#and as a long time whump enthusiast i love it when a character goes through the absolute wringer

[katabay]

THE JETSET LIFE IS GONNA KILL YOU, ERIC CARTER!

my laptop charger uhhhhhh. met its end in a very permanent, very fire hazardy kind of way last week. while waiting for a replacement I decided to try and get some work done at the library and was asking around for some urban fantasy (extra points for a mystery plot of some kind) recommendations to check out while I was there

the eric carter series was mentioned a couple of times, AND had the added bonus of having a necromancer for a main character. I love necromancers. someday I'm gonna play one in a game instead of immediately defaulting to vampires.

Fire Season, Stephen Blackmoore

[set-phasers-to-whump]

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know”

prompt: “i’m sorry, i didn’t know”

whumpee: kyle valenti

fandom: roswell new mexico

hi hi i bring again whump of a character that caters probably only to Me!!! i absolutely love kyle and alex so much and i like to write them sweet...there is plenty of pain in here tho!! def pre-ship vibes but you don’t Have to read it that way?

It hurts. A burning kind of pain that radiates out from his right ribcage all throughout his torso, hot and constant and spiking in intensity whenever he tries to breathe. Broken ribs, he thinks, dismally. Why? Anything but broken ribs would be fine. Pretty much any other kind of break can have something done about it. But for this? He can take a couple ibuprofen and set an ice pack on them and get back to work. 

Not that he particularly should, with broken ribs. A few days off is wise, as is getting checked out by a colleague, but to be honest he doesn’t feel like telling anyone. He doesn’t have any internal bleeding and nothing’s poking out of his skin, so he’s fine. He’s fine.

Except that his whole chest hurts every time he breathes, let alone speaks, or, god forbid, walks. But he has to do all three of those things, because he’s got work today, and then he and Alex are hanging out tonight. He’s not about to skip either of those things.

Work sucks. There’s no sugarcoating it. He hides his injury as well as he can, excusing his awkward posture, slight limp, and occasional wince as being products of a late, sleepless night, and if his colleagues doubt him, they’re kind enough not to say anything. 

Everything goes about as well as it can go until around lunch. He’s operating, a procedure he’s done so many times he could do it in his sleep, but he can’t fully extend his right arm or he’s pretty sure his whole chest will tear in two. He tries to ignore it, but he swears he’s on fire, and he drops his scalpel right on top of the patient. 

Nothing bad happens, but a fellow doctor gives him a curious look. He reaches for the scalpel and can’t quite hide a wince as he stretches out his side a little too much.

“Are you alright, Dr. Valenti?”

“Fine,” he says, a little more snappishly than he’d intended. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from making any more noise and stubbornly blinks away the tears of pain that have formed unwillingly in his eyes. 

The rest of the procedure goes off without a hitch, but Kyle can’t quite escape from the other doctor afterwards. 

“You sure you’re okay? I saw you wince when you reached for that scalpel.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he says, as casually as he can, not wanting a repeat of his reply from before. “Just slept a little weird.”

“Thought you didn’t sleep at all.”

“Barely,” he says. “I barely slept. What I did get...not the best.”

Evidently this is a sufficient explanation, as the other doctor leaves him alone to go grab lunch. Kyle is definitely not hungry, so he skips out, hiding in the locker room until his break’s over. 

He gets home shortly after six, now slightly hungry, but unwilling to eat, lest it cause him more pain. The whole drive home his seatbelt had pressed against the lower side of his ribs, jostling them whenever he’d come to a stop. It hadn’t bothered him too much that morning, but evidently all of the ibuprofen is wearing off. He just wants everything to stop hurting.

He limps his way through the door, not bothering to take off his shoes or remove anything from his pockets. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he again takes too much ibuprofen and carefully lifts up his shirt to inspect his injury.

His entire right side is a vivid purple with the occasional splotch of red. It’s slightly swollen and excruciatingly painful to touch. God, it hurts. 

He very slowly makes his way to the couch, stopping by the freezer for a soft ice pack. He lies down carefully and places the ice pack onto his ribs, through his shirt so as not to freeze his skin off. Which would be just what he needs, he thinks. 

The light contact of the ice pack hurts like he’s been punched, and its steady pressure is almost unbearable. He lets out a groan of pain and finally gives in to the hot tears building behind his eyes. Even so, he leaves the ice pack on. It’ll help in the long run, and he’s still got things to do today.

Things which he could very easily cancel. He could text Alex and tell him he’s just not feeling well tonight, but then Alex would ask what’s the matter? and probably get concerned for him and Kyle really doesn’t want that. So he’ll suck it up. And he’ll ice his damn ribs. 

At 6:30, Kyle lifts himself up off of the couch as gently as he possibly can. It hurts anyway, but slightly less thanks to the time spent with the ice. He’s wearing the clothes he’d worn to work, which are slightly out of place for the Wild Pony, but there’s no way he’s changing again (into and out of his scrubs had been painful enough, especially with the added pressure of making sure nobody was around to see the rather horrific colors painting his torso). So the work clothes stay on.

He climbs into his car, wishing he didn’t care so much about his own personal safety as he buckles his seatbelt, which again presses itself uncomfortably against his ribs. He drives, doing his best to make the ride as smooth as he possibly can.

He arrives at the Pony five minutes late and slightly sweaty and feeling fairly awful. Still. He can’t help smiling when he sees Alex sitting in a booth, waving at him. He nods in response, not wanting to lift his hand. 

Kyle sinks down into the booth across from Alex, hiding a wince. 

“How was your day?” Alex asks, as one of the waiters comes up to them.

“Pretty boring. One surgery, a consult, no emergencies.”

“That’s good,” Alex says, as they order their drinks and some snacks. 

Kyle nods. Neither of them says anything for what feels like an age. It’s awkward. He can practically feel the tension in the air. But he really doesn’t want to talk. It hurts. 

“So…” Alex says, but evidently can’t think of anything to say after that.

“So,” Kyle replies, softly. He blinks hard as a slightly more intense wave of pain hits his side. Their drinks arrive, and he takes a big sip, hoping to cool off his ribs from the inside.

Which does not happen. In fact, the movement only makes them hurt worse, and he knows he doesn’t hide his wince.

But Alex, apparently sensing that Kyle doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t push. God, he’s so nice. And here Kyle is, acting like he doesn’t care about anything and not talking just because, what? His ribs may very well be on fire?

“Hey, I finally watched Star Wars,” he says at last, grinning, stubbornly ignoring the spike of pain in his ribs. 

“Oh really?” 

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Tell me one thing that happened.”

“Let’s see...some planet got blown up.”

“You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific.”

Kyle racks his brain. “It was red?” he says, at last, not entirely sure of that fact. “Winona Ryder died,” he recalls. 

Alex laughs out loud, and Kyle can’t help grinning along. “What?” he asks. “What’s so funny about Winona Ryder dying?” 

“Kyle, that’s Star Trek. And not exactly the best Star Trek, either.”

 “Oh.” He smiles a little more. “Which is the best one, then?”

Alex goes off on a fair tirade of the various pieces of media in the Star Trek franchise. If Kyle’s being honest, he only follows about half of it, but Alex is clearly into it and kind of ridiculously passionate about which show is better than which other show, and which character was done so poorly in this rendition, and it’s incredibly endearing, so Kyle just pays as much attention as he can, asking questions whenever he feels able. 

On top of it being nice to hear Alex so enthusiastic, the conversation is also a nice distraction from the pain in his ribs, which has only increased due to all the talking. The fire has spread out and gotten hotter and he can barely stand it, but focusing on Alex helps. 

Their food arrives. Alex chews a fry thoughtfully as he explains the merits of The Animated Series. 

“...so there’s these close-ups, right? And it’s like, their entire face fills the screen at this dramatic moment, and…”

Eventually, Alex runs out of things to say about Star Trek, and Kyle runs out of questions to ask to keep him going, and the conversation, rather unfortunately, turns to him. 

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Alex observes, and pushes their basket of fries closer to Kyle.

“I’m not really hungry,” he says, though he carefully picks up a fry. He is hungry, truly, but he doesn’t want to figure out what it feels like to eat with broken ribs. 

“You should still try to eat something,” Alex points out. “You look a little pale.”

Kyle pretends to be affronted, throwing the fry very lightly across the table, where it lands on Alex’s lap. 

“Nice try,” Alex says. “Eat something, Kyle.”

He’d sigh in exasperation, if it weren’t for the fact that it would hurt like hell. He very slowly picks up a fry and bites it. Not too bad, he decides, swallowing. And yeah, that hurts a little more. He barely stops himself from putting a hand to his side in an effort to make the pain stop. 

He doesn’t eat any more. Alex doesn’t try to make him, though he does reach out a hand across the table, putting it to Kyle’s forehead.

“I’m a doctor, Alex. I think I’d know if I was sick.” 

“Hm,” Alex says, like he doesn’t believe that. “Maybe you’d know it,” he continues. “Don’t know if you’d do anything about it.”

Kyle can’t fault his logic on that. Not when he’s sitting here with broken ribs that hurt and hurt and hurt, because he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone and he hadn’t wanted to cancel on Alex. 

Their conversation moves on from that naturally enough, and eventually they find themselves at a natural stopping point. They pay for their food, and Alex stands up. Kyle takes a second to build up the strength to make himself stand, and then does it, shutting his eyes instinctively against the pain. 

Alex’s hand is on his arm when he opens them. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, looking like he’s not going to believe Kyle’s answer.

“I’m sure,” Kyle says. “I’m so okay. I’m super.”

“Sure,” Alex replies. “That sounded so convincing.”

“I’m fine, I swear.”

“If you say so.”

They make their way out to the parking lot, where Alex leans up against the driver’s side of Kyle’s car. 

“Hey!”

“I’m not letting you get in until you tell me what’s up with you.”

Kyle is so not in the mood for this. He walks around to the passenger side, intending on climbing across. Which is a really horrible idea. He gets one leg over the center console and reaches out an arm to balance himself, and his whole world goes white with pain. 

He slowly sinks back into the passenger seat, feeling his body shaking involuntarily. The too-familiar hot tears of pain are pouring down his cheeks, and he’s trying not to take the shuddering breaths his body so desperately needs, because they’ll only make the pain worse. 

Alex’s hand is on his arm again, and then Alex is turning Kyle’s body so he’s facing out of the passenger door, towards him. Kyle knows this only because he can feel a slight breeze on his face, since his eyes are screwed shut against the pain. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Alex asks, and his voice is as soft as anything. “What’s wrong, Kyle?”

He can’t speak. It hurts too much. His face is burning from tears and from shame and his chest is burning with horrible pain and it hurts so much and he just wants it to stop and -

Then it’s worse, it’s worse, it’s so much worse. Alex’s arms are around him in a gesture that would be the most comforting thing in the world were it not for the sheer amount of pain their presence is generating. He must scream, because all of a sudden Alex’s arms draw back. 

Kyle risks opening his eyes, hoping Alex hasn’t left completely. He doesn’t want to be alone. 

“Kyle, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

He nods, minutely, and sees Alex’s face fall through a haze of tears. It’s not your fault, he thinks desperately. You didn’t know. 

“Are you hurt? I mean, were you hurt before?”

Another small nod.

“I’m sorry, Kyle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Alex sounds pained, almost like he doesn’t think Kyle will believe him. 

That gets through the pain enough to let him speak. “Not your fault,” he whispers. “Didn’t...wanna tell you.”

Alex shakes his head. “I should’ve seen that you were hurting,” he says. “And then I went and made it worse, thinking your pain was just emotional and that maybe you just needed a hug.” He scoffs, like he thinks that was a stupid line of reasoning.

“Alex,” Kyle says, forcing his voice to be a little stronger. “Shut up. Y’ were helping.”

“But-”

“No.”

Alex sighs in defeat. “Okay,” he concedes. “Not my fault.”

“Mine,” Kyle says.

“That’s not how this works,” Alex protests. “How is it your fault?” he asks, after a beat.

“Stupid,” Kyle mumbles. “Fell ‘n hit my ribs...knew they were broken...didn’t tell anyone.”

“Kyle,” Alex says, a mix between exasperated and worried. “Why not?”

He’d shrug, were he physically capable. “Didn’t want to.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Don’ need the hospital. Nothing to do about it. Jus’...wanna go home.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees, not even for a second insisting that they do anything else. “We’ll leave my car here. Give me your keys.”

Kyle lets go of the keys he hadn’t realized he was still holding. They’ve left red marks on his palm where they’d dug into his closed fist. 

Alex takes the keys and very gently pushes Kyle’s body to face the front of the car, and then brushes his hair off of his forehead with a light touch that feels like the nicest thing in the world to his warm skin. Alex starts the car, reaching across Kyle to buckle his seatbelt, which now presses against his left side and is a great deal less painful. 

“So it’s your ribs,” Alex says, after they’ve been driving for a few minutes.

“Yeah.”

“And they’re broken.”

“Yeah.”

Alex leaves the conversation at that, though something in his tone tells Kyle they’re not done talking about all of this. The rest of the ride home is quiet, though not uncomfortable, except of course for the pain, which still increases every time there’s a slight bump in the road or the car changes speeds. He’s crying again, though it’s entirely possible he never stopped. 

They reach Kyle’s place, and Alex helps him navigate his way to the door. It’s an incredibly painful journey, but Kyle tries his best not to lean too heavily into Alex, mindful of his leg and not in the mood to be the cause of any more pain. 

Alex slips his hand into Kyle’s pocket and grabs his house key, then wraps his arm around Kyle’s waist as he starts to list to the side. He inserts the key into the lock and turns it, then leads Kyle inside and directly to the couch.

Kyle very carefully sinks down onto the couch in a sitting position. He hears Alex walking around, apparently gathering...things, and then sees Alex standing in front of him with his arms full of various medical supplies, food, a bottle of water, a blanket…

He moves to say something, but Alex interrupts him. “I know you said you can’t do anything about your ribs, but I’ve got some ice for any swelling and some pain meds and some food and water because you really do need to eat, and blankets so you can sleep out here…” He trails off. Kyle gives him a little smile, for once glad there are still tears dripping down his face, so Alex won’t see him again tearing up at his sheer kindness. 

Alex gets to work in a very businesslike manner, stuffing a pillow up against the arm of the couch and guiding Kyle to lie back against it, picking up his legs and setting them onto the couch. He pulls off Kyle’s shoes and very gently undoes the buttons of his shirt, until it’s open enough to reveal his bruised side, which can’t look any better than it had earlier, if Alex’s horrified gasp is anything to go by.

“Kyle.”

“‘S bad. I know.”

Fingers gently touch the bruise, not hurting as much as Kyle expects. They’re cool against the burning feeling, and they don’t press into it. Alex drapes a soft hand towel over the bruise, then lies an ice pack atop it. 

Kyle is familiar with the sensation, having done a similar thing earlier, but it still hurts. He sucks in a sharp breath, which of course only exacerbates the pain. 

Alex’s hand moves to his face, cupping it with that same gentleness. “I know it hurts,” he says, “but it’ll help. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Kyle whispers back, because he does know. That doesn’t stop it from hurting, though. 

As though reading that thought, Alex holds out an opened bottle of ibuprofen. “You’ve probably taken way too many of these today, but I trust you’re not going to overdose.”

He lets Alex shake two of the pills into his hand, which he very carefully and slowly reaches up to his mouth. He swallows the pills dry, which is a terrible mistake. He coughs on them and feels his ribs explode with pain again. He groans. He is so damn tired of this. 

Alex’s hand is back, wiping away the fresh tears of pain from his face. “Easy,” he says, and holds out a bottle of water. Kyle takes it with a shaking hand and can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed when Alex’s hand joins it, helping him lift it to his mouth. 

He drinks a little water and feels the pain minutely recede. Alex pulls the bottle away, and Kyle leans his head back into the pillow, closing his eyes.

“I’m not gonna make you eat anything right now,” Alex says, and he holds up the assortment of items he’d brought from the kitchen. “But I’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything all day, so when you wake up you are going to eat. Okay?”

Though it’s phrased as a question, Kyle knows full well it isn’t. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“Good,” Alex replies, and puts a soft hand in his hair. “Now sleep. I’ll be here to remind you of that promise when you wake up.”

 thanks so much for reading this!!! like i said i am a huge sucker for kylex and i love them so so much :) i hope you enjoyed!

[bigsnzstanacct]

Allergy/Soulmate Scenarios

A basic allergy/soulmate concept with several variations:

Theme: everyone has a specific thing they’re allergic to UNTIL they meet their soulmate, at which point said allergy disappears.

Variations:

-This can be a bit of a mystery soulmate thing bc while the allergy going away is extremely sudden, it’s not as though said allergen is guaranteed to be around the instant you meet said soulmate. So someone realizes that their allergy is gone and then they have to bashfully but hopefully ask the coworker they have the hots for/the person they went on a date with last week/their new roommate if their soulmate allergy is also gone, which can also lead to fun inducing scenarios as the potential soulmate checks to see if this violent, intense allergy has gone away.

-Alternatively, someone that is obsessed with finding their soulmate, and so keeps some of their soulmate allergen--let’s say tulips--in their dwelling at all times, and sniffs it every night, and perhaps even keeps a log of every person they meet each day to be a certain as possible that they’ll definitely find their soulmate whenever they arrive. And of course never underestimate the emotional whump potential of the character that is certain they have found their soulmate, only to start sneezing, miserably, at their allergen, confirming the person they thought was it was not the one. (Of course, plotwise that person *could* be their romantic partner, while they end up having a platonic soulmate).

-Another option: the allergy goes away once you meet your soulmate and as long as you stay in contact. BUT if you’re separated from your soulmate for too long (whether physically separated or just not keeping in touch), said allergy gets worse and worse and worse, from endless, debilitating sneezing fits to various degrees of giant!sneeze (if you’re into that) to serious health consequences if you want to take it in a whumpy direction.

-Also: it is not uncommon to have singles parties full of allergens (perhaps people even bring their own) in a kind of “am I still allergic to this” speed dating. It sounds silly, but it’s worked a few times!

-Or: let’s take away the proviso that the allergen is not necessarily present when the soulmates meet, and by the workings of Fate, said allergen is always there when you meet your soulmate. Let’s say further that soulmates always have the same Soulmate Allergy. So basically every time someone meets their soulmate, they meet them in the context of an intense, violent sneezing fit (bc of course the allergy gets worse right before it is extinguished, cmon) that suddenly clears as the two meet and look at each other through watery eyes with red sniffy nostrils. Obviously the truest place for love to bloom.

-Let’s reverse the initial concept: rather than LOSING an allergy when you meet your soulmate, you GAIN an allergy when you meet your soulmate. Obviously this allergy  is something that is present at your first meeting (may or may not be the same for both parties, but it is considered an especially good sign if the allergy you get is the same), so once again people meet their soulmates in the context of an allergic meltdown, lol. This also has fun rules bc the soulmate allergen can be anything that’s present when you first meet your soulmate. Sure, common allergens like dust or pollen or dander happen, but depending on the context... what if you meet your soulmate in a completely sanitized environment? A sudden allergy to rubber or glass or some particularly cleaning solution is not unheard-of.

-Finally, a combination of scenarios. There is a pre-soulmate allergy which of course is different things for each person, but once you meet your soulmate, that allergy disappears and is replaced by one you share, and that one is almost always a flower. It is considered good luck to have said flower present at events involving the relationship: weddings, engagements, perhaps the first time a couple looks for a place together (also events or activities that are important to platonic soulmates). The flower chosen also supposedly says something about the nature of the soulmate bond, ofc. This also combines quite neatly with an “everybody has the fetish” scenario, with couples routinely and enthusiastically inducing each other with their shared soulmate allergy...

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2019 Day 2: Explosion

Fandom: MCU, Spider-Man Characters: Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Tony Stark Tags: Explosion, Whump, Hurt Peter, Hurt Ned, Family, Guilt Words: 3.383

Summary: Peter has a headache that does not want to go away. Less an ache, really, than a feeling. Like something is just waiting for him to lose focus so it can stab him in the back. He is being silly, he just did not sleep. End of story. (Then, of course, someone tries to blow him up.) 

---

Peter should have called in sick. He is saying that now in the safety of his mind, while he is navigating the halls of the school on shaky legs. As if he would have ever done the smart thing and admitted defeat when it is his own fault that he is aching all over. Maybe that will teach him not to meddle in things bigger than him and engage the kind of bad guys in fights that are definitely out of his league. He does not think so, but considering how he feels, he has hopes not to make the same mistake twice.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Ned asks from his side, frowning when Peter immediately tries to straighten. “You don’t look –”

“Ned, I’m fine,” Peter cuts him off. “I promise. It was a long night.”

At least half of that is true. It was a long night. Long enough that he barely remembers how he made it home, or how he managed to sneak in through his window without alerting May.

“You’re limping,” Ned points out.

Looking at his feet, Peter realizes Ned is right. He already knew he had twisted his ankle the night before, but he is usually better at masking it.

“Give it a few hours,” Peter replies, more cheerful than he feels. He skipped breakfast in favour of spending more time in bed. Only now that is making him feel even worse.

“This is seriously awesome,” Ned says with that special enthusiasm he reserves for everything that separates Spider-Man from a baseline human. Then he grows serious again. “But perhaps you should go home.”

Peter shakes his head immediately. “I can’t.”

He was not supposed to go out last night. Karen has been sworn to secrecy, although she has only agreed reluctantly, considering that last night was a really close call and Peter is by no means sure he will not still be limping tonight. If he goes home early, the school will call May, and May will have questions Peter does not wants to answer. And if she thinks Peter is keeping things from him, she will call Mr. Stark, and Mr. Stark is not in the habit of taking no for an answer.

Also, Peter is almost out of web fluid. He was going to make more in Mr. Stark’s workshop, but he will have to avoid that until most of his wounds have healed. Karen might be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt sometimes, but FRIDAY will snitch him out to Mr. Stark the moment he steps into the foyer. He will have to use the school lab for now.

It is not a big deal. He has done so for long enough. He is just really not feeling well. His body is stitching itself back together. The bruises are pulsing, his broken ribs are itching. All of that is all right, but he has a headache that does not want to go away. Less an ache, really, than a feeling. Like something is just waiting for him to lose focus so it can stab him in the back.

He is being silly, he just did not sleep. End of story.

“You can take a nap in Physics. I’ll take notes for you. Although it’s not like you need them.” Ned has been talking for a while as Peter’s thoughts drifted off, but it appears as if Ned has decided to trust Peter for now.

Peter has done a lot of dumb and dangerous things in his life. He has been ungrateful and secretive. He does not like to see reason even in the face of overwhelming evidence that someone else might know what is good for him. Yet, Ned has never left him hanging.

“Thanks, man,” Peter says, bumping Ned’s shoulder with his own. He immediately has to swallow a whelp. He is sore all over.

Ned sighs, not happy but making due. “Just take care of yourself.”

Instead of making a promise he cannot possibly keep, Peter mutters something about his locker and limps off before Ned can stop him. He ignores the way his chest hurts, knowing it is not just because of his ribs.

The day appears to drag on endlessly. Peter does sleep through Physics and feels somewhat refreshed afterwards, but this is not something a short nap can fix.

After school is over, a few precious vials of new web fluid in his back, Peter and Ned are walking to the bus stop together. Peter is feeling much lighter now that his bed is getting closer with each step.

“So I thought we could have a Star Wars marathon this weekend,” Ned says, as enthusiastic as ever, making up for Peter simply shuffling on next to him. “My parents won’t be home, but I know they’ll leave me pizza money. It’ll be awesome.”

An entire weekend with Ned would be. Ever since Peter became Spider-Man, they are not nearly spending enough time together anymore, although it has gotten better since the secret is out.

“I’m busy with my internship on Friday,” Peter says, even though he will have to see how much of his body has fixed itself until then.

Ned knows that his ‘internship’ is mostly him working on secret projects with Mr. Stark himself, but Peter is always paranoid when they are out in the open.

“That leaves all of Saturday and Sunday.”

Which Peter often uses for patrol, but Peter will not mind sitting out a couple of days. He needs a break, and time with Ned always makes him feel better.

“I’d love to,” Peter says. Then he grins and stares Ned squarely in the face. “We’ll start with the prequels?”

The look of betrayal on Ned’s face is enough to make Peter burst out laughing. It hurts his ribs but is nonetheless the best he has felt all day. Of course, that is when they have to be interrupted.

“Hey, kid,” someone calls from behind them. It is an unfamiliar voice, slightly mocking. It has Peter’s hackles rising.

When Peter turns around, he sees a man with a scarf pulled over his nose and a hood drawn deep into his face. He has the feeling he is missing something. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something thrown at them from ahead. Peter’s senses scream.

“Pet-” Ned says, but at that point, Peter is already moving.

He is glancing at the object at their feet, which is looking innocently enough but blinks ominously. Not wasting any time, Peter grabs Ned’s arms and pushes forward, forcing them both into the mouth of an alleyway. They have not gotten far when the air around them is torn apart and Peter is at once blinded and deafened when something blows up.

A bomb, Peter’s mind pops up helpfully. His second thought is Ned. The blast pulls them apart no matter that Peter is trying to hold on. He scrambles for control but is thrown against something hard, feels his healing ribs groan under the pressure. The back of his head collides with the wall and he shuts his eyes against the pain, not knowing where is up and down, unable to make sense of anything that has happened.

He is Peter Parker. He was walking home with his best friend. Nobody has a reason to attack him. Nobody could know to attack him. Except perhaps – the men from last night. The weapons deal Peter stumbled onto, the base he followed them back to and was subsequently jumped at in.

He did not win that fight by any means, but he got out. With how little he was himself last night, could he have noticed someone following him or slipping him a tracker? But that would mean –

Peter forces his eyes to open. His world has turned into a field of grey. Dust and soot are whirling in the air, pieces of wood and molten plastic are strewn on the ground before him. He cannot hear anything over the ringing in his ears, and his vision is hindered by the black creeping up from the edges.

Ned, he thinks and pushes himself upright despite the pain. His entire body feels aflame like he was torn apart and stitched back together wrong. He reaches automatically back for his suit, but his backpack must have been blown away by the force of the blast. His web slingers too are gone since he wanted to refill them first as soon as he got home. Peter only has himself. That has to be enough for now.

The first steps he takes are wobbly. It feels like the earth is shaking underneath him, but he puts one foot in front of the other. He still does not see very well. There is no immediate movement he can detect, which means they might not be attacked any further. It also means that Ned could be –

“Stop stalling, Parker,” he says, but does not hear it beyond an increase of the ringing in his head. He hopes he is not going to go deaf.

Steadying himself against a bent trash container, Peter looks around, trying to get a better sense of the situation. There is still nobody coming towards him. But there, a few feet away from him, half-buried under pieces of a fence, lies a shape.

“Ned,” Peter calls, feeling his throat protest against the strain. Then he is moving, faster than he would have thought possible with all the pain he is in.

It is Ned, looking comically small covered in soot. He is not moving. A shock travels through Peter as he lets himself fall to the ground next to Ned.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, still not able to hear much beyond the ringing and his own panicked thoughts. “Don’t do that to me.”

He reaches for Ned’s shoulders, trying to remember what the first aid training Mr. Stark made him go through said about explosions. All he can remember, about all kinds of trauma, is to never move the victim too much in case of spinal fractures to avoid making things worse.

Ned is lying face down, though, and Peter needs to know whether he is breathing. The alternative would be – Allowing himself no second thoughts, Peter pushes at Ned’s body, turns him onto his back. Ned does not move, does not give any sign that he notices what is happening.

Holding his breath, Peter reaches out to feel for a pulse. Distantly, he sees that there is blood on his own hands, leaving a glistening crimson trail on Ned’s pale skin.

There, fluttering and barely palpable, is Ned’s pulse. A sob escapes Peter’s throat and he feels it with every fibre of his being. He does not think he could have lived with himself if he had gotten his best friend killed.

They need an ambulance. Ned needs a hospital, and Peter does not feel so good himself, although the pain has lessened immensely now that he knows Ned is alive. Just as importantly, he needs to talk to Mr. Stark, needs to inform him about the attack, about someone possibly knowing his identity. He needs to keep Ned safe until help arrives.

His watch. Help is within reach. Fighting against the dizziness, Peter rearranges his body so that he is shielding Ned from everything that might be coming for them and keeps his eyes on the mouth of the alley, still expecting the man and any possible accomplices to appear.

With shaking fingers, Peter reaches for the watch. It has a large crack down its display, which tells him that he is lucky to still be standing at all because it is meant to withstand large amounts of force. It is still working, though, to Peter’s great relief.

“Karen,” he gasps as soon as the interface is activated. He does hear his own voice now, although it is nothing more than a distant rumble. “We need help. Ned is hurt. There was an explosion.”

He cannot make out her answer, but the display blinks in what he hopes is an affirmative. Then, there is nothing more to do than to stand guard, and to hope he does not black out until help is here.

He makes it until the distorted sound of sirens pierces his muffled hearing. With a sigh, he lets go.

 ---

When Peter comes to, it is to the sterile white of a hospital room and the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. His first thought, before he even fully remembers what has happened, is relief at having gotten his hearing back.

Then he shoots upright, his mind filled with the memory of the man following them on their way home after school, the explosion, Ned. Wild-eyed, he looks around in the room, eyes jumping from his chart to the monitors at his side and finally to the bed a few feet away from his own, and the familiar shape inside it.

“Ned,” Peter breathes, staring until he catches the regular rising and falling of Ned’s ribcage, and hears the beeping of the second heart monitor. Ned is breathing on his own, is not in intensive care, looks like he could wake any second. Something unknots inside Peter’s chest, although the guilt he carries only intensifies.

When he moves his legs, intent on getting over to his friend because he still does not fully trust his eyes, he notices a red post-it note pinned to his blanket. He recognized the scrawl immediately, soothing even more of his worries.

I would have gotten you a private room, but I thought you’d appreciate seeing your friend once you wake up. I took care of your problem. Call me when you are awake. Don’t do something this stupid ever again. -T.S.

Mr. Stark knows. He must have come, must have gotten them to the hospital. With the problem, Peter is sure, he means the men Peter angered and who followed him home. He is in Mr. Stark’s debt again, but for now, he does not have it in him to feel guilty for that too. Ned is alive. That is all that matters.

Taking care with his IV line and the monitor as to not alert the medical staff, Peter makes his way over to Ned’s bed. He is still somewhat dizzy, but he is already doing so much better.

“Ned,” he calls quietly when he makes it over, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress because he is sure his legs will not carry him for much longer.

He should not try to wake Ned up but he cannot help himself. Ned’s hand lies on the blanket, a bandage travelling up until it disappears under the sleeve of the hospital gown. With utmost care, Peter picks up Ned’s hand and takes it between both of his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have noticed we were being followed. If had listened to you and gone home early, you would have never been in danger. I’m –”

Supposed to be better, lies on Peter’s tongue, but he never manages to say it because, in that moment, Ned’s fingers twitch. It does not feel like a coordinated motion but not like a creation of sleep either.

“Ned?” Peter asks, leaning forward to not miss any possible change.

Ned mumbles something inaudible, his muscles tensing the way they do when someone wakes up from a deep slumber. Peter finds himself holding his breath until Ned’s eyes open briefly, blinking against the blinding white of the room.  

“Ned, you’re awake.” Peter exhales with a sigh, so unbelievably relieved. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have known what was happening. I should have never put you in danger. I’m –”

“Peter,” Ned says, interrupting his rumbling. His voice is weak, barely audible against the beeping of the monitors and the thundering of Peter’s heart

He closes his eyes again, causing Peter to shift forward, clinging to Ned’s hand, afraid of his friend going somewhere he cannot follow.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Peter pleads. He does not want to be left alone with his thoughts and his guilt that is now surging. “How are you feeling? Should I get a doctor?”

Ned blinks, but it is obvious he does it mostly for Peter’s benefit. It might not even be good to keep him awake, but in movies, everybody is always afraid of wounded people falling asleep. Of course, Ned should be out of immediate danger if he is here with Peter, in a regular looking hospital room.

“’M fine,” Ned says. It comes out slurred, but his lips twitch into something that might be an encouraging smile.

Peter feels only worse that Ned is still trying to cheer him up, despite Peter being the reason he even is in this situation. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, feeling like he is going to repeat these words a hundred more times if he is allowed to.

Squeezing Peter’s hands back, Ned appears to come more awake, groaning a bit when the pain hits.

“You should be,” he says, although still with that half-smile and without heat. “The last thing I heard was you telling me you wanted to watch the Star Wars prequels. That hurt more than the –” Ned’s speech has become livelier the more he said, but now he cuts himself off and takes the time to look down at himself and then at Peter. “Was there an explosion?”

Peter almost sobs with relief. He does not know anything about medical care, but this alone makes him believe that Ned will be all right. He has not gotten his best friend killed.

“It won’t happen again,” Peter promises because he will do his best to keep his friends safe from now on.

Ned’s eyes widen as if realization is only just hitting now. “You saved me from an explosion?”

Pressure on Peter’s throat makes it hard to swallow, let alone form words. He cannot let Ned think that he is not at fault here.

“I was the reason there was an explosion,” Peter says, his voice thick with pent-up emotions.

Ned raises his head to better look at Peter, trailing his visible skin just like Peter has done with him earlier, cataloguing bruises. “Are you all right?” he then asks and means it.

Years of friendship and Ned still manages to take Peter by surprise, never reacting the way he is supposed to, never pushing Peter away even if it would be healthier to do so.

“Ned, I –” Peter tries to argue because he is not a hero in this, perhaps not ever, despite his best attempts.

“You got me out,” Ned cuts him off, sharp despite the way his lids are drooping. It is too soon for them to have a conversation like this, no matter that Peter wants to shower his best friend with apologies. “I know you’ll try to blame yourself. I think I won’t be able to stay awake through it.”

It must be the pain medication or simply the fact that Ned’s body needs sleep to heal. Much more so than Peter’s, which still feels like he has been through that explosion but that lets him walk around already.

“You need to rest,” Peter says, feeling selfish for having woken Ned and then keeping him awake.

“You too,” Ned mumbles, but he is already drifting off again. “Tell me everything later.”

Despite himself, Peter smiles. How does he deserve such a loyal friend? “I will.”

Peter watches as Ned falls back asleep, searches his face for signs of distress or pain. He knows the guilt will not go anywhere anytime soon, but he can have this for now. He can rest knowing that Ned will be fine.

Struggling to his feet, Peter gets back to his own feet. He is still tired too, and his entire body aches. Sleep sounds like the right idea. First, though, he needs to call Mr. Stark and explain what happened. Mostly, he needs to thank him for getting Ned and him out. For keeping an eye out for Peter, always.

He has never been gladder that he got to meet his hero. Perhaps that means that not all hope is lost where Peter is concerned.