#suicide by storm

[nadsdraws]

Tags: edizzy, alternate ending to ep3, MCD, angst, they love each other, attempted suicide, suicide by storm

Izzy's clutching the gun in his hand, aiming it at his own head. There's truly nothing left for him. He's lost his leg, he lost Edward, the crew didn't even want to grant him the small mercy of killing him. He has to fucking do everything himself around here. 

He's on the verge of consciousness when he pulls the trigger. At least that's what he tells himself later—he must have blacked out from the pain and blood loss. 

When he manages to crawl out on the deck later on, Edward's plan is plainly obvious to him. Just as plainly obvious is that he must be stopped.

It physically pains him but he pulls the trigger, wounding Edward on the arm, stopping him from setting the ship on fire. After that, everything happens so fast—Fang charges at Ed and Jim neutralizes him with a cannon ball. They hold the ship together until the storm passes, leaving them to a slow and painful death.

By all accounts Edward should be dead by now but Izzy doesn’t let the crew get rid of his body. He feels guilty. He feels he pushed Edward into this spiral. He goes down to the room he used to lie in not that long ago and cleans Edward's face. Tells him everything he wasn't brave enough to tell him all the years they spent together. Tells him he's sorry.

Just as well. Bonnet on Zheng Yi Sao's ship finds them not long after. Another miracle that has no right to exist. Bonnet rescues them and takes Izzy with them, which takes Izzy off guard so much he goes to thank him. He thought there would be no space for him on the ship but the crew surprises him once again, making him a brand new leg and leaving it by his door. He even sings for them in return, something he hasn't done since he met Edward.

And then Zheng Yi Sao's fleet blowing up suddenly merges with the roaring thunder of a storm and a loud sound of wood cracking—as if a ship has been torn in two two right next to Izzy's ear.

Izzy opens his eyes to see Edward bursting into his dark, filthy cabin under the deck. There might have been some fire on the deck behind him, Izzy isn't sure.

He squirms on his bed but it only makes the pain of his fresh wound shoot up his left leg. He is still holding the gun that must have knocked him out.

It was just a dream, he realises, just his pathetic little dream, baring all of his deepest wants and desires. He dreamed of being accepted by the crew, of singing to them. Or Edward saying sorry for his leg. He dreamed of Bonnet coming back because Bonnet always comes back in his dreams, but Edward left him in the end, and Izzy… Izzy was good to Ed this time round, told him he could be whoever he wanted to be.

Of course that would never happen to him. It was never real.

What's real is this musty old room reeking of sweat and blood. Of disease. Of an old man dying.

"I knew you'd wait for me." Ed says cryptically with a wild excitement in his voice.

"Eddie?" Izzy mutters.

"Shh, it's fine, it's nearly done, Iz" Edward tells him softly, sitting by the side of his bed again.

"What is?"

"Our retirement."

Izzy blinks, his vision is blurry, but Edward looks beautiful with his messy bun and smudged make up.

The only retirement we get is death.

The ship is being rocked on waves so strong Izzy never experienced before. Edward smiles to him though, looks calmly down at him. He's at peace, Izzy can tell. After everything that happened. Is this where he wanted them to end up? It doesn't matter now. They're here, they're together.

Edward weaves his hand into Izzy's sticky hair, the touch so tender Izzy leans into it without thinking, and closes his eys. He's tired, he's lived life long enough to fill a few lifetimes.

Izzy should have noticed what Edward was planning all along, should have known that he wouldn't want to go alone. It only gets to show how sloppy he's become in deciphering Edward, in guessing his moods. But this is fitting. A retirement for the both of them.

For Izzy there was never any other future.

"Our retirement," Izzy mutters back in agreement and Edward smiles and leans over to press his own lips to Izzy's.

It's the lightest of touches, not at all how Izzy would expect Blackbeard to kiss. But of course here now it's not Blackbeard, it's Eddie with him again. Bare of all the personas he claimed along the way.

Izzy kisses back with as much strength as he has left. The wind howls outside ominously, the crack of wood, the sound of mast being reduced to splinters echoing in the background.

Izzy digs his hands into Edward's shoulders, pressing him closer as the water finally blows up the walls of his cabin. For a moment there is chaos, panic surging up his veins, his body fighting to survive, but he lets it all behind.

He's at peace.

They cling to each other in the anticipation of what's to come. The captain always goes down with his ship and Izzy would never leave his captain.

My AO3

[bug-slappy]

What Serizawa lore and dialogue in the manga that got cut from the anime are you talking about specifically I'm curious /gen

THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO GO HAM!!! any adaptation is gonna have its cutbacks due to time restraints, but i feel like so many of serizawas lines/important moments got totally butchered or cut completely just to be replaced with cute moments that never happen in the manga.

!! MP100 SPOILERS HEAD obvi !!

First case: In the manga, when serizawa finally stands up to toichiro, things pan out COMPLETELY differently!

I feel like this is a really important moment for serizawa. whatever false idea of friendship serizawa had left is ripped away from him. its unnerving to see how brutal and ruthless toichiro is, finally showing his true colours to serizawa after manipulating him for 3 years. I feel like its also a really important moment for reigen to bare witness to. serizawa and toichiros relationship serves as an exaggerated parallel to mob and reigens. A powerful and persuasive man using a naïve esper for their powers under the false promise of learning to control their powers, whether it helps them for better or for worse. big difference is that reigen does help mob in the style of important life lessons and guiding him towards being a good person. after the separation arc, reigen realizes how manipulative he's been to mob, he becomes a better person because of it. but i feel like after the TOICHIRO fight specifically is where we see a very clear difference in how reigen treats mob. he becomes a lot more patient and less controlling. it bums me out that this interaction was cut completely from the anime. I think it must have been for time because they also cut ekubos moments.

Serizawa not knowing what getting arrested is:

Calling the Yokai hunter out on his bluff:

they replaced this with the awesome fight scene but still an awesome line i wish they kept it was so bad ass lol:

But the most shocking thing that they cut from the finale was this scene, after mob goes to reigen and serizawa for advice on asking out tsubomi:

not only is it fruity,,... but more importantly its a super important moment!!! seeing reigen open up like this in front of another person is something we havent seen up until this point!! mob and reigen have impacted each other so much, and its a FANTASTIC segway into the final chapter! absolutely crazy to me that they would cut such a deep personal moment especially considering how much BONES loves reigen.. it gets "implied" through a quick silent moment between reigen and serizawa (all they show in the anime is serizawa looking surprised at him)

not only that, but its so interesting how easily reigen opens up around serizawa. he doesn't do that around anyone else (probably because serizawa is the only person near his age playing an active role in his life bro has no friends)

and its incredible how well serizawa can already read reigen after such a short time working at S&S. serizawa tends to be quiet and hang in the background, but in the manga it has a purpose; hes observing the world around him. when he does have something to say it has importance and is carefully thought out.

in the anime so much of that important dialogue is cut and replaced with his moe salaryman moments which sure its cute, but when you know what he was really supposed to be saying its such a major let down. I feel like the writers didnt know about serizawas huge fan following hes had since his premier, so they didn't really care about him. thats my best guess as to why so many good moments got cut

also this:

serizawa mentioned during his fight with mob that hes accidentally sent his mother flying before with his powers,,, exactly like mobs traumatic moment when he sent ritsu flying and injured him when they were kids... as i mentioned earlier, serizawa has always been a very clear parallel to mob (i can talk more about that in another post if someone asks). I was really hoping theyd go deeper into this moment in the anime but it GOT CUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RAAUGH!!!!

and this page right after.. MAN:

BROTHER.... to me, i feel like this is the moment that made serizawa certain reigen doesnt have powers. not only does he have a talent for reading people, but he has to know by now. if he thought reigen had powers to protect himself, he wouldn't be saving his ass all the time like he does.

he knows reigen wont be fine on his own. he knows that reigen has something hugely important to tell him, important enough that reigen is willing to die to run out there and tell him

WHICH BY THE WAY THE MOST DISRESPECTFUL BUTCHERING OF A SCENE OF ALL TIME:

from what ive researched it seems like a common occurrence in japanese culture to remove your shoes before attempting suicide. this is such an intense and impactful moment for reigen to be removing his shoes. looking around and seeing the situation hes in, but still throwing himself into harms way so he can protect mob like hes done so many times before, but in this scene hes making the concious decision to go in, knowing the risk involved. INSANE THAT IN THE ANIME they made removing his shoes some sort of way to get better grip to run. obviously, running barefoot in rubble and destruction is not going to give you better foot grip.. I think they did that to make the scene more lighthearted but it just feels like poor taste.

i feel like the style choices combined with the dialogue cuts in S3 seriously take away from the intense impact of the manga. ONE has such a talent for writing characters to be fleshed out human beings as well as interpersonal relationships. season 1 and 2 did such a good job of showing that even when there had to be scene cuts.

if you havent already, I think you should for sure read the manga. its even more life changing to me than the anime already is, and ONE has a beautiful art style and can convey strong emotions better than anything else ive ever seen. I have more good serizawa moments than this that were cut, and a lot of dialoue between mob and ??? was removed too, but i don't want to spoil every funny joke or character building moment.

this is why i think everyone should read the manga and the REIGEN spin off book :) thank you for reading through this!

ps: devastated when this got cut

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

The Dominox as a malicious entity is so interesting to me because there is a clear endpoint to its psychological manipulation of its victims. It's not doing this (entirely) for funsies it's doing this to try and get its victims to a place where they hate themselves so much that they willingly give themselves over to it, because that is how it feeds.

We can see this in the vision Chetney experienced while under its influence. Making toys for and bringing joy to children, and the unrestrained raw animal power he gained when he became a werewolf are both things that Chetney loves and that bring him a considerable amount of joy. The Dominox however seized on the idea these might be incompatible loves, and forced him to experience murdering children while in his werewolf form, many of whom were holding toys he had made for them. How can he consider himself to be bringing joy to children when all he is doing is luring them into a false sense of security and putting them in harm's way? How can he revel in the power and ferocity he gains as a werewolf when that power is destroying the innocent? How can he possibly not consider himself to be monster? Wouldn't it be better if instead of continuing to leave ruin in his wake he just died?

While doubtless there's going to be more to Dorian's Dominox experience that we will see during the live show even the bit that we saw at the very end of episode 97 carries that same undercurrent of, "Wouldn't it be better if you just died?". The vision he sees is of Cyrus in the place of one of the many bodies hung up on chains in that room is Aeor, accusing him of dragging Cyrus into his problems and thereby being responsible for his death. Dorian should have let Cyrus handle his own issues because by trying to help him all he did was lead him to his grave. By trying to help he instead brought ruin to someone he loves. And if that's what he does wouldn't it be better for them if he was gone?

[90sgreggaraki]

Ramsey, Russ. Rembrandt Is in the Wind: Learning to Love Art Through the Eyes of Faith. United States, Zondervan, 2022. x

[weirwood]

"All men must die," Dany agreed, "but not for a long while, we may pray."

Death eventually comes for us all. It is part of the cycle of life, yet we still fight like hell against it. Much like how winter always comes, and we must fight against the dark and the cold. Survival is the greatest human instinct.

During Dany’s darkest night, it was her dragon dreams which helped her to survive:

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night …

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

Where fire is used to ward off the cold during the winter, here it is used to ward off Dany’s suicide. We are shown fire as being the ultimate tool of survival against the dark, both literally and metaphorically.

This is why Dany‘s status as Azor Ahai is important, because despite her position as a female slave in exile, she has repeatedly defeated the odds and come out stronger on the other side; because she embodies the human will to survive and fight another day; and because she has already beaten the darkness with her fire.

[s0fter-sin]

punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!

ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him

no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)

"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"

he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple

he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet

soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost

ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch

he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing

he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."

he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."

he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-

ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-

“johnny!”

he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive

the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"

soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice

“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"

soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it

it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel

ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap

his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive

soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around

soap is the priority

he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe

then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk

[fir3flytv]

Stalker!SSKTJL!Batman x Reader

went a little crazy thinking of how KTJL Batman stalked TFX for some of the game and I’m not ok

tw: Stalking, kidnapping, reader is put in a cage and chained

You’re just walking home one day and you notice a figure on the roof tops. You think nothing of it and go home. Everyday, it’s the same thing and it keeps getting clearer and clearer, until you finally figure out what it is. That night, when you go to bed, something feels off.

When you wake up, you’re not in your bed. You’re in a cage, hands and feet chained. The room around you is stone like, almost as though you were in a cave. Suddenly, the figure you’ve seen oh so many times comes out of the shadows, revealing just exactly who it is.

The Batman.

The man who was suppose to be a hero, a protector, had captured you, taken you, kidnapped you. And God knows what he’ll do to you.

[hopelesscatdad]

Jackson Storm HCs:

Trigger warning: half suicide attempt, brief mention of homophobia

In the book he never liked irl racing, and I imagine he never does throughout the first season of racing.

Halfway through the off season he panicked about having to race again and takes off on the highway, wrecking semi-intentionally into the barriers and seriously harming himself in Arizona, much like Sally.

Lightning finds Jackson on one of his adventures around the country with Mater, they bring him back to town to fix him up.

While healing over time in town he takes an interest in Ramones painting, and eventually becomes an apprentice, moving into the town and abandoning racing.

Over the course of the next year he softens and opens up, still massively introverted but no longer feeling the need to threaten others and prove his worth.

As a result he slowly gets closer and closer with Lightning who is single, until eventually they end up in a relationship despite Lightnings internalized homophobia.

They come out to the town a few years later.

Despite being taken in by Ramone, Jackson never develops the same sibling like bond with his daughter like Sally did when taken in by Flo due to his introverted and secluded nature.

[ikamigami]

Okay.. so I'm doing it.. y'all hate me for this theory but here it comes 🙈

So I think that Sun is actually a Wither Storm Dragon.. this is his true form.. (someone in the comments to this post said that Creator actually made Sun like that to be able to defeat Astrals)

I'm not kidding you when I say that I had a theory that Sun will change into a Wither Storm because this is his true form.. and I posted this theory on Discord.. but sadly I was dumb and I didn't take any screenshots so only those who was at that time with me on Discord know what I'm talking about..

I don't remember if people like it or not.. but I remember that other theory (not mine) became quite popular on Discord - Sun will turn into a monster just like in Steven Universe.. and his family will help him etc.

I thought that it's not the worst idea because I thought that it fit with how Sun perceives himself.. as a monster..

Anyway people thought that Sun will snap and turn into a monster but his family will help him and we'll get a happy ending..

But then Sun turned into a Dragon and people started saying that Sun will snap and turn into a Dragon-monster..

And let me tell you that Sun's answer about who's he afraid the most reminded me of these things.. these theories..

Because Sun said that he's afraid of Wither Storm.. a Wither Storm from their dimension.. like I get it he's scared because Wither Storm means the end of the world so it's reasonable why he's afraid..

But don't you find it a bit suspicious.. a bit ominous.. when Sun also said that he doesn't like his new "wither shards" abilities.. and also considering that we now learned that Wither Storms are actually Dragons and that they a different thing from positive and negative energy..

And let me repeat that for you.. we learned that Wither Storms are actually Dragons and Sun is somehow connected to Wither Storms..

And what did that say in this post?

"But then Sun turned into a Dragon.."

Sun turned into a Dragon..

By New Moon and Solar..

Back then it was an accident.. but Solar was using a specific word.. "test".. he wanted to test something with portal..

But what if now Nexus will kidnap Sun and Solar will join him (not because he'd do that normally but because Dark Sun has plans for him and we don't know what exactly he meant by that) and they will test Sun's "wither shards" abilities.. and his connection to Wither Storm.. and then Sun will transform into a Wither Storm Dragon..

And let me tell you more.. what if "Sun become a Dragon" episode is a foreshadowing of events?

Because in that episode both Solar and New Moon were oddly more mean and uncaring towards Sun (and this is why this episode was pissing me off so much xbnsndnx)

And Solar told New Moon to look after Sun to "make sure he doesn't kill himself".. yes, the way Solar said that was odd af.. even everyone on Discord server agreed with me on that.. because Solar could say "make sure that he won't get himself killed".. but he said "make sure he doesn't kill himself".. WHAT ?

And later I realized the weird thumbnail for Banban's gameplay "Sun's mental breakdown"..

Why they all look like that? And why they even here in the first place?

And later we had this thumbnail for Uno compilation..

I talked about the meaning of each dead character in the thumbnail and how Sun perceives each of these characters.. to say it simply it reflects his guilt regarding these characters and specific things/events related to each character.. (I can go into more detail later if someone would like me to ^^)

But anyway.. I still remember hallucination of BM saying to Sun that he'll see others.. what others.. and it was after he saw hallucination of Old Moon.. so HBM couldn't mean HOM.. so what others they meant.. WHAT ?

He meant that Sun will hallucinate other characters.. but because we didn't see that happening yet.. it means that it'll happen..

So now I'll get back to my theory: so Nexus kidnaps Sun (Solar either already joined him or will join him later) and he tries to find wither shards with Sun's "help" but later he becomes interested in connection that Sun has with Wither Storm because why he isn't affected by wither shards but others are? And he begans testing Sun.. and Sun turns into a Wither Storm Dragon..

And then Sun will have a mental breakdown and he'll hallucinate.. and he'll try to kill himself.. most probably by jumping into his own mana pool..

But if we'd like more angst Sun can also break something in Wither Storm Dragon form on accident because he's confused etc and it'll be Dazzle cause Nexus will also kidnap her to force Sun to be compliant.. and then Sun will have a mental breakdown and he'll hallucinate and "realize" that he's a monster and he'll try to kill himself..

But because I doubt that Sun as Wither Storm Dragon could die even in mana pool.. he'll survive but he'll be in a magic coma and Nexus will take his body out but his body will be back to normal.. and Nexus will held Sun's dead body and then he'll remember Eclipse's words and BOOM !

Sun dies because of Nexus' actions :)

Update: it can also be like someone said that Sun will die in Moon's arms because well Eclipse saw Moon and not Nexus..

And it'll be because of Astrals.. but I'm not so sure about that one.. but maybe it'll be that Astrals will appear and try to kill either Sun or Nexus or both.. and Sun will shield Nexus with his own body and die..

Nexus will be standing paralyzed and Moon will rush to Sun and he'll hold him in his arms in his last moments.. and then Nexus will remember Eclipse's words..

Idk when Moon will fight Nexus maybe after Sun's death..

And also I forgot that it'll most definitely happen during October takeover or at the end of it :)

[windtooth-plane]

YoOoo hidden niche of pearls

Soooo about the scavengers,, and the bombs

What was that all about HmMMM?

{HNOP: "His facility collapsed, however, his puppet was retrieved by Emerald Leaves of the Pines' slugcats. He had been living there for some time attached to the same structure with an emergency port umbilical cord, however, now I believe he headed to Chimes' can after Clock decided to go there on her own. I don't know the details, as almost all of the people I've mentioned hate me. Islands and I are still fri- . . . Accomplices... and Pines treats me like he treats everybody. Endless and I haven't talked.}

{TEXT: "Well... An iterator from another local group gave me a pearl. Something I was never supposed to have in the first place. I know that now. The pearl contained sensitive information regarding the self-destruct taboo. Needless to say, the iterator Endless Moving Nights was attempting to surpass it. After talking to an iterator called Eight Islands under Storm Clouds, he gave me the blueprints to highly explosive spears. I gave them to my scavs to use against Endless.}

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

}{ The Canary in the Gold Mine }{ AO3 }{ next part }{

}{ Empires AU }{ elf Scott, canary Jimmy, and goblin Fwhip }{ content warning: imprisonment, suicidal thoughts }{

The problem with living life free as a bird was that sometimes a bird winds up caged.

Scott had found himself in lots of metaphorical cages over the years. Lost in ruins and temples with a few more turns than he expected, tied up in relationships that didn't last, caught between an alley wall and the anger of a misjudged mark, even a jail cell or two. Sticky situations were plentiful for a man with sticky fingers.

The problem with this particular cage was that it wasn't metaphorical.

The very real and very solid metal cage Scott found himself in now dangled over an open cavern at the edge of a goblin city deep underground. Scott didn't mind being underground for long periods of time – his crystalline magic meant he was just as comfortable in the depths of a cave as he was in an open field – but he very much minded not having a choice in the matter. It had been five days now since the elf had tried and failed to escape some old goblin ruins with a gold statuette in hand. He'd almost gotten away, but the blizzard that blew in while he was underground blocked off his exit and allowed his pursuers to catch up with him before he could find an alternate route.

Scott leaned against the bars and scowled in the direction of the buildings that lined the edge of the cavern. One of them contained his guard, a rude man who had taken great pleasure in throwing Scott into the cage and greater pleasure in rummaging through his confiscated belongings. He'd been stripped of everything he had on him except his pants and shirt. His bag, his jewelry, even his colorful coat and hat were gone. Scott's iridescent dagger now hung from the goblin's belt, and the contents of his coinpurse had no doubt been added to the guard's own.

"It took me weeks to get that just the way I wanted it," Scott muttered to himself, more upset about losing the dagger than the coins. Still, it wouldn't be that difficult to replace, having been made from crystals he produced himself. He'd hoped to make another one to pick the lock with, but he needed something solid, preferably a rock or mineral, to act as a core for his magic to crystallize around. For a cage hanging from the ceiling of a rocky cave, his prison was disappointingly clean of debris without even the most minuscule of pebbles to be found.

Scott put a hand over his growling stomach, hoping the guard would extend the mechanical bridge over to him soon to bring food and water. He'd been fed once on day three of his imprisonment, and hoped that didn't mean he had to wait until day six for his next meal. By now he was even kind of looking forward to the meager, questionable serving of pork he'd been reluctant to eat the last time.

After a few more hours of staring at the ceiling and contemplating all the ways he could escape the cavern if he could only get the door open, the creaking and groaning of pulleys and pistons caught Scott's attention. The bridge was in motion, and when it came to a stop just outside the bars of the cage, the guard crossed over to him and unlocked a smaller door near the bottom of the bars. He slid in a fresh bucket of water and a wooden plate with a single pork chop and a piece of bread, while another guard stood across the way and aimed a crossbow in case Scott tried to make a run for it. Scott tried not to show his eagerness in reaching for the food, only the slightest twitch of an ear betraying his interest.

"How long exactly do you plan on keeping me here?" he asked, managing to sound disdainful instead of desperate. The fact he was being given food and water at all meant, he hoped, that he wouldn't just be left in the cage to rot.

The guard shrugged. "Until the king has time to deal with you. And who knows when that'll be. He's a busy man." He gave Scott a nasty grin. "I wouldn't be so eager for your audience with King Fwhip if I were you. The punishment for theft is usually death."

"Seems a bit excessive for a single little statue," said Scott. The guard only smirked and returned to the guardhouse with his companion, retracting the bridge behind them.

Scott ate slowly, hoping to make his meager meal last. He set aside the bread for later, leaned his head back on the bars, and closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds of life coming from the city and the mines, full of goblins going about their business. Picks and hammers rang out, minecarts rattled, snorts and grunts filled the pig pens, and voices called back and forth in the marketplace. Occasional distant explosions sounded from somewhere deeper in the gold mines. Soft clicks and chirrups rose from the cave floor below his cage, evidence of the sculk that lined it. Once a shrieker called out, followed by distant nervous laughter after a beat of silence.

A brief flutter of wings cut through the soundscape, and Scott opened his eyes to see yellow. The brilliant feathers stood out against the darker, dimmer colors of the cave, and for a moment Scott thought he might have fallen asleep and dreamed the canary that perched on the door to the cage. The bird tilted its head, watching him quizzically, and didn't disappear when Scott blinked and rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.

"Hello there," he said softly. "What's a pretty thing like you doing in a depressing place like this, huh?" The canary chirped, and he smiled to hear birdsong again. Scott looked at his bread, contemplating, then broke off a piece and tossed it toward the edge. The canary eyed the distance between Scott and the bread, then hopped down to the cage floor and pecked at it.

Scott fed the canary a few more crumbs, keeping his movements slow and some distance between them so as not to scare off the little bird. It didn't take long for the canary to hop closer, peering up at Scott. He smiled and offered another small chunk of bread, setting it next to him, and after eating the morsel the canary hopped onto Scott's knee and chirped up at him.

He kept his hands still, unwilling to risk losing the stray sunbeam that graced his cage just yet. "Pretty bird," he cooed softly at it. "What a beautiful little bird you are." The canary rustled his feathers and tweeted at him again, and Scott laughed. "I'm glad you decided to come say hi. I hope you aren't trapped down here like I am."

The canary sat with him and sang, and for a little while the bars of the cage felt far less confining. Eventually the bird jumped down from his knee and fluttered away. Scott watched it leave, both grateful for the temporary distraction and a little bitter that it was probably the last birdsong he would be hearing for a while.

Two days later the canary returned, and Scott's heart leaped when he rolled over under his single thin blanket to see the flash of yellow. He curbed his excitement in time to sit up slowly instead of suddenly, still not wanting to frighten the canary.

"Aw, my sunbeam came back," he said happily, and the canary chirped. "That or I've started hallucinating after a week here. I think it's been a week, anyway." Scott had been trying to use the ebb and flow of the noises from the city to keep track of the days, but with no sun and nothing to do but sleep, he was beginning to struggle with the count.

He scraped a softer piece from the inside of what was left of his now very stale bread and presented the offering. The canary accepted it, then fluttered up to Scott's shoulder and nudged its head against his cheek before settled into the crook of his neck.

"Oh!" Scott kept his exclamation soft. "Decided you like me, huh?" Carefully, slowly, he reached up a finger and stroked the canary's breast feathers. The bird chirped happily, rustling its wings and leaning into the touch. Scott knew the warmth he felt on the feathers was probably from proximity to some lava stream or factory vent, especially given the time of year, but he pet his little canary and pretended the feathers were sun-warmed instead.

He sat and talked to the bird, regaling it with stories of his adventures and misadventures. The canary made an excellent audience, occasionally tilting its head or chirping at key points of the tale. Scott knew it was probably only responding to changes in his tone, but he smiled and pretended the canary knew exactly what he was saying and was enjoying the story.

The canary was still there when the guard brought Scott's food and water, and the guard scowled when he saw it. "Shoo, little pest," he said roughly. The canary stayed where it was and tweeted indignantly. Scott bit back a smile, not wanting to anger his only source of sustenance, but was grateful the goblin made no move to drive away his bird.

As soon as the guard was gone Scott pulled a bite off the fresh bread and offered it to the canary. "You probably don't mind the old stuff, but this is much better I'm sure." The canary accepted the first bite from his fingers, but when Scott offered a second one it pushed its head against his wrist instead.

"You don't want it?" asked Scott. The bird peeped once and pushed against Scott again. "You want me to eat it?" There was a twitter that Scott took to mean yes, and he obediently ate some of the bread before switching to the pork. The canary seemed satisfied, hopping down to perch on Scott's leg while he ate.

Scott lost track of the days entirely somewhere around the three week mark. As the weeks stretched into months without even a hint to when there might be a change in his situation, the elf could feel the isolation wearing him down. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed in one place for any length of time unless there was something sufficiently interesting to keep his attention. The inside of a cage in a dark corner of a cavern was anything but interesting. Scott paced every step of the small cage hundreds of times over. He slept, shouted, begged, sulked, and repeated the process all over again.

He asked the guard over and over how much longer he would be imprisoned, but if the goblin answered him at all it was only to say "King Fwhip will get to you when he gets to you, thief," or some variation thereof. Eventually Scott stopped asking, his hope waning and his dislike for the unseen goblin king growing. It was only his canary's frequent visits that kept him from contemplating drowning himself in his water bucket or looping the blanket around his neck. Sometimes the bird showed up several days in a row and sometimes it was gone for what must have been five, six, seven days, but it always returned, and every time it rekindled the smallest spark of his dying hope.

It was one of the times the canary was gone for longer that Scott found himself alternating between staring at how thin his wrists had gotten and how much wider the gap between the bars seemed. He knew he didn't have the strength left to pull off the acrobatics required to even have a chance at making it across the chasm he dangled over, but the longer he was imprisoned the less he cared about falling onto dripstone or triggering a shrieker. Assuming he survived the drop in the first place, the roar of a warden seemed like a mercy compared to what he was certain by now was eternal imprisonment.

He was laying on the floor and trying to decide if his head would fit between the bars when the canary returned, landing in front of his face and chirping in greeting. Scott managed a smile but didn't lift his head. "Hi Sunbeam," he greeted in a hoarse voice. "Missed you."

The canary tilted its head and chirped again, and Scott imagined he could hear concern in the lovely notes. "Your bread's over there, if you want it. Sorry, I don't quite feel like sitting up today." He closed his eyes, and the canary sang out more concern before nestling under Scott's chin.

"Pretty bird," he mumbled. "You smell like fresh air again today. Like flowers. Is it spring? Or maybe even summer." He sighed, and the canary chirped quietly. "I miss flowers."

He didn't open his eyes when he heard the bridge extending over from the guardhouse, or when he heard the gate rattle with the latest delivery. What did get him to raise his heavy eyelids was angry chattering from his canary, and he sat up when the bird fluttered away from Scott and toward the guard as he tried to leave. It flapped around his face, seeming to scold him. The guard scowled, making a swipe at it, but the canary danced out of his reach and landed in Scott's hands with more scolding chirps.

"One of these days I'm going to catch you and have a nice canary stew," spat the guard as he walked away. Scott imagined whatever the canary trilled out next wasn't anything suited for polite company should it be translated, and he smiled and pulled the bird close to his chest.

"He's a nasty one, isn't he?" he murmured to the canary. "I'm glad he's not my only company down here." The canary settled further into his hands, peeping happily, and Scott pressed a gentle kiss to its feathered head.

The canary sat with him a little longer before wriggling out of his hold, and Scott felt a pang of disappointment at how soon the bird was leaving him. "Already?" He tried not to pout. It wasn't fair to make the canary stay in a cage any longer than it wanted to just to alleviate his own loneliness.

"Don't stay away so long this time, yeah?" He swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I don't know how much more of this I can…" He laughed bitterly. "Look at me, staking my sanity on a bird."

The canary gave a few chirps Scott imagined sounded sorrowful before it took off. He watched it fly up and out of sight, then sighed and lay down again to dream of warm sunlight and wildflowers waving in the breeze. He was dreaming of birdsong when he began to wake up again, and realized the melody was continuing even as he opened his eyes and felt cold iron under him instead of soft grass.

"Sunbeam?" He sat up, not feeling as if he had slept very long, and was delighted but confused at the canary returning twice in one day.

He spotted a glimpse of red against the bright yellow, and his breath caught. "Is that a poppy?" he breathed. The canary chirped around its beakful of flower stem and hopped down to him, dropping the poppy on his knee. Scott picked it up and gazed at it reverently, tracing a finger over the thin petals.

"Thank you," he whispered, and imagined the canary looked very pleased with itself. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Except for you, of course," he added, and the canary's chirping laughter filled the cage until there was no room left for loneliness.

Some of Scott's water ration went toward keeping the poppy fresh as long as he could, and as far as he was concerned it was water well-spent. As the days passed, though, even that couldn't keep the petals from crumbling. The day after he accepted the blossom was a lost cause, the canary brought him another one, and he smiled. When that faded the bird brought another one, and another, replacing each poppy regularly. Scott treasured each poppy almost as much as he treasured the canary's visits. With a poppy in his hair and the canary against his cheek as he spun more stories, he could almost pretend he was exactly where he wanted to be. Most days the canary's feathers were warm from the sun, making the name Scott bestowed up on it even more fitting.

The entire time he had been imprisoned Scott's meals had never been regular, but the bucket of water was enough to last for about three days and it was never longer than that until his next delivery. It had been a while since Scott had thrown a fit and screamed obscenities toward the guardhouse, so when the fourth day without a meal came and went, he couldn't think of a reason why. When his canary came to see him on the sixth day, it landed on the edge of the empty bucket and chirped questioningly.

"Dunno," mumbled Scott in response from where he lay curled up on his blanket. "Drank the last of it three days or so ago. Maybe that's how they've decided to finally get rid of me." He paused to lick his dry lips, but it gave him no real relief. "Guess I should be glad my magic is from thermal crystals instead of water. It'll kill me slower." He made a face at the thought. "Maybe 'glad' is the wrong word."

The sounds that erupted from the canary were angry and agitated, and Scott could have sworn he saw one of the small clawed feet stomp in frustration. He heard the mechanical bridge start moving, and as the guard approached he managed to scramble to his knees so he could reach for the fresh water bucket as soon as it was set down. Scott was so focused on restraining himself from chugging it all at once that it took a moment to register the canary was still chirping angrily as it fluttered around the guard's head.

"That's quite enough out of you – ouch!" The guard was trying to walk away, but the canary had tangled its talons in a tuft of hair and yanked as it pecked at his head. "Rotten thing!" The guard swiped at the canary and made contact, backhanding the little bird hard against a bar of the cage. The canary landed on the cage floor, and the guard walked away and retracted the bridge behind him.

"Sunbeam!" Scott crawled over to the canary and gathered it in his hands. To his relief the canary's chest still rose and fell, and after a moment that must have been brief but seemed to Scott to drag on, its eyes opened and it peeped at him a few times. "Oh, thank goodness," breathed Scott, cradling his canary close to his chest. "Are you hurt?" The canary chirped reassuringly, hopping to its feet and bumping its head against Scott's chin.

It sat with Scott a while longer, nestling happily in his hands and singing just as strongly as ever, and only moved to leave when Scott began yawning. "Come back soon," whispered Scott, kissing the canary's head before opening his hands. When the bird returned two days later, Scott's next meal had been delivered by a different guard, and the canary inspected the pork and bread closely before settling on Scott's shoulder with a satisfied chirp.

Scott laughed. "What, did you have something to do with this?" he teased. "Run this place, do you?" The canary twittered, and Scott smiled before sighing. "Be nice if you did. Maybe you could put a word in with this goblin king I've heard so much about." He rolled his eyes. "He's a bastard is what he is," he muttered into his bread. "'He'll get to you when he gets to you' they keep telling me. Worst imprisonment ever. Zero out of ten for accommodations and service both, would not recommend."

The canary's chirps sounded apologetic, and Scott stroked its breast with a finger. "Aw, it's not your fault, pretty bird. I know you don't really run the place. You can fly anywhere you want and yet you keep coming down here just to see me. I'm grateful for that."

The weeks continued to pass, and other than the new guard, nothing changed. His canary visited frequently, still bringing him a fresh poppy whenever the old one faded. Then a day came when the canary brought him an orange oak leaf instead of a poppy, and chirped at Scott apologetically when he accepted the offering. "It's still beautiful," said Scott, rolling the stem between his fingers and watching the leaf spin as he did so. He was grateful for the marker of time; it must be autumn on the surface now. "Did I tell you yet about the time I - "

An explosion from the mines interrupted him; it sounded like the usual controlled blasts he was used to hearing, but this time much closer, and the cage swayed a little. Scott looked up, wondering just how close to the dripstone cavern the miners planned to get. Another blast sounded, rattling the cage and shaking dust and debris loose from the ceiling. The canary chirped and chattered angrily, then took flight and darted away from the cage.

More dust settled over the cage at the next explosion, and as Scott put a hand on the cage floor to steady himself as it swayed, his fingers brushed against a pebble. It was the only one he could see; the top of the cage had angled most of the falling debris away, but one was enough. With his heart pounding with hope for the first time in months, Scott picked up the little rock and cupped it between his hands.

"Come on, take," he muttered, feeling the heat between his palms as he tried to gather enough magic to crystallize. When he peeked at the pebble and saw the iridescent sheen of a thin crystal coating around it, he almost cried with joy. He kept going, coaxing the budding crystals into a thin, elongated shape. He wouldn't be able to manage anything as substantial as a weapon, but all he needed was something he could use as a lockpick. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat of the crystal and the effort of forcing it to grow so quickly with so little strength, but with the possibility of freedom within his grasp, he kept pushing.

The canary returned just as Scott deemed the small crystal to be sufficient for what he needed it to do, landing on the cage bars as Scott reached through to feel for the lock. "Look, Sunbeam, I found a pebble to crystallize," said Scott eagerly in response to the canary's questioning chirp. He slid the pick into the lock and rotated it, feeling for the pins. "I don't know yet how I'll make it across, but I – ouch!"

He almost dropped the pick, staring at the canary in shock. The canary pecked at his hand again, harder this time, and trilled at him sharply. "Stop that," hissed Scott. He tried again to pick the lock, but the canary hopped onto his hand and dug its talons in, pecking repeatedly and fluttering its wings. Scott gave up and tried to pull his hand back inside the cage to try again later, but the canary grabbed the pick in its talons and yanked it away from him. It dropped it over the edge into the chasm, then landed back inside the cage and sang Scott a series of agitated chirps.

"That was my only chance to get out," said Scott in despair, staring in the direction the lockpick had fallen. "I don't have any way to make another one. I don't...I don't have the strength left to make another one, even if I had another core." He'd had a glimpse of a way out of the hell he'd found himself in, and now it was gone. He sat back against the bars and drew up his knees, vision blurring, and buried his head in his arms.

The canary chirped, its scolds turning to sorrow, and fluttered over to Scott's knee. "Go away," said Scott in a muffled voice. The canary nestled against his hair and chirped again. "I said go away!" Scott lifted his head and glared at the canary through his tears. "I don't want to see you right now!" The canary seemed to flinch away from his sharp tone. It warbled sadly and flew away, leaving Scott to cry out his frustration.

Several meals passed without the canary's return; the third was barely eaten, and the fourth went untouched. The bridge rattled with what must be the delivery of the fifth, but Scott remained where he lay with his eyes closed and ignored the sound of the gate opening in favor of going back to sleep. Or he tried to; it must have been the door, not the gate, because hands grabbed his arm and jerked him roughly to his feet.

"Up you get, thief," said his guard, and a second goblin snapped manacles around his wrist while he blinked sleep out of his eyes. "Time for your audience with the king, now that he's back."

"Back?" echoed Scott groggily. "He hasn't...even been here?" If he'd had a little more strength he might have found it in him to be angry about having never been given that particular bit of information, but as it was he just stumbled along when the two guards marched him out of the cage and across the bridge. There was a flash of yellow somewhere near the ceiling, and Scott almost cried to see it. He cupped his hands and held them out as best he could, and the canary dove down to nestle into his hold with a series of chirps and tweets.

"Hi Sunbeam," Scott choked out. "I'm sorry I yelled at you." He lifted his hands, the chains between his manacles jangling with the movement, and the canary pressed itself against his cheek. "Will you stay with me?" he whispered. "It will be nice to not be alone when I learn how I'm going to die. Not that you have to stay for that part," he added when the canary trilled sadly. "I wouldn't ask that of you."

The sounds he'd spent so many months listening to were so much louder as he was led into the city proper, and his ears twitched as he tried to hear everything at once. Curious goblins stared as they went by, but Scott couldn't bring himself to care for more than a passing second about how disheveled and dirty he must be. His guards led him into an ornate building and stopped in front of a grand throne, forcing Scott to his knees as they knelt themselves, and after bowing his head for a brief moment Scott looked up at the man who held his fate.

Despite the grandiosity of the room, the handsome king sprawled across the throne was modestly dressed in what Scott recognized as a typical goblin miner's garb. Only a slightly finer weave of the red and gold tunic belted over the outfit and a simple gold circlet gave any indication of his status. The jewelry that adorned his fingers and ears were no more than any other goblin seemed to wear, and the only unique accessory was a large yellow feather on a leather tie around his neck. The color was familiar, and if it weren't for the size Scott might have thought the feather came from the wings of the canary nestled quietly in his hands.

"We come to present the prisoner to your highness King Fwhip," said his guard. "The charge is theft. He was captured this past winter in the western ruins, in possession of a statue of one of the Old Ones, found to have been taken from an altar in that place."

"Do you deny these charges, elf?" asked the king, staring at him with an unreadable look. Before Scott could answer, the king spotted the canary and sat up straight, raising an eyebrow. "Now that's an interesting friend you have there."

Remembering the previous guard's rough treatment of his little bird, Scott clutched the canary closer to his chest as fear flooded through him. "Don't hurt him," he pleaded. "Please don't hurt him. I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit, just please - "

King Fwhip laughed, and laughed hard. Scott was too exhausted and fearful to be able to tell if the sound held any malice or cruelty in it, and could only hope the canary would be able to fly away if the king ordered for it to be killed as retribution for a prisoner keeping a pet. The canary peeked out of Scott's hands and chirped in a tone reminiscent of its past scoldings but softer.

The king's chuckles died down, and he wiped a tear from his eye before holding out a hand. Scott stared as his canary slipped out of his hands and perched on the king's finger. "Hello there, my little gold nugget," crooned the king as the canary pressed against his cheek. "So this is why you didn't come say hi when I got back." He pressed a gentle kiss to the bird's head. "'Don't hurt him,' he says! As if I could even dream of hurting my greatest treasure."

"What?" said Scott in disbelief as the canary chirped happily at the king. Then in a blink, the canary changed forms. What Scott had taken for a very pretty bird, it turned out, was actually a very pretty man with golden hair, golden wings, and kind brown eyes. He sat perched in Fwhip's lap with an arm around the king's neck and gave Scott an apologetic glance. "...What."

The king settled back in his seat with an arm around the canary's waist and appraised Scott with an amused smirk. "Back to business. Do you deny the charge of theft that's been presented against you?"

Scott stared, taken aback by the revelation that his canary was neither a typical canary nor his, and couldn't find the wit or charm that had saved his skin on more than one occasion in the past. "No," he said simply. "I don't deny the charge."

"Then, as you don't deny that you stole the statue you were found in possession of - "

"A statue that we didn't even know existed and was recovered when he was captured," interrupted the canary, and grinned sheepishly when Fwhip gave him a sharp look.

" - as you don't deny the charges," continued the king, "you are hereby found guilty of theft of a sacred artifact from goblin lands. Now, your punishment." He pretended to ignore the pleading look the canary was giving him. "Is it true the statue was recovered?"

"Yes, your highness," said one of the guards. "It was taken from the elf upon his capture and has been stored safely in the royal vault."

"Good, good," said Fwhip. "Did he make any attempt to escape while he was imprisoned?"

"None, your highness," said the guard. Scott breathed in sharply and glanced at the canary, who was trying very hard to look as innocent as possible.

Fwhip's tail curled thoughtfully. "Well then! We take theft very, very seriously here. But the object was recovered, it's only your first offense in Gobland, you readily admitted to your crime, and you behaved yourself while imprisoned – and more importantly, going by the hole that's currently being stared into the side of my head, my Jimmy has taken a liking to you." He put a hand against the canary's face and pushed him back lightly, getting a grumble in return.

"I sentence you to five years imprisonment," continued Fwhip. "Minus the time already spent in the cage, you'll spend the rest of it as a worker in the gold mines. You'll be given three - " Jimmy whined at him, and he rolled his eyes. " - four days to rest and recover in your new quarters before you begin work."

Scott's head swam as he tried to process the goblin king's verdict. He had entered the throne room expecting death, or worse, to be thrown back into the damned cage. Five years was no small length of time, but he would take five years of hard work over even five weeks of endless confinement and boredom.

His – no, Jimmy – didn't seem quite as pleased with Scott's punishment as Scott was. "Aw, Fwhip," he pleaded, tilting his head and giving the king a wide-eyed look and a soft pout, "he's been down here since before the solstice! Can't he work the fields with me instead?"

"Absolutely not," said Fwhip. "If he's on the surface he'll just make a run for it the first chance he gets. And you'll let him, you big softy." He tapped Jimmy's nose, and his words were stern but the look in his eyes was fond. "There's a reason you're in charge of my farmers and not my guards."

"Rude," grumbled Jimmy, but he was almost smiling. "I would make an excellent lawman, thank you very much."

"Sure you would," said Fwhip sarcastically. Scott could have gagged at the soft look the two of them gave one another, and might have done if he hadn't been busy appreciating how well love enhanced both Fwhip's and Jimmy's already good-looking features. Fwhip gestured for Scott to be taken away, and as the guards obeyed, Jimmy pressed a kiss to Fwhip's cheek before following as Scott was taken to wherever he would be staying.

The guards led him into a room inside a barracks and unlocked his manacles, with firm instructions to remain there until someone came to collect him in a few days to begin his work. Jimmy remained in the room with him even as a key turned in the lock as the guards left, and if Scott hadn't already seen the window he might have been more concerned about that. It was small and barred, but there was enough room for a small bird to fly through easily.

"I hope you aren't angry that I didn't say anything," said Jimmy, and Scott turned from his examination of the room – not much larger than the cage, really, but there was a bed and a dresser and a chair – to see the canary wringing his hands anxiously. "It's just that, well, the last time I showed myself to a prisoner they just got angry that I wouldn't steal the keys and let them out or anything like that."

"You were pretty adamant about not letting me pick the lock," said Scott. "Was it because you knew it would make my sentence worse?" He sat on the edge of the bed; he knew he had surely been on more comfortable surfaces than the thin straw-stuffed mattress, but after almost a year on an iron floor, it was the softest thing he had ever felt.

"I mean, sort of." Jimmy sat on the wooden chair, running fingers through his hair. "That and I could see how weak you were. I didn't want you to fall to your death or anything. But also…" His wings rustled and he tilted his head. "I mean, I like you, I really do. But you're still a prisoner, and even though I'm not a goblin, as long as I live in Gobland then Fwhip is still my king, you know?" He shrugged. "And more importantly, he's my...my partner."

The ends of Jimmy's ears were red, and Scott wondered if the relationship was new or if the canary simply had a modest nature. "How long have you two been together?" he asked.

"Oh, gosh." Jimmy scratched the back of his head. "I can't even remember. Must be six, seven harvests at least." Modest, then. Scott bit back a smirk and the urge to tease him; he never was able to resist a man who blushed easily.

Jimmy stood and stepped toward the window before turning back to Scott. "I'll let you get some rest. They should be bringing you some food soon, and starting tomorrow it'll be twice a day. If not, let me know and I'll take care of it." He grinned, and Scott smiled back. "We're pretty busy on the surface this time of year so I don't know how often I can come see you for a while, but I'll check on you when I can."

Scott nodded. "Thank you," he said, and his throat felt thick. "For...for everything. You didn't have any reason to, but you saved my life."

Jimmy smiled. "I got curious, and you turned out to be a good person," he said. "And you tell good stories. Besides, I doubt Fwhip would have actually had you killed over a single statue. He's too good of a man for that."

Scott shook his head. "I don't mean just the sentencing," he said softly. "Being locked up like that, with little idea how long it had been and no idea how much longer it would be?" He shuddered. "Even with your visits I almost did something stupid more than once. Without them…"

A sorrowful chirp from Jimmy's throat startled him, and he smiled at the embarrassed look on the canary's face. "Can I...is it okay if I hug you?" asked Jimmy.

Scott blinked. "I – sure?" He gave Jimmy a sly look. "If it won't get me killed, anyway. Pretty sure fooling around with a king's lover is a faster ticket to the gallows than any theft," he teased.

As he'd predicted, Jimmy turned red, and Scott laughed. "It's just a hug!" exclaimed Jimmy. "You...oh, you're going to be an absolute menace, aren't you?"

"I certainly try," said Scott cheerily.

Jimmy wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace, and if he'd been a little less exhausted from everything Scott might have been embarrassed at how easily the simple touch brought tears to his eyes. He returned the hug and relaxed into Jimmy's hold when Jimmy folded his wings around them both. He didn't even realize he'd closed his eyes until Jimmy shifted and startled him out of the light doze he'd fallen into.

"Get some sleep," said Jimmy gently. He stepped away from Scott, changed back into a bird, and flew out of the small window. Scott stretched out on the straw mattress and fell asleep. When a knock on the door and the smell of stew roused him, a pressed poppy lay on the windowsill, and he smiled. Five years was a long time to spend working a gold mine, but he had a feeling the time was going to fly by.

}{ next part }{

[deathsplaything]

Location: The Good Keep Timing: Right after Part 1 Parties: Alistair (@deathsplaything), Daiyu (@bountyhaunter) Emilio (@mortemoppetere), Vic (@natusvincere) Mack (@realmackross) FT: Zane, Winnifred, Kirk, & Aleksander Summary: The Keep breaks out into chaos, cue the epic fighting montage! Content Warnings: gun use, suicide (act of, not emotional), head trauma (zombie death), medical blood (artery/vein mentions)

“It should have never come to this, but —” She would never finish the sentence.

The relief of being reunited was short-lived. Daiyu stopped in her tracks when the alarms started blaring and if it wasn’t for the fact that her hands were busy and bloodied, she would have slammed the palms of them against her ears. All had seemed to be going so well and she’d believed, at the sight of her fellow ‘team members’ that it would continue to go well.

It was a good plan, wasn’t it? It was a good plan. They had vetted those deserving. They had sprayed down every room with lighter fluid, rigged explosives where they had needed to. Daiyu trusted the others to have done the same, mostly because Emilio had been with them. What was left now was to enter the last few rooms and clear them, finish their destruction by ruining the records and head out, light a match and drive as far away as they could as the Keep burned. But —

The alarms were blaring. Lights rotated threateningly. It didn’t take long for the sound of more bodies moving to join the cacophony. Daiyu’s heightened senses were overloading but at least doing their job. “The cells,” she said, something about her first day at the Keep echoing in her mind. There was a button that opened them all, one that should not be touched by her, ever. A big red, do-not-touch button that should be hard to reach — but they had just released a bunch of powerful supernatural creatures, and there was a big chance the button had not been designed with super strength taken into account. “Fuck!” 

No more explanation came just yet as she checked her pistol’s magazine, clicking it in and flicking off the safety and echoing the number ten in her head, for the number of bullets. Daiyu turned around to where the sounds were coming from — ready to aim and shoot when necessary. Then, over her shoulder: “They’re coming.” The ones not dead yet, the ones not freed yet who didn’t even know they were going to be freed and could be just as furious. Footsteps echoed through the caves, a siren sang their song and she held her breath in the shortest calm before the storm she’d ever known.

—

Even as they met up with Daiyu and Alistair (and Mack, who Emilio had expected to leave instead of sticking around), the slayer couldn’t shake the paranoid certainty that something was going to go wrong. It was crawling up his spine like a thousand insects beneath his skin, itching and biting and sending a perpetual shiver down his spine. The hard part was supposed to be over. All that was supposed to be left was clearing the remainder of the cells and going home.

But nothing like this ever went off without a hitch, no matter how well you planned it.

The sound of the alarm cutting through the air wasn’t even a surprise, really; Emilio barely flinched as it cut through the quiet, ever so muffled against the dull ringing that had lived in his ears since the banshee who deemed him a celebrity had decided to scream in his face to show her admiration. The alarm wasn’t the only thing to make note of; lights were flashing, and people were moving outside of their little group of six. 

Emilio blew a frustrated huff of air through his nose, pulled a stake from his pocket and gripped it tightly. With his other hand, he yanked out a vial of holy water and thrust it towards Mack. Zane couldn’t touch the stuff, nor could he make use of the cross Emilio pulled out from under his shirt, and Daiyu and Alistair had their own defenses. After a moment, he yanked out a second vial and held it out towards Vic. “We’re going to fight our way out of here,” he said lowly, glancing around the group. “Won’t be hard.” That was a lie. He was pretty sure they were fucked. “You get separated, meet up out front, in the trees. Understand?”

There was little time for further conversation. From the hall, an angry, red-eyed vampire burst free. Behind it, a shambling zombie. More followed. Vampires, zombies, lamia, sirens. Emilio spotted what he thought might have been a fury, though they were tackled by a zombie with their head burst open before he could decide for certain. The captives were killing each other and, in a flash, were moving towards them, too. Something came up in the middle of the group, shoving Emilio to the side. Something else grabbed at him and earned a splash of holy water that found it flinching backwards, followed by a stake to the chest when that flinch confirmed it as a vampire. He tried not to lose sight of the group, but it was difficult. Amidst the chaos, he could only hope that most of them knew how to throw a damn punch.

—

Knowing that something was bound to go wrong, Alistair wasn’t at all surprised when the alarm sounded. “Dia a dhiteadh,” the spellcaster swore under their breath before he began to channel the energy of the undead around them, pulling them under their control and bending to their will. One moment, they were running straight for Alistair, screaming obscenities, the next? They were surrounding the necromancer and fighting off anyone who came close, all with a look of fear in their eyes. 

As the undead surrounding Alistair fought, they had their arms raised above their head, a pale green smoke swirling around their feet as well as surrounding the undead under their control. “cha deanar amadan mi,” they snarled in their native tongue, their voice sounding doubled as they spoke. One vampire to their right fought to break free of the control, their head turning of their own free will towards them. “You’re the monster, not us!” She screamed to Alistair, who took it in stride. 

“I’m a necromancer. I’ve always been a necromancer,” they told the vampire as they swiped their hand across the air, forcing the vampire back into submission. “I’m just finally learning to embrace it.” Alistair’s voice took on a darker tone, thinking of their family that they fought for so long not to be like, only to end up exactly like them in the end. They denied their heritage for so long, telling themselves they could amount to something other than what they’d always been, and how wrong they had been. 

“If that alarm was sounded, then the rest of the Good Neighbors aren’t far behind,” Alistair told the group as they extended their spell forward, refusing to acknowledge the exhaustion that was starting to creep into them from the sheer magnitude of the spell they were casting. It wasn’t a well-prepared spell, it was something off the cuff that would give them several minutes at most. Sure enough, their phone started to go off, the text-to-speech alerting them that it was Winnifred calling. “She knows,” was all they said before they pulled out a wooden stake from his belt and plunged it into the vampire that had managed to fight for control. 

As the group began to become more separated, Alistair shouted over the roar of the angry prisoners fighting their way out. “Get out of the building, and beware of members arriving!” More prisoners rushed towards Alistair, vengeance the only thing on their minds as they were torn apart by the undead that stood between them and the necromancer. The spell was waning.

__

Somehow, this just made so much more sense. The noise, the chaos - of course it had been inevitable. They’d known it, had they not? Zane was acutely aware how technically easy it was for half of this little group to die, bleed out or just hit their head too hard. They weren’t helpless but they were definitely vulnerable. All of them probably were when the threat was this grand, all snarling teeth and crazed eyes, scales and claws and pure anger. Zane had never seen a skull cracked open with just two bare hands but there wasn’t space to register it, bodies being flung into walls, vampires latching onto running prisoners like parasites and limbs getting torn off as the living amalgamation of prisoners closed in from every direction. He felt an eerie sense of calm, could almost hear the faint sound of a monitor flatlining mixed in with the screeching of the alarm. 

Emilio’s voice snapped him out of it, the lie that this would be easy. For a moment, their little group held control before it shattered, familiar faces getting quickly lost in the crowd of supernatural creatures. As quickly as he could, Zane dumped what remained in his duffle of ‘food’ onto the ground, trying to get some distance between himself and the group that immediately jumped for the easy meal. Something heavy and rough slammed against his chest, knocking him backwards - a bloodied and scaly tail, the creature to whom it belonged now zeroing in on Zane with yellow eyes. He wasn’t sure if ‘vampire’ was particularly tasty to shifters but he didn’t want to find out. 

His hands scrabbled for anything to grab onto as the reptilian creature growled, fingers finding purchase around something sturdy - a pipe. A worn one, luckily, as it came loose with a dedicated tug, just in time for the lamia to pounce and for Zane to brandish the makeshift weapon. The force of the attack was enough to make the jagged edges of the pipe sink through scales and skin, blood spurting out. The creature’s dying wail didn’t particularly register amidst the noise. One less threat, only a few dozen left, not to mention the people running this place that were apparently on their way here. 

—

At some point, Mackenzie had met back up with Daiyu and Alistair, but who she didn’t expect to see was Zane, Vic, and…Emilio, who was shoving a bottle of Holy Water in her direction. Not that she really knew what it was or what to do with it, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to argue, as much as she wanted to rip the slayer’s throat out at the moment. In fact, there were a few people currently on the ever growing Arya Stark inspired hit list that she was currently keeping in her mind. But that thought was cut short when a loud blaring rang out through the keep and suddenly and simultaneously all the doors to the cells had flung open, setting the contained and still thriving imprisoned creatures free.

It was like being on the set of a Steven Spielberg movie. What was somewhat controlled had become pure and utter chaos at the call of the famous director upon the word “Action!” But this was no movie. In fact, this was more of a nightmare, and it was taking Mackenzie time to process it, while her fellow “team members” were already fighting for their lives.  However, when she felt the yanking of her hair and the sudden bite of a feral zombie ripping a chunk of flesh out of her neck, she realized processing was something that could be done later, “MOTHER FUCKER!”

In that moment, survival instincts began to kick in. All the fighting around her seemed to disappear as she turned and set her sights on the zombie who had attacked her, only to find it had been the girl she had thought she had put down. And as much as she didn’t want to hurt her, she wanted to make it out of the keep more, “Forgive me, Brody.” So without any hesitation, Mackenzie let her own feral side take over, as she lept on top of her enemy, sending them both to the ground. And with a growl, she pulled the gnashing zombie up by the head, before repeatedly slamming it into the ground, much like she had done in the past, even though she knew the food wouldn’t be viable this time around, but at least she’d still be unalive.

—

Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.  Nothing was easy, nothing was simple, not ever, not in Vic’s whole entire fucking wasted 3 centuries could anything just be easy.  She wanted it to end, to fold into a ball and give up, because why couldn’t anything just be easy?  But no one else in the group was wallowing, not even the celebrity prisoner.  No one else was giving up just because things became inconvenient.  As Emilio shoved weapons to deal with the undead into people’s hands, she realized that these people still didn’t exactly know she was a vampire herself, and that might be a problem, especially if-

“Hey!”she shouted, jumping backwards as he tossed the vial to her.  Holy water, surely, but her reflexes had thankfully been quick enough that she was able to watch it fall to the ground in front of her.  “Sorry, I’m… an atheist.”  Thankfully, the chaos was too great for anyone to really notice her odd behavior.

Angry, vicious, former prisoners were coming at them from left and right, and it was all Vic could do to keep them at bay.  Punching someone coming from her right, kicking someone that came from her left, even using the dagger that had been tucked away in her jacket to jab someone that tried to come at her from behind.  Weren’t these assholes supposed to be grateful?  They were not the ones who had imprisoned them.  And sure, maybe abandonment was just as bad, but these people needed to get a grip and wait for the real enemies, who were certainly on their way.  “Save it for your prison guards”, she grunted as she kicked another away.  

She tried scanning the area, just to see how outnumbered they were and maybe to even spot a secret way out.  Instead, in the chaos, a familiar figure was walking toward her specifically, seemingly unharmed amongst the chaos.  It was the vampire she had spared earlier, the one who wasn’t supposed to be saved.  She would have looked like a sexy Moses parting the red sea of death and destruction if she hadn’t been so terrifying.  That food Vic gave her must have been a godsend.  

She came closer to Vic, and spoke when she was in earshot.  “Oh look, it’s our savior”, she said, but the tone sounded more mocking than grateful.  Vic didn’t quite understand, since she had really only saved her… this chaos was not her fault. “Thanks to you, doll, I was able to press that nasty little red button, the one that was keeping us locked in.”  Vic, for her part, looked around at the ‘us’ in question, at the volume of harm they’d already tried to commit on just 6 people that were trying to save their fellow prisoners… nevermind what would happen once they found their way out toward the town.  She felt a rock in the pit of her stomach, and worry growing with every passing second.  But Vic didn’t have a chance to form an answer, because before she could, the other vampire reared back and punched her square in the face, catching her off guard and sending her backwards to the floor.

—

Daiyu had been bred for this, hadn’t she? In a way all hunters were, matches made between a pair of them only to procreate, to put more hunters on this earth and raise them for the flurry of violence. She always functioned best in the chaos of a battlefield. She was perhaps most herself when she could just give into the urge for destruction. And so with a weapon in each hand, she met her fate time and time again. She brawled, glad that there was no need for stealth or strategy — just taking out as many as she could while staying alive. 

First order of business was silencing that siren, whose melody was like a red throughline in the fight. Daiyu set her sights on the shifter and fought with all her might. The creature was outmatched, underfed as she was, and so the struggle on the ground didn’t last long. Soon enough a bullet was lodged through her mouth into the rest of her skull, the song silenced forever as blood pooled on the floor. Her boots were sticky with it. 

She wasn’t fully aware of all that was happening, instinct and impulse taking over. These were no longer people with names or crimes attached to them — they were targets, same as the stuffed animals she’d once shot with her brother and sister for practice. Those times were long gone, though, as was the once-had desire to do good. Right now there was only one desire, and that was primal survival and victory. Why should there be anything else, when coated in blood and gore? If she were to die now, what would it all be for?

It was while she was reloading her gun (knife held tightly between her teeth) that someone set their sights on her. And maybe she deserved to be attacked from behind by these people, these creatures she had imprisoned or watched behind bars. So Daiyu crashed against the ground, gun clattering away and knife nicking a corner of her mouth as the vampire on top of her turned her around and bared its fangs. This was personal, it seemed.

—-

He wasn’t here, not really. Maybe it was the adrenaline or the smell of blood. Maybe Emilio’s training was actually kicking in. Most likely, Zane was disassociating with a mixture of all three of those because last time had just been vampires vanishing into dust while this was gory and bloody and bodies were starting to cover the ground. He kept expecting one of them to be from their ragtag rescue group but so far, only monsters - his skin crawled at the denotation, the hypocrisy of it - but that seemed very close to changing. Daiyu was staring down a fanged gullet and if any of the others had noticed, they weren’t close enough to do anything about it. 

The good thing about not properly being there; Zane didn’t have to fully register how he was again charging at someone like himself, and not even the scenario of doing it to save a hunter was a first. No, all Zane had to think about now was pulling out the stake Emilio had wordlessly handed him earlier this evening, get the vampire off Daiyu, clumsily slot the sharpened wood into place until nothing remained but dust. A red eyed creature exterminating a red eyed monster, then offering a hand to the bloody executioner on the ground. “Come on-”

It still managed to be loud over all of the noise, a tiny explosion lodging a bullet in Zane’s shoulder, Daiyu’s gun being put to good use. It hurt, a lot, enough to make the blood covered Daiyu look tantalizingly palatable for a moment of white noise pain. He stormed at whatever was holding the gun instead - better to let the hunter pick herself up the floor than bring her any closer to his fangs. Another searing round lodged itself into his torso before teeth found flesh, gulped down the off-tasting blood and then tore through veins and arteries. Whatever it was, it bled out quickly. 

__

As chaos erupted around them, Alistair kept the undead in their thrall, focused and breathing heavily as they kept the spell concentration up. They were doing this for Tommy. They were keeping themselves alive for Tommy. Nothing else mattered by Tommy, the guiding light through this whole hellish experience that they were going through. As prisoners fought their way toward the necromancer, the zombies and vampires under their control tore at their aggressors with a look of horror in their eyes. This isn’t what they wanted, but this is what they had to do by order of the one who controlled their movements.

“Get by me if you have to,” Alistair told the others, bringing the undead into a tighter circle to allow less and less to get through. “We need to get out of here, we cannae hold this forever!” They added, knowing that this was a do-or-die situation that they were in the midst of.  As moments of “I could see Mikael again” flew through their mind, they had to continuously remind themselves why they were fighting. Tommy. No one else. They’d stay alive for their son. For Melody. 

__

The chaos around him might have been overwhelming had chaos not been the only constant thing in the slayer’s life. He was built for situations like this one, was made to take on impossible odds time and time again. One day, he knew, there would be a fight he couldn’t win. It might even be this one. But until the moment the life was snuffed out of him, he’d continue pushing forward. It wasn’t a will to survive that drove him. He’d left that behind in Mexico to be buried with his daughter’s corpse. No, if anything, Emilio fought out of habit. He fought because he didn’t want to make it easy on whatever killed him, because the only person or thing meant to destroy him was him. 

He was aware, on some level, of the fight around him. He knew Vic turned down the holy water, and though her mouth had moved around some excuse for it, the words were lost to the sirens and the screaming. He couldn’t differentiate between one sound and the next, caught only flashes of what was happening around the room. Mack tackled some other undead thing to the ground, and Emilio kept half an eye on her for Kaden’s sake. Zane took out a lamia with a pipe, and he felt a swell of quiet pride that he’d never admit to. Alistair was weaponizing the undead prisoners in a way Emilio didn’t like but wouldn’t object to. Vic was talking to some vampire in words lost to the chaos. Daiyu was —

Daiyu was going down.

He started towards her, but the crowd was thick and impossible and he knew he’d never reach her in time. Something settled in the pit of his stomach, some quiet dread. It was hard, for a moment, not to think of Mexico. It was hard not to remember the last time there’d been this much chaos, with another hunter falling in the middle of it. He shoved at the nearest person to him — a stranger with red hands and a vicious snarl — but there was no give. Daiyu went down, and Emilio couldn’t reach her. Daiyu went down, and she was going to die.

And then came Zane. Swooping in with a stake Emilio had handed him, exploding another vampire into dust. Relief rushed him, though the reason for it felt strange. Did he even like Daiyu? Before this moment, he’d been sure the answer was no. Now, he thought it must be different. Funny, the things you could discover in the midst of battle.

Something slammed into his back, his momentary distraction being immediately taken advantage of. His mother, if she could see him now, would have scoffed at his incompetence. Of course, if his mother could see him now, fighting alongside a vampire and a zombie, she probably would have put a knife in his throat long before the incompetence had its moment in the sun, so it was probably moot, anyway. 

A lot of things were going to be moot very soon, come to think of it, because that stranger with the red hands and the vicious snarl was on top of him now, and it took all the strength he had to keep her teeth a safe distance from his throat. “Is this really what you want to be doing now? You’re free. You could run.”

“I can run after I kill you,” she said, snapping her jaw closer. He didn’t really have an argument for that.

With both hands busy holding her back, he couldn’t reach the blade to kill her. Not without being bitten, and there were few things Emilio wanted less than to die and return as something undead. Dying and staying dead was preferable. He grunted, trying to hold her at bay. This really wasn’t his day.

—

Mackenzie’s chest was heaving up and down despite not needing to breathe, but the parasite that raged inside her. The thing that forced her to do the things she now did had needed soothing. And when she wasn’t seeing red anymore, the young woman realized what she had done. An unrecognizable figure lay just beneath her, no longer moving or out to destroy her, “This…is…this is all bullshit.”

Climbing to her feet, she looked around at the chaos surrounding her. There was bloodshed everywhere. Living and undead alike. It seemed no one was innocent in all of this, but the one thing she did know was that she was done. She wasn’t joining in on this fight anymore. She didn’t want to. She was tired. And so she ran.

Forced her way through anyone and everyone shoving them as hard as she could. She had even thrown in a few kicks for good measure putting her black belt to use as best she could. And even though her leg didn’t quite offer her as much grace as it once had pre-chop, she still managed to duck and roll as needed, and she was just about to the door, when she saw him…Emilio. Pinned down by a vampire and unable to get to his weapon to take her out.

It was like the universe was throwing a big fuck you at him, but a nearly impossible decision at her. Leave him and let him die at the hand of the undead he despised so much or be the bigger person and save his life, despite the fact that he had threatened and scared her several months back. It was weighing on her. This town had changed Mackenzie a lot. It had made her more heartless in ways, but still somehow more compassionate. Braver, but also left her oftentimes paranoid and watching her back. And even though she so badly wanted to leave him as a meal to the vampire that lingered just above his neck, she couldn’t. He was still a person, and somewhere deep down inside, even if it was the tiniest bit, she still cared.

Turning on her heels, the zombie shook her head as she let out a huff of frustration, “Fuck me.” And without waiting any longer, she found herself pushing her way back through the crowd, and over to where Emilio lay helpless; a moment Mackenzie could at least take some pleasure in for a brief moment, before she said something, “No you can’t…”

The vampire looked upward, “Huh?”

“You said, ‘I can run after I kill you’, and I said, ‘no, you can’t.”

“Oh, yeah, and why’s that, Bitch?”

“Because you can’t run if you’re dust.” And without hesitating Mackenzie spun around and aimed for the vampire's head as hard as she could, connecting her foot to the woman’s cheek sending her rolling off of Emilio, before snatching up a nearby metal chair and mercilessly beating the downed vampire with it repeatedly, “Are you just gonna lay there, Mr. Hot Shot Hunter, or are you going to do your job?” She glared over at Emilio as she continued to beat the vampire down.

—

For a moment, the sounds of the chaos were gone.  Vic wasn’t actually sure she was even within the chaos anymore, because a blur of colors around her had taken its place.  There was a figure in the distance, a woman, maybe, holding hands with a child.  And though she could not make out either of them, she was sure the smaller figure was Rosie.  Rosie, being whisked away by someone else.  Someone who could protect her and raise her without getting into dangerous, life-threatening situations.  She reached forward, trying desperately to grab at her daughter and cling to her, before a sharp pain at her side stopped her.  When she cried out, she wasn’t sure if it was from a desperation to reach Rosie, or the sting of pain at her side once again.

But at the third strike to her side, the string of colors transformed back into the damp darkness of the keep, and the real world around her filled her senses, almost as quickly as the dread did.  The situation, once again, was becoming abundantly clear.  The vampire she saved was kicking at her side, yelling for her to wake up and finish this fight.  Around her, swarms of undead, those that she had been bargaining for days on end for everyone to save, were thrashing at her and her companions with no mercy.   Daiyu and Emilio, it seemed, were both in dire situations, and it was because of her.  Vic had set free the vampire who pressed the button that released the chaos.  Vic was about to be responsible for them being released toward the innocent townspeople.

She shot up, the realization of all of this hitting her at once.  The other vampire seemed satisfied with this, and a smirk danced across her features as Vic narrowly dodged another kick, this time aimed at her head.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”, she asked, her hands up in defense.  Her dagger had been lost somewhere in the fight- had she stabbed someone with it?  “I was trying to help you!  I saved your fucking life!  Why are you doing this?”

“You think you’re so much better than us, Sweetheart?  You think we needed saving?”  She jabbed at Vic’s shoulder with impressive precision and strength, especially for someone who’d been locked up and hungry for an indefinite amount of time. “I’m not your fucking puppet.” Then, she pushed forward toward Vic, forearm against her neck, effectively pinning her against a wall.  “Did you seriously think we’d grovel at your feet after we watched you pass the rest of us over?  For those weaklings?” She made a gesture with her free arm toward the direction of the celebrity prisoner helping Emilio.  

Vic might have made a comment about the melodrama, or even defended the celebrity prisoner against accusations of weakness when she was currently beating someone up with a chair like one of those big, beefy wrestlers you’d see on television, but the vampire’s gesture had caught Vic’s eye on something else entirely.  Almost directly behind the vampire, the door to one of the cages lay open, jagged edges sticking out due to the bedlam.  Quickly, an idea wormed its way into Vic’s mind.  

Her eyes found the other vampire’s, who was still ranting about revenge, and Vic wanted to cry out in frustration.  It was not supposed to be like this.  The whole point in joining the Good Neighbors was to save vampires, to make up for her past, to finally work toward being good, but now…

No matter how many times Vic found life unfair, she was still surprised by it.  But as her eyes left the vampire’s and scoured the fighting around them, there was a sudden clarity that washed through her.  Zane, helping Daiyu.  The celebrity prisoner, stepping in to save Emilio.  Alistair, doing their best to help all of them.  These people, with varying dynamics among them, were coming together in each other’s times of need because it was the right thing to do.  Not because they were or weren’t a certain species, but because they were all trying to do what they thought was right.  Maybe morality would never be as simple as Vic wanted it to be, but perhaps it didn’t have to be as complicated as she once thought.  

For only a moment more, she held her breath, right before looking back into the other vampire’s eyes.  “I’m sorry”, was all she muttered before she mustered her strength, wriggled her arms free, and shoved her backwards, sending her plowing into the jagged edges of a door that once held her prisoner. 

—

She took Zane’s hand and his rescue without complaint, even if in a far introspective distance, her ego was bruised at needing help. Daiyu watched the other rush away from her, to the thief of her gun and watched as her rescuer opened his jaws wide and sank his teeth into the former prisoner. There was not a lot of time to register the fact that Emilio – a slayer – had brought a vampire to this fight, but the thought still hit her in the face as she spat out her knife and picked it up again. 

The fight found her again, or maybe she found it again – how those things worked, she never knew – but she was back in the fray without considering how death had and would come close. There was no room for thought and besides, Daiyu was a woman of few thoughts in general. So she sunk her knife into a shifting wolf, cutting through vital arteries and leaving it to bleed out, half-monstrous and half-man. 

Her mind was only partially dedicated to her partners in crime. She had not been made for team fights, after all, and her father’s lessons had taught her that a knife in the back should always be expected. After all, Emilio had brought a vampire — and even if that vampire had saved her life and even if a zombie she’d kidnapped were fighting alongside, there was still room for them to turn on her. She was aware of all of them, both because she did not want them to die and because she knew they might as well take her out, here. Paranoia and concern made for a confusing mix of stark awareness.

But it all faded when a voice rang through the building. As the six of them had inched closer to the exit, they’d unconsciously all moved towards another ambush. Winnifred’s voice was demanding, the way a teacher’s was to children. “No! Halt!” The scene was like one of a shitty action movie, if you were to ask Daiyu — a horizontal line of people with weapons accosted them. Winnifred was flanked by those of the inner circle not here today, her own fingers wrapped around a small handgun while others carried weapons of various sizes, though they were all very much fatal if used well. And these people knew how to use them well.

The world held its breath. “We found dear Blanche here trying to escape,” said Aleksander, whose magic was restraining a vampire mid-air, limbs stretched out and her face a bloody, furious mess. 

“What were you thinking?” This, from Winnifred, whose face was almost as red as the vampire’s but not from blood — only from anger. The weapon looked wrong in her hand, but it was impossible to say if the tremor in her arm was from anxiety or anger. As she continued to speak, it was clear it was the latter. Her eyes rested on Alistair. “We made this place to keep them safe, to keep us safe — they are —” As the group moved further into the building and more of the carnage became clear to her, more emotion seemed to grasp her. A dead siren at her feet looked up at her with blank eyes and for a moment it seemed like Winnifred forgot how to breathe, air stuck in her throat and water gathering in her eyes. “We do not kill them — not even when they kill those like us, and now, now look at what you’ve done, what you have all done that cannot be undone!” 

She was raising her gun, aiming it at the actress she’d enjoyed in so many films she’d watched with family, the zombie who had killed members of her beloved community. Who was once more covered in blood. Winnifred thought murder the largest crime of all and had not yet debased herself to that level, but perhaps would be the day she’d have to start. She glanced at the people flanking her, those she thought she could still trust. She’d let them be lethal, today. “It should have never come to this, but —”

She would never finish the sentence.

—

Of all people to swoop in and keep those teeth from finding his throat, it was Mack Ross who did it. In many ways, and perhaps a little foolishly, Emilio wished it had been someone else. It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of being saved by someone undead — he’d brought Zane as his backup, after all, had taken Metzli when he’d needed another set of eyes at the barn — it was that it was this specific undead person. He found Mack reckless, found her irresponsible, and there were few worse things for someone undead to be. (Besides, perhaps, self-righteous. There were worse people who could have rescued him here. He was lucky it wasn’t Monty.) 

She wasn’t the sort of person he wanted to owe his life to, though it was based more in petty reasons than anything substantial. For a moment, he almost wished those teeth had found his throat after all, but he pushed the thought away. There was still a fight to be won here. Emilio didn’t want to check out before he knew that the people he’d come in with made it out.

Offering her a stiff nod, he fumbled to his feet. The action wasn’t graceful, the way it might have been when his leg was a functional thing and not a mass of discomfort. He pushed the pain aside as easily as he ever did, picking up his weapon and making quick work of the assailant Mack had pulled off him. There was little time for small talk when the act was done, and Emilio was glad for it. He was better in a fight than he was in a conversation.

He turned his attention easily back to the altercation at hand. He fell into an easy rhythm of blades to throats and stakes to chests. For a moment, a heartbeat, he thought they might all make it out alive.

And then an unfamiliar voice cut through the chaos, and everything stopped.

This, he thought, must have been Winnifred. She didn’t look much like he’d expected, though he hadn’t known what to expect at all. She seemed clean-cut, seemed like the sort of woman who would bring cookies to a new neighbor. Which, consequently, meant she seemed like the sort of woman Emilio would hate to have as a neighbor. If he made it out of here alive, he thought, perhaps he’d use Winnifred to justify this prejudice. 

With his eyes locked onto the weapons Winnifred’s people clutched, he thought that was a fairly big if to hang expectations upon. 

She was speaking, though Emilio had a hard time making the words fit neatly in his ears. He was too wired up for conversation, covered in dust and blood and still yearning to add to it. Winnifred was speaking, Winnifred was pointing her gun. It found Mack and, unconsciously, the slayer took a step towards the zombie, some half-formed intention of placing himself between her and the danger. He wasn’t sure if it was repayment for her saving his life moments before or something else, but it didn’t matter. One of Winnifred’s men swung his weapon towards Emilio in warning, and the slayer froze.

Of course, the ragtag group of makeshift rescuers weren’t the only ones frozen at the new additions to the chaos. Winnifred had always had a commanding presence; none of the things she’d built within the Keep would have worked if she hadn’t. When she spoke, the people around her tended to listen. There was something about those long, impassioned rants, something about the righteous anger. She had a way of gripping her audience by the throat, holding them in place as a barrage of words assaulted their senses endlessly. 

Some had been listening longer than others. Kirk had been her unwilling audience for half a decade now. He’d sat caged while she rambled on and on, speaking of the dangers he posed while dragging more and more people like him to live lives behind bars, starving and losing pieces of themselves day in and day out. It was enough to turn any beast rabid, wasn’t it? It was enough to make wolves of chihuahuas. 

And Kirk was anything but a pup.

Winnifred and her people were so focused on the group that had infiltrated the Keep. Guns trained on people with heaving chests and wide eyes, numbers smaller than those of the ex-prisoners around them. Was it her ego, or the outrage of the betrayal? Kirk recognized two of them, after all, knew enough to know that this was at least in part an inside job. 

But the reason for Winnifred’s arrogant inattentiveness didn’t matter nearly as much as the inattentiveness itself. For six years, Kirk had listened to every word out of Winnifred’s mouth as a literal captive audience. 

He would hear no more.

The shift came easily to him, rippling through him all at once with his willingness to turn as its vessel. Teeth lengthened, nails sharpened into claws. He was already sailing through the air as the final details of the shift took hold, skin still settling over new bones as he landed on his captor. Teeth found her throat before another word could leave it, digging in and ripping. 

The spray of blood, arching up to the high ceilings and painting the walls around it, was the most beautiful thing Kirk had seen in half a decade.

—

It all happened rather quickly, didn’t it? One moment Winnifred was doing what she did best, talking endlessly, and the next she was gurgling and then the sound of a body falling to the ground filled the air. It was a strange mix of emotions that filled the necromancer. For one, Winnifred had been the person that had stuck by Alistair the longest when they first arrived to town. But also, she was quite an annoying woman, wasn’t she? It left Alistair with a mix of emotions that they couldn’t quite put a name to. They weren’t very sure they wanted to, either.

As the chaos unfolded around them, Alistair held onto the spell they cast to control the undead that kept them protected. But Aleksander, try as he may, had always been jealous of Alistair. Of their abilities. While Aleksander worked so hard to get to where he was, Alistair was always a step above him. The practical right hand to Winnifred when Aleksander had always bent over backwards to be noticed by the woman he considered a dear friend. 

And now? Now Winnifred was dead on the ground by Kirk, the longest standing member of the keep, dead because of the actions of a necromancer who got too big for their britches. “You’ve always been the thorn in my side,” Aleksander snarled at Alistair, stepping toward the redhead with murder clear in his eyes. “You’ve always been the one standing in my way no matter how hard I work. And now you’re the reason Winnie is dead.” Anger and venom spat from the younger necromancer’s mouth, the spell that held the vampire he had under his control waning enough for the woman to run as fast as she could away from the scene. 

Emotions and necromancy didn’t mix well. Something always went wrong, didn’t it? Ah, well. Aleksander could easily remedy the cocktail of emotions that stormed inside of him. He raised the gun and aimed it right for Alistair’s chest. He wanted it to draw out. He didn’t want Alistair to know mercy. Mercy that he had never been shown by the scotsman. “Burn in hell, McKenzie,” Aleksander spoke before pulling the trigger of the gun. 

The shot rang through the keep, and Alistair felt pain blooming in their chest. No. Dammit, they’d made it this far only to be shot by the man who had been jealous of Alistair’s power since the day they met. Alistair’s spell dropped, and the undead swarmed Aleksander like bees defending their hive. But Alistair didn’t care what happened to that man. Because they’d been shot. 

Alistair sunk to their knees as they felt them give out from underneath them. This was it? This is what it felt like to die. Falling fully to the ground, Alistair stared up at the ceiling with their unseeing gaze. This was it. They’d been shot and they had to hope and pray to anyone who would listen that their resurrection spell would work. 

__

The air was already heavy with panic and blood when a voice demanded attention and actually received, making discomfort seep into the thick atmosphere as well. A woman, the woman responsible for all of this, in some ways indirectly but responsible all the same. For the creatures, the people littering the floor, for the almost death of two hunters, for the blood in Zane’s mouth that tasted wrong and violent. Winnifred was speaking and no one interjected, perhaps for fear of the weapons her lackeys wielded or they were just using this moment of quiet to gather their thoughts. Zane wasn’t even sure he had thoughts to gather other than getting out, getting their whole team out, an unrealistic thought at this point. 

But then chaos erupted again as it was wont to do, more blood permeated the air, bodies were pushing and shoving once again as Winnifred was dead. That didn’t stop a good chunk of the prisoners from rushing in the direction of her corpse, rushing at those who had wronged them. Wanting a piece of the woman responsible for their imprisonment, even if it was just a piece of her corpse. Zane smelled smoke at the same time a gunshot rang out, instinct whipping his focus to Emilio who was thankfully only responsible for the fire starting to crackle and not sporting a bullet wound. Someone was but there was no telling who - the fire incited a new level of panic as those acting on thought instead of instinct (Zane found himself teetering on the edge of the latter) realized that the time for escaping here alive was running out. 

And they didn’t even know about the explosives. 

Zane knew that wasn’t his purpose for being brought here, that Emilio would probably give him shit about it later on but he still found himself forging a path to the slayer, needing to make sure he made it out, too. If anyone was likely to try to sacrifice themselves by staying behind, making sure less of the dangerous prisoners escaped, it was Emilio. 

—

It was like all time stood still when the vaguely familiar voice of a woman Mack had seen every now and then had spoken up loudly. It was as if she commanded the room like something holy descending from the sky, but to Mackenzie, she was the soccer mom from Hell. One of the Real Housewives of Wicked’s Rest trying to have her 15 minutes of fame. And so many other horrific analogies all rolled into one. But when her holier-than-thou speech had started to come to a close, the twenty-six year old could only see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her, and if her dead heart could have started and then stopped beating in that moment it would have.

But she couldn’t be killed by a bullet right? Winnifred could try, but if Mackenzie couldn’t kill her fellow zombie with a stab through the brain, the woman’s gun wouldn’t do shit. It’d hurt like hell probably, but she had been through worse. At least that’s what she continued to tell herself over and over as she thought about Brody, who had been with her since the day she had killed him, her family, Bixby, Taylor, Winter, and all the people that mattered most in her life. That was, until she watched as the woman suddenly was ripped to shreds by a werewolf, only for all hell to break loose once more.

Deciding Emilio could defend himself, Mackenzie knew it was time to flee, but if things couldn’t get any worse, the faint smell of something burning seeped into her dulled nostrils and before long, it was as if people were stampeding trying to make their way to safety. And without any choice, the zombie was forced to go along with the crowd, until she felt her feet go out from under her as she tripped on something.

With her head and face covered by her arms, she tried her best to avoid getting trampled as she lay on top of something, and when it seemed most of the horde had found an escape from the room she was in, she slowly opened her eyes and rolled off of the thing she had been laying on, until she realized it was Alistair. Alistair who wasn’t moving and was covered in blood, “Alistair?” It was like the breath was catching in her throat and her mind suddenly went back to the night she had last been with Brody. And despite knowing that the man she loved had become a ghost, Mackenzie couldn’t help but let her mind go back in time, until she noticed someone else, one of Winnifred’s men, leave the room, snapping her out of the near panic attack that felt like it was coming on.

“Alistair, you gotta get up, okay? This place is on fire. It’s burning, and we have to go!” Mackenzie shifted to her knees and nudged them, first softly, and then with more effort, “Alistair, please…please wake up…please…” With no response, she wanted to cry out for help, but realized there had been no one who could help her, and without waiting any longer, she climbed to her feet, “I-I’m not leaving you here.” Latching onto him in a firefighter’s drag position, she slowly, and with all her strength, began pulling him out as the fire began to inch closer and closer to the room they were both in. The effort it took to move them was almost more than she had, but she was determined, and when she finally managed to reach an exit, she pushed the door open and continued to move him, until she realized they were both safe collapsing to the ground, but also grateful for the seclusion of the door she had come out of.

And when she had regathered her strength, she climbed to her feet once more, “I can’t - I can’t have another PR nightmare on my hands. I’m sorry. But…you’ve got a chance out here, okay? I’ll try and send someone your way to help you…” At this point, she wasn’t sure if Alistair had been alive or had died, and despite what he had been a part of, Mackenzie had chosen to see him as the person he had been before, she knew he was a key player in all that and transpired.

—

Luck didn’t exist.  Vic had been sure of it from nearly the moment she was conscious, for luck could not have evaded a single person so frequently.  What was it then, that caused the jagged edges of the door to strike through just the right part of the vampire’s chest as Vic pushed her down?  Was it spite?  Was it centuries of practiced aim?  She had spent years convincing herself she wasn’t a violent person, so what was all the training for?  Why had she made herself adept at fighting if she hadn’t planned on using those skills? Had she been lying to herself this whole time?

Vic wasn’t sure, not even as the vampire turned to dust in her hands, disappearing from consciousness before she had a moment to even comprehend what had happened.  And for a moment, Vic actually tried to push her back together. This vampire who was once a person, who once had a family and people who loved her, who was probably turned against her will, as Vic herself was.   “No, no, no, no…” She sank to her knees, gathering the earth beneath her into frantic piles as if it might reverse all the mistakes she’d made that very night.  If she had left well enough alone, the other vampire would still be alive.  If she had listened to her companions, the carnage around her wouldn’t exist.  

Faintly, from behind her, she heard a commotion that she couldn’t recognize.  Gunshots, fire, and death couldn’t beat the ringing that her ears were producing, no matter how prominent they were.  What had she done?  In her haste to do the right thing, to save a soul that she assumed was good, she’d destroyed nearly everything.  She looked up, around at her companions (she could only see three of them now) and the rest of what was left of the keep.  If they stayed here any longer, they all might be lost too.

“We need to go”, she yelled, watching as the fire grew and the prisoners fought each other to tear their captor apart.  “We need to go now”.  As they ushered each other out to safety, there wasn’t much to say, or think about, other than the chaos that they were leaving behind.  There were plenty of questions running through her mind, ones that wouldn’t ever leave, not even when Vic was in the deepest, calmest of states of relaxation.

Did the others know that she was the cause of the carnage?  Would they forgive her, if they had?  Would the carnage have happened anyway, if she had set another prisoner free instead?  But the question that rang the loudest, that nearly never left her mind was this- How could she ever call herself a good person if her first real attempt at forgiveness ended in destruction?

[s0fter-sin]

watching the valeria interrogation again and when alejandro says, “you disgrace the army”, rudy steps forward but when alejandro looks over his shoulder at him and says, “and your brothers, no?” he steps back again, almost like he’s trying to pull himself out of the conversation

alejandro leans in close to her and rudy reacts like he wants to pull him away, to protect him from her and from her words, but when he brings up that valeria hurt him too, betrayed him too, rudy retreats like he doesn't want to be reminded of it

it's alejandro who keeps valeria talking about the past, who prompts her to say more when simply saying she's ex-military would've been enough. they bait each other, valeria far more successfully than alejandro; she’s essentially running the interrogation

this speaks volumes of rudy’s interjection of, “he (the son of la areña) was supposed to go to prison”. he’s getting short; cutting off valeria and her excuses, not to redirect them back to the point of the interrogation but bc he’s done with her. rudy’s terser with her, more obviously angry, than he is with an actual terrorist

alejandro can't get past their history; let's himself get pulled off track and compromised but not be he's more upset than rudy. rudy has just repressed the hell out of it; if he doesn't think about it then it didn't happen

but now, he's suddenly being confronted with it head on

"you disgrace the army," is generalised; valeria didn't just hurt rudy, she hurt all of them. it's easier to take

"and your brothers," calls rudy out directly for his pain; pain alejandro wants retribution for and he doesn't want to face it, doesn't want to admit to it bc he doesn’t want to have to feel it

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 9)

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

word count: 25,347

***CONTENT WARNING: MENTION OF SUICIDE***

___________________________

“What did I tell you?”

Peter shriveled a little, wincing as Stark threaded the suture needle in and out of the skin surrounding his still-healing bullet wound, face flushed behind his mask as he sat once again between his mentor and Johnny Storm, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. Unlike Spider-Man, the Human Torch appeared to have no qualms being half-naked in front of others. In fact, based on his surprisingly racy modeling portfolio, Peter was certain Johnny’s superhero costume would be far more risqué if Johnny had any say in the matter. At the very least, he’d add some bold cutouts down his legs and across his midsection. Maybe some fingerless gloves or a gold choker around his neck. Meanwhile, from Peter’s perspective, the less skin he was showing, the better—especially since he was always in the mindset of trying to keep his secret identity under wraps. 

“Take it easy. No web-swinging,” Peter eventually mumbled.

“And what did you go and do anyway?”

Spider-Man grimaced. “Swung from Washington Square Park to here. But—”

“No buts. You ignored my demands, and now we’re both paying the price. You know the rules, kid. After I’m done sewing you up— again —the suit goes in the lab and stays there for as long as I deem appropriate. Understood?”

Peter sighed. This was the agreement Stark and May had forced him to abide by until he turned eighteen. Tony had never kept the suit from him for longer than a couple days, but it still sucked majorly whenever he was made to give it up. It never failed to make him feel like a grounded pre-schooler. 

“I thought you tore your stitches when you backflipped for the livestream,” Johnny said with a frown. Tony went rigid, eyes rising to meet Peter’s, nostrils flaring. Peter wished he was close enough to the Human Torch to kick him in the shins.

“You did what?” Stark snapped.

“You told me you didn’t web-swing today!” Johnny exclaimed. 

“Johnny!” Peter cried, exasperated. “You said you’d take the heat for this, not get me in trouble even more!”

“That was before I knew you lied to me!”

“Can it, you two,” Tony interjected, piercing Peter’s skin a tad less gently, making the young hero flinch. “You heard me. Suit. Lab. End of discussion.”

Peter sulked in defeat. How was he ever going to take down Kingpin when his mentor kept treating him like a goddamn five-year-old? Eighteen could not come fast enough. 

Johnny shot a glare in Peter’s direction, then exhaled slowly, placing his hands on his hips. “Mr. Stark, it’s clear that Spidey was a massive fuck-up today.”

“Hey!” Peter protested, earning a sharp flick from his mentor.

“Keep still,” Tony demanded.

“But if you take away his suit, he and I won’t be able to hang out anymore. If I promise to keep him from being a dumbass and hurting himself again, would you consider letting him keep it? Please? You know, one member of the SDS to another?”

To Peter’s surprise, Stark actually seemed to be considering his request. Peter knew how hard it was to say no to those big blue eyes paired with that pleading, innocuous smile, but still. Spider-Man wrinkled his brow, glancing between the two of them suspiciously.

“What’s the SDS?” he asked. 

“Shhh,” Johnny cooed, smooshing a finger against Peter’s lips. “Nothing that concerns you, cutie pie. You just sit there and look pretty while we work this out, yeah?”

Peter blushed in surprise, then batted Johnny's hand aside. “Why do you always have to be so damn condescending?” he asked, stifling a giggle.

“You swear you’ll keep him grounded until I give the green light?” Stark inquired hesitantly, stroking his thin beard.

Johnny beamed. “I can more than swear it,” he assured the Avenger, raising his hand and extending his littlest finger. “I pinky promise.”

Tony rolled his eyes and shooed Johnny’s hand away. With a sigh, he leveled his gaze on the young celebrity. “If he so much as splits one stitch—”

“Then I’ll rip off his suit and hand-deliver it to you myself,” Johnny assured him. 

Peter reddened as Stark knotted off the final suture in his side. “Please don’t,” the two said in unison. His mentor moved to stand directly in front of him and met his eye with a long, cold stare. Peter shrunk back, opening his mouth to try to say something constructive, but Tony shut him up by balling up the Spider-Man suit and chucking it directly into his face, muffling his yelp of surprise. 

“There. Happy now? Christ—I can’t believe how much of a pushover you’ve turned me into. I should’ve known how dangerous you two would be working in tandem to corrode my willpower and estimated lifespan.”

Peter untangled himself from the suit, then joined Johnny in showering Stark with proclamations and placards of gratitude. Tony simply crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders and muttered to himself about gray hairs and crow’s feet. Peter slipped his limbs into the floppy red fabric then tapped the spider symbol on his chest to shrink the costume down, cinching it to his narrow frame. 

“I promise I’ll be more careful,” Spider-Man insisted, rubbing gingerly at his side.

“Oh, wow—haven’t heard that one before,” Tony grumbled.

“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Stark,” Johnny chirped, slinging an arm around Peter’s neck. “Spidey and I will lay low and stay grounded for the next few days. No more bullet wounds or backflips or web-swingings of any kind; you have my word.”

Tony dragged his hands down his face with a weary groan. “Sure. If you say so. Whatever. I seriously need a drink. FRIDAY. Whiskey. Now, please.”

“A rosemary tea with honey is steeping on your office desk as we speak,” the A.I. replied.

“Screw you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re the one who instructed me to make you tea anytime you requested an alcoholic beverage,” FRIDAY reminded him.

Tony huffed. “Screw you, me.”

The friendly arm draped across Peter’s shoulders suddenly tightened into a semi-threatening chokehold. “You’re welcome, asshole,” Johnny growled, sotto voce. “Thanks for lying to my face.”

Peter clenched his jaw, trying to focus on anything other than the feeling of Johnny’s perfectly toned arm muscles coiled against his throat. “I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t mean to. I was just…” Images of freckled skin bathed in summer sunshine looped like a powerpoint in his mind. He swallowed. “Er…distracted.” 

The corners of Johnny’s mouth lifted a little. “Well. Seeing how I’m now responsible for keeping you out of trouble, let’s not pull that shit again, yeah?”

Peter scoffed. “You do realize you’ve been the primary cause of all the trouble I’ve gotten into as of late, right?” 

“All the more reason for me to stop you from getting into more,” Johnny countered smoothly. “We’ve braved some of the most daunting situations two people could ever face together over the past couple days. Things can only go up from here, right?”

A loud ringing sound from inside Peter’s backpack bulldozed through their conversation. Peter pulled out his phone to find he had an incoming call—from May Parker.

“It’s my aunt,” Spider-Man stated, a small spindle of nerves scribbling up his throat. Immediately, he clicked the answer button, knowing better than to send her to voicemail. If she was calling because she was upset about something, always better to face it right away than to give her anger more time to stew. Hopefully it was just an update on how the convention was going, a quick chat about what they’d been up to, that kind of thing. Nothing to worry about. So long as he played it cool and didn’t mention being shot, everything would be fine. He held the phone up to his ear. 

“Hey, May,” he said hesitantly. “Uh, what’s up?”

“You were SHOT?” 

Peter flinched away from the speaker, his aunt’s voice exploding from the phone like a pipe bomb, skewering him with shards of terror. His eyes snapped towards Johnny and Stark; his jaw hung open, practically grazing the floor.

“I…I…uh…”

Stark spun away from him, marching towards the exit with his hands raised in submission. “This one’s on you, kid. I warned yah. Don’t come crying to me. You’re on your own.”

May continued yelling at him through the phone, forcing Peter to block the speaker with his hand for fear she’d start referring to him by name—followed by a horrifying string of New York-style expletives. While Spider-Man pored frantically over what to do, Johnny started snickering behind his palm. Peter turned on him in disbelief.

“You’re laughing?” he exclaimed. Johnny shook his head, giggling even more.

“Sorry, haha! It’s just—you’re Spider-Man, and you’re in so much trouble. All these people think you’re this evil menace, when you’re really just a kid getting grounded and scolded like every other teenager in America. If only they knew!” Johnny’s eyes brightened suddenly as he held up his phone. “Speaking of, should I be recording this?”

Peter grappled for the device in Johnny’s hand. “Dude! Don’t you dare!”

“Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Johnny went rigid, his wide smile morphing into a grimace. Sue and Reed stood in front of the med bay doors, the Invisible Woman looking a tad red in the face and Mr. Fantastic tense and nervous. Although still drowning in fear from his aunt’s muffled shouts against his palm, Peter took a second to savor karma’s sweet sting. 

“Ha,” Peter taunted him, giving Johnny a light shove in the back. “Serves you right.” Johnny shrugged him off with a scowl.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “I’ll come find you after I deal with this. We gotta discuss Spidey’s next big social media stunt.”

A crafty gleam entered his eye as Johnny said that last part. To Peter’s surprise, Johnny stepped forward suddenly and bundled him into a last-second hug, sending volts of electricity tingling through his belly. 

“Sorry about all this,” Johnny added softly. “I’ll be more careful the next time I post or talk about you and make sure not to mention things like you getting shot—which, by the way, better not happen ever again.”

Peter grasped for something cool and chill and witty to say in reply, but it was no use. The only thoughts his brain could articulate while pressed this close to Johnny Storm were warm and smell nice and me like hug and please never let go. 

“Sounds Gucci,” was the moronic buffoonery he eventually squeaked out. He wrapped his arms around Johnny’s back and held him tight: resting his forehead against his shoulder, breathing in deep, and soaking him in. This was the closest he’d ever get to being more than friends with him, so he had to relish every second he got.

“Johnny.”

Lanced with sudden bashfulness, Spider-Man jerked out of Johnny’s embrace. How had he forgotten about the two other superheroes glowering at them from across the room so quickly? Well, one glowering superhero, anyway—Reed Richards wasn’t staring at them with any animosity in his gaze, but rather a quiet curiosity. For some reason, Peter found this even more unsettling. 

“All right!” the Human Torch snapped, whirling on his sister. Tiny flames bubbled across his skin. “I’m coming, okay? Jesus!” He turned back to Spider-Man and prodded his chest with his finger. “Stay grounded until I get back. The two of us are in enough hot water already.”

A curt laugh escaped him. “No kidding,” Peter mumbled. A fresh bout of angry ranting erupted from the phone in his hand, making him jump a little and almost drop it. Wincing, Peter pointed to the cracked screen. “Sorry, I gotta—”

“Same,” Johnny sighed, jogging towards his teammates. “I’ll catch yah later, ‘kay? Good luck with your aunt!”

Peter nodded and waved. “Thanks. Write a nice eulogy for me if this goes as well as I’m anticipating.”

Johnny giggled as Sue corralled him through the exit. “Will do.” 

Once the room was clear, Peter reluctantly lifted his hand off the speaker, and was met with the verbal ass-whooping of a lifetime.

“—even listening to me? Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack? If you don’t answer in the next five seconds, I’m hopping on the next bus to New York and coming home this instant so I can ground you until the day I die and cram a baseball bat straight up Tony’s lying, irresponsible, egotistical—”

“May!” Peter cut in helplessly. “Please! I was in front of a bunch of people who don’t know my secret identity! I couldn’t say anything until they left the room.”

“Are they gone now?” she shot back, words sharp as talons. Peter bunched his limbs in close to his body.

“Yes,” he answered miserably.

“Good. ‘Cuz it’s explanation time, buddy. Now. Go.”

Peter pinched his eyes closed, wondering how he could possibly spell out everything that had happened since she’d left without sounding like a reckless douchebag of a nephew, or fully chucking Mr. Stark under the bus. He hung his head, slipping the Spider-Man mask off his face.

“I’m sorry, May. I should’ve told you. It all happened so fast, and I hate making you worry while you're busy with F.E.A.S.T. stuff. I’m on the mend now and hoped I could get away with not having to burden you with this.”

“A bold feat, considering your famous new friend’s affinity for talking about you being shot on multiple different live media platforms, and the fact I probably have more Google alerts on for your alter ego than all of your enemies combined.”

The depth of Peter’s stupidity drizzled over him like boiling coffee. The teen gave a cheerless laugh, palming his face in his hand. “Right. God. Really didn’t think this one through at all, did I?”

“No, sweetheart. You really didn’t.”

The pair marinated in a long stretch of silence. Guilt chewed through Peter’s guts like maggots. May heaved a weighty sigh from the other end of the line.

“I’m always going to worry about you getting hurt, Peter,” she insisted, voice stern yet brittle. “There’s nothing either of us can do to stop that. But what I absolutely do not need added to that worry is the fear that you’re keeping things from me. Do you understand?”

Peter cupped his wounded side, skin still stinging from the freshly stitched sutures. Her words carried far more bite than she could ever know. 

“Yes, May,” he said meekly.

“When did you even start hanging out with that guy? How did the two of you meet?”

Alarm plastered the walls of Peter’s throat. “Johnny? Oh, uh—just a few days ago. Mr. Stark invited his team to stay at the tower for a bit.” Immediately, he backtracked. “But please don’t blame any of this on them. Stark just found out about me getting shot right before you did, and Johnny protected me from getting hurt even worse. They’re not at fault here—just me.”

May’s voice came through pained and wobbly. “You promised me you’d stay safe and keep me updated while I was gone,” she said.

Shame tore into the young hero like glass. Peter Parker bit the inside of his cheek and tucked his free arm beneath his aching ribs. Just rip my heart right outta my chest, why don’t you? Nothing made Peter feel shittier than when he made his aunt cry. This was the first major test of their dynamic as super-powered kid and scared but encouraging guardian . Despite her uncertainty about it, May had agreed to let him continue fighting crime in her absence—so long as he kept her up to date on everything going on. And how had he thanked her for her unwavering trust and support? By betraying her the second the opportunity presented itself. What was he thinking, hiding this from her? He hadn’t been thinking; whatever loopy pain meds Stark had injected him with paired with Johnny’s zany teasing had made sure of that. 

“This business summit is turning into a shit-show,” May continued tearfully. “None of my presentations have gone how I’ve hoped, half my team isn’t here because of a strep outbreak, and I feel completely unprepared and inexperienced compared to everyone else. Now I come to find out my kid has been shot and didn’t even tell me?” A small sniffle escaped her. “Maybe I should just come home…”

His aunt’s words cut him to his core. What could he say to make this better? What could he do to bring the light back into her voice?

Peter thought back to that last time he’d scared and disappointed her this badly. It was before May had even known he was Spider-Man. He’d been so busy tracking down the Vulture and dealing with the aftermath of the ferry he’d accidentally split in two, he’d wound up ignoring her calls all day and getting home way past his curfew. He’d never seen her that upset before, and never wanted to put her in that position ever again.

How had he made things better then? She’d been pretty standoff-ish for the next week. He’d kept his head down, caught up on his studies, gave up on Spider-Manning since he was sans his suit for the time being. It was only when he told her about a certain Academic Decathlon captain he’d asked to go with him to the Homecoming dance that the old May he knew and loved finally showed her face again.

She’d always been embarrassingly invested in her nephew’s budding romances and teenage love life, despite how uneventful they tended to be. Few things on earth brought her more joy than hearing about Peter’s latest infatuations and offering him advice on how to win their affection. Now that she knew he was a superhero, that interest had increased tenfold. Fortunately for Peter, nothing of significance had happened since his short and tumultuous fling with Liz. 

Until now, anyway. Which gave him an idea…

“I’m so sorry, May—for all of it. I really messed up. I won’t keep anything like this from you again, okay? Just please don’t leave yet. You fought so hard to be there; you deserve to be there. Don’t let my dumbassery ruin this for you.” He licked his lips, nerves buzzing to a fever pitch. He just had to hint at it. He didn’t have to say who or when or even what . All he had to do was reference just enough to shift her focus from her nephew’s irresponsibility and the stress of the conference to Peter’s hot new heartthrob.

Was this manipulative? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely so. But if it succeeded in cheering her up a little, Peter called that a win.

“The main reason I didn’t tell you about what happened was ‘cuz…” Peter swallowed. “Because my head’s been all over the place, and I’ve been really distracted lately.” 

May paused to blow her nose before responding. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Distracted by what?”

Frighteningly familiar warmth spread like wildfire across his skin. Peter shot anxious glances around the room to make absolutely certain the coast was clear, then huffed out a defeated breath.

“I kinda…have a crush on someone…” he mumbled, blush crawling into his cheeks. He couldn’t believe he was already telling another person about this after having just confessed to Ned a few hours ago, but his aunt clearly needed the pick-me-up. Besides—it wasn’t like he was planning on coming out to her just yet. 

It was almost comical how well his evil scheme worked. When his aunt finally responded, all the exhaustion and sadness had been sapped from her voice, replaced instead with beaming delight. 

“What?” she exclaimed. “A crush? Oh my god! Peter! It’s been forever since you’ve had a crush! I’ve been dying for you to find someone new after Liz, and you choose to wait ‘til I’m shipped off to New Jersey to finally find one?” 

Peter giggled sheepishly in spite of himself. Although his aunt’s obsession with his dating life was patronizing at times, her enthusiasm was entertaining to indulge and incredibly contagious. He knew she was smiling the biggest, giddiest smile right now, and Peter couldn’t help but do the same. The two of them were so close and always spoke so openly with each other, it was easy to forget they had no actual blood relation.  

“Sorry. Believe me—this was not something I planned on at all.”

Technically not a lie, he reminded himself. Speaking vague truths felt better than outright fibbing. He vowed to be as honest as he could without digging himself into an inescapable hole.

“How dare you spring this on me while I’m supposed to be mad at you,” May chastised him, unable to shake the elation from her tone. “You know how excited I get about this sort of thing.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck. Damn . She sure caught onto him quick. 

“I was gonna wait until you got back,” he explained, voice tinted with mischief, “but it sounded like you needed to hear it now.” 

Also not a lie, he thought. It wasn't like he expected to keep her in the dark forever. 

“Well, don’t leave me hanging here, kiddo!” she said. “May needs details!”

Sudden uncertainty lassoed his tongue. How could he describe him in all his charming, wily, flaming glory without saying—well, him? It was possible Peter hadn’t thought this through as much as he should have.

“Uh—like what?” Peter stammered out, stalling for more time.

“Everything!” May pressed him. “When did this start, how did it happen, what’s the plan to get you two together?”

Peter felt a small flutter stir inside him. Should I just tell her? he thought, nervous excitement surging through his veins. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it do? There wasn’t a universe he could imagine where May turned her back on him—no matter what he did or who he was or the kind of person his heart chose to love. She’d told him a thousand times over: she’d always be there for him. Plus, Peter hated having to lie to her. He’d already shattered her trust in him once; if he could find it in himself to swallow his fear and confess this daunting secret, maybe he could start to restore that trust, and prove to her how much faith and value he placed in their relationship. 

“We met pretty recently,” Peter ventured to say, nerves latching onto every word. “At Avengers Tower, a couple days after you left.”

True.

“You met as Peter, or as Spider-Man?” 

Sweat rallied between the palms of his hands and the fabric of his gloves. He switched the phone to his opposite ear and took a slow, shaky breath. Was he really about to do this?

“As Spider-Man, actually,” he said. “The two of us—we’re both superheroes.”

True.

“No kidding?” May responded emphatically. “How exciting! A superhero, star-crossed romance! I could see how that might get messy, though: mixing work and powers and secret identities into the already complex mayhem that is teenage dating.”

Peter croaked out a laugh. “Oh, for sure. I’ve already run into plenty of unanticipated drama because of it.” True. Now? Do I tell her now? “It’s all really new and kinda crazy. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before.” Also true. How do I wanna say it? I already did this once. Why is it still so hard? “I seriously doubt anything is ever actually going to happen between us but I’m—I’m really excited about it.” 

About him.

About him.

Just tell her the truth! Spit it out already!

“What’s this mystery superhero’s name?” May inquired. Peter sat stiffly on the medical cot, clenching and unclenching his fists. He gradually stilled his shivering legs. Dropped his shoulders away from his ears. Sucked his teeth to his lips. Shut his eyes. Set his jaw. Inhaled deep, then opened his mouth.

“Johnny. It’s Johnny Storm. He’s the person I have a crush on.”

Silence. More silence. An abnormal amount of silence. Peter gulped down hitched breaths, heart thundering like a freight train, the phone trembling a little in his hand.

“M-May? Hello? You there?”

A jumbled, staticky sound gargled from the speaker in response. Peter winced, holding the device away from his ear. A few seconds later, May’s voice garbled out of the phone in short, clipped segments, cutting in and out with only a few decipherable words finding their way through. 

“May?” Peter said again, nerves tearing at the seams. “Can you hear me?”

“—goddamn piece of shit, Jesus Christ,” was what he eventually heard her hiss when the connection was finally restored. “Sorry, Peter. My signal here is absolute garbage. I think our call got cut off for a second.”

“It’s okay,” he grated out, squirming a little in place. Another couple seconds passed, and he added: “Did—did you hear me? What I said?”

“No, I must’ve missed it. Go ahead, sweetheart! What’s her name?”

A cold feeling spread through the young superhero from the top of his head to the tips of his heels. He stared ahead blankly, ice trickling into his stomach. 

“What?” he barely managed to say. The word came out breathless and fractured. 

“The superhero girl! The one you said you have a crush on! You were telling me her name, right? Or did that part of our conversation cut out, too?”

Peter could feel his heartbeat throbbing inside his skull. Two words pounded against his brain like a pair of rubber mallets. 

Her, her, her, her .

Girl, girl, girl, girl. 

She didn’t know.

Duh. Of course she didn’t know. Why would she? He’d never…he’d always made it seem like…

Still. He wished she knew. Part of him felt blindsided that she didn’t.

Maybe she didn’t know him as well as himself or Ned or anyone else thought.

“Peter?” his aunt called, ripping him from the thoughts racing around his head at a thousand lightyears a second. “Are you there, hon? Is the connection still cutting out?”

Peter tried to speak, but was stunned to find his voice choked with tears. They stung his eyes and wet his cheeks and slipped down his neck in large, pathetic droplets. 

It took him a moment. Many moments. But one by one, he forced his mouth to form words.

“I…I think it might be,” he heard himself say. Lie. He wiped frantically at his eyes, stifled a sob, cleared his throat. “Um, anyway—Mr. Stark is actually asking for me to come join him in the lab now.” Lie. “You probably have big, fancy business meetings to get to that are way more important than this.” Lie. “I’ll call you back later, okay?” Lie. Lie. Lie. 

Aunt May sighed. “All right, sweetie. Ugh—stupid cell reception. You know I’m dying to hear everything about her! I’ll need the full play-by-play once I’m home next week. I love you! No more getting shot and not telling me please!”

Peter hung up before the tremble in his voice became too obvious to hide. He let the phone slide from his fingers into his lap, then sat in silence in the wide, empty room. The chilly air of the medical wing felt even more frigid than usual. His mask was draped across his knee, the eye lenses speckled with droplets. The only sounds were the quiet sniffles slipping through his defenses and the soft patter of tears against shatter-proof glass. 

Peter was confused, angry, hurt—but why , he wasn’t sure. 

He was confused with himself. Why was he borderline weeping over this? Why was this triggering such a visceral emotional response in him? She hadn’t cast him out or recoiled in disgust or anything like that; she’d just assumed the same thing everyone else assumed about him: that Peter liked girls, and girls alone. That’s all. Once he told her, she would know the truth. Simple as that. Shouldn’t he be relieved? Coming out for the first time to two different people in one day was a lot of pressure to put himself under. 

So why was crying? Why couldn’t he make himself stop?

He was angry at his cowardice, his naïveté, at the tears staining his cheeks. He was angry he had to tell his aunt outright for her to know him fully, but at the same time mad at the unrealistic expectations he was placing on her. The anger inside him churned as hot and violent as magma. He didn’t know where to put it.

Most of all, he was hurt. It was the kind of pain that pinched your entrails and mangled your heart and made your throat feel like it was caving in on itself. He didn’t have a name for it. He couldn’t understand its intensity or origin. He wanted it to let him go.

“Spidey! You still in here?”

Panicked, Peter flew from the bed and faced away from the doors, yanking the Spider-Man mask over his puffy eyes and splotchy face. He grounded himself with as steady a breath as he could muster as Johnny floated across the room and landed by his side. 

“That went slightly better than expected,” Johnny decided, now dressed in his skin-tight, deep blue Fantastic Four suit. “I think my sister is finally sorta somewhat warming up to the idea of you. You’ve been upgraded from ‘masked menace’ to ‘masked hooligan’ at least, which is a start. How about on your end? Did your aunt really grill you, or…hey. Are you okay?”

Peter cursed himself inside his head. What was the point in wearing a mask when people like Johnny could read him like an open book anyway? He turned towards the Human Torch with a dismal chuckle. 

“I’m good, yeah. That’s great. Really great. My aunt’s not mad anymore, either. Maybe I’m better at getting people to like me than I thought. I bet it’s my eccentric wit and rock-hard calves and rugged, unbridled sex appeal.”

Johnny’s frown didn’t budge an inch. “You’re doing it again,” he said. 

Peter rubbed at his eyes through the lenses of his mask. “Doing what?” he asked sullenly. 

“You know what,” Johnny snapped, crossing his arms against his chest. “Drop the stupid jokes, and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ouch. I thought the sex appeal part was at least kinda funny. Tough crowd.” 

“Spidey. Come on. Seriously.”

“Y’know, ‘seriously’ isn’t really my vibe at the moment. How about peanut M&M’s and microwave popcorn and Brooklyn 99 and ignoring our problems instead?”

“Spider-Man.”

Taken aback, Peter couldn’t help but giggle. “Was that you trying to call me by my full name? I have to admit, it was rather unsettling. You almost sounded like one of my super villains. Add a bit more growl to that last syllable, and you’ve pretty much nailed it.”

Johnny scoffed incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wow. This is…just wow. You done now? Is it outta your system yet?”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works. I’m like a goat. I’ll just keep going and going until I die. And the longer I go, the harder it is to stop. Speaking of, ever heard the one where a goat and a sommelier walk into a bar?”

“Webs,” Johnny implored, grabbing him by the wrist. The touch sent tingles up Peter’s arm and down his spine. “Please.”

Virulent emotion threatened to claim him once again. What was the point? He couldn’t tell him what was wrong. Even if he wanted to, Peter doubted he was capable of fully articulating it. 

With a desolate sigh, the masked hero yielded, but he selected his words with an abundance of caution. “It’s whatever, all right?” he insisted. “My aunt just…doesn’t know me like I thought she did. And it’s not her fault, but…I don’t know. It surprised me a little, since she probably knows me better than anyone.”

“What doesn’t she know about you?” Johnny asked. When Peter didn’t answer, he switched the question to: “Have you ever told her the thing she doesn’t know about you?”

“No…” he said hesitantly.

An endearing smile touched Johnny’s lips and shone in his cobalt eyes. “Spidey. You can’t expect people to know things about you without showing them or telling them those things. That applies to your aunt and everyone else in the world. If you want people to know you as you are, you have to open up to them and share the stuff that’s important to you.”

The deep ache inside Peter gradually fell away, and an itchy irritation crept in to replace it. Grumbling, Peter stared off to the side, shoulders and fists held taut. “Would you stop making so much goddamn sense all the time?” he fake-pouted, a small laugh escaping him. “Could you, like, not have the answer to every single one of my problems for once in your life?”

Johnny returned his laughter, giving his arm a light squeeze. “You make it too easy, Webs,” he teased him. “This is why I think this silly social media stuff is so vital to restoring your image. If you don’t take control of your narrative and tell people who Spider-Man really is, they’re going to keep making assumptions about you that aren’t true.”

Peter studied the soft sincerity in Johnny’s expression, debilitating fondness blazing through him. He puffed out his cheeks. “Y’know, you could at least pretend to think I’m funny while I’m running through one of my conflict-avoidant stand-up comedy routines. Humor me just a smidge before gutting me like a fish.”

“I do think you're funny,” Johnny corrected him. The hand holding Peter’s wrist tugged him the teensiest bit closer, sending butterflies racing up Spider-Man’s throat. While he had him distracted, Johnny’s other hand found Peter’s rib cage and gave his uninjured side a quick pinch, making the young hero squeal in surprise and leap away. “But I’m not gonna laugh when you’re making jokes to hide your pain.”

“Hehey!” Peter giggled, blushing bright as a tomato as he hugged his midsection. “Johnny! I just got re-stitched!”

Johnny grinned wide and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I’m counting down the days until you can’t use that as an excuse anymore. Then we’ll really see who’s better at getting the other person to laugh.”

He feigned a few deadly pokes to Peter’s belly to punctuate his threat, causing Spider-Man to stagger backwards frantically, giggling like a little kid.

“Quihit it!” he squeaked. “Now you’re the one not taking things seriously!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Johnny assured him, a sinister glimmer in his eye. Spider-Man reddened even deeper, arms clamped protectively around his torso. Johnny backed off for the time being, although the devious smirk on his face remained. 

“I’m also dead serious about cleaning up your rep,” Johnny continued. “And I know the perfect event to host our next media blitz.”

Peter grimaced. “An event?” he repeated back. He didn’t like the sound of this already.

“That’s right,” Johnny said. He pulled out his phone and held it up for Peter to see. “The Fantastic Four is hosting a fan meet-up and photo-op thing in Central Park tomorrow at noon. The event is free, but we’re requesting donations for pictures and autographs and whatnot to raise money for local animal shelters.”

Peter blinked at the screen. This must’ve been the Johnny meet-and-greet Ned mentioned earlier, he thought. 

“I thought Spider-Man could make a surprise appearance. We can take some photos, charm the crowds, do a couple interviews with whatever press is there. It’ll be fun.”

Peter considered Johnny’s proposal and swallowed dryly. “That sounds like a pretty big leap from me showing up on your TikTok, don’t you think? I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his arm, voice small and shy. “I’d rather just…y’know. Talk to you some more. Without a bunch of cameras or other people watching. We can do more livestreams and social media stuff, if you think that’ll help. But…I don’t feel comfortable doing this sort of thing with anyone else except you.” He winced, realizing how that sounded. “I mean—not yet, anyway.”

Before Johnny had a chance to respond, Peter spun away from him, stretching his arms above his head. “Besides! I, um—already have plans at that time tomorrow. Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think the rest of your team would appreciate me showing up out of the blue and crashing their fundraiser. I might scare off fans who came to make big contributions.”

Johnny paused, then snickered, his freckled nose crinkling up in the most disarmingly cute way. “First of all, you’re adorable. I’m honored to be the sole confidant you’re willing to trust with your public relations.”

Peter’s heart skipped in his chest like a stone across a raging river. He wondered if Johnny spoke to all his friends this way, or if it was just him. He hoped it was just him. 

“I think you mean paranoid and violently untrusting of news reporters,” Peter chuckled halfheartedly. 

“Maybe. But mostly adorable.” He forged ahead without missing a beat. “Second, I guarantee people are gonna be wanting to see more of you after today. Go check out the now-trending hashtag ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’ on all your favorite social media platforms. In the hour since we went live, the internet has already gone absolutely beserk with people sharing their stories about you.” Johnny held up his index finger pointedly. “Not all of them are flattering, mind you—but an overwhelming majority. Not bad for my first time doing this, I’d say. It’d be great if we could ride that wave of excitement by posting more content tomorrow.”

Peter couldn’t help it. He broke into a laugh, shielding his mouth with his hand, making Johnny narrow his eyes.

“What?” he asked amusedly. “What’s funny?” His cheeks hinted a light pink color. 

“Nothing,” Peter giggled. “You just sound a lot like your sister right now.”

Immediately, Johnny’s jaw dropped. “What? I do not! How dare you say that! That’s like—the biggest insult you could ever possibly hit me with!”

“You told me she’s the one who handles your team’s PR and whatnot, right?” Peter reminded him. “Isn’t that kinda what you’re doing for me right now? Making sure I’m putting out a good image and appearing likable and trustworthy and all that stuff?”

“This is completely different,” Johnny insisted. “Sue works with marketing agencies and consulting firms and giant corporate sponsors to bolster our team’s image. You and I are just making fun videos on my TikTok and Twitter and Instagram pages. I wasn’t planning to throw a bunch of money at this by hiring trend experts or data analysts or graphic designers or anything.” A giddy twinkle flashed in his eyes. “Unless—did you want to do that, or—?”

“No, no,” Peter assured him. “Silly phone videos are much more my style. I’m just saying.” He nudged Johnny playfully with his elbow. “Maybe you and your sister are more alike than you think.”

Johnny’s scowl returned in an instant. “Go to hell, Webhead.”

For the second time that day, Peter was startled by his phone trilling loudly inside his backpack. Lucky for him, it was Ned this time, who was far less likely to yell at him or make him cry by accidentally pigeonholing him into compulsive heterosexuality. Not that he blamed May, of course. At least…he was trying not to.

“Popular today, aren’t yah?” Johnny noted.

“Yep. That’s what happens when the Human Torch gushes longingly about you on the Today Show and posts unsolicited pictures of you in your pajamas.”

As Johnny chuckled at his retort, Peter jabbed his thumb towards the elevator in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna take this on the roof. We can meet up after your fan event thingy tomorrow if you’re free then.”

The Human Torch met his gaze with a wickedly enchanting grin. “M’kay. Come ready to star in my next groundbreaking, fun-loving Spider-Man social media production. We gotta post at least once a day for the next week! No exceptions! And since you’re not allowed to do anything superhero-y anytime soon, don’t pretend like you’re too busy or have anything better to do! ‘Cuz I’ll know that’s bullshit.”

Peter offered him a two-fingered salute. “You’re the boss, Flame Brain. See yah!” He took a few steps towards the elevator but stopped suddenly in the center of the room, struck with a choice that rendered him blushing and paralyzed. There were a lot of things the request might imply, should he decide to follow through—nonetheless, Peter felt it was a necessary and inevitable progression for their relationship (both as friends or otherwise), and would allow for consistent communication between them. 

With all these divergent thoughts swirling around in his skull, Peter reluctantly made up his mind. He turned back around and strode up to Johnny, the words sputtering nervously off his lips.

“Could I—I mean—w-would you mind—?” He shook his head, took a breath, and tried again, extending his hand. “Just—give me your phone. Please.”

Johnny blinked at the masked hero bemusedly, then held out the device with a chuckle. “Okay…?” he said warily. 

Peter took the phone and navigated to Johnny’s contact list, anxiously but determinedly adding his number to the roster under the name “Webhead” along with all the spider-related emojis he could find. He looked it over, once, twice, nodded to himself, then handed the device back to the Human Torch, shoulders tight and voice a tad shrill. “There. Now you can reach me anytime you need for whatever reason—whether you’re being attacked by Russian mobsters or want to run any more embarrassing content ideas by me before posting them on the internet forever or if you’re about to supernova yourself into oblivion and need someone to come help you—y’know, um, not do that.”

Johnny studied him with a look of delighted fascination. He plucked the phone from Spider-Man’s fingers and grinned at the screen. “I imagine someone like you doesn’t give out his number to others very often—especially those who don’t know your real identity.” He glanced up at him with a blindingly sunny smile. “I’m happy you’re trusting me with it. I don’t take that lightly.”

There was playful, teasing Johnny, and then there was this Johnny: insightful, sensitive, and earnest. Both were equally fruitful at transforming Peter Parker into a puddle of melted goop.

“No booty calls on weekdays,” Peter joked shyly. “I’m a spider of class and dignity.”

The loud yodeling ringtone belted from his phone yet again, making Spider-Man flinch. In his distracted, excitable state, he must’ve missed Ned’s initial call. If his friend was this determined to get through to him, he must’ve seen Johnny’s livestream and the overwhelming online response and be absolutely dying to talk to him about it.

“You’d better take that,” Johnny suggested.

Peter nodded. “Right. Okay. Cool. Great.” The young hero turned and skipped across the room, floating on the high of his uncharacteristic bravery. He giggled to himself, then threw Johnny a wave. “Catch yah later!” He answered Ned’s call and started to speak as he stepped into the elevator, then second guessed himself. “Whoops. I shouldn’t—bad connection in there. I’ll just—” he skirted towards the doorway instead with a skittish laugh in Johnny’s direction. “—take the stairs. Yep. Uh, yeah, so...bye! Again!” 

Johnny watched Spider-Man’s nervous and clumsy exit with an air of intrigue. He’d learned those characteristics were indicative of his nature, and normally not worth making note of. But in light of the conversation he’d just had with his teammates, and the jarring words Reed had left him with, he was inclined to dissect the webhead’s behavior with a far keener eye.

When the masked hero was gone, Johnny revisited the chat between himself, his sister, and her boyfriend in his head, and felt the gears of yearning and possibility start to tick, tick, tick into place. Maybe there was some hope for the two of them after all. Maybe he wasn’t as delusional as he’d once thought.

“What’s it gonna be this time, sis? Another stern talking to? Benching me for the next three missions? A new curfew we both know I’m not going to follow?”

Susan responded by shoving Johnny’s Fantastic Four costume into his chest. “Put that on,” she demanded. “For future reference, Tide pods do nothing for blood stains. Baking soda and warm water is your best bet.”

Johnny reddened in surprise, then begrudgingly slipped into the freshly laundered suit. He’d hidden it after hours of failed scrubbing and soaking with a plan to try dry cleaning next, but as always, Sue was faster and smarter than him. He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow once he was fully dressed, avoiding both adults’ hard stares.  

“Was any of that blood yours?” Reed asked.

“No,” Johnny grumbled. “We punched a lot of kidnappers, so some of it could’ve been theirs. But 99% of it was probably Spider-Man’s.” The Human Torch leered at him. “You know, because he got shot while saving two kids yesterday? Did you black out during my whole heartfelt testimony this morning? Or are you convinced as usual that I’m just making shit up?”

“I believe you,” Richards assured him calmly. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t injured.”

Johnny’s biting tone wavered. He glanced between the two of them, noticing the lines of worry in both their faces, then gingerly lowered his gaze. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, rolling his shoulder a bit. By now the ache from colliding with the pavement was nearly gone. 

“And is he?” Sue asked in a thin voice. “Spider-Man?”

Johnny scoffed bitterly. “Like you care.”

“We do care, Johnny,” Reed insisted. “None of us want to see anyone around here getting hurt. And based on the amount of blood we had to scrub out of your suit, it must’ve been really bad. I’m stunned your friend isn’t in the ICU after sustaining a wound that severe.”

A hum of surprise trilled within Johnny at Reed’s choice of words. Friend. He called him my friend. 

“We saw the police footage of the people you were up against,” Sue continued, shaking her head, eyes sharp with fear. “Those were some seriously dangerous men, Johnny.”

The Human Torch grimaced, waiting for the lecture to start. Susan swallowed, then exhaled through her nose.

“Listen,” his sister grated out. “I’m proud of you for stopping those thugs and saving those kids.” She spoke the words as if they physically hurt her to say. 

Johnny’s eyebrows crawled towards his hairline. “Really?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Really.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, then gestured to Richards. “Did he put you up to this?”

“No one put me up to anything,” Susan shot back. “I mean it. You were outnumbered by a very scary opponent, but you took them down and got the civilians out unharmed. Before I say anything else, I wanted to make sure you knew that.” 

Johnny was taken aback to say the least. His sister was not one to hand out compliments to him easily—especially in conversations that weren’t going to be broadcast as promotional content for the team. But he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook just yet. 

“In that case, you should be proud of Spider-Man, too,” Johnny retorted. “He was the one who got the kids out safely. And he saved my life!”

“Which brings me to the next thing we need to address,” Susan said plaintively. “You cannot go off to fight bad guys on your own without your team there to support you—especially bad guys of that caliber.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Johnny reminded her. Sue’s face twisted in frustration.

“And if Spider-Man did save your life, that means he put your life in danger in the first place. No 16-year-old should be off fighting psycho mafia child-traffickers armed with weapons of war they got from—god knows where, without their adult teammates backing them, or—hell, even knowing about it. Do you hear me?”  

Johnny gazed at his sister numbly. “How about two 16-year-olds?” he proposed.

Susan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Human Torch pursed his lips, then cursed himself under his breath. Spider-Man had shared his age with him in confidence. He doubted the webhead wanted him telling anyone else about it—especially other superheroes. But Johnny assumed one of the reasons Sue didn’t like them hanging out together was because she thought Spider-Man was a grown adult. Maybe if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be so hard on him. Maybe a lot of people wouldn’t. 

It wasn’t his place to tell. But Johnny could already see the realization materializing across Reed’s face. An acrimonious breath escaped him. Too late now. 

“We’re the same age,” Johnny explained. “Spider-Man and I. We’re both sixteen.”

Sue’s eyes widened. “He—you’re telling me you’ve seen his face? You know his real identity?”

Johnny shook his head impatiently. “No, he just—told me. He’s told me a bunch of stuff about himself. The two of us have a lot in common.”

The crease in Susan’s brow returned in record time. “Oh. So you don’t actually know, then. You’re just assuming he’s telling the truth and taking his word for it? Do you know how shady that sounds, Johnny?”

“He’s not lying!” Johnny shouted, fire flashing from his fists. “And if you spent two seconds actually getting to know him, you’d know that! Why don’t either of you ever believe me about anything?”

“It’s not you we’re doubting,” Reed said gently. “It’s just…difficult for us to fully trust someone who’s so secretive all the time. Please understand that our only concern is your safety and wellbeing.”

“Is Spider-Man also the one who told you to make those insane accusations against Wilson Fisk on your livestream?” Susan asked coldly. “Is that another thing you just accepted as fact because he told you it was true?”

Johnny flushed, trying to conjure a sufficient response. “He…he told me those kidnappers work for Fisk,” he said reluctantly. “Spidey didn’t want me to say anything about it, but if Fisk is really funding a human trafficking ring while running for mayor, I thought the world needed to know how dangerous he is.”

“And do you have any proof that that’s the case?” Sue countered. “Anything at all that connects Fisk to those men you fought?”

Johnny tried to extinguish the flames creeping up his arms and fizzling off his scalp, but his increasing frustration was making it impossible. When he couldn’t find an answer, Susan scoffed, shaking her head.

“Wilson Fisk is a pinnacle of industry and influence in this community. He’s the only candidate running for mayor who’s directly voiced his support for the Fantastic Four and promised to work with us if he wins the election. If you’re going to accuse him of something that despicable, you better have fucking indisputable evidence before you open your mouth and make an enemy of one of the most powerful people in New York.”

Johnny swallowed, shame radiating off him in swells of searing heat. He hated to admit it, but Sue was right. Even if Fisk was guilty, defacing his name on his TikTok page with no proof to back his claims was idiotic and counterproductive to everything both his team and Spider-Man were working towards. He shouldn’t have spoken so carelessly.

“You’re going to delete the livestream,” Susan instructed him.

“I already cut the part about Fisk out,” Johnny mumbled. “Spider-Man made me.”

“And you’re going to issue a public apology stating you were misinformed on the situation and won’t be spreading unfounded conspiracy theories about public figures ever again.”

Johnny glared at his feet, hands balled tight at his sides. “What if I’m not misinformed?” he said quietly. “What if Spider-Man is right about him?”

“Then Spider-Man has a lot of investigating to do before either of you mention anything about it ever again. For now, you’re apologizing. The publicist will send the copy to you tomorrow to post after the fundraising event.”

A queasy feeling bled through Johnny’s insides. The idea of begging for forgiveness from someone whose henchmen were responsible for wounding Spider-Man so badly felt like such a betrayal to the webhead. If there was any way he could opt out of uploading that post tomorrow, he’d make it happen.

“I don’t have the time or patience to babysit you 24/7 right now,” Susan said wearily. “If you want to waste more time running around with that masked hooligan, I’m not going to stop you.”

“Good,” Johnny said smugly. “‘Cuz that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“But I won’t tolerate you going off to fight an army of Russian mobsters without giving us a head’s up,” she clarified, “or making baseless accusations that threaten the integrity of our team. Got it?”

Johnny huffed, giving his sister a sardonic curtsy. “Aye aye, captain. Whatever keeps the stakeholders happy.”

Sue rolled her eyes as she turned away from him, marching towards her and Reed’s guest room. “Be at the great lawn by 11 tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t be late. And please look presentable.”

“That’s all you keep me around for, right?” Johnny hollered back. “Looking hot while I pose for photos and sign autographs and keep my mouth shut on anything that actually matters?” 

His remark earned a groan from his sister before she stepped into her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving Johnny quite pleased with himself for getting the last word in.

The Human Torch expected Richards to tuck tail after Susan like he always did, or request for the hundredth time that he cut his elder sibling a little slack. Instead, he stayed rooted in place, eyeing Johnny like a new species of amoeba he was studying under a microscope. Johnny regarded his sister’s boyfriend with a loutish glare. 

“Go ahead,” Johnny muttered. “Tell me again how she’s only hard on me because she cares and wants to keep me safe and blah, blah, blah…”

Reed shot a glance back at the door, then broke into a hesitant smile. “Actually,” Richards said. “I was more interested in discussing your little friend a bit more—perhaps without Sue’s well-intentioned but rather harsh convictions on the matter preventing you from speaking openly.”

Johnny blinked, caught off guard, to say the least. “Um,” he said, trying to track where he was headed with this. “Okay?”

Reed placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “So…Spider-Man,” he mused. “You like him, don’t you?” 

Tiny fires flared at the tips of Johnny’s ears. “I…what?” he stammered, voice cracking in the most heinously telling way. “Who told you that?” Reed grinned.

“No one. Call it an educated guess. I was sixteen once too, you know. Nobody at your age is as slick as they think.”

Reed Richards and Johnny Storm had always had an awkward gap in their relationship. Being his older sister’s on-and-off boyfriend for the past couple of years and now the co-founder of their superhero team tended to put a damper in their geniality. Reed tried his best to toe the line between being there for Johnny in the ways he needed without overstepping into attempted paternal territory, knowing well it wasn’t his role to fill. But showing an interest in his romantic life—and catching on to Johnny’s infatuation with someone when he was trying his best not to flaunt it—was, in fact, a first for him. Johnny found himself blundering for words, a growing blaze of panic catching fire in his chest.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Reed assured him. “But I’m convinced your sister already knows, and—unsurprisingly—does not approve.”

Johnny crossed his arms tight to his chest, giving a short, rigid shrug. “And what about you?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Richards smiled. “I’m surprised you care.”

“I don’t,” Johnny said immediately, then swallowed. “But…is it really that obvious?”

Reed chuckled. “Yeah. Kinda. I can’t say I trust the guy as much as I’d like to, but…no way he’s as crazy as the news or Susan is imagining. From what I’ve seen, he seems like a decent kid.” A smirk tugged at his lip. “And I can see the appeal. You’ve always had a thing for the mysterious masked rebel types.”

Johnny fought back a giggle, mostly at the thought of how excited Spidey would be knowing Reed had described him that way. But his laughter quickly turned hollow.

“And the kind that’ll never like me back,” he added morosely. Reed’s face fell, and Johnny’s shoulders slumped. “Sue says I’m just making the same mistake I did with Sam all over again, and I’ll only end up breaking my heart a second time. And it sucks, ‘cuz I know deep down she’s right, but…this feels different. He’s different. He’s just…ugh.”

Johnny scrunched up his features and clawed aggressively at his scalp, disheveling his rose-gold locks into a scruffy jumble atop his head. “Spidey’s just…he’s one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met. It’s like he’s completely blind to his own struggles and safety but hyper-aware of everyone else’s—which is really sweet, but also annoying as fuck. He sees so much good in the world and is so passionate about helping others even though so many people try to paint him as a villain. He knows how to make people laugh even at their lowest point: when they’re scared or confused or in pain. And whenever I’m able to get him to laugh, let me tell you…” Johnny chuckled to himself at the thought of it. “It’s like straight serotonin, the sound of it. Literally the cutest, most addictive thing ever. Nothing beats the feeling of when I get a big laugh out of him—which isn’t exactly hard, but that doesn’t make it any less fun.” 

The smile on Johnny’s face was so wide as he spoke, it almost hurt. “Spidey may seem closed-off and mysterious from the outside,” he went on, “but once you get to know him, you realize he’s actually the biggest goddamn dork in the entire world. He talks super-duper fast and has a crazy quick wit—especially when he’s anxious or dealing with something he doesn’t want you to worry about. He’s an insanely smart science nerd just like you and Sue and can rant about molecules and substances I can’t pronounce for hours. He puts on this quippy, confident front most of the time, but he’s a surprisingly shy and insecure person.” Johnny scoffed. “And despite it all, he still makes me nervous. Can you believe that? It’s infuriating. Johnny Storm does not get nervous; everyone else is supposed to get nervous around me. But I can’t help it. I’m like a blushing, bumbling idiot around him. I don’t think he knows the effect he has on people. I don’t think he understands how incredible and brave and inspiring he really is. I just want everyone to see him the way I do. Even if there’s zero chance of him ever liking me how I like him, I have to get the world to understand why Spider-Man deserves to be admired and appreciated and loved.” 

Johnny’s saccharine grin withered into nothing. “I won’t lose another friendship by forcing my feelings onto someone who doesn’t like me back. He means too much to me. So…” Johnny shrugged pitifully. “If I can’t be with him, I can at least give him this.”

When the Human Torch saw the expression Reed was wearing and realized how long he’d been carrying on about the webhead, he felt his hair crackle like a campfire. Richards and him didn’t talk much about stuff like this, despite Mr. Fantastic’s relentless and embarrassing efforts to deepen their flimsy bond. Why was he suddenly pouring his heart out and spilling his guts to a man whose mousy nature and nauseating devotion to his cold and callous sister had always made Johnny want to broil him like a Thanksgiving turkey? Reed blinked at the teen hero slowly, stinging sympathy lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Wowza,” he said. “You’re down bad, kiddo. How long have you known this guy again? Like, five days?”

Johnny dropped his face into his hands, steaming with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he giggled.

“And you really don’t know who he is?”

Drearily, Johnny shook his head.

“But…you still like him? Like, like him, like him?”

The Human Torch hesitated, then nodded, face still smothered behind his palms. Reed chuckled.

“All right. In that case, here’s my two cents: I can’t speak to Spider-Man’s character or his trustworthiness or—hell, if it’s even mathematically appropriate for you two to date. But what I can say is this: if you have no concerns or reservations about him other than your assumption that he doesn’t like you back, you may need to reevaluate your deductive reasoning skills.”

Johnny lifted his head from his hands, searching Reed’s expression with wide, dubious eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked. 

Richards shrugged, failing to stifle a knowing smirk. “Look, I don’t know what Susan or anyone else has told you,” he conceded, “but between you and me, I don’t think Spider-Man is straight.”

Johnny felt his pulse climb to a deafening thunder. He inched closer to his teammate, stuttering through a frazzled, nonsensical reply. “Wait, you—w-what do you—how—?”

“And the reason I think that,” Reed continued, clearly enjoying himself, “is because I’m very convinced he has a similar infatuation with you as you do him.”

“Hold on,” Johnny stammered hoarsely, throwing his hands in the air. “Slow down. Why are you saying this? Where is this even coming from?”

“As I’ve watched you two interact these past few days, his observable behaviors have not been unlike the very ones you’ve exhibited towards him, which clued me into your possible feelings for Spider-Man as well as his own for you. Between you and Nova, the mania was as evident as day a one-sided affair. But I’m not extrapolating that same conjecture from your current fixation.”

“Why do you have to say everything so weird?” Johnny whined indignantly. “Just tell me in normal-people words what the hell you’re talking about!”

Reed sighed. “You said you get nervous around him, right? It seems to me he also gets very nervous when you’re around him. Higher voice pitch, faster talking speed, restlessness, fidgeting, laughing excessively. I don’t recall Sam ever acting like that when you two were together. Pretty incriminating evidence if you ask me.”

“That’s just…how Spidey is,” Johnny tried to explain. “Y’know—an anxious, giggly, fidgety person. Plus, he’s like, physically incapable of making himself shut the fuck up.”

Richards smiled. “And you’re sure he’s all those things all the time, or just when he’s with you?”

Johnny bristled. “I’m…yeah. Pretty sure.” He paused to ground himself, combing his fingers through his hair, crushing his feelings of excitement and hope into dust beneath his heel. “Look. It’s useless, okay? Spidey already mentioned dating a girl before. He’s straight. That’s that. End of discussion.”

“Weren’t you a serial girl-dater all the way up until the sixth grade?” Reed pointed out. “Does that make you any less of the flaming homosexual you are today?”

Johnny grimaced. “Okay, first things first—don’t ever say anything like that ever again.”

Reed chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. “Fair enough.”

“Second, that was pre-pubescent Johnny. Spider-Man was talking about taking a girl to his school’s homecoming dance last year. He’s never mentioned anything about liking or dating guys.”

“It is possible he only recently came to realize his attraction to the same gender,” Reed proposed. “People can also be attracted to more than one gender. Just because he recently dated a girl or likes girls doesn’t automatically disqualify him from liking boys, too.”

Johnny stood very still as he flipped back through his carefully curated collection of notes on the wall-crawler, which adorned the inside of brain like an elaborate tapestry. He analyzed and shuffled and highlighted important subtext. He strung threads between moments and jotted down little comments beneath entries. Could Reed be right? Had he missed something? Was it possible that Spider-Man actually liked him back?

“I can’t make you any guarantees,” Reed added, tearing Johnny from his mental investigation. “And I won’t pretend I have any advice on how you should approach the situation with your sister or with Spider-Man. But if you like him, and you believe he’s as good and honest and—well, cute—as you claim, and the only thing holding you back is your fear of unreciprocated affection…” Reed smiled warmly. “I think you should go for it. You might be surprised by his response.”

Johnny’s stomach was in fluttering, queasy knots. He had no idea what to do with Richards’ insights. The man was rarely wrong when it came to scientific hypotheses or analytical geometric theorems. But as for his gaydar? Johnny wasn’t ready to enrapture himself with fantasies of what he and Spider-Man could be based solely on Reed’s fleeting observations. Reed Richards was no Chris Harrison when it came to playing queer matchmaker for his girlfriend’s little brother.

Johnny wet his lips and scratched behind his ear. “I’ll um…I’ll think about it,” was the reply he eventually settled on. 

Reed beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Wonderful.”

Red-faced, and unsure what to say next, Johnny spun on his heels to leave. But he stopped with a hand on the door, speaking softly without meeting Reed’s gaze.

“You really didn’t tell her to say that?”

Richards frowned at the back of Johnny’s head. “Hmm?” he prompted him.

“Sue. You swear you didn’t tell her to say she’s proud of me?”

Reed’s features eased into a pained smile. “Yes, Johnny. It took a little encouragement from my end for her to go through with it, but I promise it was her idea. Not mine.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. “You think she meant it?”

Richards nodded. “I do. And for what it’s worth, I feel the same.”

Johnny fought back a smile, then rolled his eyes with a melodramatic groan. “You’re both so embarrassing,” he lamented. “God. Don’t you have something mind-numbingly boring and gag-inducing to get to? Like—I dunno—winning the Nobel prize for discovering a new element? Fucking my sister behind the bunsen burners in Tony Stark’s bougie lab?”

Reed’s cheeks went scarlet. “I—I don’t—”

“Or are you doing it somewhere even weirder? Oh god, don’t answer that—spare me the details. Just please make sure you’re wearing protection; I’m not ready to be an uncle to your stretchy, invisible demon spawn.”

“Johnny!” Richards exclaimed, face fire-engine red. The Human Torch cackled maniacally as he rushed out of the room, a pillar of fire trailing behind him. With an etiolated sigh, Reed couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake encouraging Johnny to pursue something romantic with a shady individual most of the world considered a reckless menace. His concerns about Spider-Man resembled Sue’s in more ways than one, but he knew the more they objected to the idea, the greater Johnny’s interest in the vigilante would grow.

More than anything, Richards wanted Johnny happy. And right now, despite Susan’s best efforts, Spider-Man was the thing making him the most happy. Based on his quiet surveillance, that happiness was fortunate enough to operate on a two-way street. Spidey really seemed to like him back—stumbling over his words when Johnny teased him or offered him a helping hand, bouncing up and down like a kid in a candy shop when the two were engaged in conversation, melting into the Human Torch’s embrace when he thought no one else was watching. Even with his face hidden, the web-crawler’s body language was implicating enough. He wondered if anyone else had picked up on it yet.

The logical half of Reed’s brain hoped the pair never crossed that line. The smaller, sentimental side hoped one day they’d be brave enough to try. 

“I’m so glad Johnny Storm said what he said about Spider-Man. About a year ago, I was out walking my dog Lola when her collar suddenly broke and she got away from me. I chased after her as fast as I could, but I was too slow to keep up. When she ran out into the busy street, I knew she was a goner. I was about to watch my best friend get hit by a car and die right in front of me. It was the scariest moment of my entire life.

“But before the cars got to her, a streak of red swooped in out of nowhere and snatched her right off the road. I didn’t understand what had happened at first, until Spider-Man dropped onto the sidewalk right beside me with Lola in his arms. I was a hysterical, blubbering mess at that point, but he was so kind and patient with me. He walked with me all the way to the nearest pet shop so I could get my baby a new collar, carrying Lola the entire time and chatting with me the whole way there. I was so embarrassed with the situation and how much my dog was drooling and shedding all over him, but he didn’t care. I’ll never forget what he did for me that day. I’ll always remember how nice he was, and I’m forever grateful for the notes list he airdropped me of all his favorite thrift shops in New York. Dude knows some super obscure but highly underrated spots! I’ve scored some of my best finds this summer thanks to his recs. I’d really prefer to gatekeep, but if enough of you ask, I’ll share the list he gave me in the comments.” 

“Listen here, Mr. Jameson! I’m not one for posting videos on the web too often, but I had to come on here to make sure you knew that Spider-Man is a sweetheart who stands up for what’s right! When me and my girls attended the Women’s March last October, we were met with a giant mob of anti-feminist counter protesters shouting obscene things at us and waving around all kinds of hateful signs and flags. They were making everyone feel very unsafe, and a lot of people were considering leaving despite really wanting to be there to fight for our rights as human beings. 

“To all of our surprise and delight, Spider-Man came swinging from the rooftops to our rescue. He started covering their repulsive signs with spider webs and even snatched the megaphone right out of their leader’s hands! Every time they tried yelling more horrible things at us, he would drown them out by singing ‘Run The World’ by Beyonce as loud as he could or blasting ‘God is a woman’ into the megaphone. It was hilarious! Eventually, the counter protesters got so frustrated by his schemes, they all left in a big huff, and we were able to finish the march in peace. Now, does that sound like a menace to you? I should hope not! Unless you fancy yourself one of those backwards-thinking woman-haters, you’d better start respecting Spider-Man for the darling young man he is!”

“I never planned to tell anybody this story. But with everyone sharing their experiences with Spidey, I felt like it was time to share mine. 

“Two months ago, I hit a low that felt inescapable. I looked at my life, my loneliness, the state of the world, my lukewarm relationships, my shitty job, the endless repetition of each and every day, and thought: this is really it, isn’t it? This is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my existence. I felt so heavy and weary and broken, and was ready to just stop feeling altogether. 

“I was standing on the roof of my apartment building when he showed up. My feet were poking over the edge, and I was envisioning what my body might look like once I hit the pavement. I didn’t know much about Spider-Man at the time, but when he started speaking to me, I remember he sounded a lot younger than I expected. You don’t anticipate New York’s public enemy number one to have a voice that reminds you of your 17-year-old nephew, y’know? And based on the way he was acting, I’m pretty sure this was his first time dealing with this kinda situation.

“He asked me if I wanted to talk before I did anything else. I admitted that I didn’t, and suggested he leave unless he wanted to get blamed for what I was about to do. I couldn’t see any outcome of that evening that didn’t end with me dead in the street, but that didn’t mean I wanted anyone to have to witness it—or worse, feel like they were somehow responsible. Even if Spider-Man was as rotten as the news said, no one—especially a kid—deserves that. 

“I told him again and again to beat it. He kept asking if there was anyone he could call, anything he could say, something he could do. I was getting flustered and impatient, and spun around to yell at him to leave me the hell alone. Guess I turned a bit too aggressively, ‘cuz I wound up tripping over my own feet and falling backwards off the roof. 

I dropped about six or seven floors down before Spidey caught me. He started dishing out a million apologies, insisting that was the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish, and I couldn’t help but laugh. As he carried me to the ground and placed me on the sidewalk, I kept laughing and laughing until I was crying, and eventually that crying turned into uncontrollable sobs. I think those couple of seconds of free-falling flipped a switch in me or something. There was this explosion of all these conflicting emotions going on in the moments before and after he saved me, and maybe that made me—I don’t know, actually see the finality of what I was doing or whatever. While weeping like a fucking baby, I started ranting about how much I hated my life and all the stupid shit that had gotten me to the point where I was ready to off myself. I must’ve sounded batshit crazy, but Spider-Man sat there with me through it all until I’d run out of tears and things to say. Kid’s no quack, that’s for sure, but he tried his best to help. He bribed me into talking to the suicide hotline people by trading me Dratini on Pokemon Go. I’d been trying to find one of those for ages, and that little bastard had three! I think being able to swing from place to place on that webbing of his gives him an unfair advantage against the rest of us.

“Anyways. All this to say, Spidey saved my life that day. He didn’t impart any profound wisdom that suddenly made everything all sunshine and rainbows. He didn’t make any vacuous promises that everything would eventually be okay in the end. He just stayed, listened, said some stuff that made me laugh, and reminded me of the small things that make me happy—things I can build on and am willing to stick around for to continue enjoying for the time being. He may not be a hero in everyone’s eyes, but he’ll always be one in mine. 

“So if you’re ever having a bad day and happen to bump into Spider-Man, make him trade you a Dratini on Pokemon Go. By now I’m sure he has, like, forty.”

The video started to play again, but Ned closed the TikTok app and his phone along with it, turning to his friend in disbelief.

“I didn’t know you saved someone from taking their own life,” he said in quiet awe.

Peter slowly looked up from the screen, then smiled somberly, hunching his shoulders to his ears. “Like she said, I had no clue what I was doing. Someone else could’ve helped a lot better than I did. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time that night. It’s good to see she’s doing all right.”

Ned slipped his phone into his pocket without dropping his gaze from Peter’s face. “No wonder Johnny is trying so hard to get you to talk about yourself more online,” he gaped. “You do the most crazy heroic stuff every night, and hardly anyone knows about it! Including your best friend! Why don’t you tell me or anyone else about things like this more often?”

Peter took a big bite out of his hot dog, squinting against the blinding June sun. “I don’t know,” he murmured shyly. “I mean—you heard what that lady said. She guessed I was a teenager based just on my voice. And now fifty thousand people have watched her video and are probably connecting the same dots. The more people talk about me and the more visible Spider-Man becomes, the harder it’ll be to stay anonymous and keep the stuff I don’t want the public to know about me from being discovered.”

Like, say, my insanely huge crush on the Human Torch? he thought with a prickle of dread. 

“I think there’s a certain level of anonymity you’re going to have to sacrifice in order to make people trust Spidey more,” Ned told him pointedly. “I’m not saying ‘take off your mask and show your face to the world’ or anything. But if you and Johnny and others start speaking honestly about you more often, then yeah, people might suspect that you’re on the younger side, and sure, more of your interests and quirks and insecurities may come to light.” Ned dunked his jumbo soft pretzel in cheese sauce. “But I think that’s worth it if it means more people being forced to acknowledge what a badass superhero you are.” 

Peter wiped the mustard from his lips with a napkin, followed by the sheen of sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. “You really think so? You’re not worried about people digging a little too deep as, y’know—more and more of me starts showing through in Spider-Man’s public persona?”

Ned giggled. “Personally, I don’t think Peter Parker is showing through enough. Just look what one person speaking truthfully about you has led to! Now there’s thousands of videos and posts out there that prove you’re a good person! Isn’t it great to hear people speaking kindly about you for a change? Doesn’t it feel nice knowing that all the citizens you’ve helped and the good you’ve done hasn’t gone unnoticed after all?”

Peter sipped thoughtfully from his lemonade straw. He’d been so overwhelmed by the enormity of the response to Johnny’s call for Spider-Man anecdotes, he’d hardly allowed himself to acknowledge the substance of the content being shared, and how flattering a picture it painted of the webhead—a picture he’d never before seen reflected in the media until today. Since donning the mask at fourteen, Peter couldn't recall a time when Spider-Man’s name and image had gone viral online for positive reasons. To this day, a relentless onslaught of Spidey hate-posts were still being churned out minute by minute. But for once, the supportive ones seemed to outweigh the scornful. 

Yes, it did feel nice, he decided. To an almost foreign and inconceivable degree. Despite remembering every moment with every person he’d watched recount an interaction with the vigilante, as he listened to them share their stories and shower him in words of gratitude, it still felt like they were talking about someone else. Not Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker. Not him. 

“To be honest, it all kinda feels a bit too good to be true,” he admitted. “Being endorsed by one of the most popular celebrities in the world I’m sure has a lot to do with it, and it’s possible people are only saying kind things about me in hopes of catching his attention or being featured on his channel.” He ventured a small smile. “Still, I guess you’re right. It is nice. Maybe not everyone views Spidey the way Jameson does.”

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, cracking a grin. “Maybe people actually like Spider-Man.”

Peter shrugged, forcing nonchalance despite the unfamiliar ring of warmth circling his heart, irradiating him with bright spurs of hope. “Maybe,” he conceded softly. 

“In fact, maybe one specific person likes Spider-Man more than everyone else,” Ned added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. When Peter met his gaze with a clueless stare, Ned groaned, throwing his hands in the air. “Johnny! The Human Torch! You know, the guy going out of his way to tell everyone how wonderful and amazing you are? The dude putting his entire image and career on the line to prove you’re not a menace? The person we’ve been standing in the baking sun in this endless fucking line for almost four hours to meet?”

Peter blinked stupidly, then peered ahead at the long, wobbly queue of teens and college kids and superhero fanatics standing alongside children dressed in Fantastic Four costumes crying in their parents arms. About a quarter of a mile in the distance stood the tall, colorful pop-up booth that held the promise everyone here was willing to roast and sweat and hold out for: a few moments of face-to-face time with one Johnny Storm.

To their left were the three much shorter lines for the remaining members of the Fantastic Four. Ned had already made it through each of them to get his Funko Pops signed while Peter held their spot in the ridiculously lengthy Johnny queue. As usual, the fan favorite of the team was painfully obvious, which granted Peter a small nugget of relief. Despite his new association with the web-slinger, Johnny’s popularity seemed as intact and resilient as ever. He could only hope it would stay that way. 

Peter flushed a little at Ned’s insinuation and tried rerouting the conversation. “Do I have to remind you that you’re the one who dragged both of us here in the first place?”

“No. Just saying. You’re already reaping so many benefits of being the object of Johnny’s desire. Maybe if you put on the suit and made use of that irresistible Spidey charm, the two of us could skip to the front of the line.”

“I am not…” Peter started to retort, cheeks burning in the heat of the sun. But the look on his friend’s face verified it was pointless, so he scarfed down the rest of his hot dog with a line between his eyebrows. “I already told him Spider-Man wasn’t coming,” he mumbled. “Besides. I thought the whole point of this was for him to see Peter again, not Spider-Man.”

“Wrong. The point of this is so lowly little lay people such as myself have the chance to meet a few of our heroes in person. You seeing Johnny again is our secret special side mission, but let’s be real: you get to see him all the time! I haven’t met him once! Quit being so greedy!”

A quick laugh punched out of Peter, surprised and chagrined. “Fine, all right, I’m sorry. Do you really want me to abuse my Spidey privileges and jump you to the front of the line? If you’re seriously that upset about waiting, I could try—”

Ne waved him off. “No, no,” he grumbled, fanning himself with a handful of napkins. “I’m just hot and sweaty and impatient, and complaining about it loudly makes it a little less unbearable.”

Peter chuckled, combing his fingers through his damp curls. “That’s valid.”

The line scooched a couple paces ahead of them, forming a gap the two friends were quick to breach. Ned checked his watch again—the third time in the last five minutes—groaned, then bunched up all the garbage he held in his fists. 

“This is nuts! I could go through all three other lines again and meet the rest of the Fantastic Four a second time before we even get halfway through this one.”

Peter swatted at a fly buzzing by his ear. “Why don’t you?” he proposed. “Better than standing here whining at me for the next two to seven hours.”

Ned glanced back at him, a smile lighting up his face. “Why don’t you?” he counter offered. “This is probably your only chance to talk to all of them as yourself, not Spider-Man. Why not take a break from being a superhero and go be a fan for a change?”

Curiosity and uncertainty sparred in Peter’s chest as he turned to look at the three other queues. He hadn’t even considered meeting the other Fantastic Four members at this event. He didn’t think they’d have time, but now it was clear they had an overwhelming abundance to kill. 

Peter ran his thumb along his bottom lip in thought. Well…why don’t I? he wondered to himself. It wasn’t like he planned on revealing his secret identity to them anytime soon. It might be nice to meet them again as his regular self: a civilian and a fan, without all the baggage and presumptions that came with his spidery alter ego. During their initial introductions, he’d never had the chance to say the things he’d planned on saying or make the impression he’d wanted. This could be a kind of do-over for him—if only to satiate his neglected inner fanboy. 

“You’d be fine waiting here for me if I went?” Peter asked timidly. 

“Of course! You already did the same for me. I’m gonna keep moaning and complaining whether you’re here or not; might as well spare you the headache.” He dumped the handfuls of garbage in his fists into Peter’s unexpecting arms. “Plus, you can throw all this out on your way over there. Win-win.”

“Wow, thanks,” Peter deadpanned amusedly, struggling not to drop any remnants of their greasy snack haul. He stepped out of line towards the trash cans flanking the Thing’s queue. “Text me if you’re nearing the front and I’m not back yet.”

“Try not to get on Dr. Storm’s bad side a second time,” Ned suggested unhelpfully. Peter cut a frown in his direction as he dumped an armful of napkins and wrappers in the bin, then walked to stand in Ben Grimm’s line. 

It only took about thirty minutes for Peter to make it to the Thing’s booth. The craggy mountain of a man stood behind a table overflowing with toys and action figures and other Thing merchandise available for purchase. The wall behind him had all sorts of shirts and posters bearing his likeness pinned up along with the prices. “All Proceeds Go To Local NYC Animal Shelters” the sign above Ben’s head read. Peter swept his gaze across the overflowing piles and stacks of Thing memorabilia. He wondered if anyone would buy stuff like this if it were Spider-Man themed. Possibly—if only to douse it in gasoline and light it aflame as an effigy to their disgust.

“Well? Yah just gonna stand there and gawk? Or y’gonna come say hi?”

Stiffening, Peter lifted his eyes to meet the Thing’s. He had the harsh, beastly features of a man transformed into a weapon of mass destruction, more than capable of leveling several city blocks before anyone could slow him down. He’d witnessed the power Ben Grimm possessed firsthand, and had very nearly been squashed by it. But blinking within that brutal exterior were a pair of eyes begetting a gentle and inviting kindness—one that likely impeded most children from bursting into tears at the sight of him, and enough to ease Peter’s initial concern.  

“Oh, I—right. Sorry.” Peter approached the stand with a sting of urgency, not wanting to keep others waiting. Ben flashed him a grin that looked less like a grin and more like a grimace.

“What can I do yah for, kiddo?” the Thing asked spiritedly. “Photos? Signed trading cards? A T-shirt with my handsome mug on it? It’s for a good cause. All the money goes to lil’ pups and kitties in need.” He pointed to the giant sign above him in case Peter had somehow missed it. Peter hinted a smile.

“That’s okay,” he said, not seeing anything he could afford anyway. “I was actually hoping to ask you a question.”

Ben raised one rocky eyebrow and scratched his scarp of a jaw. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Ask away then, squirt.”

“What are your favorite and least favorite things about your teammates?”

Ben threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Audacious today, aren’t we? You want the on-the-record answer, or the off one?”

“Just the truth,” he answered simply. The Thing smiled and nodded.

“The truth. All right, then. I’ll start with my good pal Reed.” He shot a glance to his right, where his friend was sitting one booth over. “My favorite thing about Reed is his passion for pushing science beyond its current limitations to solve the world’s biggest problems and help those in need. Coincidentally,” the Thing added with a snort of contempt, “that’s also my least favorite thing about him, since his obsession with progress and making new discoveries tends to get him and the people closest to him in a lot of trouble.”

Next, Ben turned to his right, where Susan stood about twenty feet away posing with a little girl dressed up like her. “My favorite thing about Sue is how much she cares about this team and how hard she works to prove our value and virtue to the world. No one advocates on our behalf more than she does, and she’s incredibly protective of every one of us. She truly views the Fantastic Four as her family.” Clouds rolled across his expression as his eyes fell to the grass. “My least favorite thing is how much pressure she puts on herself. She worries so much about the wants and needs of others, she winds up neglecting her own. If the things she plans don’t go perfectly, she beats herself up about it. If one of us makes a mistake, she feels like she’s somehow responsible for it. She was forced to grow up so fast and be a caretaker from such a young age, I think she’s kinda perpetually stuck in that mindset. I’d love to see her do something indulgent and selfish for a change.”

Peter blinked up at the superhero with curious eyes. Perhaps it was crass of him to think this way, but he was surprised to hear such a thoughtful and discerning character analysis come from the mouth of someone who was strong enough to tear a person in two with his bare hands. He looked towards the Invisible Woman and felt a small twist in his chest. 

“And as for Johnny,” Ben grumbled out, a noticeable irritation entering his tone, “oh, boy. Where do I begin with that one? Kid’s been the biggest pain in my backside since the first day I met ‘em. I can give you plenty of things I can’t stand about Johnny: his temper, his stubbornness, his complete lack of respect for authority, his mile-high ego. You know he once bedazzled the words ‘hard ass’ in the middle part of my back where I can’t reach while I was sleeping? Bastard’s lucky he can fly, or else I would’ve pummeled him to coal dust long ago.” He nodded in Peter’s direction. “He’s nothing like you. You seem like the polite, humble sort with a solid head on your shoulders. Johnny could learn a thing or two from a young man such as yourself.”

A coy chuckle floated from Peter’s throat. “So there’s nothing you like about him?” he prompted the Thing hesitantly. Ben crinkled his nose.

“Hmm. Let me think.” He gave his wide chin a few thoughtful taps. “I suppose despite everything I just said, I know for a fact that if it came down to it, Johnny would risk his neck to save me, and anyone else on this team. Even though the two of us constantly butt heads, deep down I know he’s a decent kid who’s been dealt a very crazy hand in life, and he’s doing his best to navigate it. So there. I’ll give him that much.”

Sounds about right, Peter mused with a smile. The teen stood on his tiptoes to try to catch a glimpse of Johnny above the heads of the people in Dr. Storm’s line, but he couldn’t find a gap in the tightly packed crowds.

“Did that answer your question, squirt?” the Thing grunted impatiently.

“What about you?” Peter said. “What are your favorite and least favorite things about yourself?”

Ben let out a cackle. “That’s an easy one! My favorite thing about myself is I have the power to clobber anyone who tries to hurt my friends.” He held out his hand and wiggled the four pudgy, sausage-sized fingers attached to it. “My least favorite thing has to be how huge and useless my fingers are now. I mean, just look at ‘em! Try scrolling on a cell phone or using chopsticks with these meat hooks! It ain’t happening.”

The security guard standing to Ben’s left cleared his throat and gestured sharply with his head, signaling that it was time for Peter to move along. Peter’s grin dropped as he straightened his spine.

“Right. Sorry.” He eyed the donation box on the table and dug around in his pockets for loose change. “Uh, thanks a lot, Mr. Grimm. Great talking to you. And good luck with the fundraiser.” Peter managed to scrounge up one quarter, three nickels, and a pair of dirty, blackened pennies. He gingerly dropped them into the jar and hurried off before Ben tried to sell him a Thing prayer candle. 

Next up was Mr. Fantastic himself. As Peter waited his turn in the shortest of the four lines, he watched the bright-eyed scientist act equally shocked and delighted every time somebody wanted to get his autograph or take a photo with him. Adults and children alike exclaimed in awe whenever he stretched his arms abnormally long to embrace entire families and friend groups for pictures. 

Peter saw a lot of himself in Reed Richards. Without their flashy costumes or supernatural abilities, the two of them were nothing more than science-obsessed nerds whom most of society wouldn’t blink twice at. Fame and notoriety outside the field of scientific discovery were never in the cards for people like them—until those things were thrust upon the pair by some strange endeavor of the universe with a terrible sense of humor. 

Outside of being a superhero, at least Reed had the Baxter Foundation to his name. Peter wondered if he’d ever achieve something like that. He could see his future self working at an institution like Baxter or Stark Industries someday, but he doubted he’d ever own his own company. Spider-Manning already ate up too much of his free time, and his number one priority would always be helping out the little guy. Unless he founded a company focused exclusively on that, he didn’t want any part of it.  

But that was for older Peter to worry about. Right now, present Peter’s only priority was being a fan and geeking out. 

“Hello there!” Reed greeted him as Peter stepped up to his booth. “Welcome to the Fantastic Four’s First Annual Fundraiser! How are you doing today?”

“I wrote my finals essay about you,” Peter heard himself blurt out with a little too much enthusiasm. Perhaps he’d underestimated how excited he’d be to talk to one of his idols as himself and discuss things he wasn’t able to mention as Spider-Man, since it would reveal he was in high school. Immediately, Peter cringed and reddened, giving his head a quick shake. “Sorry—your book, I mean. On aerospace engineering and astrophysics. I wrote a paper about it. ‘Cuz, y’know. It was amazing. And you’re amazing. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Reed chuckled cheerfully. “No, please—keep talking! I rarely ever meet anyone at these events who’s managed to make it through one of my baroque publications—or greater still, actually comprehended them enough to write an essay on their content. And at such a young age, no less! How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Peter replied. Richards gawked.

“And you read all fourteen hundred pages of ‘Engineering the New Age of Aerospace Exploration’?”

“I’ve read all seven of your books,” Peter clarified, scratching his neck with a shy grin. “But ‘Aerospace Exploration’ was my favorite.”

Mr. Fantastic beamed brighter than the glaring sun overhead. “You’re kidding! Holy cow! The only sixteen-year-old I’m around on a daily basis spends his free time coiffing his hair for hours on end and antagonizing his sister. It would do Johnny good to see what other people his age are capable of accomplishing with some discipline and dedication.” Reed extended his hand, which Peter took timidly in his own, and gave it an eager shake. “Please tell me you’re planning to pursue a career in the field of science.”

“That’s the dream,” Peter assured him.

Richards pawed at his pocket-less costume in search of something urgent, cursed, then ducked under the table to scour the nooks of his abandoned suit jacket. He popped upright a few seconds later with a card between his fingers and a triumphant look on his face. He held the piece of paper out to Peter.

“Call me whenever you’re in the market for a job or an internship. I’d love to sit down and really get to know you and what you aspire to do with that extraordinary mind of yours, and how the Baxter Foundation might help you achieve your goals. And I’m very interested in reading what you had to say about my book.”

Peter lit up like a firecracker. “Really?” he exclaimed, accepting the card from him. “You actually—I just—thank you, Dr. Richards! That would be amazing. I’ve always wanted the chance to pick your brain on quantum particle physics and zero distance string theory.” 

“Even more reason to look forward to our conversation,” Reed said spiritedly. 

Peter slipped the card into his back pocket and ran a hand down the front of his T-shirt. “Now I’m kicking myself for not bringing something for you to sign,” he admitted with a giggle. 

Richards’ smile widened. “Whenever we meet to chat, I’ll bring you a signed copy of ‘Aerospace Exploration.’ How does that sound?” 

“Like I’d better buy a lottery ticket on my way home while my luck is this good.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Mr. Fantastic insisted, sending the teen on his way with a wave and a grin. “We’ll talk soon, yes?”

Peter nodded fervidly, even though he had no idea how or when he’d be able to make that happen. He didn’t dare meet up with him at Avengers Tower; too great a chance of that legendary intellect of his connecting the dots between the excitable teenager and the masked vigilante with the two in such close proximity. And technically speaking, Peter Parker already had an internship—with Stark Industries. It was mostly a cover-up for his time spent with Tony as Spider-Man, but it could still make starting a second one complicated. Perhaps he shouldn’t pursue that kind of thing with the Baxter Foundation at all, just to be safe. He was more interested in meeting with Reed Richards just to talk science shop anyway; working at his company might have to wait until a later date.

The third booth before Johnny’s had the most diverse collection of fans in line: chittering, giggly little girls next to men and boys who looked like they had a history of getting kicked out of baseball stadiums. As Peter neared the front, he peeked between the patrons ahead of him to catch a glimpse of Dr. Susan Storm’s table and fan merch, only to find it empty. Well, not empty of merch—there were enough hoodies, bobble heads, hats, and fridge magnets to fill a Fantastic Four memorabilia museum. But Sue herself was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she’d left for a break away from the mob of sweaty patrons. That’s what Peter figured, anyway—until he saw a floating pen autographing a child’s drawing all by itself, as if possessed by a ghost. Peter blinked, his brain not comprehending what his eyes were seeing. Then a hand suddenly bloomed into existence, holding the pen in its fingers, followed by the rest of the person signing the piece of paper. Visibility cascaded across Susan Storm’s torso and limbs, her head being the last part of her to regain opacity. The crowd ooohed and aaawed in amazement.

“There you go,” Sue said, offering the drawing back to the little boy. The kid squealed with excitement, bringing a smile to the Invisible Woman’s face that actually looked genuine for a change. The child’s parents thanked her profusely, adding a thick wad of cash to the donation box as they herded their offspring away. Only a few people left ahead of Peter.

“Can we get a group picture?” the men in front of him asked, looking a tad too eager for Peter's liking. Susan hesitated for only an instant, eyes darting between them, then nodded and stood from her chair.

“Of course,” she said, motioning the men forward. “Gather ‘round, folks.”

Whispering and snickering, the four guys surrounded the young woman. Two on her left, two on her right, two large hands snaking around her waist. Something prickly twisted in Peter’s gut. Once they were in position, Sue smiled for the photo, but with her jaw clenched taut.

“One, two, three!” the photographer called before snapping a string of pictures. The moment her obligation was fulfilled, Sue’s palms dropped to her sides, but the men kept their arms glued to her flanks. 

“Let’s do one more,” the shortest of the four men insisted, peeling into a grin that made Peter’s skin crawl. “This time, Susie dear, why don’t you make your whole body invisible except the parts that matter: that scrumptious ass and those delicious tits.”

The men cackled, including an awkward laugh from the photographer and a few nasty giggles from some people behind Peter. Shock collided with rage in Peter’s blood. He watched the fake smile on Sue’s face snuff out like a candle flame. Exhausted irritation dulled the blue of her eyes to an icy pewter. Her muted reaction indicated this behavior was something she encountered far too often, which lanced Peter with renewed fury. 

“You guys are pigs,” Peter snapped, stepping forward with his hands curled into fists. Susan shoved the men off of her with a look of controlled boredom.

“Ah, c’mon darling! We’re just messing with yah! Don’t be like that! We’ll make an extra-large donation if you do it! Ugh—how come bitches can’t ever take a joke?”

While Peter was debating which angle to punch his face from first, Sue turned towards the chortling men like a wolf cornering a wounded deer. She had the posture and cadence of a person well-versed in standing up to assholes like this on the regular. 

“One fun thing I learned about my powers recently,” the Invisible Woman said, face schooled into a blank expression. “I can create force fields inside other objects and expand them until they explode. It’s rather fun, actually. I’ve blown up water bottles, boiled eggs, mayonnaise jars, bricks. But you know what I haven’t tested it on yet?” Her eyes narrowed. “The human body.”

The men’s ugly grins wobbled. 

“I wonder what would happen if I expanded a force field inside your liver? Or your kidney? Your pulmonary valve, perhaps?” Her gaze flicked to the shortest man’s receding hairline. “Or maybe inside that balding head of yours.”

Tiny blue spheres sprung to life in the center of her palm and started swirling between her fingers in a smooth, threatening dance. She held them out towards the men as they spun and swelled bigger, bigger, bigger. “So if you’re interested in keeping the parts of your bodies that matter intact, I suggest you leave. Now.” The three force fields combined into one and shot forward, making the men flinch. The disk of concentrated power slipped underneath the donation bin and lifted it off the table; the box hovered to a stop right below the four assholes’ noses. “Be sure to leave a generous contribution on your way out. One big enough to reflect the scope of my phenomenal self-restraint.”

Slowly, shamefully, the men exchanged hesitant looks, beads of sweat glimmering on their foreheads. Then, grumbling to themselves, they began groping around for their wallets, averting their eyes from Dr. Storm’s menacing glare. 

Once they’d paid their penance, a security guard shepherded the assholes away from Sue’s booth. Rigidly, the Invisible Woman returned to her seat behind the table, forcing the ice to melt from her expression as she heaved a weary sigh. Anger spilled into sorrow at the hideous treatment Peter had just watched her endure. She’d handled it remarkably, leaving no space for anyone to believe that speaking to her like that was okay—but that didn’t make what happened any less demoralizing. On top of being a superhero, working round the clock to keep her brother out of trouble, and managing all of the Fantastic Four’s public relations, Dr. Storm was saddled with pressures that neither Peter nor her teammates would ever bear or understand. Perhaps her being expected to handle all those responsibilities in the first place was indicative of the pressures she as a female superhero experienced. Peter didn’t see Ben or Reed going out of their way to set up talk show interviews or put on events like this, nor were they likely to take the fall should those exploits go horribly wrong. And they certainly weren’t being publicly degraded by disgusting men. 

Everything she did—organizing fan events, advocating for her team, fortifying their public image, dealing with misogynistic assholes with poise and class rather than slugging them between the eyes like they deserved—it was all to protect her family. Including being distrustful of Spider-Man, he realized with a pang. Peter could relate to the proclivity to keep the wall-crawler as far from one’s loved ones as possible: he’d forged the identity of the masked vigilante for that very purpose. 

Even though they expressed it in different ways, there was one trait Sue and Johnny shared that was both their strength and their curse: how deeply they cared about things, even at their own expense. 

Susan cast her gaze across the busy park, gauging how the event was going so far, taking inventory of the attendees and the overflowing trash cans and the insufficient amount of shade, deducting what she could do to make sure everything and everyone was happy and taken care of. Peter could practically see the rapid-fire calculations running behind her eyes as he approached the Invisible Woman like a hiker tip-toeing across a frozen lake. 

“Hi,” he greeted her carefully. Peter watched Dr. Storm’s far-off gaze snap back into focus, eyes blinking as they jerked up to find his. 

“Oh—hello,” Susan said. Her soft smile returned, although it took a few moments to reach her eyes. She sat up tall and breathed with intention, reactivating her cheerful fan-service persona. “Sorry about all that. I hope I didn’t scare you. I probably could’ve handled that without threatening to blow someone up from the inside out.” She let out a weak laugh, face going pale. “Which I would never actually do, by the way. Oh god—why did I say that?”

“They got off easy in my opinion,” Peter reassured her. “I think they deserved a ruptured kidney or two. A couple popped blood vessels at least.”

Sue deflated in relief, glad she hadn’t scarred a teenage fan for life, then chuckled. “I like you already,” she decided.

“I’m…sorry they talked to you that way,” Peter said carefully. “It’s messed up that you have to deal with people like that.”

Dr. Storm did a quick scan of his face, expression gentle and welcoming. Much different from the hard scowl he was met with whenever she spoke to him in costume. Then she gave a nonchalant wave.

“It’s all right. Dealing with the occasional jerk just makes me that much more grateful when I get to talk to real fans like you.” Clearly ready to move on from the subject, she gestured to all the different trinkets and merch stacked across the table. “See anything you like? Do you have any pets? We have Fantastic Four dog toys now. My brother’s is currently the fan favorite, and it’s quite fun watching the pups chew on his face with such enthusiasm.” She squeaked one of the toys in her hand for emphasis. 

Peter smiled at the Human Torch plush, which had little felt flames poking out of its hair. “Johnny is really lucky to have a sister like you,” he thought out loud. He wasn’t sure if what he was about to say would cross some unspoken Susan Storm boundary, but he continued anyway. “It’s really inspiring to me—how you stepped up to take care of him after going through so much loss. Most people aren’t capable of that kind of strength or bravery.” He lowered his gaze, scratching at his forearm. “I was raised by a family member who stepped in to help after I lost my parents, too. I’ve spent the last decade watching her struggle and make sacrifices to shape me into a good person and give me a happy life. She never wanted kids, but she took me in and treated me as her own without hesitation. What she’s done for me—and what you’ve done for Johnny—I think it’s one of the most selfless and heroic things a person can do. I’ll never be able to repay the debt I owe her, but it’s people like you and her who make me want to dedicate my life to helping others.” He bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “I just…wanted you to know that.”

When Peter’s gaze lifted to Sue’s after his soapbox was complete, he was startled to find her eyes flooded with tears. She and Johnny really were a lot more alike than either of them wanted to admit. The Invisible Woman pressed a finger to a droplet on her cheek with a look of disbelief, as if she, too, was shocked by her reaction. Peter swallowed, skin flushing with regret. 

“I—I’m sorry, Dr. Storm. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to make you—”

“It’s okay,” she laughed in a broken, watery voice. “I’m okay, really. I don’t know what’s come over me. That just—” She dabbed frantically under her eyes, trying her best not to smear her makeup. “— really caught me by surprise. Phew. I just—I always feel like I’m failing him, y’know? Like I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, like everything I say just drives a larger wedge between us. Like maybe I should’ve read a book or a manual on parenthood or being an older sibling and a parent at the same time or something, but…” She sniffled, fighting to resurrect her stoic mask of strength and impenetrability. “But…um…thank you. That was…very kind of you to say.”

“Of course,” Peter said with a cautious smile. Ben was right: Susan Storm put way too much pressure on herself, and clearly deserved far more recognition for her altruistic spirit than Peter or anyone else awarded her. It felt good to do something that made her feel appreciated for once, instead of apprehensive and pissed off. Even if she never warmed up to Spider-Man, Peter didn’t have the heart to hold it against her. Her disapproval was derived not from malice, but from the need to protect the person they both cared so much about. He shifted his weight between his feet. “Unrelated, but I’m also super invested in your research on the molecular mechanisms of microbial life forms that allow certain species to survive in outer space. Are you planning to conduct any new experiments soon?”

Dr. Storm stared at him like he had grown a second head. “How do you know about that?” she asked bewilderedly. 

Peter frowned. “Wasn’t that one of the things you were researching during your space mission in February? Y’know—before the particle cloud hit?”

Sue scoffed. “Yes, but hardly anyone knows about it. With Reed’s research on hyperspace travel being the mission’s primary objective and everything that followed after the cosmic rays struck our starship, my little passion project on microorganisms in space was understandably overshadowed.” 

“Well, I liked it,” Peter countered with a grin. “Your experiments with the ways the outer space environment can affect microbes’ cell metabolism, proliferation rate, cell motility, virulence, and biofilm production were fascinating, especially the parts evidencing the resilience of extremophilic microbial species. If you do decide to continue your research, know that you’ll be making one very nerdy fan who spends way too much time scouring through biochemistry news forums extremely happy.” 

Susan Storm smiled the most authentic smile Peter had ever seen her direct his way. “I doubt I’ll ever find the time or funding to explore that research any farther,” she admitted, interlacing her hands on top of the table. She gave him a small nod. “But…I’ll look into it. One science nerd to another.”

Peter mirrored her smile tenfold. “Awesome!” he exclaimed. “Maybe I can write my next analysis essay on your future findings. This research could help us understand how beings like Captain Marvel and the Asgardians are able to survive deep space travel at the molecular level without their bodily fluids boiling or the air being vacuumed from their lungs or—”

“Peter!”

The teenager flinched, head whipping towards the sound of his name. Across the lawn, he spotted Ned in Johnny’s line, only a few people away from the very front, hopping up and down and waving his arms around like his hair was on fire. He could hardly believe how far the line had moved since he’d left. How long had he been gone? Peter threw his friend a quick thumbs-up, then turned back to Dr. Storm.

“Going to see my brother next?” Susan asked, crinkling her nose with feigned disgust. “Could you go ahead and repeat all those nice things you said about me being a selfless and heroic sister to him? Y’know, remind him how lucky he is to have such a committed and loving older sibling? Oh,” she added, snagging something from under the table, “and would you mind giving this to him? Us Storms burn like goddamn marshmallows on days like this.” 

Sue handed him the item, which appeared to be a bottle of some kind of fancy Korean sunscreen. The thought of a guy who could light his whole body on fire being susceptible to sunburn made Peter giggle softly to himself. His heart buoyed at the thought of all the little things Susan remembered and did like this to show how much she cared for Johnny. She truly loved her brother, despite the message getting lost in translation more often than not. 

“I’m on it,” Peter promised, waving back at her as he stepped away from the booth. “Really great meeting you! Sorry again for making you cry! You’re amazing!”

Susan chuckled. “Great meeting you too, Peter.”

Peter startled. He didn’t remember telling her his name. He supposed she must’ve heard when Ned screamed it at him from Johnny’s line. Too bad she’d never know that Peter—the nerdy fan she’d deemed kind and trustworthy—was also the masked vigilante she considered a menace and a threat. 

Peter jogged across the field to meet his friend, who looked about ready to burst with excitement. 

“Thank god!” Ned exclaimed, grabbing Peter by the sleeve and dragging him back into the queue. “You weren’t answering your phone! I was in full panic mode thinking you weren’t gonna make it in time!” Ned noticed the bottle in his hand and scowled. “What is that? A souvenir?”

“Sunscreen,” Peter said. “For Johnny. Dr. Storm asked me to give it to him. Apparently he sunburns easily.”

Ned met his gaze, stunned. “For real? Aw! She entrusted you with a quest! I guess Peter Parker made a better first impression with her than Spider-Man did, huh?” 

Peter shrugged. “Guess so. With all three of them, actually. Probably has something to do with my big brown doe eyes and dumb squishy baby face. That’s how Mr. Stark describes them, anyway—which I hate.”

Ned snickered. “Let’s see if your doe eyes and baby face work on the Human Torch, too.”

The two friends scooched another couple steps forward in line, and the smooth wave of Johnny Storm’s sunset-gold hair caught Peter’s eye past the shoulder of the woman in front of him, quickly followed by a glimpse of his angular jaw, a flash of that zany smile. The fans he was currently speaking to moved aside, squealing to each other and shouting their “thanks yous” and “goodbyes” as they scampered away, arms loaded with autographed Johnny merch, and suddenly there was only one person between them and the Human Torch. He was mere minutes from meeting him as Peter Parker once again. Not as Spider-Man—a daring superhero with a life of thrills and adventure, whom Johnny considered his equal and friend—but as himself. Peter Benjamin Parker. An awkward, unpopular loser whose greatest adversaries prior to gaining powers had been overdue electricity bills and high school bullies. Not that those things had gone away after he’d become Spider-Man, per se. He just had bigger problems to deal with alongside them. 

None of this should’ve bothered him, seeing how Peter would just be another random fan for Johnny to forget about the moment he left his direct line of vision. But a tiny, paranoid voice caressed his mind with ice-cold whispers, revving the excited thump of Peter’s pulse to a wild roar: What if he finds you out? What if he realizes it’s you? What if he recognizes your voice? Your demeanor? Your weird nervous habits? It was pretty easy to keep people who knew him only as Peter from discovering he was Spider-Man; no one suspected a guy as scrawny and nerdy as him to be lifting cars over his head or fighting off feral space aliens. But this was the first time someone who knew Spider-Man extremely well was meeting his boring civilian counterpart more than once. What if Johnny clocked him the moment he opened his mouth?

Eager anticipation careened into nauseous anxiety. He grabbed Ned’s wrist, feet rooted in place, sunlight searing the back of his neck. 

“This was a mistake,” Peter croaked out, watching Johnny form a little heart-shaped flame in his palms while the girl in front of them took a video. He jerked his head left and right. “M-maybe we should just—”

Immediately, Ned tore out of his friend’s grip. “Oh, no,” he said, wrapping both arms around Peter’s elbow as tight as a constrictor snake and hauling him forward like a sack of potatoes. “No way am I letting you chicken out now. Not after six hours of waiting for this exact moment.”

Peter dug his heels in the hard dirt beneath them, throat dry, palms clammy. “Ned, wait—you don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly, ” his friend interceded. “You’re nervous, and that’s okay! This is a complex emotional situation you’re stepping into. But we’re not gonna let some last-minute nerves get in the way of you and Johnny’s highly anticipated reunion. Not on my watch.”

Peter shook his head, sputtering out more pathetic, mildly coherent protests, desperate to get Ned to listen, but he couldn’t form the words fast enough. The woman in front of them was already wrapping up her chat with Johnny and moving away from the booth, leaving nothing but a couple feet of empty space between the pair of friends and the Human Torch. Peter’s heart ballooned as the young hero became fully visible to him: his infectious grin reaching every corner of his face, freckled cheeks flushed in the hot summer sun. At the same time, his stomach dropped like the Coney Island Astro Tower.

“Have a lovely day,” Johnny called after the girl, blowing her a kiss that floated from his lips in lazy circles of smoke. As he watched the haze fade into the atmosphere, an ugly feeling speared through Peter, lashing him down to the bone. 

Jealousy. And not jealousy for Johnny, like he’d previously assumed—but jealousy of the girl he was blowing kisses at. The realization made him consider throwing himself into the trash can on his right and hiding amongst the filth until he shriveled up and died. 

“I’ll break the ice, then you’re up, bestie,” Ned whispered to him. He gave Peter’s arm a squeeze, then skipped fearlessly towards the Human Torch, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t be weird! You got this!”

“Hey there,” Johnny said as Ned approached, flames flicking across the tips of his wiggling fingers. Effortlessly cool as always, he thought bitterly. Peter hung back, grinding his molars together, wringing the bottle of sunscreen between his fists. 

“Hello Johnny!” Ned answered emphatically. He swung his backpack to the front of his body and snagged the Human Torch Funko Pop box out of the biggest pocket. “I can’t believe we finally made it! My friend and I have been waiting here all day just to meet you and get your autograph.”

“I appreciate your incredible patience,” Johnny said, taking the collectible from Ned’s outstretched hands. “Our outdoor fundraiser of course had to fall on the hottest day of the summer so far.” He sounded a bit rehearsed and mechanical, like he’d been repeating the same phrases again and again all day, but no less friendly. He swiped a palm across his sweaty forehead and grinned at the bobble head Ned had given him. “Wow! Limited edition. These are hard to come by. You must be very proud.”

“Not gonna lie, having the full signed Fantastic Four set will probably be the proudest achievement of my life so far.” Shyly, Ned held up his phone, hovering his finger over the record button. “Would you mind if I filmed you autographing it? You know, for authenticity’s sake?”

“Go right ahead,” Johnny said warmly. He held up his index finger, the tip glowing red-hot. “Want it in ink, or burned on?”

“Burned, please,” Ned answered immediately. “Burned is by far the coolest.”

Johnny nodded. “You got it.” Using his pointer finger like a mini blow torch, he went to work gently searing his name into the Funko Pop box, sweeping his autograph across the thin cardboard in long, sloping arcs as he must’ve done a thousand times already. Ned smiled as wide as the Hudson as he recorded him, struggling not to bounce from foot to foot.

“Does your friend have anything they want signed?” Johnny asked as he finished the final stroke of his signature. Peter had been mostly hidden behind Ned up to this point, but his treacherous best friend stepped to the side so there was nothing left to shield him from Johnny’s magnetic gaze, shooting him an encouraging look. Peter’s face heated as Johnny’s eyes rose from the Funko Pop to meet his, then slowly widened.

“Do you?” Ned prompted him.

Peter shook his head rigidly. “No. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, wagging a finger at him, eyes brightening with recognition. “I know you!”

Peter’s heart practically burst through his ribcage. “W-what?” he yelped, staggering back a step. “You do?”

“Yeah! You’re that guy who yelled at me outside of the bubble tea shop.”

Peter’s jaw dangled open, then immediately clamped shut, relief draining through him. Oh, thank god. He only recognized him from that one-time encounter, not as the spider-themed superhero he’d befriended over the past week. So long as he played it cool, Johnny would never figure out who he was really speaking to.

You know. Because he was so good at playing it cool.

Ignoring Ned, whose face was about to split in two from how aggressively he was smiling, Peter swallowed. “Oh. Right. I’m surprised you remember that.”

Johnny’s lips turned upwards playfully. “How could I forget? You were awfully pissed at me that day, pretty boy.” 

Deadly heat shuddered up Peter’s spine. Ned smothered a snicker in his sleeve to his left. 

“To be fair, I deserved it,” Johnny continued with a shrug. “I caused a lot of unnecessary damage and was in desperate need of a reality check. You were right to call me out on my shit, especially since you said I almost killed your best—” Horror flashed across his expression as he clapped both hands over his mouth. “Oh my god,” he mumbled into his palms, voice dripping with dread as his eyes flicked back to Ned. “Was that you? Are you his friend I almost killed?”

Ned waved him off casually. “Don’t sweat it. Water under the bridge. It was really cool to get to see you all live in action—even if I did almost get blasted in the face by a fireball. Most eventful boba run to date.”

Johnny shook his head in dismay. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t myself that day. That doesn’t excuse what I did, I just—I hope you know I won’t ever let my own personal drama drive me to behave that recklessly ever again.” 

Ned tapped the side of his temple. “Trust me—in my mind, any bad things you’ve ever done are entirely negated by the fact that I now own a collectible with your signature on it.”

Johnny’s concerned expression eased into a halfhearted smile, followed by a light laugh that sent sparks sizzling across Peter’s skin. “I’m lucky to have such forgiving fans,” he said, handing the Funko Pop back to Ned. His Baltic blue eyes veered to Peter again, drinking in his features with unabashed curiosity. “I need you to know the Fantastic Four paid back all the business owners for the damages I caused that day, including the owner of that tea shop.” Earnestness and guilt saturated every word from his lips. “She’s set to start rebuilding next week, and I promised her I’d come by once she reopens to post myself trying her drinks to give her sales a big boost and make up for all the trouble I caused.” He searched Peter’s gaze, fraught to right the wrongs he’d committed, his neck and forehead slick with sweat. Johnny felt everything so poignantly, including remorse for his mistakes. He’d be gutted if Peter refused to forgive him, despite him being some no-name stranger he’d probably never speak to again. Like alway, it softened Peter’s heart to see just how much the Storm siblings cared. 

“That’s nice of you,” Peter said measuredly. The reply came out more curt and sterile than he intended, but he was scared of talking in longer bouts—scared that his voice or speaking patterns might start sounding familiar to the fiery celebrity. When Johnny looked wounded by his robotic answer, he added: “Thank you. For, um, helping her. And the others. They deserve it. Not having their businesses burned down, obviously, but—y’know. Being helped.”

Wow. Smooth, Pete. A true masterclass in playing it cool.

Johnny leaned back in his chair with one arm draped across the backrest and his opposite foot tucked into his lap. His sun-drowsed stare traced Peter up and down, studying him like a strange modern art piece he was trying to pull meaning out of. The corner of his mouth ticked towards the sky.

“You’re tough to read, pretty boy. First you berate me in the street—warranted, but still harsh—then you wait in line for hours and hours just for the chance to chat with me for a few minutes. I can’t decide if you like me or hate me.”

It didn’t matter how many times Johnny threw on a smirk and spoke to him in that bold, impish tone: the Human Torch’s charm never failed to fluster him to the same blistering degree. Peter dug his teeth into his bottom lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

“Oh, he definitely likes you,” Ned answered for him with a giggle, making Peter go scarlet. 

“Ned!” Peter hissed, whacking him in the arm with the sunscreen bottle. Ned cackled as he winced sideways, rubbing at his elbow. Johnny eyed Peter with a renewed sparkle of interest.

“You do?” he said, irises like sapphires in the blazing light. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“We both like you for standing up for Spider-Man,” Ned conceded, causing Peter’s muscles to calcify. “He’s our favorite superhero, too.” 

It took all of his collective willpower not to react to the name drop. What are you doing!? Peter wanted to scream. The last person they needed to be bringing up right now was the famous wall-crawler. Any reference or association to the webhead in their current state was downright begging for Johnny to discover the truth. Him and Ned really should’ve spent a chunk of the last six hours establishing some ground rules for this conversation. 

Johnny beamed. “No kidding? See—I knew he had fans out there besides me! And you’re not the first people to tell me that today, either. I tried to convince him to come to this, y’know. Now I can tell him about all the Spidey fans he missed out on meeting.”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin smile while shouting every curse under the sun inside his head. Ned and Johnny both stared at him like they expected him to add something to the conversation. When he didn’t, Johnny narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m still not convinced you like me,” he admitted. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. I guess I can’t really blame you after everything I put you through, but still. It hurts. Is there anything else I can do to make up for my shitty behavior? There’s nothing worse than having eyes as lovely as yours look at me with such animosity.”

Ditsy warmth crept into his ears as a confusing hodgepodge of emotions washed through him. It both thrilled and disappointed Peter that Johnny was speaking to him like this. Of course he enjoyed being called pretty and lovely by his crush. Every compliment he tossed his direction sent the butterflies in Peter’s belly into a mad rush through his digestive tract. But it only confirmed his gloomiest suspicions: Johnny’s flirtatious behavior wasn’t exclusive to Spider-Man. He charmed everyone this way—captivating hearts left and right without even trying. It was encouraging to know that he liked the way Peter looked beneath his mask, but disheartening to realize his relationship with the webhead was truly nothing special. 

“Don’t mind him,” Ned said. He peered back at Peter, cracking a wicked grin. “He’s not mad; he’s just nervous to talk to you. You’re his biggest crush, after all.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Ned let out a fiendish giggle. Peter’s jaw fell open as his skin turned to molten iron. 

No he did not.

As the blush in Peter’s face permeated his bones, Johnny’s gaze snapped back to him. The teen’s mouth curled in delight. 

“Oh really?” he mused. “Is that true, pretty boy?”

“Y-your sister asked me to give this to you,” Peter blurted out before Ned or Johnny or anyone else had the chance to say another goddamn word. He shouldered past his snickering friend and jabbed his arm towards Johnny with the sunscreen in his fist. “She said you burn easily.”

Blinking, Johnny took the bottle from him, then scoffed. “Are you serious?” He turned in the direction of his elder sibling, lifting the sunscreen high above his head. “Sue!”

Dr. Storm glanced up from the fan-made doll she was admiring and cut a frown in Johnny’s direction. When Johnny mouthed “the fuck?” at her, pointing at the bottle, she mimed rubbing sunscreen on her face in reply. The Human Torch groaned.

“I can’t believe she put you up to this,” he muttered. “She’s ridiculous. I already applied plenty this morning.”

Despite the embarrassment ingesting him like quicksand, an unexpected smile seized Peter’s lips at Johnny’s childish irritation. He tapped a finger to his cheek. “Based on how red your face is right now, I think she’s doing you a favor. You definitely look like you need some more.”

Recapturing his gaze, Johnny returned his smile with roguish amusement. “I could say the same for you, darling—although I’m pretty sure yours is red for different reasons.”

Once again, Peter’s heart leapt inside his chest, the color in his cheeks deepening even more. Being subjected to Johnny’s flirtatious teasing without a mask to conceal its demonstrable effect on him was a whole new level of mortifying Peter had no interest growing accustomed to.

“What did it for you?” Johnny inquired, squirting sunscreen into his palms and gingerly dabbing it onto his face. “The hair? The teeth? My redemptive philanthropy and bottomless altruism? Or is it the flames? It’s usually the flames.”

Peter knew he was only asking to get a rise out of him, but Johnny’s question presented him with an opportunity most people would never encounter: the chance to confess to one’s crush exactly how one felt about him without enduring the consequences of him knowing who he was actually talking to. Spider-Man could never tell Johnny how he truly felt—but Peter Parker could. Because Peter Parker was no one to him. 

He would not gush over every detail of what made Johnny the object of his affection; Johnny got that every hour of every day, and his ego was already big enough as is. Instead, he would keep it short, simple, and honest—and perhaps grant the Human Torch a taste of his own mischievous medicine for a change.

So Peter swallowed his sticky insecurity and took a step closer to him, leveling his gaze with the smug twinkle in Johnny’s eyes. 

“I like that you don’t care about anyone’s opinion of you except for the people most important to you,” Peter stated matter-of-factly. To top it off, he reached out and gently rubbed the streak of sunscreen on Johnny’s forehead into his skin, gliding his thumb across the scar just above his eyebrow. “But the hair and the flames are a nice added bonus.”

Although already pink with sunburn, Peter swore he saw the Human Torch’s cheeks flush a shade darker, and his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of his heart thumping a few beats faster. A triumphant smirk found Peter’s lips. Just because he was the one with the crush didn’t mean Johnny got to have all the fun with it. He let his thumb drag along the line of Johnny’s temple as he pulled his hand away. The Human Torch blinked at him, lips parted, eyes wide, then lightly touched where Peter's finger had been, tiny wisps of smoke curling off his scalp. 

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. There was no toying or playfulness in his tone this time—only genuine interest. Now it was Peter’s turn to be caught off guard. He supposed there was no point in lying. 

“Peter,” he said.

“Peter what?”

A shy giggle escaped him. “Parker. Peter Parker.”

Johnny giggled back. “Well then, Peter Parker. You’re a very mysterious person. I like that.” He held up his fist for Peter to bump. “It was great to see you again. Looking forward to the next time we meet.” 

Peter smiled, reaching out to tap his knuckles to Johnny’s, but froze just before they made contact. Despite the heat, a sudden chill crawled up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Fear raked its claws across his skin. 

“Peter?” he heard Ned call, followed by a rumble of excited chatter from the crowds surrounding them. A moment later, a shadow rose up behind him, blocking out the sun, casting Johnny’s wide eyes in a shaft of darkness. A monstrous hand curled around his shoulder, making Peter’s entire body seize up. He knew who it was before he even saw his face or heard his voice. His senses had warned him of that ruthless presence many times before. His lungs had screamed for air as those bloodthirsty fingers crushed the oxygen from his windpipe. 

“Pardon me,” the man behind him said, his voice as deep and haunting as he remembered. The last time he’d heard it, it was roaring with laughter as Peter fled through a shattered window, glass slicing his hands, broken ribs crunching like glow sticks, vision tunneling with pain and terror. “Mr. Storm and I need a moment alone, if you don’t mind.”

Peter’s eyes slowly rose to find the face of the man looming over him. He had brutal eyes and deep frown lines that fixed him with a constant look of vitriol, even when he was smiling. His bald head gleamed in the sunshine like a freshly peeled egg. 

Kingpin. 

Wilson Fisk didn’t even bother to look at Peter as he shoved him out of his way. He regarded him with the same courtesy a charging elephant awards a twig. Peter stumbled back into Ned, very nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Photographers and media workers immediately flocked to the scene, knocking into the two teens as they jostled for space with Fisk’s bodyguards, blocking Johnny from Peter’s view. Alarm flooded the young hero’s veins. 

“Fisk,” Peter breathed. “I—I have to stop him. He’s going to hurt—”

Ned yanked him backwards with a hand around his bicep. “Peter, we can’t,” he whispered fearfully. “Come on—we have to go.”

Peter turned on his friend in disbelief. “We can’t just leave him!” he hissed. “What if Fisk attacks him for all those things he said? I have to be here to help!”

“Fisk won’t attack him in broad daylight,” Ned insisted. “Not with all these fans around. He’s a politician. Besides—if he tries anything, the Fantastic Four will wipe the floor with that loser. You’d be risking exposing your secret identity for nothing.” He gave his arm another sharp tug. “Come on. We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“But—” Peter protested, eyes whipping back to the mob of people and the barbaric murderer standing between him and Johnny. This wasn’t right. This was downright treacherous. Johnny had risked everything to protect him when he was in trouble. Peter had to be there to make sure he was safe. He’d reveal himself to the whole world if that meant keeping Johnny safe.

“All right, boys. Move along.” One of Johnny’s security guards marched towards them with a scowl, wafting at them with his hand like they were an unruly stench he was trying to get rid of. “You’ve had your turn. Either move to the back of the line, or beat it.”

Ned nodded fervently. “Got it. We’re going, Thank you, sir.” Ned gave Peter’s forearm another quick jerk, forcing him to lurch back a few treasonous steps. For half a second, his eyes found Johnny’s amidst the throng of people pressing around the young celebrity’s booth. They looked startled, confused, but not afraid. Sweat slipped down Peter’s shoulder blades and dampened the back of his T-shirt. 

You should be afraid, Flame Brain.  

“He’ll be okay,” Ned tried to reassure him, practically dragging his friend away from the queue. “Fisk won’t touch him. He’s not that stupid.”

“I have to be sure,” Peter answered hollowly. 

Even though the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, its piercing glow seared Peter’s flesh worse than it had all day.  

Johnny met Peter Parker’s gaze one last time before the boy disappeared behind a wall of bodies and cameras. For some reason, his soft brown eyes were charged with fear, the color in his cheeks draining to a pallid gray. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when Wilson Fisk and his posse rolled into their fundraiser as if they owned the place. 

Sweet guy. Cute, too. He’d always been a sucker for baby browns and curly hair. Too bad Johnny’s heart was solely preoccupied with arachnid-themed superheroes who may or may not be heterosexual. Despite Reed’s certainty on the matter, the verdict was still up for debate as far as he was concerned. 

He turned his attention back to the unnaturally large man towering over him like a skyscraper in a three piece suit. Cold, calculating eyes bored into his own. The smell of Mont Blanc cologne mixed with heavy perspiration assaulted his nose in the most unpleasant fashion. He had the air of an oversized baby parading around in designer brands, but with enough power to keep you from making jokes about it. 

Johnny had never spoken to Wilson Fisk before. He’d spotted him a few times attending the same galas and charity events as him—only because he was almost impossible to miss—but they had yet to meet face-to-face. He supposed neither of them had had a reason to until now. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Storm,” Fisk greeted him. He wore a smile that resembled a constipated sneer. “Fundraiser going well, I presume?”

Despite the climbing of his pulse, Johnny fixed his features into an expression of bland disinterest. “Sure is,” he replied, gesturing haphazardly to the thermometer-shaped donation log behind him. “This one’s on track to be our best one yet. There’s something about puppies and kittens in need that makes guilt-ridden rich folk unusually eager to open up their hearts and their wallets.” Johnny nodded towards Fisk’s guards, who had set up a perimeter between them and the impatient queue of fans, blocking anyone from stepping within a 30-door radius of their boss. “That’s why you’re here disrupting our entire event, right? ‘Cuz you’ve got a big check to cash for all those poor little animals?”

Wilson Fisk chuckled—a deep, guttural sound that rolled like thunder from his barrel-shaped chest, making Johnny’s skin crawl. “Of course,” Fisk assured him, patting the breast pocket of his silver suit jacket. “I wouldn’t dream of showing up to a function hosted by the Fantastic Four without my checkbook and pen handy. Your sister has truly mastered the art of monetizing your team’s image.” He flashed a barracuda grin. “For the poor little animals, of course.”

Sweat slipped between his skin-tight suit and the bend of his spine as Johnny ventured a glance in Susan’s direction. She was doing her best to stay focused on the fans at her booth, but the fear in her eyes was electric each time they flickered his way. 

“But first, I’d like to talk about some of the alarming comments you made about me recently.”

Johnny faced the man in front of him with a calm frown. “Saying those things was a mistake I assure you won’t happen again.” He wove his fingers together and placed them on top of the table. “I shouldn’t believe every flippant piece of gossip I hear that finds its way to me through the rumor mill. And I certainly shouldn’t tell others about anything I’ve heard until I have undeniable evidence supporting my claims.”

Fisk flared his nostrils at the teen's beguiling response. “I can assure you, Mr. Storm, that whatever insidious hearsay you’ve been told about me is entirely false. A full breakdown of my business operations and my personal history is available to the public on my website. I have nothing to hide.” The jagged creases in his forehead deepened. “I’m running for mayor of this city to combat crime and purge the corruption that plagues our political systems, and the last thing I need is a high-profile public figure such as yourself casting doubt on my credibility and defaming my name. The people of this city trust you, Mr. Storm. Your words hold power. It does not serve you well to use that power to spread lies.”

Johnny’s gaze hardened. “Like I said,” he told him firmly. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’m afraid I need you to do better than that." Fisk adjusted his tie, running his fingers along the ornate silk detailing. “You see, I’m the only mayoral candidate with a plan to work directly with superheroes such as yourself to reduce crime and make this city safer. I want the Fantastic Four to become an official part of the justice department so we can all band together to get bad guys off the streets. It’s to your benefit that I’m elected—and for that to happen, not only do I need you to stop tarnishing my name to your followers. I need your direct endorsement. You can get me the youth vote, and I can get you and your team all the funding and authorization needed to do what you do better than ever before. We can help each other, Mr. Storm. If I win, we all win.”

Johnny crossed his arms against his chest and tilted his chin slightly upward. “Not according to Spider-Man.”

The slippery smile on Fisk’s lips fell in an instant. Darkness twisted his features into an expression that turned Johnny’s guts to ice. 

“Ah,” Fisk growled. “Yes. Spider-Man.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and dabbed at the beads of sweat speckled across his hairless head. “Tell me, Johnny—how long have you been acquainted with our friendly neighborhood menace?”

“Long enough to know he’s not a menace,” Johnny shot back. “And that both of us have plenty of reasons not to trust you.”

“And what reasons might those be?”

Johnny opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again, swallowing. If what Spidey suspected of Fisk was true, it might be dangerous for him to know how much Johnny knew about his illegal proclivities. When Johnny didn’t answer, Fisk grinned, laying his palms on the table between them and leaning in closer.

“Whatever it is he’s accused me of, why don’t you ask him to provide you some proof. Any proof. I guarantee he’ll have nothing but empty promises and blatant falsehoods to support his baseless claims.” He pressed further into Johnny’s personal space—so much so that he could feel the heat of his breath when he spoke. “Spider-Man is a depraved criminal, Mr. Storm. The kind that plays the part to earn your trust, then tears you down when you least expect it. I trusted him once too, you know—as I’m sure many others have. But it always leads to the same painful conclusion: his fear and envy of true power driving him to dismantle those in possession of it.”

Johnny pursed his lips, daring not to breathe, but refusing to back away from the unsightly face lurking uncomfortably nearer to his own. 

“You’re a clever boy, Johnny,” Fisk continued. “Strong, talented, and influential, as well. All things that Spider-Man loves to bleed dry from his victims. I’ve been able to evade his destructive path thus far, but I’d hate to see you befall the fate that has led this city to curse the arachnid’s name.” Fisk erected his spine and held out a massive hand for Johnny to take. “Join me, Mr. Storm. Together, we can rid New York of Spider-Man’s foul presence, and ensure that the Human Torch becomes the most powerful and beloved superhero this world ever sees.”

Johnny’s eyes lowered to the massive palm presented to him, then flicked back up to meet Fisk’s. It was an effort not to wrinkle his nose in revulsion as he willed his face into an unreadable wall. He cleared his throat, then stood from his chair, rising to be as close to eye-level with the man as all 5’11” of him could manage.

“First of all, I’m already the most powerful and beloved superhero. If there’s anyone here who's afraid of my power, it’s you.” Flames fizzled off his shoulders and danced down his forearms. “Second, Spider-Man is my friend—and a good fucking person. If you plan to hurt him, you’re going to have to go through me first. And trust me when I say that if things get to that point, winning an election will be the least of your concerns.”

The two of them stared each other down, a live wire running between their locked gazes. Fisk’s eyebrows knit together as his expression took a turn for the deadly. His outstretched hand cinched into a fist. 

“And trust me, young man,” he sneered, “when I say that I am not somebody you want to make your enemy. You think you’re the only person here with power and influence? I’m just as capable of lifting you up as I am of bringing you down.”

Unease simmered beneath Johnny’s skin. “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.

“No,” Fisk replied, flashing a Cheshire Cat smile. “It’s a promise.”

Johnny held the beastly man’s glare, suppressing a shudder. He clenched his jaw, gradually diminishing the flames roiling across his body. 

Spider-Man was right about him.

Fisk’s hand suddenly slipped inside his suit jacket, making Johnny tense up reflexively. He grinned at the fear in the young hero’s eyes as he retrieved a thin piece of paper from a hidden inner pocket and held it out for Johnny Storm to take.

“Whatever your final earnings for the fundraiser are, match ‘em. Everything but the dollar amount is already filled in. That should suffice for my untimely intrusion and make all those misfortunate animals happy, yes?”

A wave of dread washed over Johnny as he reluctantly accepted the check from his bowling ball-sized fist. Something told him whatever donation amount they ended up cashing in from Fisk, it would clear instantly, and be bathed in blood. 

“I do hope you reconsider my offer,” Fisk added. “You and I share many passions and could accomplish great things together. Who one chooses to align oneself with can make or break his future.” He shook his head solemnly. “It’d be a shame to nail yours to the same crucifix Spider-Man has nailed his.” 

With that, Fisk rapped his knuckles against the table, signaled something to his army of guards, then turned and walked away. Johnny watched his boulder of a back shrink farther and farther into the distance and released a slow, shaky breath, grateful to be free of the man’s inky leer, but unable to shake the disquieting queasiness his presence had left him with. He took a long sip of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Well. I’m definitely not publishing that apology now.

“Johnny?” the next fan waiting to meet him called from an awkward distance away. She clutched a Human Torch Squishmallow close to her chest and offered a hesitant smile. “Can, um—can we come over now?” Her along with the rest of the patrons whose line stretched as far as the eye could see peered back at him impatiently, each of their turns with the celebrity hero well overdue.

“Yes—right—sorry. Of course.” Johnny scrubbed a hand through his hair and waved her forward, painting on his happiest, friendliest face. “Welcome, everyone. So sorry for the delay. Step right up, beautiful. Oh, wow—I love your shirt! Where’d you get it from?”

As Johnny chatted and signed stuff and collected donations from people, pushing down the paranoia Fisk had afflicted him with like poison, struggling to stay cheerful and energized for the sake of his fans, he swore he spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. It vanished the moment he looked directly at it, evanescing into the branches of a large maple tree, but he could’ve sworn it was real. And something about that particular shade of red was unusually familiar to him. 

He supposed it could’ve been a bird, a kite, some trick of the imagination. He didn’t have time to dwell on it anyhow. He had fans to entertain and a fundraiser to run. If Fisk wanted to flaunt his excessive liquidity about, Johnny was determined to squeeze every last penny he could get out of him. 

[raulsparza]

Let's talk about Ed's suicidality

This is gonna be long, but I wanted to see it all laid out. I think it's worthwhile to note his patterns. This is partially inspired by this post by @natjennie

Edward Teach is incredibly talented at reading the sky and predicting the weather. Remember in season 1 when he knew there would be fog rolling in around dusk because the clouds were sausage shaped that morning? And he is so certain in his skill that he can use it as a moment to play up the crew’s admiration of him. So, I think he knew way ahead of time that there would be a huge storm that he wanted to sail the ship into in s2e2.

I think there are a few different moments he may have put this together.

One possibility is when he went up on deck with Izzy and then shot him.

He would have had a great view of the sky here. The plan may have already started forming in his mind. Why else would he so flippantly discard his first mate? It’s documented that people who intend to kill themselves sometimes start getting rid of their possessions.

It really stands out to me in s1e4 when Ed first mentions that maybe he should try dying. He includes Izzy in this possibility.

we

Ed has another great view of the sky here, after telling Frenchie to clean up the mess from shooting Izzy. This is before his "rough night" when he plays with his dolls, has a good cry, and then continues discarding things that matter to him.

The next morning, Ed seems, by all accounts, to be doing much better! He’s tidying his room, he’s smiling, he’s chipper.

A sudden mood change, where the person seems happier and “better,” is also documented as a precursor to suicide. Ed has definitely decided he is going to try to die later that day. I think he had probably made his mind up the night before.

His expectations for the day change slightly when he learns Izzy is still alive. He hasn’t deviated from his intention to die but he’s willing to bring Izzy into it again.

He was going to try dying no matter what today, might as well let Izzy do it if Izzy wants to. He’s under no assumption that Izzy will live beyond this so why should he? And then they can try dying together.

He couldn’t be more set in his plan.

Then, once he believes Izzy is dead, he continues on with what he had imagined for his day.

The finality in this is astounding. He talks in past tense immediately because he was already prepared for that.

He tells Frenchie to take the day off to “go live” while he takes over steering for a while.

He then has his last dramatic stab at life as his final act. And I think there is a part of him that's hoping he doesn't actually die. He could have used a much quicker and definite method to attempt suicide but he doesn't and I think that's worth noting.

But, if it does work, then bully for him. It's much more aligned with how he had been imagining his death anyway. Remember when he thought he was going to go down with the ship in s1e4 before they devised the lighthouse fuckery?

By all accounts, the storm is cooler.

I do think Izzy reappearing brings a sliver of hope back to Ed, though.

After Izzy shoots the torch out of Ed's hand, Ed gets up to walk toward Izzy rather than going to pick the torch back up. And he looks astounded. We don't get to see this reunion play out further because Fang knocks Ed to the ground.

It’s important to remember that suicidality is incredibly complex. There’s no one reason or person that Ed has decided to kill himself and there’s no one reason or person that can save him. In s2e3 Ed was the one to take the ropes off and fight to keep swimming; even if Stede was a reason he thought of, once the ropes were off, for him to keep going, Stede is not saving him. Ed is saving himself.

Ed has a hard journey ahead of him, interpersonal relationships aside. He has a lot to work through with himself. But he's proven that he is willing to try.

And he does. And I'm excited to see him continue to choose it.

[mistresskayla-blog1]

Whirlwind Awareness

**trigger warning for those who have been pregnant**

Characters: Gary Fuller x Allison Stone (Fuller)

Lyn's Writing Event 2024 - Week 4 - Day 25

May 25th: Week 4: Tornado

Characters: Gary Fuller x Allison Stone (Fuller)

*** Trigger warning for those who have been pregnant ***

*** Suicidal shock – please if you are easily triggered by this human experience, do not read***

Fandom: Richard Armitage/Sarah Wayne Callies – Into the Storm (AU continuation of ship)

The characters of Gary Fuller and Allison Stone were created by Steven Quale & John Swetnam

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Tornados, trauma, geriatric (over 35) pregnancy, pseudocyesis, presumed miscarriage, anxiety, depression, rescue, suicidal tendencies.

              Ally smiled as she felt a heartbeat in her abdomen and rubbed her belly through her soft cotton shirt. She prayed for a smooth transition into motherhood again. Grace was her miracle already, what would this new child bring into her life. Gary doted on her when she told him. Since the boys were off to college now, starting a new family, felt like a natural step forward for their relationship. It was Spring now, and storms were starting to come fast and often. Gary had told her not to go “chasing” once she hit the third trimester and she had agreed it would be unsafe. But right now, she was 12 weeks in and feeling fine.

Several storms were reported near home and she took the rig and her assistant and headed out. She was a little nauseous but was used to it by now. And often the excitement of the chase made her stomach a little nervous. When they headed out, her back started to hurt, but she didn’t think anything of it, these rough roads during flooding were, well, rough by anyone’s standards. She gripped the bar on the inside of the passenger seat of the truck and held on. Daryl apologized for the roads and Ally chuckled.

“Why? You didn’t pour them,” she smirked, and then a wave of nausea hit her, and her abdomen seized in a cramp. Ally let out a gasp and grimaced. Daryl smirked, “Ok, now your just making fun of me.” Laughing.

Ally momentarily paled and sweat broke out on her face and her neck. Ally shuddered visibly, as Daryl slowed down to a spot on the road.

“Ally? You ok?” Daryl asked. Ally looked to him, “Yeah, yeah” her color returning, “That was weird, but I think I am ok.” Daryl looked up and saw the clouds darkening as rain pelted the truck. Ally slowly crawled between the seats to her command center of monitors.

“I’m punching it up now, looks like we got two good ones coming up on our right”, Ally pointed out the window of the truck’s side door. Daryl pitched his head against the windshield looking for a sign of a small cyclone. A nearby siren echoed through the corn fields, that were green, but mostly bare looking, planted only a few weeks before.

“Nothing yet, but its ripe, did you feel that temp drop”, Daryl asked.

Ally nodded, “Yeah, I did”, she gripped her belly again and gritted her teeth. Daryl looked back at her, “Are you sure you are alright, I know Gary told me to,” he trailed off.

Ally looked at him sternly, “How long you known me, I don’t fade easily”,

Daryl sighed, “Yeah but you don’t look too good”, he spun back to face the windshield.

“Noted, thank you”, and she managed a smile. Daryl shouted mumbles excitedly and pointed out the window. Ally looked up at her screen and caught the red zone.

“Gotcha” she said, indicating the cyclone, starting up her tracking software, and filtering the data. The cyclone swirled and captured fencing and some other loose farm equipment, swirling it around inside itself, before dissipating quickly. A tractor crashed to the ground about 200 yards away from them.

Daryl chortled, “Well that was underwhelming,”

Ally giggled, “Yeah, tell that to the tractor”. Another cramp hit her and she missed the next cell indicator. A cyclone emerged right in front of them about 50 yards and Daryl put the truck in reverse and backed up, turning around. Ally held on to the monitors, taking a steady breath.

“I am not doing this again, you want to track them fine, but I need to live today.” Daryl warned.

Ally sat back up in her seat, “Fair. Maybe we should head back to town, the cell is clear there, for now.” Daryl headed back to Silverton. Ally stayed in the rear cabin and pulled out her cell phone, it was 155 pm, so Gary was still at the school.

His voice calmed her nerves, “hey, how are you?” Ally could hear Gary’s smile over the phone.

“I’m ok. We are calling it early I think, there’s some strong cells coming in, and I’m,” she paused,

“Yes, I understand. Can you come see me then?” Gary asked, hopeful. Ally looked at the time, and their general trajectory.

She nodded over the phone, “Yeah, I should be able to,” smiled audibly, “It will be nice to get a”

Ally grabbed her belly and breathed out harshly.

Gary immediately was talking as the phone slid off her cheek, “Babe? What’s wrong, Ally, hun are you ok?”

Ally sucked in a breath, “Yeah. I just, its just cramping.” She responded.

Gary made a face on his end of the line, “Look just get here, I will take care of you. Love you.”

Ally returned a ‘uhuh, love you too’ breathily and hung up the cell.

Daryl looked back in the rearview mirror, “So, am I dropping you at the high school then?”

Ally nodded and gave him a thumbs up. She broke out in another sweat and took a sip of cool water from a bottle nearby. She did her breathing exercises she had remembered, and it calmed her down a bit. Daryl pulled up to the entrance, and Gary was waiting outside for Ally.

Daryl got out and opened the side door, revealing Ally crouched on the floor of the van, lightly clutching her belly. Gary got right to her, “come on, come on”, he picked her up, and carried her into the school entrance, Daryl right at his heels, opening doors. Gary set Ally down on a cushioned chair in the front office. He scanned her with his eyes, and put his hand on her hand on her belly.

“Is it the baby? Is everything alright?” Gary asked.

Ally looked at him, he was crouched in front of her, “I don’t know, I thought we were out of the woods”, smirked sadly. Gary looked firmly at her, “lets go see the doctor then ok?” Ally nodded. And Gary helped her up to her feet. The wave had subsided and she could stand again. Gary’s arm was melting into her back in support and care, she leaned into his side as he walked her out. The administrator waved him off when he looked to say something. Gary smiled at her and kept walking Ally out. Daryl was at the truck waiting. The side door was still wide open, and Ally could see the monitor blaring a warning. She rolled her eyes, as she stepped into the truck.

Gary entered behind her, “Daryl, can you take us to the ER?”

“Sure, of course”, Daryl answered. Gary held Ally in the back of the truck for the duration of the trip across Silverton to the hospital. Ally didn’t have any cramps in that interval and she was relieved. Maybe she just needed some rest, she thought. They pulled up to the entrance under an portico. Daryl stepped out and opened the side door again, Gary emerged and lead Ally out through the sliding glass doors to the patient counter.

Ally made her best effort, “Hey I would like to be seen please,”  Gary stood at her side.

“Yes, miss,” the nurse replied, “what has brought you in today?”

“I’m pregnant”, she looked to Gary, “and I’m having some unusual cramping, I don’t know if I’m bleeding though”, Gary’s eyes shifted widely, his grip on her shoulder tightened considerably.

“I see, well fill this out, we’ll be right with you”, the nurse said shoving a clipboard in Ally’s hand and pointing to a pot of pens to choose from. “I’ll need your insurance card, too”.

Ally moved her hands to pockets, as Gary pulled his bill fold and handed it to the nurse. Ally shyly thanked him. He looked at her without incident. Ally tucked her hair behind her ear, and thanked the nurse as they both found a seat. Ally filled out the basic information needed and noted the time. The weather channel was on a monitor above them in the waiting area, issuing another Tornado warning, and she grinned, wishing that was a distraction right now.

Gary looked at her with deep concern, “Don’t worry, hun. We’ll figure this out together.” He kissed the top of her head, and rubbed her shoulder as they shared a wide seat.

“Allison?” a new nurse called from a triage room, Allison got up and moved towards the room, Gary was right beside her. The triage nurse took her vitals, took the clipboard and asked her questions to confirm the information on it. Ally answered as usual, a keen understanding of the workings of a medical triage. The nurse looked up at her sharply, “How far along are you?”

Gary answered immediately, “12 weeks.” Ally, put her hand on his leg and squeezed it, he looked at her with keenly felt love.

“Alright, well, let’s get you checked out then. You can stay in here, then we will move you to an exam room.” The sirens started blaring again outside, Ally seemed to hear them in her sleep nowadays. The nurse left out an adjacent door into another hallway.

Gary rubbed her hand, “See this is going to be fine, you’ll see.” Ally looked at him hopeful, and sighed, “I just don’t want to disappoint you”.

He looked concerned again, “That is not why we are doing this, you cant disappoint me. It isn’t your fault if something,”

Ally put her fingers to his lips to stop him from talking, “Shh.. no no no.” She chided. Gary stifled a smile.

“I love you no matter what”, he said when she dropped her hand. Ally smiled lightly, “I love you too.” She sort of girl punched him in the side in playfulness. She was feeling a little better, maybe it was just stress. A while later they moved Ally and Gary to an exam room. A nurse took er vitals again, drew some blood, and palpated her abdomen. Gary stood at her bedside watching and holding Ally’s hand. Focused and ready for whatever was to come. A loud crack of thunder broke his concentration and Ally actually flinched. Gary noted that reaction, as it was out of character for her.

More time passed, the rain pelted the hospital, and the town. But thankfully no tornados.

A doctor came in to talk with them about the results of the blood tests, and Ally looked hopeful at some good news. During the exam, she had noted some bleeding, and she knew sometimes that occurred, but she just didn’t want to entertain any negativity.

The doctor looked at Ally flat in the eye, “So your tests came back negative,”

Gary and Ally both sighed in relief.

“let me finish,” said the doctor, “Your pregnancy test came back negative, we cannot explain your bleeding, or the cramping or anything else you have told us”.

Ally sat up angrily, “what are you talking about? I’m pregnant!” her voice raised in alarm.

Tornado sirens blarred again, and Ally looked to Gary who was standing in shock beside her.

The doctor was on a rolly stool, so he wasn’t at eye height, he stood up then to re-declare his position, “Look we ran it three times, I know it sounds strange. I swear I am trying to do this delicate,” Ally looked at him, her heart thundering in her chest, louder than those damn sirens outside.

Gary looked to the doctor, “What are you saying?” 

Ally could feel her world spinning then, and she flopped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling numb.

The doctor continued, “It’s called pseudocyesis, you have some of the symptoms of pregnancy, but its not a real pregnancy from a biological standpoint, its psychological” he moved back a little, looking at Gary who was now in a mix of confusion and protection. “I think you should leave,” Gary finally said.

The doctor bowed his head, “Take all the time you need,”

Ally’s head swam with thoughts, what was going on? The heartbeat, the cramping, the nausea, the sense of smell, she had it all. What was going on? Ally started to cry, big bubbling tears, and turned away from Gary on the bed. Gary moved towards her, his hand rubbing her back.

“I’m so sorry. I tried, I don’t know what happened”, She sobbed. Gary was working through his own disbelief and frustration, but he knew he loved her. He made a promise to take care of her. He wasn’t going to fail now. Gary curled up on the bed with her and held her.

“Shh…” he spoke against Ally’s sobs, “Its ok. We can try again, right?” Ally cried harder at that sentiment.

She turned slightly to look up at him, “Didn’t you hear that smarmy asshole, he said I wasn’t pregnant. You can’t try again for something that didn’t exist!” Gary held her tighter letting her cry. 

“I’m sorry. I know, I know. I just don’t, I’ve never even heard of that, have you?” Gary asked.

Ally shook her head, “No, never. What does that even mean? How can my body trick me like that? Am I losing my mind?”

Gary held her face in his hand, brushing a kiss to her temple, “No, no. your not crazy, something must have caused it.”  Ally closed her eyes at the kiss, “Then what, what caused it?” she sniffled.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think were going to find that out here”, Gary replied. The nurse knocked on the glass door, and peaked in.

“Were all ready to discharge,” she said. Gary looked at her a bit perturbed.

The nurse recognized this and slinked back out of the doorway. Gary kissed Ally on the head again, and got up, “I’m going to get you some water, do you need anything else?”

She sat up slowly, hugging her one knee and smirking, “Yeah, you got any dignity out there, grab me some.”  Gary looked at her, seriously and opened the door, “You are plenty dignified, you have nothing to prove to me, you have a kid already. Grace is wonderful. I’m perfectly satisfied with what we have.”

Gary closed the door and Ally openly wept into her hands, the grief of the realization palatable and earth shattering. She started to have a panic attack. Ally got up and paced the room a minute.

Gary had to go down a rather long hallway to find the water station. And it took some doing to get the nurses to instruct him on how to operate it.

Ally, started to get dressed again, she had to get away, had to clear her head. That doctor was the insane one, not me, Ally thought. She put on her shoes and opened the glass door carefully, peaking around the inner curtain to the nurse’s station. Everyone was busy or back turned to her, viewing monitors and discussing critical patients. Ally looked back and forth but did not see Gary. She snuck out of the room and through an alternate exit.

The cool and warm air hit her in succession as she stepped outside to a dark green sky and a strong breeze. The sun was still in the sky, but it was slowly approaching dusk. She could see Daryl parked a little ways down the parking lot, but she went the other direction. Cutting across the lawn to the hospital and heading for the ominous view of sickly green clouds and a scent of rain. Ally closed her jacket about her and stomped towards the storm.

Ally was aware that walking into a storm like this was utter madness, but her grief was so strong, she didn’t care what happened, she just wanted to wash away that feeling inside her heart. She was consumed by the shame and grief of that information. It just didn’t make any sense.

Gary came back to the room, and as he slid the door open smoothly it didn’t take him long to realize that Ally was gone. He mouthed the words “fuck”, and immediately pulled out his phone to call her. It rang on the bed in the room. He hung up and tried Daryl.

Daryl answered, waiting in the parking lot, “Is everything ok?”

“No, Ally ran off. We got some bad news. I don’t know where she would go, do you?” Gary said, walking towards the main entrance to the ER.

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her. She didn’t come back to the Van, and I’m sure she could see me if she came out”. 

Gary acknowledged him, as he walked up to the truck and got into the passenger seat switching off the call.

“So, where do we go?” Daryl asked.

Gary pointed towards the ominous clouds ahead of them, “How about into that storm”,

Daryl sighed, “I was afraid you were going to say that”. Daryl put the truck into reverse and pulled out of his spot, heading to the road along the hospital. More open fields scattered businesses and residences around the town. Gary scanned streets and open fields for Ally.

Daryl and Gary headed towards the storm, and each minute they got closer, so did the storm.

Ally could feel the shift of wind over head, and she looked up as a pelt of heavy rain droplets hit her in force before reaching the ground and splashing back up against the divet puddles of a tilled crop field. Ally squished through the fields with effort, the rain so heavy it pushed her down into the ground as she walked. A sound of a train made Ally’s head snap up sharply, and the cyclone appeared in front of her about 75 yards away. She looked around for something to hide under or grab hold of. Nothing presented it self. The tornado gave chase as Ally moved away from it. It licked along the ground, kicking up mud and dirt and plants, heading straight for her.

Ally felt the wave of guilt again and stood still, arms out, ready to be taken, “Do your worst!” she shouted amongst the rain and wind.

Daryl spotted her first, they were driving down the parallel road to the field. Gary looked over out his window and saw Ally arms spread wide, and the tornado heading straight for her.

“Oh god,” he gasped, his hand over his mouth, “Can you cut through the field in this?”

Daryl laughed, “haha! Oh yeah I can, watch this.” He flicked some buttons on his side panel and engaged 4-wheel drive with a Jeep modification for mud terrain. “Hold on!”

Gary braced himself, then had a thought, “wait, I’ll go in back, keep the side door open so I can catch her”.  Daryl grinned.

The truck veered off the road sharply and into the field. They were headed straight for Ally.

But so was the tornado, it swooshed and dived, picking up more things as it passed a shed.

Ally kept her eyes closed and her arms open, “You can do better than that, try picking me up” she roared at the cyclone.

As the tornado made its way towards her, never breaking stride, Ally peaked at it and grinned desperately, tears streaming down her face. She looked at it careens towards her, a large arm swooped her up and into the van. Gary set her down, and slammed the side door, just as the tornado washed past and behind them. Daryl had his foot deep in the peddle, moving towards the road on the other side of the field.

Gary held her down against the floor of the van, “What were you doing? Trying to kill yourself?”

He shouted, even though the rain had gone. Ally looked up at him, momentarily startled.

“I, I.. I just wanted to be cleansed,” Her face in her hands, sobbing starting again. Gary dropped his anger, and held her to him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry you felt you had to.  It will all be ok. We will heal from this, I promise.”

Ally sobbed into his chest, “But now I cannot trust my own body is telling the truth, let alone what you must think of me”. She held him closer, trying to find solace in his steady warmth.

“Its not about that. I don’t think anything of you. I love you. We will figure this out together ok?” Gary explained, rubbing her soothingly.

Daryl made it back to the road and they drove back to town. The tornado had vanished by then, taking it with it a little bit of Ally’s perseverance, and maybe some trust. She didn’t know where to go from here, but she knew that Gary would lead her safely home.

(Epilogue: There is no offense intended in characters or depictions, this story comes from a personal experience of mine. So it is not fictional for me. I hope that anyone who can identify with any aspect of this experience, though brief in its depiction can find some solace in not being alone with their thoughts or feelings about it)

Taglist:

Anyone I tagged I tried to remain sensitive. it is a short taglist for content reasons. Please reblog if you think it will help someone heal.

@scariusaquarius @lathalea @sweetestgbye

@riepu10