely be sometime within the next week.”

Peter’s heart fluttered with sympathy and fondness. “Maybe you should head up to your room, sleep in a real bed. You know—go back to strangling your Puffy instead of me for the next few hours.”

“Ben is also on his way to this level,” FRIDAY interrupted them once again. “He’s looking for Johnny. He has some, quote: ‘very exciting news to share with him.’”

Johnny scowled. “Uh…what the hell does that mean?”

The ding of the elevator behind them turned both the teens’ heads as Tony Stark stepped through the doors onto the 78th floor. He looked sharp but casual in his coat and T-shirt combo paired with freshly polished tawny brown loafers. He grinned when he saw Peter, which put the teen a bit more at ease, only for the words that came out of his mouth to decimate all of that completely.

“Hey, there he is! The sneaky little lovebird I’ve heard so much about. Why didn’t you tell me it was a crush that’s been making you act so weird and jumpy lately? I’m great with that kind of stuff! Are we not on that level yet, or—” Tony paused when he noticed Johnny standing behind Spider-Man, his chipper smile faltering. “Oh. Sorry. Did you not want me to talk about this in front of him? I figured since the two of you are so close, he already knew.”

Confusion and panic burrowed like worms beneath Peter Parker’s skin. His insides began tangling and melting together as he gawked up at his beaming mentor. “I’m…sorry?” he stuttered, frantically trying to process everything he’d just said to him, horror encasing his lungs. “You—w-what’re you��talking about…?”

Stark chuckled amusedly. “Okay, don’t be mad. But your aunt may or may not have told me that you opened up to her about, y’know…liking someone?”

Peter’s stomach bottomed out. Oh no. Oh god. Oh shit.

“And since she’s not here,” Tony went on, “she has unfortunately ordered me to be your stand-in romantic liaison to help you navigate this exciting but nerve-wracking love pickle you’ve got yourself into. I’m guessing this is her way of getting payback on both of us for the whole gunshot incident we tried hiding from her.” The Avenger snorted, crinkling his nose apologetically. “Normally I’d stay out of this sort of thing, but I’m under strict orders from the big boss herself to encourage and bug you about it until we get results. AKA: you asking your crush out on a date.”

This was a nightmare. It had to be. This wasn’t how Johnny was supposed to find out. It was supposed to be him—

“For starters, I gotta know: what’s the name of this superhero girl you like, and how long have you been fawning over her?”

Peter’s mind went blank. Seconds flew by before the lights finally started flickering back on again. The first sensation Peter felt was relief. Relief that Mr. Stark wasn’t outing him to Johnny before he had the chance to do it himself. The following sensation was a numbing dread, coupled with the cold prickle of Johnny’s gaze tethered to the back of his neck.

“Superhero girl?” Johnny parroted quietly. “What superhero girl?”

Tony huffed incredulously. “You don’t know about her either? Damn, kid. Where the hell have you been hiding this chick?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. His mouth refused to form words despite the hurricane of paradoxical thoughts barreling around his skull. He gingerly turned towards Johnny, knowing the sight would hack his heart to pieces. The celebrity’s face bore an expression weighed down by sorrow, disappointment, defeat. But no shock, no disbelief, which caught Peter by surprise. It was as if…he’d been expecting this to happen. Like he’d been patiently awaiting this exact bombshell to drop, despite hoping that maybe it never would.

Before Peter could scrap together some way to deal with any part of this, booming footsteps shook the floor beneath them as the Thing came clomping down the staircase, jabbing a pudgy finger at Johnny the moment he spotted him. “Hey, Hothead! Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you all morning!”

Johnny swiveled languidly towards his teammate, a noticeable slouch in his shoulders. “What do you want, Ben?” he murmured.

“What? You’re pouty? What’s got your lycra in a bunch today?” The Thing barked out a laugh and clapped Johnny on the back with one of his boulder-sized palms, making the teen wince. “Well, turn that frown upside-down, Torchy. We should be celebrating! Haven’t you seen the news?”

“What news?” Stark asked when Johnny didn’t. The Thing flashed a toothy grin in his direction.

“An old friend of ours is popping by Earth for a visit! We haven’t seen him since he volunteered to help us during our space mission. He saved our lives and got us back to Earth in one piece after our ship was damaged from the cosmic storm. We owe him a lot.”

Johnny’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “Wait,” he said, all color draining from his face. “You don’t mean—?”

“Nova! He’s here! You remember Nova, don’t yah? Sam Alexander? Man, what a great kid. We would’ve burned up in Earth’s atmosphere if it wasn’t for him.” Ben gave Johnny’s shoulders an affectionate shake. “You two were like peas in pod from the instant you met. A couple of scoundrels up to no good; always getting into trouble. I figured you out of all of us would be most excited to see him again, so I wanted to be the first one to tell yah.”

The look on Johnny’s face was one Peter had never seen before. He was pale as a ghost and rigid with fear. His eyes looked haunted and bleak. His breathing was growing faster and shallower by the second. Not even Fisk with all his power and intimidation tactics had elicited this kind of response from the teen hero. All because Ben had name dropped some guy Peter had never even heard of before.

Who was this Sam Alexander, and what exactly had he done to his friend?

“I don’t want to see him,” Johnny sputtered out, revived plumes of smoke rising off his body. “I never want to see him again.”

“How come?” the Thing said with a frown. “He wants to see you again. He’s asking to see you specifically. Tweeting about it or whatever. He wants to catch up with all of us, but mostly with you. I think Sue was trying to set up an interview or something.”

“I’m not going,” Johnny immediately countered, wrenching away from Ben. “Tell her I’m not going.” His eyes dashed around the room, holding Peter’s gaze an instant too long before snapping towards the window. “I—I need to leave.”

“Johnny?” Peter called. “Wait—don’t—”

But the Human Torch was already yanking the window open and leaping into the city, flames igniting across his body. Within seconds, he was a streak of orange and gold spearing through the distant gray sky. Peter watched him disappear behind the Empire State building, something dark and icy clawing through his bloodstream.

“Yikes. Wasn’t expecting that.” Ben scratched at his craggy scalp. “Guess I better tell Sue to call off the interview.” The mountainous man stomped back up the stairs, every step rattling the priceless vases perched atop the shelves above the TV.

Stark shot a glance in the direction Johnny Storm had run off, then turned back to Spider-Man, planting a hand on his hip and raising one eyebrow. “So…are we gonna talk about the girl now, or do you want to go deal with that first?”

Peter cycled a deep breath through his lungs. Johnny’s warm, oaky scent still clung to the air, like smoke on clothes the morning after a campfire. He kneaded his hand into the back of his elbow as he faced his superhero mentor.

“Mr. Stark,” he said softly. “If you like someone, is it better to just tell them that, or show them?”

Tony blinked, inclining his head to one side. “Uh…show them how?” he asked.

“Like…should I just say that I like hi—I mean—” Peter reddened behind his mask. “Her. Should I tell her that I like her, or just…I don’t know…” He swallowed and shrugged. “Kiss her?”

A laugh punched out of Stark faster than he could smother it. He cleared his throat, pressing a hand to his chest and he fought back a smile. “That’s, ehem…a rather bold way to communicate your feelings to someone, I must say. A bit bolder than I’d ever expect from you of all people.” He stroked his thin beard pensively. “I’m not saying it’s the wrong way to go about it, but I am curious why you’d rather do that versus simply telling her how you feel.”

Peter gripped his neck with a grimace. “‘Cuz every time I try to say it, it’s like the words get stuck in the back of my throat. I can’t make them come out. And when I do manage to speak, I always end up saying something stupid and irrelevant instead. No matter how badly I want to tell her, it’s like I physically can’t.”

The Avenger chuckled lightly, eyes warm with sympathy. “That, I’m afraid, does not go away with age or time. Have you two been friends for a while now?”

Peter hunched his shoulders, diligently measuring every word before loosing it from his lips. “Not really. But…we are pretty close.” This was beginning to remind him a little too much of his phone call with his aunt.

“And do you think she likes you back?”

Peter blushed, pinching his eyes closed. “I mean…yeah. Kinda. Well, er—I don’t know.”

Stark nodded. “All right, that’s semi-promising. And you think the best way to confess your feelings to her is by just—swooping her off her feet and laying one on her, completely unannounced? No warning whatsoever?”

“No!” Peter squeaked, mortified. “That’s not—there’d be—some warning! A preceding statement of some sort!”

“Because past me is guilty of that kind of behavior, and I strongly advise against it.” He raised his index finger pointedly. “Consent is very important in any potentially romantic relationship. Has May talked to you about that yet? Or—yeesh, about any of it, for that matter? You know: the birds and the bees? The banana and the pomegranate? The train going through the tunnel? ‘Cuz I’d really prefer not being the one who has to—”

“Okay, stopping you there,” Peter blurted out frantically. “Yes. We’ve talked about it. I’m good. Thank you. Please don’t bring it up ever again.”

Stark held up his hands in surrender, biting back a grin. “Roger that. Just making sure we’ve got all our bases covered.”

Peter fiddled with her web-shooters to give his restless hands something to do. “So…you think it’s better if I just say it? Or maybe—write it down, or something?”

Tony pushed his jacket sleeves up his forearms and squinted up at the ceiling. “I think…” he began, smirking, “that your darling little teenage brain might be overthinking all this. Just do what feels right in the moment. So long as it’s respectful and consensual, you can’t go wrong. Whatever it takes for you to tell her what you obviously need to tell her. You can’t really logic your way through feelings like this, kid. Love is anything but logical.”

Peter dropped his head back and sighed dolefully. That, he could attest to. Nothing about the way he felt or acted around Johnny Storm was in any way logical.

“Will I be getting to meet this crush of yours anytime soon?” Stark inquired curiously. “Or at least see a picture? Either one would really help me get back on your aunt’s good side. I’m in the doghouse until I have proof that my romantic mentorship is actually benefiting you.”

Peter found himself smiling, his gaze floating back to the broad windows. The last vestiges of Johnny’s smoke trail smudged the skyline like brushstrokes before evanescing from sight. Beneath the maw of gathering storm clouds lied his city, his playground, his path to him, bright and bold and beaconing.

“Maybe,” Peter eventually said. Something stirred within his rib cage, pulling him towards the glimmering possibilities beyond the walls of this tower. Heart thrumming, he pointed at the window and threw Tony a wave. “I gotta go find Johnny. Thanks, Mr. Stark!”

The Avenger watched bemusedly as Peter launched himself out of the tower, somersaulting through the air a couple times before catching himself on a thread of webbing and slingshotting around a neighboring skyscraper. A surge of alarm gushed through him, and Tony rushed to the window with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Hey! Easy on the theatrics, kid! Just because your stitches are out doesn’t mean your wound’s done healing!”

Spider-Man disappeared into the cityscape without acknowledging him, his laughter echoing off the surrounding buildings. Stark exhaled in defeat as he ducked back into the room, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilting his chin towards the ceiling.

“Well? How did I do? How would you rate how l handled that?”

The A.I. let out a sigh. “I supposed it could’ve gone worse,” she conceded.

“I’ll take that as at least a C plus.”

———————————————————

Peter had almost forgotten how spectacular web-swinging through New York felt.

Although he was determined to find Johnny, Peter couldn’t help but spare a few moments to bask in the blood-pumping exhilaration that came with being Spider-Man, something he’d been cruelly deprived of while his gunshot wound finished healing. He careened through narrow alleyways, propelled himself into the heavens, sprung between rooftops, and flipped through the air until his head spun, the howling wind like music to his ears, his stiff muscles stirring from their slumber, his heightened senses coming alive. He whooped and laughed and surrendered to every reckless desire his body demanded, indulging in enough pulse-pounding, gravity-defying thrills to give an adrenaline junkie a heart attack.

And probably Mr. Stark, if he was still watching.

Once his hunger for action was satiated enough, Peter climbed to the top of the Flatiron building and knelt along the edge of the roof, breathing hard, scanning the skyline for any signs of a flaming, flying teenager. Whatever smoke clouds Johnny typically left in his wake had been lost to the breeze. Not a trace of him in any direction.

“Come on, Johnny,” Peter panted, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Where’d you go?”

He tried calling him again. Three voicemails and five text messages later, yet still no response. Dammit. Now what? Peter ground his teeth as he tucked his phone back in his suit, nauseous worry twisting in his gut. He was running out of viable options and leads fast.

“Spider-Man!”

The superhero flinched in alarm. The call had come from the street far beneath him. The voice sounded like a child’s.

“Spider-Man!” it bellowed again, screaming like their life depended on it. Peter’s head whipped towards the source of the cry: four dots standing at the base of the Flatiron building, waving their arms above their heads. “Down here!”

Tragically, children in trouble took priority over Peter’s quest to locate his friend. Johnny would have to wait.

Peter leapt off the rooftop, stuck to the side of the adjacent building, sprung into a backflip, then landed on the sidewalk in a low crouch. The four kids gaped as he rose to his feet, some holding drinks, others wearing backpacks and light-up sneakers.

“Are you guys all right?” Peter asked breathlessly, scanning each of them for injuries. “Are you lost? Is someone hurt? Do you need help? What can I do?”

For a few seconds, the children just stared at him like some kind zoo animal who’d escaped his enclosure. Then the shortest girl grabbed the hand of the tallest and squeezed it ‘til her fingers turned blue.

“He actually came! Oh my god! He’s actually here!”

“It’s really him,” the only boy of the group said no louder than a whisper, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Is this real? Is this real life?”

“We got you coffee!” the third girl blurted out completely unprompted. The tallest girl, who Peter realized was actually just a very short woman (not a child), looked absolutely flabbergasted.

“I—I can’t believe you came,” she stuttered out. “No way I thought you’d actually come down here.”

Peter gave an awkward giggle. “Well, you did shout my name at me louder than I thought humanly possible. Twice. I thought someone was in danger.”

The woman’s cheeks went scarlet. “Sorry. Really. I promise we weren’t trying to trick you. It’s just—” She ushered the children around her a step closer to him, whose eyes were galaxies of disbelief and wonder. “My kids are really big fans of yours.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to gawk. In all his days of Spider-Manning, Peter couldn’t recall ever being stopped by someone unless they wanted to beat him up, flip him off, or call him a menace. Or, occasionally, were in desperate need of his assistance. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time someone had called themselves a fan of his to his face. Spider-Man didn’t have any fans.

But now…

“I drew this picture for you!” the tiny girl squealed, fishing a crumpled piece of paper out of her backpack. She handed Peter a scribbly sketch of a red blob standing next to a purple blob surrounded by angry balls of black dust. “That’s you and me holding hands while you cover the bad guys in spiders!”

Spider-Man’s gaze shifted between the child and her terrible drawing, a little piece of his heart he hadn’t noticed was missing slowly wriggling back into place.

“Oh,” he said a few seconds later. “Wow. You—you made this? Really? For me?”

“I got you coffee!” the loud girl proclaimed, thrusting a cup into his chest. “It was supposed to be for our dad, but I want you to have it instead! Fighting crime is much more important than whatever he does on his computer all day!”

“I want to be you when I grow up!” the young boy beamed. “You’re my favorite superhero! Just like Johnny Storm!”

“We love you so much!”

Peter held the gifts and the children’s kind words close to his chest. Spider-Man had never asked for praise or gratitude from the people of his city, and scarcely ever received it. He was there to help whether they liked him or not; no strings attached. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, or saw heroes who were loved by the public as lesser or greater than himself. He just…never expected it to happen. Didn’t know how to respond to it when it did. Felt baffled and overwhelmed by it, like a guy winning first prize in a contest he didn’t even remember entering.

Maybe Johnny had been right before. Deep down, maybe Peter didn’t feel deserving of it. Two years of nothing but abhorrence and scorn had taught him what it meant to be Spider-Man. To protect his people, to defend his home, to sacrifice his blood and time and youth in pursuit of justice. To avenge his past, to save the world…and be hated for it. That was just his lot in life, and always would be. Peter would’ve carried on this way until his body failed him, until his veins were bled dry while the world rejoiced in his suffering, and would’ve been perfectly content with it. Maybe that wasn’t normal or healthy or right, but that was who he was. Who Spider-Man was.

But…maybe it didn’t have to be.

Peter tried to say something to the three kids and smiling mother standing before him, but found his throat closing up and his eyes starting to sting. He blinked, startled by his own reaction to such a silly and humble offering, the meaning behind it far more significant than they or any onlookers could ever know. The young hero swallowed thickly, honor and appreciation and embarrassment muddling together inside him and choking his wobbly voice.

“Thank you,” Spider-Man finally got out, forcing the broken words from his lips. The happy family’s grins immediately dropped, and a flush of bashfulness overtook him at how ridiculous he was being. “Sorry, so sorry. I’m not—I just—wasn’t expecting this. That’s all. It’s very sweet. And I’m—very grateful.” He covered his eye lenses with his forearm, trying not to spill the coffee or crush the girl’s drawing anymore than it already had been, laughing in spite of himself. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Please don’t post this anywhere. Johnny’s already tainted my digital footprint with enough humiliating content to haunt me for next three lifetimes.”

“Lainie’s ugly drawing made Spider-Man sad!” the loud girl shouted at the small girl, causing Lainie to immediately burst into tears.

“Andrea!” the mom exclaimed. “Why would you say that?”

“‘Cuz it’s true!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! Don’t cry!” Spider-Man knelt in front of the weeping girl, uncrumpling the drawing as much as was possible. “I think your drawing’s beautiful. That looks just like me! Especially after I’ve fought a bunch of bad guys who’ve thrown me into a brick wall a few times! I deeply admire and applaud your creative vision.” Peter held the crinkled paper out to her with a smile. “Would you sign it for me? Please? A piece this powerful deserves to be autographed by its creator.”

Still sniffling, Lainie dug a nubby crayon out of her backpack. She took the drawing, flattened it on the sidewalk, and scrawled her name in huge orange letters in the corner of the page, a few of her tears leaving wet spots on the paper. She swiped her hand under her nose and shyly offered the artwork back to Peter, who accepted it with an exaggerated gasp.

“It’s perfect,” Spider-Man declared, hugging it against his heart. “Thank you, Lainie.”

While Lainie giggled and skipped in place, Andrea stamped her foot. “What about my coffee? Isn’t it perfect, too? Try it!”

The girl’s mother sighed. “Sorry about her,” she said.

Peter crouched down to Andrea’s level. “You’re a very confident and outspoken person, Andrea. I like it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that’s wrong.” He nodded towards Lainie. “Just try being a little nicer to your sister, okay? Use that strong voice of yours to stand up for her and protect her from bullies. That’s what superheroes do.”

Andrea gazed back at him, awe-struck, nodding fervently. “Okay! I will! I’ll protect her with my whole entire life!” She poked aggressively at the coffee cup in his hand. “Now drink it! It’s the best coffee in the world!”

Peter laughed. “The best? In the world? That’s a monumental endorsement coming from you. Let’s see if you’re right.” Spider-Man lifted up his mask and tilted back the cup against his lips. It took every ounce of his self control not to immediately spew the coffee right back into all of the childrens’ faces. He clamped his eyes and mouth closed, gulping down the bitter liquid by sheer will power alone.

“Wow, that is just—straight black coffee, huh?” he rasped, a shudder rattling through him. “Whew. That is…bracing. No milk, no sugar, no syrup, no siree. Who needs all that garbage? Not your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Nope. Just piping hot bean juice straight down the hatch all day, every day. That is, without a doubt, the best cup of coffee in the world.” Peter turned to the children’s mother, lowering his voice an octave. “On an unrelated note, does your husband happen to hate himself?”

“Look! Over there!”

“It’s him! It’s Spider-Man!”

Peter glanced up sharply, muscles coiling on instinct. Typically, when someone shouted the words “Look, over there, it’s Spider-Man,” in that order, they were often followed by a bunch of curses and insults and fistfuls of trash being hurled in his direction, and he didn’t want the family of four to get caught in the crossfire.

A crowd was gathering around them, pressing in on all sides. Eyes and bodies and phone cameras had them pinned from every angle. Peter tugged his mask back over his chin and waited for his spider sense to go off, ready to take the full brunt of the assault.

“Spider-Man!” a man called out. “You’re back!”

“We missed you!”

“How’s your wound? Shouldn’t you still be resting?”

“We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“Do a flip!”

Gradually, Peter loosened his jaw and unclenched his fists, shrugging off his defensive stance bemusedly. “Uh…” he said, head swiveling left and right. “Hey, New York. I, er…missed you too?”

“We love you, Spidey!”

The crowd roared in agreement, their cheers and applause punting Peter’s heart straight into his throat. While he swept his wide-eyed gaze across the sea of shrieking fans, the young mother took her children by the hands and corralled them away from the congestion.

“We’re gonna go now,” she hollered above the clamor. “Thank you for taking time to meet them! They’ll never forget it. Say goodbye, kiddos!”

“Bye, Spider-Man!” the kids all bellowed in unison. Peter waved as the four of them wove towards the edge of the mob, retreating from view. The space they’d been occupying was immediately filled by the fans standing closest to him.

“Can you sign my shirt?”

“Can we take a picture with you?”

“You’re so cool!”

“I love your costume!”

“How old are you?”

“Is it true you punched Thanos in the face?”

“You’re a lot shorter in person!”

“Show us how you shoot your webs!”

Peter was not used to this volume of attention in the slightest. Maybe in the form of resentment and hostility, yet somehow this felt far more flustering. Flattering, but still flustering.

“Where’s Johnny?” someone shouted suddenly over the uproar, which helped ground Peter’s dizzied thoughts, reminding him why he was out here in the first place.

With a quick breath out, Peter sprung off the sidewalk and stuck to a nearby traffic light, a spur of exclamations and wide eyes following after him. He hung off the side of the beam, grateful for the breathing room.

“Uh, so…thanks everyone for your kindness!” he yelled to the masses, feeling incredibly out of his element. “I’m, um—not very good at this sort of thing, but I really appreciate it!”

The crowd cheered him on, which drew an incredulous laugh from the spider-themed hero. Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured himself in a situation like this. Perhaps a lot of the public still saw him as a menace, but clearly the tides were starting to shift. All thanks to Johnny.

“I could actually really use your help!” Spider-Man went on. “I’m trying to track down Johnny Storm, AKA Flame Brain, AKA the Human Torch! Did anyone see him pass through here? Does anyone know where he is?”

A din of murmurs rumbled from the mob while they conferred with their friends and checked their phones. Half a minute passed, and Peter was ready to resign himself to scouring the city borough by borough, street by street, locating his friend by any means necessary, no matter how long it took.

Suddenly, a hand shot up into the air, flailing aggressively back and forth. “He’s at the Statue of Liberty!” the owner hollered. “A video of him landing on the crown was just posted to Twitter six minutes ago!”

The crowd buzzed with excitement as more and more people verified and corroborated her claim. “Yes!” a second fan cried. “He’s there!”

“The Statue of Liberty!”

“Here’s a photo of him on it posted two minutes ago!”

“He’s definitely there!”

The mass of people cheered again, and Peter scoffed with shock and relief. “Man, I love social media,” he chuckled. “And New Yorkers.” The masked hero grinned as he shot a line of webbing at the top of the nearest building, throwing one last wave to the hordes of fans and passersby. “Thank you so much! I owe you all big time!”

The crowds went wild as Spider-Man sprung off the traffic light and swung low through the street, gaining speed as he gunned in for lower Manhattan. But right at the apex of his swing, Peter spotted a man sitting alone on a bench, opening a tin of mints. The superhero switched trajectories in an instant.

“Oh! Hey!” he called out, whipping around and dropping to the curb beside him. The man jumped like Peter had stuck him with a thumb tack. “Could I maybe swipe one of those off you? I can trade you for it! One mint in exchange for the best cup of coffee in the world!”

The man balked at him. “Um…” he said. “Sure? I guess?” He plucked a mint from the box and held it out to him gingerly.

“You’re my hero!” Spider-Man chirped. “I could kiss you! I won’t, though—I’m saving that for someone else!”

He swapped him for the coffee cup, then launched back into the air, pirouetting between each flick of his wrist, popping the mint into his mouth. “Have a spectacular day!” he cried. As Peter thwipped down the road, he swore he heard the man coughing and spitting far behind him.

It took him about six minutes to make it to the southernmost edge of Manhattan. Spider-Man crawled to the top of the building closest to the shoreline, squinting at the teeny-tiny silhouette of Lady Liberty plastered against the glistening waters of Upper Bay. Ellis Island was closer to Jersey than New York, but he didn’t want to waste any more time swinging all the way there, and taking a ferry or bus or taxi would likely wind up just as tedious. If he got enough momentum and caught a lucky updraft, Peter was sure he could make it.

Spider-Man traveled back half a dozen blocks down Broadway to give himself a sort of runway leading straight to the statue. He mapped out his path, accounting for the speed and direction of the wind, how tall Lady Liberty was, and how far he had to coast in order to reach her without taking a plunge into the bay. After running all the calculations, Peter figured he had about a 33% chance of successfully landing on the island.

Eh. He’d beaten worse odds.

It was an unusually cool afternoon for a summer day in New York City. Dense packs of clouds blotted out the sun, and there was a chill in the breeze that felt heavenly after weeks of blistering heat. Peter stood at one end of a tall building’s rooftop, rolling his neck and shaking out his shoulders, doing his best to hype himself up.

“You got this,” he whispered. “You got this. Okay. Ready? Three, two, one—!”

Peter sucked in a breath through his teeth, then broke into an all-out sprint. His feet pounded against the concrete; his pulse pounded in his ears. At the opposite lip of the roof, Spider-Man dove off the building, barreling towards the earth like a human torpedo, waiting until he could see the whites of pedestrians' eyes before snatching himself back into the sky on a perfectly timed web-line. He swung in harmony with his city, using each skyscraper and dizzying drop as a pendulum for gathering more speed, more momentum, more height.

As he approached the end of his urban runway, Spider-Man dipped between the cars jamming either side of the street, then catapulted himself skyward as high and far as gravity would concede. The moment he reached the tallest point of his swing, Peter pressed the spider symbol on his chest thrice in a row, then threw his arm out at his sides. Translucent web-wings stretching from his wrists to his hips peeled out of his costume under both of his armpits, mimicking the look and function of a flight suit. Or, as Peter had eagerly pointed out upon seeing the design for the first time, a flying squirrel.

The wings buoyed him high above the world, slowing his descent, extending the distance he could breach without the use of his web-shooters. Far beneath the teen hero, Manhattan gave way to dark waters and white-capped waves. He strained his arms to stay locked in place, watching his shadow skirt across the top of the choppy surf.

“Almost there,” he told himself, the looming statue filling more and more of his field of vision. “Almost there.”

Peter was a little over half a mile out to sea when the winds suddenly shifted, making him wobble and drop a few feet. The breeze was now working against him rather than for him. He was moving slower and falling faster. Fear blossomed in his veins as he watched the black water rush towards him from below. I’m not gonna make it, he realized.

Peter lifted his gaze to the top of the Statue of Liberty. “Johnny!” he cried, bobbing to and fro like a kite caught in a tornado. “Johnny, I’m here! I need—aaahh!”

A rogue gale slammed into Spider-Man from the left, sending him spinning sideways out of control. The young hero hit the water with a muffled scream, the cold piercing him down to the bone. He kicked for the surface and burst from the waves, gasping for breath, only to choke down a mouthful of saltwater instead. A powerful swell had crashed on top of him the instant he’d tried to breach.

His mask made it feel like he was being waterboarded. The surf was too rough for him to stay afloat for more than a few seconds. His muscles were petrified by ice and terror. This would be a really embarrassing way for Spider-Man to die, he told himself, but that reality was growing a little too plausible for comfort a little too fast. All landmasses looked impossibly far away for him to reach via swimming. He was alone and exhausted and starting to panic. Shit. Peter Parker was going to drown to death. Right as the world was finally beginning to like him. Right before he could tell his crush how much he cared about him.

How heartlessly poetic.

As hope began to shrivel in Peter’s waterlogged lungs, a hand suddenly plunged through the waves and seized him by the wrist. Spider-Man’s arm nearly wrenched out of its socket as something ripped him from the ocean’s deadly clutches. Peter broke the surface hacking and wheezing, then raised his woozy gaze to his rescuer. An angel dipped in gold and starlight stared back at him, bathed in divine beauty far beyond this realm, and Peter wondered if he really was in fact dead.

“What the actual fuck are you doing, you moron?!”

Peter coughed up a bubble of saltwater and blinked his bleary eyes, the flame-engulfed scowl of Johnny Storm gradually slurring into focus. He held his livid, magnetic gaze for a beat, a feeble smile touching Spider-Man’s lips.

“You w-weren’t answering your phone,” he replied meekly. “I had to reach you somehow.”

“By almost drowning yourself?” Johnny shot back. “I left my phone back at the tower, dumbass! I came here to be alone!”

“I was w-worried about you,” Peter said, shivering in his sopping wet spandex. Johnny gave the pitiful superhero a quick once-over, frown softening slightly, then sighed.

“You could’ve died,” he scolded him. Johnny lifted Peter away from the inky black water, flying the pair of them towards the top of Lady Liberty. “Come on—before you freeze to death.”

The Human Torch set Peter on his feet on the backside of the statue’s head, just behind her crown. Johnny hovered in front of Spider-Man as the arachnid-themed hero trembled in place, arms tucked in close to his body, a puddle of sea water collecting underneath him. The unexpected cold front that had overtaken the city for the day suddenly didn’t feel like such a blessing as a whip of frigid wind lashed through him, sent shudders racing down his spine. Still engulfed in flames, Johnny watched Peter shrink against the breeze with a wrinkle between his eyes, like he was debating whether it was morally irresponsible to let him die of hypothermia or not.

“I’m s-sorry for coming after you when you w-wanted to be alone,” Peter told him through chattering teeth. “But…it’s important, b-because I—I really needed to t-tell you…I r-really n-needed to show you th-that I—I’m—”

“Stop talking,” Johnny cut in, dousing his flames with a huff. He marched up to Peter and seized him by the elbow, hauling him to the flattest part of Lady Liberty’s scalp and forcing him to sit. Butterflies tickled Peter’s insides as Johnny nestled in behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest and midsection, resting his chin on Spider-Man’s shoulder with his inner legs pressed against the outsides of Peter’s. The chilly hero suddenly found himself enveloped by Johnny Storm like a cloak of warmth and sunshine, the heat from his skin driving out the biting cold.

“Oh,” Peter exhaled involuntarily, the ice in his veins slowly beginning to defrost. “Oh wow, th-that’s better. But you—y-you don’t have to—”

“Don’t make it weird,” Johnny retorted, his lips dangerously close to Peter’s ear. “I’m only doing this so you won’t turn into a spider-popsicle. We’ve gotta get your body temperature back up to normal.”

Spider-Man swallowed nervously. “R-right,” he murmured. His muscles were cold and rigid against Johnny’s soft, comforting touch. The front side of the flaming hero’s torso was flush along the full length of Peter’s spine, seeping warmth into the entirety of his back. His palms pressed into Peter’s chest and belly, transforming the freezing water soaked through his costume into swirling tendrils of steam.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it,” Johnny said, shattering the long stretch of silence hanging between them. “But I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.” He loosed a steady breath. “I just…needed to get out of that tower. After I…after, y’know, hearing the news, I wanted to be somewhere I could gather my thoughts. Somewhere I could go full supernova without putting anyone in danger, if it came to that. Ellis Island is closed for construction, so I figured the bay would be a good spot.” He turned his gaze to the New York skyline on their right. “Views aren’t bad, either.”

Peter dug his fingers into his kneecaps, trying to keep his legs from shaking. “The news about Sam?” he inquired.

Johnny took his time answering. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Sam.”

“Can I ask…what happened? W-with you and him?”

The Human Torch moved to rest his chin on Peter’s other shoulder, humming softly in thought. “It’s…” He groaned. “Y’know. Complicated.”

“I can handle complicated,” Peter assured him.

“And embarrassing.”

“I just s-swallowed a gallon of seawater and almost drowned myself trying to glide to the Statue of Liberty like a flying squirrel,” Spider-Man reminded him. “Embarrassing is my middle name.”

A clipped laugh escaped Johnny. “Fine,” he conceded. “Just…please don’t share any details about this with anyone. Okay?”

Peter mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key. “Promise.”

A brisk gush of wind buffeted the two heroes, sending goosebumps prickling across Peter’s flesh. Johnny cleared his throat, cinching his arms a little tighter around Spider-Man’s shivering body.

“I first met him a few days after we launched into space,” Johnny began solemnly. “Me, Sue, Reed, and Ben had left Earth’s atmosphere in our ship and positioned ourselves in the ideal orbital path of the cosmic event we were hoping to study. We were getting settled and going over the timeline, all of us under the assumption that we were the only people up there interested in or even capable of observing it. Until there was a knock on our ship’s window.”

Peter listened curiously, trying not to let the closeness of Johnny distract him from his story.

“Imagine our surprise seeing a guy outside our spacecraft. Just—floating around, totally untethered, in outer space. He had this strange helmet on and a thin suit protecting his body, but we had no idea how that was enough to keep him alive, or how the hell he’d gotten there.

“After some heated debate, we decided to let him onto the ship. The guy introduced himself as Sam Alexander, a 17-year-old kid from Earth who’d spent the last year training in the Nova Corps on the planet Xandar.” Johnny tapped a finger against his chest. “I know that sounds like total sci-fi made up bullshit, but bear with me. Sam said he’d been sent back to Earth by the other Novas to observe the same cosmic event we were studying and make sure it didn’t cause any harm to his home planet. When we told him about our mission to collect samples and data from the particle cloud, he offered to help in any way he could.”

Peter had a lot of thoughts of questions cropping up already, but thought it best to keep them to himself until Johnny finished speaking. He balled his frozen fists against the statue and kept his mouth shut.

“He worked with us as we prepared for the event to arrive over the next three weeks. We did everything together, and it didn’t take long for he and I to grow really close. He told me about his life on Xandar, how he went from a regular teenager on Earth to a superhero fighting intergalactic wars in space. He showed me the incredible things he could do when he wore the Nova helmet, like flying between planets without a space suit on, creating portals, manipulating gravity, even fucking telekinesis. I had, like, zero exposure to people with superpowers at this point in my life, and had never met anyone from a planet other than Earth, so all of it felt so…magical. Like my eyes were finally opened to just how big the universe is. Like I was meeting someone who had leapt right from the pages of a fantasy novel. I cherished every second we spent together, and never wanted the mission to come to an end. As our bond deepened and the cosmic event drew closer, I realized I…”

Johnny fell silent. Peter felt the celebrity’s throat bob against his shoulder. A low growl of thunder rumbled above them. The sound of waves crashing against the shores of the island echoed faintly in the distance.

“I realized I liked him more than a friend.”

Peter��s heart stuttered in his chest at his words, but he didn’t dare speak. Wasn’t sure what he’d say if he did. That single sentence sure held a lot. Answers and confessions and surprises and questions—too many for Peter to comment on without potentially scaring Johnny into discontinuing his story. No. His input wasn’t needed right now. Johnny deserved to say this however he wanted, without interruption.

“I’ve, um…” Johnny stated, nerves straining his voice. He pulled back from Peter suddenly, shifting to sit beside him instead, making the spider-themed hero immediately miss the celebrity’s warm, protective embrace. The Human Torch sat on Peter’s right, hugging his knees to his chest. Spider-Man bundled his limbs in close to himself, battling the shudders that reclaimed his body seconds after losing his sentient heated blanket.

“I’ve…known since I was really young who I was and what I wanted. I’ve only ever had crushes on boys, and I was lucky enough to be raised by a mom who taught me that was nothing to be ashamed of. My dad…well, that’s a whole different story, but he at least didn’t outright shun me for it.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, like he was afraid of what he might find if looked Peter in the eye. “I’ve never tried to hide who I am, but I stopped being as open about that side of myself after I told Sam I liked him.” Shadows shuttered across his expression. “He was…furious. It brought out a side of him I’d never seen before. He thought the only reason I’d befriended him was so I could, in his words, ‘trick the first superhero I met into fucking me.’”

Peter felt himself wince. Even though his skin was cold as ice, the blood moving beneath it suddenly felt white-hot.

“I tried telling him it wasn’t like that at all. I liked Sam a lot, so obviously I would’ve been sad if he said he didn’t feel the same. But I would’ve gotten over it and stopped pursuing him in that way for the sake of our friendship. That was more important to me than anything. I didn’t want to throw our entire relationship away just because I developed a crush. I cared about him too much to do that.” Johnny hid his face behind his knees, trying and failing to conceal his tears. “But I guess it wasn’t the same for him. He couldn’t see past it. I never would’ve told him I liked him if I knew how quickly it’d tear us apart. He said he never wanted to see me again, and made sure from that point on he didn’t.”

Johnny’s shoulders started to shake, and Peter couldn’t stand being silent any longer. He inched closer to him, laying his palm on his arm.

“Johnny—” Peter began, but the Human Torch flinched from his touch.

“Wait,” he said, angling away from him with his eyes squeezed shut, curling into himself even further. “Just—let me finish first. Please.”

Instantly, Peter withdrew his hand, guilt constricting around his heart. Johnny blew out a breath, the intensifying winds whistling between them, then continued.

“The cosmic storm wasn’t supposed to come until the end of the month, but it arrived a week earlier than anyone expected and was triple the size Reed had predicted. It hit us the same day Sam stopped speaking to me. Sam had flown back to Earth to visit his mom when the dust struck our ship, and he showed up just in time to stop us from crash landing in the Pacific Ocean. He used his powers to get me and my friends back on the planet in one piece.” He grimaced. “At least—that’s what I was told. I was knocked unconscious the moment the cosmic rays hit and didn’t wake up until two days later.”

Johnny splayed his legs out flat and leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the bloated clouds overhead. “I’m grateful that he saved us. I have to be. But the things he said to me that day have haunted me ever since. He was the first person I had a really serious crush on. He was also, ironically, the first person who made me feel true shame for that part of myself. Now that I’ve finally pieced my life back together after everything that happened with him and the mission and getting powers and all, suddenly—he’s back? And he’s asking to see me again? Why? I don’t understand it.” Johnny turned to him helplessly, eyes welling with tears. “W-what do you think? What should I do?”

Peter took the cue as a sanction to speak now, if he so desired. He kept his distance, though—despite how deep the cold was permeating his cells and how warm Johnny Storm looked. He thumbed through the lofty pages of lore Johnny had shared with him today—once, twice, thrice. It took him a minute to find the words to say that felt the most right.

“It sounds like Sam really hurt you,” Peter said, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. “And if you don’t want to see him again, I think that’s okay. You don’t owe him anything, and just because he’s asking to see you doesn’t mean he deserves to.” A candle of fear flickered inside Peter’s chest as he realized what the next thing he planned to say might lead to. But he didn't let that stop him from continuing. “It is possible he may want to speak now because he’s sorry about what happened between you two and is hoping to make amends. A lot’s changed with you since that day—so maybe a lot’s changed with him, too.” Peter tucked both hands under his armpits, trying to bring some feeling back into his numb fingers. “But m-maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’s still an asshole, and you’re better off keeping your distance. You know him better than I ever will. You’re the best person to make that call.”

Johnny kept his eyes on the sky above them, a look of tranquility settling across his graceful features. A soft breeze rippled through his reddish-gold hair. Peter admired him longingly from where he sat, wanting to drop-kick anyone who’d ever caused him harm. Even if Sam had changed his tune since the last time they’d spoken, Peter hoped the two of them never met. The gnawing urge to clock him in the nose for how he’d treated Johnny might prove too difficult for his waning empathy to subdue. When the Human Torch finally turned towards Spider-Man, his tears were dry and his lips curved into a small but genuine smile.

“You’re a good friend, Spidey,” Johnny said softly, criss-crossing his legs with his hands in his lap. “I hope your talk with your crush goes better than mine did.”

Peter’s body stiffened, heartbeat revving like a freshly jumped car. “My—what?” he stammered out, reeling.

Johnny tilted his head slightly to the left. “That superhero girl Stark mentioned,” he reminded him. “The one he said you should ask on a date. Aren’t you gonna talk to her?”

Spider-Man recalled then what Johnny had overheard, but it wasn’t relief he felt this time. Just…heaviness. Weariness. His heart wilting in his chest once again.

“Oh,” Peter said, confused and conflicted. He lowered his gaze to his feet. “Right. That.”

Was it time to correct that little misunderstanding?

“You should talk to her,” Johnny encouraged him. “I’d bet anything she likes you back. You’re a total catch, and she’d be lucky to be with you. Don’t let my clusterfuck of a love life deter you from going after what you want. I have the worst taste in romantic partners. Just ask Sue.”

Peter was only half-listening to what Johnny was saying. His mind was preoccupied with the same dilemma he’d been wrestling with since late last night—or rather, if he was being honest with himself, since the day he recognized his feelings for Johnny for what they truly were. At this point, Peter had abandoned the should he or should he not quandary. Now, it was purely a question of execution. It all made sense now: why Johnny never dared confess his feelings to Spider-Man. He’d done this all before already, and look how marvelous that turned out for him. The news of Peter’s supposed crush on some nonexistent superhero girl must’ve dealt the final blow to any hopes he might’ve harbored of a potential romance budding between them. He’d given up. Thrown in the towel. Deigned to support Peter’s alleged romantic interest because he was committed to being his friend, and that’s what good friends did.

Well, respectfully, fuck friendship, Peter thought. He was ready for something more.

He was done playing it safe. He was done denying himself because he didn’t feel worthy. This was his moment to grab hold of what he wanted with both hands and pull.

Limbs shivering from more than just the cold, Spider-Man pushed off the ground and rose to his feet. A light drizzle had started to fall, negating all of Johnny’s previous efforts to warm him up and dry him off. Peter curled his hands into icy fists at his sides, stomping down his fears as they rose like bile in his throat, his heart beating somewhere outside his body. He set his jaw, then whirled on Johnny sharply.

“I’m gonna tell you something!” he shouted at him—so much louder than he meant to. But he was too focused on just getting the words out to worry about what volume that happened to be at. “I don’t—I’m not sure how, but I am! Right now.”

Johnny blinked at him perplexedly. “All right…” he said, a suspicious wrinkle dimpling along his brow. He looked somber and somewhat bored while Peter’s heart was threatening to implode from anxiety.

Peter hopped on his toes, did a lap around Lady Liberty’s head, gave himself the world’s meanest internal pep talk, then planted himself back in front of Johnny, clapping a hand over his eyes.

“Okay—I’m not gonna tell you something!” Peter decided, voice cracking. “But I am gonna show you something, if you’re okay with that!”

“Why are you yelling at me?” Johnny laughed cheerlessly. He rose upright, standing across from the spider-themed hero with a hand on his hip. “Did you swallow too much seawater or something? Do I need to fly you home?”

Peter felt like he was boiling in his own blood. He was blushing so hard, he wondered if he might actually be running a mild fever. Could a person die from being so hopelessly lovestruck yet terrified to say it? Maybe he’d be the first.

Spider-Man dragged his hands down his face and groaned at the sky. “Okay, okay—how ‘bout this,” he proposed frenetically. He lowered his arms and took a step closer to Johnny, knees threatening to give out underneath him. “Could I just—can I try something? And then, if you don’t like it, I promise I’ll never do it ever again? We can both forget it ever happened, and just continue on with our lives without ever mentioning it. Or, if you really don’t like it, you could even punch me afterwards! Or burn a handprint into my forehead! Whatever makes you feel properly repaid for my transgressions against you. You have my blessing to do what you gotta do to make things even. Does that sound good?”

Johnny’s bland amusement was starting to pitch towards concern. “I’m confused about what's happening right now,” he admitted. “What are you wanting to do?”

Peter flexed and unflexed his damp palms at his sides. “It’s…a surprise?” he offered weakly, then sighed. “But I need your permission to do it. Before I…y’know. Surprise you.”

Johnny scoffed, crossing his arms tight against his chest. “Um…okay,” he conceded warily. “You have my permission to…surprise me, I guess.”

Rain pinged against the algae-green metal of the massive statue they both stood on. Droplets slithered down Peter’s eye lenses, blurring his field of view. His body felt blazing hot yet glacier cold all at once.

“Okay,” Peter squeaked out. “Cool.” He could not believe he was about to do this. He took another step closer to him, then retreated back skittishly, his bashfulness almost too much to bear, Johnny’s strikingly beautiful gaze too intently focused on him. Peter interlaced his hands together in front of his chest. “Could you maybe, um…close your eyes? Please?”

Johnny searched his masked face. Something new flashed in his blueish-gray irises. Something…fearful? Peter wasn’t quite sure. Nonetheless, he obeyed.

Mist blanketed Johnny’s skin like early morning dew. His hair stuck to his forehead in messy, criss-crossing strands. Tiny raindrops sparkled in eyelashes. Peter expelled all the air from his lungs. He raised his trembling fingers to his chin and carefully rolled his mask above his mouth. The roaring of his pulse replaced all sound as the young hero stepped forward, eyes dropping to Johnny’s lips. Those freckly, grotesquely perfect lips. He wasn’t deserving of them, of this, but there was no backing out now. What should he do with his hands? He opted to let them hang uselessly at his sides. Should he have put chapstick on? This was taking too long. Goddammit, Parker. Come on! No more stalling, hiding, making excuses. Peter swallowed harshly, then forced his eyes shut. He prayed his heart wouldn’t give out on him as he slowly leaned forward.

“Are you…about to kiss me?”

Peter’s muscles seized as his eyes popped open. Johnny Storm stared back at him, their lips mere inches apart, his face the picture of disbelief. All the moxy left him in an instant. Peter reared back, doubt and terror flushing through him.

“N-not if you don’t want me to,” he said thinly.

“You’re serious?” Johnny asked, looking a bit panicked. “You—you’re not just joking around right now?”

Like the crack of a hammer to his temple, Peter realized he’d read this all wrong. Utterly, horribly wrong. Johnny didn’t like him back. He never had. He had confided in Peter about his past romantic woes because Peter was his friend, and he trusted him. Not because it had any connection or correlation to their own relationship. Johnny had finally felt safe enough to open up to him about his sexuality, and what was the first thing Peter did in response? Assume Johnny had a crush on him like the selfish asshole he was. Simply because they were both boys, both sixteen, and both in each other’s general proximity. How could he be so cruel? So insensitive? He wondered how many times this had happened to him before. Befriending a fan in hopes of forming a true bond, only for them to turn around and treat him like a shiny prize for the taking. Peter was no different and no better than the masses and hordes of others who clamored after Johnny Storm, itching to snag fistfuls of his sunshine for themselves.

Peter staggered back from him even more, heart guttering with shame. “I’m sorry,” he said, invisible fingers closing around his throat. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Johnny balked, clearly still in shock from his betrayal. He took a step towards him, extending a hand. “Webs—”

“I messed up. I’m so sorry, Johnny. It was a mistake. I shouldn’t—” Guilt stole his voice away. He turned his back to him, every breath a dagger to his lungs. He felt like he was drowning all over again. “I’ll leave now. Just please don’t—”

Something grasped his arm and spun him around faster than Peter could blink. Whatever appeals and apologies still dangled on the tip of his tongue were smothered to death by a pair of lips crashing into his own. The world lurched and swayed around him, then fell away all at once. Johnny cupped a hand against the back of his head and pulled him in closer, kissed him fiercer, his mouth gentle yet ravenous as it traipsed across Peter’s. It was the first kiss of his life that had Spider-Man seeing stars.

When the two of them finally came up for air, they held each other in their hands and gazes, the drizzle overhead paring open into an all-out downpour, and laughed. Peter felt mired in a dream or the final frame of a movie in the best way imaginable. Johnny pressed his forehead against his, the wild throb of his heartbeat singing in Peter’s ears. The Human Torch’s bubbly giggles quickly morphed into sobs.

“I thought you were straight!” Johnny exclaimed, interlacing Spider-Man’s fingers with his own.

“I thought you were straight!” Peter shot back, dazed with mirth, laughing.

“You thought I was straight?” Johnny wept, tears and raindrops bleeding together as they slid down his cheeks. “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“Johnny!” Peter giggled, cradling his face in his palms. “Why are you crying?”

The Human Torch shook his head, a beautiful, blubbery mess. “I just—I didn’t think you felt the same,” he sniffled. “I thought it was just me. I was so afraid that—”

“Me too,” Peter assured him, still giggling. He couldn’t seem to stop giggling.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Johnny told him, breathless with joy. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“When did you realize you liked me?” Peter couldn’t help but ask. Johnny’s cheeks blazed with color, and he noticed then the tiny, rosy flames lapping off his shoulders, hissing in the pelting rain.

“Probably since you kicked my ass in front of everyone during our spar,” he admitted, averting his eyes with a sheepish smile. “What about you?”

Peter bit the inside of cheek, immediately regretting the question. Blush veiled his flesh like a second skin. “Before we even met,” he said through a cough. He saw the smug retort building in Johnny from a mile away and jabbed a finger into his chest. “But I didn’t officially know it was a crush until much more recently. I didn’t understand my feelings back then. I didn’t even know I liked guys like that.”

“When did you know you liked guys?” Johnny pressed him a little too fervidly. Peter groaned, realizing the hole he’d dug himself into far too late.

“Around...like…four days ago…?” he mumbled, wincing. Johnny’s eyes brightened fiendishly.

“Hold up,” he said, cupping a hand under Peter’s chin, trailing his thumb along his jawline. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” His grin was as blinding as a thousand suns. His touch was turning his legs to putty. “Did meeting me turn you gay?”

Peter scoffed, clawing free of his spell, snatching Johnny’s hand away from his face. “You didn’t turn me gay,” he insisted, rolling his eyes.

“But I made you realize you were gay,” he remarked proudly. “I was your gay awakening.”

“I’m bi, actually,” Peter corrected him.

“Only because my handsome face and irresistible charm lured you to the dark side,” he forged on, winking at him. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re a dick,” Peter giggled.

“I’m glad all the work I put into winning you over wasn't wasted,” Johnny beamed. “You certainly took your time making a move, Webs. Was I not laying it on thick enough? I was hardly being subtle.”

Peter hunched his shoulders. “I thought being flirty was just your personality,” he explained skittishly.

“It is to a certain extent! But I was practically throwing myself at you! Homemade meals, personalized gift baskets, calling you hot to your face on at least seven separate occasions. What more did you want from me?”

Peter laughed into his palms. “I’m sorry! I just figured that’s how you treat all your friends. I didn’t want to assume anything!”

“Well, you should have! You had me questioning my game, Spidey! I thought I’d lost my edge!”

Peter felt giddy as a child on his first trip to Disney World. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the residual warmth of Johnny’s lips pressed against his own still setting off fireworks in his belly. “Trust me,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of game. Maybe too much for my liking. I’m no good at any of this.”

Johnny chuckled. “You flung yourself in the ocean just ‘cuz you were worried about me. That’s plenty romantic. Dangerous and idiotic, but romantic.” He smiled at Peter from ear to ear, slicking back his hair with his fingers, then frowned. “Wait. So what was all that stuff Stark was saying about you having a crush on some superhero girl? Was that true?”

Peter blushed. “Oh. Right.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “That was about you, actually.”

A line formed between Johnny’s eyebrows. “I’m the superhero girl?”

“I tried telling my aunt about you, but when I mentioned I had a crush on another superhero, she assumed it was a girl. I’m not out to her yet, so I panicked and just played along. Then she talked to Mr. Stark about it, who also doesn’t know I’m bi, and now it’s snowballed into this big lie I’m having to sustain with everyone.”

Delight flashed across Johnny’s features. “You told your aunt about me?”

Peter giggled shyly. “Yeah. She and I are really close. We tell each other about everything going on in our lives. I wanted her to know about you and offer any advice she had, but it all kinda ended up backfiring.” The masked hero shivered, soaked from head to toe. “I feel bad lying to her, but I’m scared the truth could…I don’t know. Change our relationship.”

Johnny’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Who all knows you’re bi?”

Peter shrugged. “Just you and my best friend.”

“Oh, wow. So, like—hardly anyone.” Johnny tried wiping the raindrops off his chin with his sleeve, but his costume was just as wet as his face, so all he accomplished was smearing the water across his skin a bit.

“Who knows about you?” Peter prompted him in return. Johnny snickered.

“Well. Most of the general public speculates I’m some form of queer, just from—y’know. The way that I am.” He tucked a strand of dripping hair behind his ear. “But the only people I’ve told outright are Sue, Reed, and Ben.”

A coil of anxiety wound through Peter’s ribs. “Does it bother you? Having all these strangers discuss your sexuality all the time?”

Johnny pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not really. I actually find it entertaining. It’s fun to keep the fans and the paparazzi guessing. Sometimes I’ll go on fake dates with my lesbian friends just to throw everyone off and see what kind of headlines come out of it. It’s shocking how gullible some people can be.”

Peter felt himself redden a little. He’d definitely fallen for one too many of those click-baity tabloids in the past. “And are your teammates…supportive of you?” he asked.

“Oh, sure. They don’t care. I give them far worse things to worry about than what gender I prefer making out with.” A sly smile curled along his lips as Johnny pressed closer to him, hands sliding around his waist to weave together against the small of Spider-Man’s back, kicking the teen’s pulse into overdrive. “Speaking of which, do I have your permission to kiss you again? Because I’d really like to, if that’s okay with you.”

Peter answered his question by throwing his arms around his neck and planting his lips on Johnny’s, giggling as he did it. The Human Torch had stolen their first kiss from him; and, as resplendent as it’d been, Peter wasn’t gonna let him nab the second as well. Not on his watch.

A little squeak of surprise came from Johnny, followed by a flash of heat. When Peter pulled away from him, his whole scalp was lit ablaze, eyes wide and cheeks pink.

“You have my permission from now until your sister or some other vengeful force of the universe strikes me dead,” he told him, glowing from the inside out. He snickered at the flames billowing off his head. “Did I do that?”

Johnny glanced up in surprise, then frantically smothered his scalp with his palms. “Shut up,” he giggled sheepishly. “I can’t help it.”

“Are you gonna light on fire every time I kiss you?” Peter inquired, standing on his tiptoes to peck him on the nose. The flames he’d extinguished instantly roared back to life, spreading down shoulders and arms this time.

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, jumping back from him, flustered and laughing. “Cut it out! I could burn you!”

“But it’s so cute!” Peter beamed. “Totally worth the risk of a pre-mortem cremation. I’ll take my chances.”

Johnny smacked his shoulders until the flames died down, rolling his eyes, unable to mask his radiant smile. Peter wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm, as cold and wet as a New York sewer rat.

“So…” Peter mused, grinning up at him bashfully. “What now?”

Johnny shook out his hair like a golden retriever after a bath. “What do you mean?” he said, mirroring his smile.

Peter pulled his mask back over his chin. “I mean…I like you. A lot. And as much as I’d like to galavant across New York, kissing you on top of every iconic fixture of the city…” A knot of shame formed in his stomach. Peter licked his lips. “I’m just…not sure I’m ready for the world to know about this part of myself yet. It’s all still so new to me.” He grabbed Johnny’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It has nothing to do with you, I just—”

“It’s all right,” Johnny assured him. “I get it.”

“And with Fisk watching us, I don’t think it’s a good idea if we—”

“You don’t have to give me a million reasons for it, Webs. I’m okay with keeping it under wraps. I understand.”

Peter swallowed, guilty with relief. “What about our teammates?”

“We don’t have to tell them either, if you’re not ready for it. We don’t have to tell anyone. Nobody has to know until you want them to.” Johnny pressed a kiss to his forehead, lighting sparklers inside Peter’s chest. “As long as I get to be with you, I don’t care. We’ll keep it a secret for as long as you need.”

Peter smiled until his cheeks ached, overflowing with warmth despite the arctic temperature of his skin. “Thanks, Flame Brain,” he said delicately.

Johnny lifted his lips off Peter’s mask and grimaced. “Hiding it from my people might be extra difficult, though. Especially Reed and Sue.”

“Why’s that?” Peter asked.

Johnny winced. “Reed…kinda already guessed that you might like me. And that I liked you. He called me out on it a few days ago and encouraged me to approach you ‘cuz he thought there was a good chance you liked me back. He’s an obnoxiously observant and nosy bastard.” He sighed. “And he tells Sue everything.”

Peter bristled at the idea of someone seeing through his disguise so easily. Granted, Reed was a certified, world-renowned genius, but still. He’d read him like a book without even trying, as if the words “Please Kiss Me Johnny Storm” were tattooed across his forehead. Were Peter’s feelings for Johnny really that obvious? How long before the rest of Avengers Tower exposed his poorly veiled secret? How long before the entire world did?

“We’ll just have to be extra careful when we’re around them,” Johnny decided, cracking a smile. “Maybe we can fake-argue whenever they’re in the same room as us. I could pretend I randomly turned into a Daily Bugle fan and accuse you of whatever insane shit Jonah is rambling on about that day. Or you could call me a self-obsessed snob with a god complex and mommy issues.”

Peter busted into a laugh. “I don’t want them to think we hate each other! Jesus! Let’s just act like we’re friends and avoid doing anything that might convince them otherwise.” He gave Johnny’s shoulder a playful punch. “Two totally platonic, exceedingly heterosexual friends. That’s us.”

Johnny snorted. “Right. ‘Cuz that’s worked so well for us so far.”

Peter ran a hand across his rain-speckled eye lenses. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Sam?” he asked reluctantly, a shadow crossing over his otherwise beaming heart. “Maybe there’s a chance he’s a better person now. Maybe you two could be friends again.”

Preferably nothing more than that, Peter thought with a pinch in his gut. But if he’d make you happier than me…

Johnny took Peter’s hand in his and held it against his heart, a slurry of pained understanding yet unbreakable resolve etched into his face. “I don’t even want to think about that douchebag right now,” he assured him. “Maybe ever. Right now, I only want to be here. Nowhere else, with no one else. Just us.”

God, was he perfect. It was almost unfair.

At that moment, a frigid blast of wind barrelled upon them from the east, making the rain fly in sideways. Peter’s teeth started chattering again as he braced himself against the numbing gusts and downpour, trembling like a leaf.

“Oh,” Johnny said, scanning him up and down, completely unfazed by the rain or wind. “Are you still cold?”

“Um,” Peter stuttered, shoulders hiked to his ears, knees quaking beneath him. “L-little bit.”

Johnny reached out and touched his arm, lowering the superhuman layer of warmth he shrouded himself in to protect his body from the elements long enough to feel the temperature of Spider-Man’s skin. His jaw dropped when the cold reached his fingers. Blinded by his excitement for his reciprocated affections, Johnny hadn’t bothered to notice that the person he was kissing and ogling and fawning over was freezing to death right before his eyes.

“Holy shit, Spidey!” Johnny cried, bundling him into a superheated hug. “You’re like ice!”

“Oh my god,” the masked hero whimpered. “You’re s-so warm.” He shuddered out a breath, nestling his head between Johnny’s chin and shoulder, the Human Torch’s intoxicating smell and toasty embrace like shots of ecstacy to his senses. “Is this what being a lizard under a heat lamp feels like? Sweet mother of Christ. Bake me alive. Set me on fire. Go full supernova. I can take it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Johnny insisted, ignoring the shivering teen’s quips. He hugged him closer to his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? We need to get you out of the rain.”

“A cup of hot cocoa wouldn’t hurt either,” Peter added, voice muffled against the bend of Johnny’s neck. Peter felt the Human Torch’s laughter rumble softly through his body, and he thought he might melt with happiness.

“Fine. I’ll make you the best hot cocoa ever. After we get you home.” Johnny snaked an arm around his waist to lift him off the ground, but his hand bumped something in the hidden pocket of Spider-Man costume. Curious, he tugged the object free, then frowned. “What’s this?” he asked, holding the sopping piece of paper between them.

Peter gasped in dismay. “Oh no,” he lamented, cradling it in his hands. “My artwork! It’s ruined.”

“Your artwork?” Johnny said dubiously.

“It was the first piece of fan art I ever received,” Peter explained, the drawing turning to mush in his palms. “A little girl named Lainie made it for me. It was a picture of us holding hands with spiders everywhere. She signed it and everything. It was probably the worst depiction of me I’ve ever seen in my life. I loved it with my entire being.” The paper chose that moment to fall apart entirely, plopping into sad, wet piles on top of Lady Liberty’s head. “And now it’s gone.”

Johnny’s eyes brightened. “You mean you met a fan of yours? Like, in person?”

Peter nodded. “I did. A lot of them, actually. More than I’ve ever seen in my life. They helped me figure out you were here.” He nuzzled back into his irresistible bubble of warmth. “People are actually beginning to like me now. They’re starting to see me as someone helpful and trustworthy. I don’t know how you did it.”

“You did that,” Johnny corrected him. “I just opened their eyes to what was already there. It was all you.”

“You’re a goddamn miracle worker.”

After a beat, Johnny sighed wistfully. “Fine. You’re right. I am amazing. And talented. And inspirational. And hot.” A smirk lifted his features as he traced two fingertips up Peter’s throat and under his chin, sending a different kind of shiver crawling up his spine. “No wonder you want me so bad. I’m impressed, actually. Fresh out the closet, yet here you are—snatching the world’s hottest bachelor off the market like a pro. Do you know how many fans’ hearts you’d be breaking if they knew? They’d call you far worse things than a menace; I can promise you that.”

Peter turned ten shades of red beneath his waterlogged spider-suit. Even now, when they both knew they liked each other, Johnny’s wily teasing still left him blushing brighter than a summer sunset. In fact, knowing Johnny was flirting with him because he liked him probably made it a hundred times more effective and about a thousand times more flustering. A startled giggle sprung out of him as Peter’s hand flew to his neck. Johnny’s cackling injected Peter’s skin with static, but the flaming teen’s gaze brimmed with affection as he swept the masked hero into his arms, planting a kiss between his eyes and lifting them into the sky.

“I’m so happy you liked me back,” Johnny said, holding him like something precious, something holy. The wind and rain hammered down from above, but Peter could hardly feel it. Johnny’s warmth was all-consuming and steadfast, shielding him from the blustery outside world. He pressed in close to him, praying they were too high up for anyone in the city to see while also drowning in too much joy to care that much if they did.

“I’m so happy you liked me back, too,” Peter giggled in reply. Time would only tell what new adventures and dangerous obstacles awaited them now that they’d taken this leap. Foes and friends rising against them, battles and turmoil fought both externally and within. But now, no matter what, they’d face those things together. Side by side, hand in hand, the spider and his flame.

Peter held onto this moment like a firefly caged between his fingers. It was so perfect, so magical, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it escape him, of watching that fleeting, wondrous light disappear beyond his reach. He’d grasp it tight and hold it close for as long as he could without squashing it.

Spider-Man ignored the breathtaking views of the city whisking by beneath them. He traced his gaze across Johnny’s refined features the whole ride home, heavenstruck.

#spider-man #spideytorch #peter parker x johnny storm #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #johnny storm #my writing #bi peter parker #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #enemies to lovers #irondad #spideytorch fanfic

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randomfoggytiger · 2 months ago

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React: A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try (This), Part VI

Part I (My Struggle I), Part II (Founder's Mutation), and Part III (Weremonster), Part IV (Home Again), and Part V (Babylon).

I got a temporary student laptop so I can typity type type up these reacts! Hooray!

No more dillydallying-- let's get to the first episode of Season 11 (yes, I did skip the Struggles. You can't make me watch them.)

Let's gooooooooooooooooooo.~

‘Kaaaaaaay, I already see an improvement in quality. Nice set design. Nice set up.

Mulder and Scully asleep on the couch.

Oh, yeah. They’re already back together. (Canon’s gonna be reaaaaaally inconsistent about that, huh?)

Oh, I see that pic all the time on Tumblr. Thought it happened at the end of the episode, huh.

Oh, look, there’s A.I. Langly. …’Kay.

(Imagine if Mulder had slept through this and just… woke to some rando guys bonking him over the head for information.)

Okay, there was already an establishing shot of TLG’s pic, we don’t need to go back and focus on it. If you must, Director, I’d suggest that Mulder twists his head around so we can follow his line of sight as the camera's focus shifts from his him to the picture. Instead of, y’know, an unnecessary cut away.

Sooooo, if Langly’s dead-- "they know that he knows"-- why aren’t the other Lone Gunmen part of this problem?

And what a parting gift for his living buddy pals, huh.

Action scene’s okaaaa-- wait.

Al but the last bad gunmen guys shoot at Scully, get hit, and collapse; but the last one just keeps shooting at the table, assumes she’s incapacitated, and makes a break for the stairs where Mulder ran....

There’s no guarantee Scully’s down.

How did he know Mulder ran up the stairs?

If the answers to these questions are A. he just needed Scully down long enough to run past because B. he’s tracking the phone, not Mulder, then that’s logical and I’d give it a tentative thumbs up.

Welp, guy’s dead. Mulder nailed him from the top of the stairs.

I’m not mad at it.

I wonder if this scene was included to off-set their kinda geriatric pace and out-of-the-loop demeanor in S10. If so, that’s a smart way to include to establish credibility. A little (a lot) too late, but perhaps Mulder and Scully downed a few protein packs between this episode and My Struggle III (which I skipped.)

White-haired guy scampered out from the wreckage while Scully was yelling he’s behind the couch. Uh. She would have heard that. I assume. But… it’s plausible her ears were ringing and he scuttled while she was yelling, so. …We’ll see.

Also, from these few seconds, I’m getting more Scully, finally, and that’s… pretty great.

To be honest, though, she’s already so different from S10 that THAT canon doesn’t fit with S11 (which doesn’t fit with IWTB… which doesn’t fit with S9… which, etc.)

If I’m to take This with any degree of seriousness, it would have to be as the first episode, no exceptions, of the Revival: there is no S10, Mulder and Scully joined the FBI sometime post IWTB (perhaps while trying to work against Colonization, and remained), and both are chugging through a temporary separation patch.

Because there is no way this fits, with any degree of sense, into anything that came before. It could squeak by with IWTB; but how well would depend on Mulder and Scully’s characterization. If they are mercurial, then it would spring from IWTB; if they are consistent, then it would be a return to the 90s' form.

Regardless, canon has created five different Mulder and Scully variants:

Mainline Mulder and Scully, who either stopped their journey in Je Souhaite or carried it through to Existence’s happy ending.

Season 9 Mulder and Scully, who became uncharacteristically weepy and sappy; and are gifted with never-before-seen supernatural abilities (i.e. Mulder seeing ghosts) for plot contrivance reasons.

IWTB Mulder and Scully, who swung from a domestically-concerned couple to caustic, callous middle-schoolers.

Season 10 Mulder and Scully, who sacrificed their edge and intelligence for prolonged, dead-eyed, weightless declarations.

Season 11 Mulder and Scully, who somehow regained their 90s edge but combined it with a closeness that undercuts their narrative (i.e. their separation.)

So.

Yeah.

Okay, I’ll admit. …I’m intrigued.

Already loads better. Already feels more in-character (though to be fair Mulder and Scully haven’t really gotten “talking” yet.) Mulder’s house is more… Mulder. More stuff on the walls, more cozy, more shadows in the corners here and there. It’s nice.

Never let it be said I won’t give Chris Carter his flowers for his vision, because that’s one thing every person on and off set have agreed about him: the man approved of or tweaked every. single. detail. Wish his plots were handled with the same care, but.

(My temporary keyboard is now swapping the @ and the “ keys for some reason, huh. ...When I say technology hates me....)

Mulder trying to find a place to hide his cellphone was a good in-character moment, that’s good, that’s great.

Why is Mulder throwing pencils?

Why is Mulder bumping into discarded clocks.

Why… is Mulder teasing Scully about….

Y’know what.

It’s fine.

He was hiding the phone because the clean-up crew or FBI or police were being called… they’re gonna find it in an oven mitt, Mulder. They’re gonna find it in an oven, Mulder. No offense, but that’s where they found your mother, Mulder. Not the stealthiest hiding spot, truth be told.

WHY is Scully’s smoker voice back???? NO, GILLIAN, CAST IT OFF, YOU WERE ALREADY DOING SO HERE OR THERE IN S10, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

Mulder doubts Langly’s dead. No one saw his body.

And to be fair, the comics were all like, “You haven’t seen their bodies, wink. They live like cryptkeepers in the Arlington cemetery, wink. They’re still alive, wink wink,” so I think Mulder’s doubts are fairly substantiated.

At least Scully’s not doubting that Langly’s message is tied to the--

Oh, wait, the baddies are back.

Guys.

Why aren’t you running.

Mulder and Scully, why aren’t you running?

Come back out of hiding once the clean-up crew have arrived.

DON’T--

They did wait around, WHY.

“Don’t answer the phone, maybe they’ll be able to pinpoint our exact location in the house” for what PURPOSE, they have you surrounded, anyway! They can flush you out in two minutes if they wanted! WHY ARE THEY CALLING UNLESS THEY'RE OFFERING A DEAL (or to shoot you through the window), HOW DO THEY HAVE YOUR HOUSE NUMBER BUT NOT YOUR CELL NUMBER (which is where Langly’s message came through), WHAT BROUGHT US TO THIS POINT??

“Identify yourself!” Mulder yells.

Russians: “Can’t hear you. Answer your phone.”

That got a snort out of me.

Scully… is questioning… is they should call Skinner… because they haven’t called him in a couple of weeks… and don’t know where he stands.

…

……

…………

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

I don’t even need to know the Struggles' plot to know this is garbage. When hasn’t Skinner been on their side, even if he played the game a bit coyly here and there. This is just… just… why this again???????

Wait.

Skinner just tells them to surrender.

Um.

Ummmm.

Uuuuuuuuuuuummmm.

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinteresting.

That line read didn’t sound fake or flat, at all.... But on the other hand. I’m… intrigued against my will.

I don’t see Mulder playing along for long, though.

The Russians are cracking me up. But the dialogue could use a few tweaks here or there.

Mulder’s grumpy at having to surrender.

The Russians are miffed about also being asked to surrender. (Unironically, they’re a react Discord channel: just sittin’ there talkin' smack at the protagonists.)

Oh, the duo are taken down.

That was quick.

This was going so well until Mulder made a George Orwell quip and the Russian noticed his poster (again with the poorly cut “LOOK AT THE POSTER” shot) and started working “I Want to Believe” into the interrogation, and….

“‘I Want to Believe’? Here’s what I believe: that Americans would have been fine losing the Cold War as long as they made a little money off of it.” What, lol. What a strange, strange line to say, here and now. Hopefully, this not-at-all clunky line will have plot relevance very soon and not at ALL be a cheap and easy tie-in to the plot, a rather ham-fisted way to get more information across. Absolutely not.

Yeah. My investment’s waning.

This guy’s not threatening: “Once we find his [Mulder's] phone….” Then he pantomimes the neck-slice motion. ‘...Kay.

Not Skinner’s brightest call to surrender to them.

Though I’m calling it now: Skinner misinterpreted who they were, or the guys are putting up a show because they’re on webcam (as they mentioned earlier.)

The cinematography’s better at picking which moments to go shaky on the audience. MUCH, much better.

They found the phone in under a minute because Langly’s an idiot chatterbox. How in-character.

I’m heartbroken. The Russian’s no longer fun-- he’s taken a turn for the badly-acted cheese. Rats.

Mulder and Scully just… knocked their guard over, together, while he was facing them with a gun. In a room full of men who have guns. And who have orders to shoot them. And are facing them.

Yeah.

This house needs to be lit up with gunfire right this second. As in, bambambam, agents down, permanently.

NO. No, no, no, no, THAT’S CHEATING. You can’t have Russians facing them then conveniently facing away (to look at the walls?? or the phone?? or around the room after the phone’s already been found??) so Mulder and Scully can run past their guard and out the door. NO, NO NO NO NO NO NO. They had a LOT of distance to cover from the kitchen to the front door, what are the choreographers and directors and everyone else thinking??????? THERE’S NO WAY.

Mulder and Scully literally jump over the porch, hit the ground hard, lie there a second; and the Russians burst out of the house a second later. WITH. GUNS. But the duo are gone, gone, gone.

Sure, Jan.

Excuse me? How did Mulder and Scully get from their wheat farm to a haunted Disney forest?????? Those aren’t even in the same biomes.

Oh, look, it’s Skinner.

So, wait.

Mulder and Scully are just standing there as Skinner SLOWLY walks up like a creature of the mist (illuminated by his sleek horse-powered metal carriage) while the Russians are within yelling distance behind them. Does NO ONE have a sense of urgency??

Skinner’s here against his better judgment and he’s putting his own neck on the line and blah blah blah, heard it before, save it, Skinny, we all knew you’d come, anyway.

Skinner’s AFRAID? Private contractor with Moscow. Classified security directive from the top branch, etc. etc. Gotta put Mulder and Scully back on the unwanted list.

“I thought they were just questioning you guys, why would they try to kill you?”

“You tell us.” Now is not the TIME, Scully.

Mulder and Scully aren’t going with Skinner?????? This is stupid. THIS IS….

Why are they framing this like neither trusts Skinner?????????????????????? Because by all accounts that wouldn’t make sense. At all. But it’s PLOT CONVENIENT, so YOLO.

Skinner being all vague about TLG being buried in Arlington and we all know this is coded language (or can guess), etc. etc.

The exposition, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.

Guys. Why would you prefer to run around in the woods when SKINNER COULD DRIVE YOU WHERE YOU NEED TO GO, AWAY FROM THE RUSSIANS, THEN DROP YOU OFF AND DRIVE AWAY.

I don’t care about the Russians, go away. Mulder had an alien app killswitch that killed their hacking attempts. ‘Kay.

Duo in the cemetery, stomping around.

LANGLY HAS CHRIS CARTER’S BIRTHDAY, TOO. LANGLY AND MULDER SHARE MY BIRTHDAY. In the lament of one of the Testaments (it’s a Biblical reference just for you, Chris): GOD, WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME.

Here’s the “Who needs Google when you’ve got Scully?” line... cute. Clever. “Cute” and “clever” can also be interchanged with “convenient.”

Mulder and Scully Scooby-Dooing it up in the graveyard isn’t… bad. To be honest, it’s the most in-character moment shared between the two during the Revival: Scully on her A-game and giving Mulder a run for his money. Mulder’s still a little off, but hopefully we’re getting there.

Mulder finds Deep Throat’s grave, and we have a very not-unnatural-at-all conversation while Mulder rehashes that part of their history, including the stellar line, “I didn’t know his real name until right now” which immediately follows a recounting of him watching the funeral through binoculars from afar. …Yeah, we gathered you wouldn’t have seen his name.

Wait, scratch that.

Mulder would HAVE to know Deep Throat's name because… how else would he know the day Deep Throat was buried?

WAIT.

WAIT, WHAT.

He’d have to have learned the funeral information either from the newspaper or from a database or from TLG; and in combing through said channels of information, he’d have to have discovered Deep Throat’s name to attend his FUNERAL from afar.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh, why can’t this series make sense for five seconds?????????????

Also, you two still have Russian mercenaries on your tail, no rush.

SPEED IT UP, MULDER.

(The exposition, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.)

“Everything we feared came to pass” no it didn’t. IT LITERALLY didn’t.

Wwwhat, creepy old man with long white hair, again? That creeped me out.

OH MY WORD, a QR code medallion.

Oh. My. Word.

They’re getting shot by a zombie? I guess? Guess this one’s not been around long enough to see the undead’s gentler side.

They just killed a guy, who wasn't a zombie nor white-haired guy? I guess? And ran off.

They’re on-the-run but publicly accessing wifi and aren’t even attempting to hideout. (I remember a post somewhere where Tumblr was sympathizing with Skinner losing his last couple bucks to two agents who wasted it on muffins and… yeah.)

I hated the “alien’s butt” line when I first heard of it, and I still hate it now.

There’s a, for lack of a better word, babyfication that the Revival does to Mulder and Scully’s language: “freaking” and “alien’s butt” and “adorbs” that, while possibly charming, make the dissonance between the moments where Mulder and Scully are not in-character more pronounced. In the OG, Mulder used contemporary slang as a tongue-in-cheek tease, working it in to purposefully amuse Scully or intentionally poke at someone else. Here…? That element of his personality is largely missing-- rather, it’s missing at times; which, again, contributes to the jarring, disconnected nature of the writing. It’s a “cost effective” way to replace intelligent, well-constructed banter with “lol” or “yolo” cheap tricks that date themselves incredibly fast.

I’m not a fan, as you can tell.

(“Fox Freaking Mulder” is my most loathed line in canon; so we shall see how that’s handled when I get to it. Oh, boy.)

Langly helped open an x-file on a building back in the 90s, ‘kay.

Scully’s “X-File? As in, the files in our building we can’t get into? Okay” wasn’t too bad, but the pan back to Mulder’s dopey face and the immediate cut after was… jarring, one could say.

Could we at least get a knowing twinkle and eyebrow wiggle from Mulder, a “you know where this is going, Scully” expression or… something? PLEASE?

So many missed opportunities….

Guess they’re sneaking in.

Oh, my, WHY IS SKINNER PULLING A GUN ON THEM.

WHY ARE THEY DOING A MEXICAN STAND-OFF IN THE PARKING GARAGE. WHAT IS ANY OF THIS.

ARE THEY IN A SIMULATION????? IS THIS ALL A WIZARD OF OZ DREAM??????

THEY ATE UP HIS LUNCH MONEY AND CAME BACK FOR MORE AND SKINNER’S HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THE LEECHES??????????????????????

In the grand scheme of things… you know what, this is bad, I’m not making silly excuses for it.

Skinner wants Mulder to put the gun down, Mulder can’t do that because Skinner seemingly works for the ones who want him and Scully killed, and where was this established???? Where. WHERE. YOU IDIOT.

Skinner’s pause and flat, “I don’t work for them”: same, Skinman, same.

Skinner’s just getting built-up trauma off his chest: his job’s hard, he’s underappreciated, no one understands what he’s going through, there’s so much to DO now; and Mulder and Scully need to know this and appreciate him, for once. (No wonder he wanted them back, he can’t complain to anyone else the same way. Old philes finding each other on new fandom sites and all that.)

Everyone just wants to kill each other “and that includes us.” And… that’s new information… how?

“We need your help, Walter.” When haven’t you. “Even if we don’t trust you.” WHAT IS. THAT. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.

To be fair, she was acting as peacemaker between both men. Badly.

Skinner just putting the gun down and stepping forward and asking the question we’re all thinking: “What is this? How did we get here?”

Years and years of plot stupidity. That aside… I don’t know, they’re hungry and need more money, I guess.

None of this makes sense.

Scully calls Skinner from the house. He advises her to surrender.

She and Mulder don’t, and almost get killed, anyway.

Skinner shows up an undetermined amount of time later and just… chats with the duo while Russians are scouting the woods.

Mulder and Scully start to… distrust him despite him unlocking their handcuffs and offering to drive them where they need to go.

He hands them lunch money and makes a cryptic remark on how the world’s changed.

They eat up his lunch money and need to access the files.

Mulder and Scully jumpscare Skinner in the garage and now… no one trusts each other???????

There’s no connecting tissue for them to A. distrust Skinner in the first place; B. to really distrust Skinner, for real, guys; and C. for him to suddenly distrust them.

Mulder and Scully, spies: the episode. I’m losing them the longer the episode goes on.

Why's there odd music at odd times? It got tense for no reason then switched abruptly to Skinner’s sunshiney apartment.

Also, it’s canonically confirmed that Skinner squirreled away some files (if not all) to keep at his home. Weekend reading and all that, I suppose. Whatever floats his lonely boat. Also convenient.

Skinner has really modern taste in home decor…. (Now I need a fic where Scully was housesitting his place in the robot episode. That would be hilariously on-brand-- Mulder’s actions end up setting his boss’s house ablaze.)

When the x-files were reopened, neither agent was told their work was basically free to read. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Mulder asks Skinner. Obvious answer-- this plot point hadn’t been invented yet-- aside, I don’t think Skinner would have been allowed to… I don’t know, make them available TO ANYONE THAT WANTS TO READ THEM just because he uploaded them, hypothetically, to Archive.org. And if he's not allowed, he's probably not going to share that information.

Skinner’s got a secret wild life, and by secret wild life I mean spending his weekends uploading files to the Way Back Machine. And trying to keep his superiors from figuring out it’s him.

Langly’s been wiped from the X-Files. (So. Mulder uploaded files on his friends. …’Kay.) And left a note that “If I’ve been scrubbed, go to her” with an attached pic of a Dr. lady. In the same files that got scrubbed by nefarious people. Who would have seen this attached note, realistically. Stellar writing.

Langly would get involved with someone named Hambly.

“The Bureau’s not in good standing with the White House, these days," Skinner states.

“The FBI finally found out what it’s liked to be looked at as a little spooky.” FINALLY, a decent political quip from Mulder. YES. I’ll take it!

Doctor teacher hambly lady.

Why the scary music? It’s just Mulder and Scully there to interrogate her.

The lady warns them “you should go” then pauses a second before launching into a claim that SHE AND LANGLY COULD LIVE FOREVER, WITH SCIENCE???? ...I don’t think that word means what she thinks it means.

Oh, great, AI Langly is reaching out because his consciousness is trapped in a simulation lie. …Well, snap. From Jump the Shark to Become the Quark. Guess we’re all in Soma now and need to free the brain copy.

This was a quick and convenient dump of information, but I’ve seen worse. (Just because I’ve seen worse doesn’t make this automatically better.)

Langly had a longer lasting relationship canonically than Byers. Let that sink in.

I don’t mind this plot, honestly. I wish it were tighter, or more sensible, or…. Actually, cut the entire graveyard scene, it wasn’t necessary. Have Skinner drive Mulder and Scully back to his place, show them the files, chat about life then vs. now, and then move the plot here. It would give breathing time to better characterize Dr. Hambly’s hesitation or backstory, eliminate a few cracks in the plot, and ease up on the constant location hopping.

I’ve completely lost the essence of Mulder and Scully, though.

The camera cutting to odd angles or focusing on random places in the room is… off putting.

“Maybe he saw Mulder in his dreams”/”Who hasn’t?” is the second quip, possibly third, in the Revival that sounded exactly like something Mulder would say: enough self-deprecation and blatant tease mixed together.

AND IT WAS RUINED by Mulder and Scully smirking then fiddling around and clearing their throats while Dr. Hambly looks back and forth between them. YES, WE GET IT, THEY’RE TOGETHER BUT NOT AND ARE KINDA SHY ABOUT IT, UWU.

It’s the babyfication thingie again: just let the scene exist without unnecessarily hammering it home. I’m a big girl, I can read between the lines.

There are some suspenseful, creepy shots, to be honest.

Why’s the white-haired guy back. What in the world, how’s he always THERE.

Scientist lady’s dead. White-haired guy's dead (again?)

Scully quibbling about Mulder stealing evidence. Scully, you’re ON THE RUN.

Why do Mulder and Scully seem so… detached when witness to death, now? Before, they were professionally distanced around dead bodies and autopsies and crime scenes; but the murder of a victim before their eyes still moved them. I’ve noticed that it doesn’t, at all, in the Revival. That’s… odd; and an aspect of IWTB I also wish the writers had left behind.

“Adorbs”, ugh. I didn’t mind Scully roaring to life and almost shooting a guy when doing so, and Mulder mitigating then diffusing a possible situation. That was… fine.

But. I’m not getting Mulder here, either, sorry. He was THERE at the beginning of the episode, where’d he go? (Questions I ask the void.)

Ahhhhh, Mulder used a computer thingie called “freaking”, got it. That makes his reference earlier when referring to the muffin all right… actually, no, it makes it worse. Because he couldn’t have known he was going to use the “f” technique when he called the muffins “freaking” delicious or whatever. Which means this was just a way for the writer to appear clever by reusing an old word a new way... a.k.a. the writer gave away the magic trick by letting us peak behind the curtain (“We used ‘freaking’ earlier so we could full-circle to the ‘freaking’ technique, isn’t that smart???”).

I feel cheated.

Langly’s the only in-character character in this moment and it’s so. So. jarring. SO jarring. I’m happy for him and I’m mad for myself.

Oh, look, Mulder can do math math. As he should (a truth I’ve held onto since Lazarus.)

Oh, Langly wants this heaven destroyed. Uh, oh. That took a turn.

See, this is why you save the tense music for these moments, it gives an emotional gut punch real power.

He’s arguing this is heaven but only in service to the overlords. ...Welp, can’t argue with that logic.

This is actually a creepy scene. That’s good.

Oh, look, Mulder and Scully are given a stylistic black backdrop as Langly explains his world to them. That’s a cool touch, gotta say. Not very… The X-Files, but if changes must be made, this is how they should be done.

Oh, Gillian’s kids! What a neat cameo.

Anyway.

Essssssssspionage. Essssssspionage. Mulder’s got an essssspionage plan.

Scully pretends to drag Mulder in? As her captive? Um? And... signs in as herself despite both of them being on the run but not anymore but….?

Scully just winked at a whippersnapper and he just… led them to the tunnel. Um. UM. (Young Mulder’s fantasies come to life, I’ll bet.)

UMMMMM. Mulder made an disgusted motion after the young buck took her up on her implication--MULDER YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN HANDCUFFS, THAT SECURITY OFFICER FACING YOU MOST DEFINITELY SAW.

WHAT-- WHAT??????

Wait, I still don't have answers for what happened in the graveyard with the dead guy and--

Hannibal Lecter jokes. “This guy’s, like, Hannibal Lecter level--” WE GET IT, YOU WERE IN THE HANNIBAL SHOW. WE GOT THE BABYFICATION OF THE "LIKE", ARE YOU HAPPY????

And Mulder does a Hannibal impression. Yep, thanks, I’m taking this serious mission so seriously right now, guys.

Wait.

How come Mulder is immediately recognized in Babylon by other FBI agents but Mulder not here despite being heavily favored by an A.D. and being kind of infamous in the Bureau? (Don’t think, just hit play.)

The young buck “Hon”s Scully and she brushes him off with a “Sorry, bro” and CAN SOMEONE GET THIS BABYFICATION AWAY FROM MEEEEEEEE. And also… Scully, you were the one that started this domino effect of implication. You led “bro” on. Bro was just young and believing he was getting unbelievably lucky with a MILF. If he were spiteful, he’d force you to walk back or report you to the front desk. Your brush-off could have been a compromising move, Scully.

I don’t… mind? Mulder waving Scully towards the stairs with a little “mm hmm.” I’m a little more warm to Scully being averse to walking twenty-nine floors than I am the execution of Mulder’s quip, but… I can… kinda… see it? Sure? It’s not out of Mulder’s normal realm of behavior.

They still haven’t recaptured the opener’s “Mulder and Scully” feel, though.

WAIT, no.

I remember these stairs.

You’re telling ME that Scully jumps down a flight of stairs (perhaps two)... unharmed??? In her fifties???? Without anything to cushion her fall???? Without the stretch plausibility of a fancy parkour maneuver???????

Nooooooooooooooooope, no way.

Yeoooouch, that’s gotta hurt.

Mulder nods “no way” as if their lives weren’t in danger then follows her lead and gets up and immediately grabs one of the four guys above him and tosses him… down where Scully went. Down where he needs to go. I know he had no choice, but the probability of any of this being pulled off successfully is less than 50%, gotta be honest.

Ah, Mulder gets caught by the three guys. That’s realistic, I cosign.

Here comes Cheese McRussian.

“Haven’t you heard, FBI Mulder? You’re on our side now.” ENOUGH with the Trump Russia ties, can this DIE, please. I’m so over it.

Wait, wait, wait, wait. Okay. Reel it back. This is still… what year? Wait, is this 2018? Benefit of the doubt: 2017. Yeah, this topic was old by 2018, I’m pretty sure. Right? (Let’s see… one year after Trump’s election, everyone’s still in an uproar, Russia collusion theories flying, Rachel Maddow coverage, the investigation and reports….) Okay, I take it back a bit, the dates check out. …But this is why politics is very tricky to tackle in a show: in hindsight, that insinuation topples half of the episode's angle; and because of that line, this plot quickly becomes dated and a tad ignorant.

Why couldn’t we have just stuck with the jab Mulder made at Skinner’s? That was pretty good. But no, we’ve gotta hammer everything home. And in hammering things home, the art of subtly is lost. Siiiiiiiigh.

Approximately 34 minutes left.

Wait.

FBI building with Russians at the top?

Why were the Russians even going after Mulder’s phone? To stop Langly from contacting him, yes; but after? Trying to track Langly down to silence him? I guess? Why not just terminate him from the program atop their x-file tower? Pull the metaphorical plug? Surely his brain-- amidst how many others?-- isn’t worth the trouble.

Mr. Y? A new villain. Ohhhhhhhhhhh, please.

This is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo thirty years ago.

Why’re we doubling down on "CSM is his father"? Who cares?

“You don’t understand,” says creepy lady, “what’s about to happen.”

Philosophy, yadda yadda yadda.

Scully beats up a roaming guard taller than her on heels, yadda yadda yadda.

“Life on this earth… is about to be crushed. Burned to the ground.” Sure.

Guys, Soma did this better. It’s so good, go watch a play through on YouTube. It’s an extraordinary game. (I recommend the Markiplier one: he’s a little over-acty at times-- hadn’t found his tone, yet-- but he got the heart of the story.)

Oh, wait, the evil villain lady’s still yapping. “It’s reason for being is to advance life, not end it.” I literally missed nothing by tuning out, wow.

Mr. Y wants Mulder to kill his "father." Mulder offers a deal (likely to stall for time so Scully can rescue him) in exchange for he and Scully to be uploaded to the mainframe… and I’m not against this idea. It would fit with S11 Mulder's… actually, no, it wouldn’t; because Mulder’s already lived in two false realities (Kill Switch and Amor Fati) and both were abysmal. (Langly quite literally serves as this episode's cautionary tale.) To possibly doom he and Scully rather than let their souls “mate eternal” or rest among the stars with Samantha? Not a wise move; not a Mulder move, either.

(Note from the future: That was the point, a ruse on his part. …Mkay, I accept that.)

The EXPOSITION, UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.

“We can take a piece of your mind [through a smartphone] every time you call.” How Alex Jones of you.

Am I… the only one who’s fed up with the Revival's reactionary techno panic? During the original run, tech wasn’t “the boogie man”, it was a tool used by “the boogie men” for their own ends. (Only twice did it become sentient; and even then, it was because the creators gave their machines human willpower and corruption.) Now, it’s become the Almighty they all must bow and cower before.

It’s weird.

"This is a tech age," one might say, "so of course the stories would be focused on out-of-control advancements."

"And it was an age of technological advancement then," I volley back while sinking my bat over and over into the strawman I’ve erected.

Diana Fowley Cheshire Cat Lady is starting to annoy me--

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Mulder says, “I want to believe--” WHY. Stop beating me over the head with his catchphrase, I KNOW IT’S HIS CATCHPHRASE. That used to be used sparingly-- now it’s once every episode, if not more. UUUUUUUUGH.

This tech is the closest Mulder will come to seeing God in this lifetime. I’m not… opposed to that idea.

Mulder taking out a guy in handcuffs. Oh, look, it’s the handcuff joke I see everywhere in gifs. Heh heh heh…. heh. Heh. Sure, Jan.

Mulder’s wrestling with a guy while Scully slowly turns off the machine. LITTLE BIT FASTER THERE, SCULLY.

And why is’t the room FILLED with guards trying to stop Scully, or using Mulder as leverage to stop her????? Aren’t there alert signals tied straight to the machine for monitoring purposes?????????? Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Mulder’s sweating, like that touch.

Um. The system turned red, but. Um. Can’t they just... reboot it?

If I'm putting the pieces together rightly: the only thing the bad guys lost were the brain scans. So. Don't think the machines were destroyed....

Mulder’s all beat up and loopy, nice. He’s got his phone back (~convenient~), nice.

Still not himself; but neither is Scully, so it’s a draw, I think.

The Russian guy doesn’t look beat up at all-- that's kinda lazy.

…Where’d the guards go? FBI’s just... here now??

Of course the villain lady and others are gone, OF COURSE THEY ARE. And so are the machines. OF COURSE.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

Yeah, skip the cleanup, you almost vomited, Mulder. Just take a nap.

Back to the beginning on the couch (it’s like poetry, it RHYMES, don'tcha get it.)

Wait, Langly's calling again?? So, Langly wasn’t freed...???

Back to the beginning, take two?

Uh, there’s the white-haried guy.

Um. He scared Langly away, then consumed the screen, then laughed up close in it, then... the end?

That’s a bizarre ending.

So Langly might still be trapped.

Or the white-haired guy is psyching them out.

Um.

Ummmmmm.

…So, was he a simulation or a man that joined the simulation…?

What did any of that accomplish.

...Where's the exposition when you need it?

CONCLUSION

I don’t know, man.

(Oh, if you were wondering, my @s and s are back to their proper keys. With no explanation. Over 3/4s of the way through this post.)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

#txf #react #first-time watch through #Part VI #Revival Reviler's first-time watch through #A Late-Canon Reviler Gives the Revival a Try #mine #Revival #S11 #This #x-files #xfiles #the x files #xf meta #Mulder #Scully

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