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Chapter Text

Johnny Storm had never been one to dwell on minor inconveniences. A scratch, a bruise, even the occasional broken bone- none of it had ever slowed him down before. His body healed fast, his powers kept him strong, and if something hurt, well, that was what adrenaline was for. But lately, things had been… off.

It wasn’t anything obvious at first. Just a little more fatigue than usual, but that could be chalked up to poor sleep. A few bruises here and there, but he was active. It wasn’t weird to wake up with marks from stunts he didn’t remember.

But then came the dizziness. Not just the kind you got from standing up too fast, but real, stomach-turning vertigo that made him grip the walls sometimes. It hit him in the middle of training, in the shower, once even while he was just sitting on the couch. He never actually passed out, but it felt close. Sue had started noticing. She watched him with the same sharp gaze she always used when she was trying to solve a problem.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” she asked one evening as they sat in the Baxter Building’s common area. Johnny was slouched on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through his social media feed with half-interest.

“Yeah, why?” He didn’t look up.

Sue frowned. “You just seem… tired. And you’ve barely touched your food.”

Johnny glanced at the plate of half-eaten takeout on the coffee table. He was hungry, but eating felt like a chore lately. Everything tasted off.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just not that hungry.”

Sue didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

The real turning point came during training. Ben had been on his case that day, pushing him harder than usual. “C’mon, matchstick, you’re movin’ like syrup! You gettin’ slow on me?”

Johnny gritted his teeth and forced his flames higher, launching himself into the air with a controlled burst. He tried to maneuver through the obstacle course Reed had set up, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish. He misjudged a turn, clipped the edge of a platform, and went tumbling. Normally, he would’ve recovered midair, caught himself, turned it into a joke. But this time, his body didn’t cooperate. He hit the ground hard, fire sputtering out.

Ben was at his side in an instant. “Hey, you okay?”

Johnny sat up, shaking off the daze. “Yeah. Just... lost focus.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

Sue had been watching from the sidelines, arms crossed. “Johnny, you’ve been off for weeks.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Tired doesn’t make you fall outta the sky,” Ben muttered.

It was Reed who suggested running some tests. Johnny wanted to brush him off, but there was something in the way Reed looked at him—concern, quiet but firm. And maybe a small part of Johnny wanted an answer too.

So he agreed.

Reed’s lab was a place of controlled chaos: half-finished experiments, monitors displaying incomprehensible data, wires and tools everywhere. Johnny sat on the examination table, rolling his eyes as Reed methodically took samples.

“You know, for a guy with rubber-like skin, you’re weirdly obsessed with things that could pop you,” Johnny quipped.

Reed didn’t take the bait, just leveling him with a look. “Just a standard blood test. Shouldn’t take long to analyze.”

Johnny expected nothing to come of it. Maybe Reed would tell him he had low iron or a vitamin deficiency. Easy fix.

But the next day, Reed wasn’t his usual composed self. He was too quiet, staring at the results for longer than necessary.

Sue noticed first. “Reed? What is it?”

Reed hesitated. He looked at Johnny, then back at Sue, before finally speaking. “Johnny, I think you need to go to the hospital.”

A pit formed in Johnny’s stomach. “For what?”

“I found abnormalities in your bloodwork,” Reed said carefully. “It could be nothing, but it’s serious enough that we need confirmation from specialists.”

Sue’s face paled. Ben straightened, his usual joking demeanor gone. Johnny forced a grin. “C’mon, Stretch, you’re making it sound like I’m dying or something.”

Reed didn’t laugh. Neither did Sue. 

The drive to the hospital was a blur. Sue stayed close, her hand gripping Johnny’s a little too tightly. The doctors took him in fast. Too fast.

He was led to a private room, and before he could protest, a nurse started an IV in his arm. The antiseptic smell, the white walls, the beeping monitors; everything felt too sterile, too real.

“I don’t get why you guys are acting like I’m on my deathbed,” Johnny muttered, watching the clear fluid drip into his IV. “I feel fine.”

The nurse gave him a tight-lipped smile. “We just want to rule out anything serious, sweetheart.”

“Right,” Johnny said, unconvinced.

Then came the tests. More bloodwork. An ultrasound of his spleen. A chest X-ray. And then, finally, a doctor came in and mentioned a bone marrow biopsy.

Johnny sat up straighter. “A what now?”

Dr. Ramirez, a middle-aged oncologist with a calm, measured demeanor, folded her hands. “We need a sample of your bone marrow to examine it under a microscope. It will help us confirm what’s causing your symptoms.”

Johnny frowned. “And how do you-” He stopped, noticing the way Sue’s grip on his hand tightened. “Oh, this is gonna suck, isn’t it?”

Dr. Ramirez didn’t sugarcoat it. “It’s not the most comfortable procedure, but we’ll numb the area as best we can. You might feel some pressure and pain.”

Sue rubbed his shoulder. “I’ll be right here, okay?”

Johnny sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

They had him lie on his side, exposing his lower back. The doctor marked a spot on his hip, explaining each step as she went. Johnny appreciated the effort, but it didn’t make it any better.

First came the local anesthetic, a sharp sting that burned before it numbed. Johnny clenched his jaw, staring at the wall.

“Doing okay?” Sue asked softly.

“Peachy,” he muttered.

Then came the needle. Johnny sucked in a breath as the biopsy needle pushed into his bone. It was pressure at first, an uncomfortable grinding sensation. And then—

“Shit—” Johnny tensed, fingers digging into the sheets. A deep, pulling ache spread through his hip, sharp and unavoidable. It felt like someone was sucking the marrow straight out of his bones. Oh, wait. That was literally what was happening.

“Almost done,” Dr. Ramirez assured him. “Just a few more seconds.”

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe through it. It didn’t last long, just a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity.

Then, finally, the needle was out.

Johnny let out a shaky breath, blinking up at the ceiling. “Well. That sucked.”

Sue brushed a hand through his hair, her expression worried. “You did great.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Johnny mumbled, voice weaker than he wanted.

The doctor placed a bandage over the site. “We’ll have results soon. Try to take it easy.”

Johnny barely heard him. He just wanted to go home.

A few days later, they were called into the hospital again. They wanted to talk to Johnny in person. They also told him to bring a bag with a fresh change of clothes and something to occupy himself with. They didn’t say why, but Johnny had a creeping suspicion.

Getting into the car, he was not as surprised as he should be when Sue slides into the backseat next to him, leaving Reed alone in the front. Apparently she had the same suspicion, or maybe she was glad couldn’t avoid her in such a confined space.

It was just the three of them in the car. Ben had wanted to come, but bringing him to a pediatric hospital would be like bringing a bull into a porcelain store. Until a week ago, it was the same with Johnny.

Getting into the hospital, Johnny focused on his breathing and the feeling of Reed’s hand on his shoulder while Sue went up to the reception area. A few moments later she returned, with instructions to follow the yellow line on the floor that would take them to the correct waiting room.

It was mainly a formality, she had been told. They would be immediately met with a doctor, Dr. Ramirez, and taken to a private room.

Johnny tried not to think, as per usual. Trusting his instincts rather than his brain had saved his life on several occasions. However, as they went deeper into the hospital, Johnny saw the yellow line disappear behind a door. And right above the door there were a sign that said displayed “Oncology”.

As they continued following the line, Johnnys instincts screamed at him to run, but now both Reed’s hand had been replaced with Sue, walking by his side. He knew when she had noticed the sign as well, because her grip on him became ever so slightly tighter.

This whole visit was gonna suck so hard.

The waiting room was quieter than Johnny expected. Hospitals usually had that background hum of life, with nurses moving quickly, patients chatting, and the occasional crying kid, but here, everything felt muted. The walls were painted a soft blue, meant to be calming, but the only thing Johnny felt was a gnawing restlessness.

Sue sat beside him, too close, her knee brushing against his. She was trying to be subtle about it, but Johnny knew what she was doing. She was making sure he didn’t get up and bolt. Reed stood just behind them, one hand on the back of Johnny’s chair. A quiet wall of support, or maybe just a blockade.

Dr. Ramirez appeared in the doorway, his face unreadable. “Johnny?”

Johnny swallowed. Sue stood first, her grip firm around his wrist, tugging him up before he could hesitate. Reed nodded in quiet acknowledgment as they followed the doctor down a hallway, through another set of doors. The yellow line on the floor continued on, disappearing under their feet as they walked.They passed rooms with open doors, some empty, some not. In one, a girl about Johnny’s age was curled up on a hospital bed, IV in her arm, staring at a muted television. Her skin was pale, her head covered by a soft beanie. Johnny forced himself to look away.

Dr. Ramirez led them into a small private room. There was a couch against the wall, two chairs, and a hospital bed that Johnny was not planning on sitting on. Sue, of course, pulled him toward it anyway.

Dr. Ramirez took a seat across from them, flipping open a folder. “I know this process has been a whirlwind,” she said, his voice calm, measured. “Thank you for coming in so quickly.”

Johnny forced a smirk. “Well, you did tell me to pack a bag. Kind of gave away the suspense there.”

Dr. Ramirez offered a small, understanding smile. “I know. And I won’t drag this out any longer than I have to.” She folded his hands over the folder, exhaling softly before actually saying the words. 

“Johnny, your biopsy confirmed Acute Myeloid Leukemia.”

Johnny felt the air leave the room. Sue’s grip on his hand tightened like a vice. Reed shifted slightly behind him, a barely perceptible movement, but Johnny could hear the deep inhale he took. Like he was preparing for impact.

Johnny blinked. “Leukemia.”

Dr. Ramirez nodded. “A type of blood cancer. It develops in the bone marrow, affecting the production of healthy blood cells.” Her voice was steady, but gentle. “It’s why you’ve been feeling so exhausted, why you’ve been bruising so easily. Your body has been struggling to keep up.”

Johnny licked his lips, trying to focus on the words. Blood cancer. That was…

“That’s, like… serious,” he said, immediately feeling stupid. Of course it was serious. They were in Oncology. He was sitting on a hospital bed.

Dr. Ramirez nodded. “Yes. Unfortunately the type you have, AML, is also considered one of the more aggressive ones. But it’s treatable.”

Johnny saw Sue swallow out of the corner of his eyes. “What’s the-” Her voice came out rough. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What happens now?”

Dr. Ramirez leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees. “The first step is induction chemotherapy. This will be an aggressive, intensive treatment to try and get the leukemia into remission.”

Johnny’s stomach twisted at the words. “Induction?”

“A combination of two chemotherapy drugs, given over a seven-day period,” Dr. Ramirez explained. “The first drug, cytarabine, will be continuous for seven days. The second, an anthracycline, will be given the first three days. It’s a difficult process. You’ll be in the hospital for at least four to six weeks during this phase.”

Four to six weeks. Johnny’s grip on Sue’s hand loosened. He leaned back slightly, pressing his free hand to his forehead.

“I-I don't-”, he paused, blinking against the harsh lights. "Why can't I be at home to rest? After that first week, I mean."

Dr. Ramirez smiled at him, likely trying to make him relax. It didn't work. "The treatment can wreak havoc on the body, and the full effects of the chemo won't become apparent until a few weeks later. We need to know and be there to provide support when it becomes necessary. " 

He exhaled slowly. It made sense. “Okay. And then?”

“If the first round is effective, your bone marrow will start producing healthy cells again. But in many cases, one round isn’t enough. We’ll monitor your progress with blood tests and another biopsy around day fourteen.”

Johnny shut his eyes for a moment, trying to process it. Four to six weeks of chemo. And that’s just the first round. He felt Sue shift beside him, her fingers squeezing his again. He could hear her breathing, slow and deliberate, like she was keeping herself under control for his sake.

Johnny opened his eyes. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Dr. Ramirez hesitated. “Then we’ll need to do another round.”

Johnny exhaled through his nose. “Cool. Great. Love that for me.”

Reed finally spoke, his voice soft but firm. “What kind of side effects should he expect?”

Johnny shot him a look. “Dude. Could you just chill out, for like, five minutes.”

Dr. Ramirez still answered. “Fatigue. Nausea. Loss of appetite, and a lot more that you shouldn't worry about for nothing."

Ha, as if Sue wouldn't worry just because the doctor didn't say it to their face. Her and Reed would likely know every non-glamorous part of chemo within a day or two. Johnny was kind of glad he didn't have to know everything that could happen to him.

“There’s also a high risk of infection, since chemotherapy will lower your immune system significantly. We’ll be monitoring you closely and providing supportive care, such as blood transfusions, antibiotics, anti-nausea medication and more. Whatever is necessary to help you through it.”

Johnny inhaled deeply. “Okay.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Dr. Ramirez gave him a moment before continuing. “I know this is overwhelming. But we’re going to take this one step at a time.”

Johnny let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sure. One step at a time.”

Sue’s hand moved to his back, rubbing slow circles. “Johnny.”

He didn’t look at her. He stared at the floor instead.

Dr. Ramirez leaned back slightly, her expression softening. “I want to be honest with you. This is going to be one of the hardest things you’ve ever gone through.”

Johnny swallowed, his throat tight. “Awesome. Love that.”

“But,” Dr. Ramirez continued, “you’re not alone in this. You have a strong support system, and some excellent doctors if I say so myself. We’re going to do everything we can to get you through it.”

Johnny finally lifted his gaze. He looked at Dr. Ramirez, then at Reed, standing quiet but firm by the door. Then at Sue, who was looking at him like she wanted to wrap him up in a hug and never let go.

He exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “I suppose I don't really have a choice, do I?”

Dr. Ramirez shook her head. “We’ll get started today.”

Sue tensed beside him. Johnny forced a weak grin. “Good, the sooner it starts, the sooner it'll end.”

Dr. Ramirez smiled. “That’s the right attitude.” She stood. “A nurse will come in shortly to discuss the next steps and get you settled.”

Johnny watched her go while his new reality was setting in. Hospital. Chemo. Weeks- Months.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Sue’s hand still steady on his back. Then he put on a new smile, scooted further up the bed, and focused solely on his phone. Funny cat videos always made things better.

Chapter Text

Johnny sat stiffly on the hospital bed, trying not to fidget as the nurse prepared his IV line. The hospital gown felt too big on him, the fabric bunched around his shoulders in a way that made him feel small. He hated that. Hated the way the sterile smell of the hospital had already settled into his skin, how the beeping machines around him made his head pound.

Sue sat in the chair next to his bed, a small notepad balanced on her knee, pen tapping lightly against the paper. Reed stood just behind her, arms crossed, eyes darting between Johnny and the nurse, probably memorizing every step of the process.

“Alright, Johnny,” a nurse named Melissa said, her voice calm and practiced. “We’re going to get your central line set up first. This will be where we give you your chemotherapy, fluids, and any medications you need. It’s also how we’ll take your blood for testing, so you won’t need to get stuck with a needle every time.”

Johnny glanced at Sue, who was already scribbling something down. “Yeah, ‘cause getting stabbed once in the chest is way better than a bunch of needles.”

Melissa smiled a little. “I won’t lie to you, this is not going to be comfortable at first. It is however safer than an IV in your arm, and it’ll make things easier for you in the long run.”

Reed took a step closer. “Can you explain the type of central line he’s getting? And why this method over others?”

Melissa nodded. “Of course. Johnny will have a tunneled central venous catheter, or CVC for short. We place it in a large vein near his collarbone and tunnel it under the skin to reduce the risk of infection.”

Reed’s brow furrowed. “Why not a port? I've read those are often used.”

“A port is completely under the skin, which makes it lower maintenance for long-term treatment,” Melissa explained. “But it requires a needle poke every time you use it, which isn’t ideal for induction chemotherapy since he’ll need frequent blood draws and infusions. A CVC is external, meaning it stays accessible, and while it requires careful care, it’s often a better choice for this stage.”

Johnny sighed. “So I’m basically getting a permanent tube hanging out of me?”

Melissa smiled sympathetically. “Pretty much. But we’ll cover it with a dressing and make sure it’s secured, so it won’t be in your way too much.”

Sue wrote something down. “How often does it need to be cleaned?”

“Daily, with dressing changes at least once a week. We’ll teach you how to take care of it, and your medical team will help monitor it for any issues.”

Johnny made a face. “And by issues, you mean like what? Infections?”

Melissa nodded. “Infections, blockages and irritation at the site are things we’ll keep a close eye on. That’s why hygiene is so important.”

Johnny slumped back against the pillows. “Awesome. Love that for me.”

Melissa gave him a reassuring smile. “I know this is overwhelming, but we’ll take it one step at a time. And if you have questions, ask. There are no dumb questions.”

Johnny sighed but nodded, deciding not to argue.

Johnny had no idea what he’d been expecting when it came to chemo. A dramatic moment where the drugs hit his system and he immediately felt like garbage? Some kind of physical reaction that would make it feel like poison was being pumped into him?

Instead, it was… nothing.

He sat there, watching Melissa carefully connect a syringe of clear liquid to his new central line. It was weird—he could feel the slight pressure in his chest as the fluid entered his bloodstream, but there was no pain. No immediate wave of nausea. Just… nothing.

“This is the first drug in the regimen,” Melissa explained as she slowly pushed the syringe’s contents in. “It’s called daunorubicin. It’s an anthracycline, meaning it works by damaging the DNA in leukemia cells so they can’t grow.”

Johnny wrinkled his nose. “So, you’re just breaking my DNA?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Melissa said, amused. “It targets fast-growing cells, which is why it also affects your hair, mouth, and stomach lining.”

Johnny frowned. “Wait, hair?”

Reed, who had been quiet, spoke up. “You’re going to lose it, Johnny.”

Johnny blinked. “All of it?”

Melissa nodded. “It usually starts around two weeks in.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Cool. Love that.”

Melissa moved on, setting up an IV bag with a deep red liquid. “This next one is also daunorubicin, but in an infusion. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.”

Johnny stared at the bag. “Okay, that looks like poison.”

Melissa chuckled. “Yeah, we call it the ‘red devil’ for a reason.”

Sue tensed. “Wait, why is it called that?”

Melissa sighed. “Because it’s effective, but tough on the body. It can be hard on the heart, which is why we’ll monitor Johnny’s cardiac function throughout treatment.”

Sue immediately wrote something down.

Johnny leaned his head back. “So it is poison.”

Reed crossed his arms. “Technically, yes.”

Johnny huffed. “Slowly poisoning me is not how I saw this week going.”

Melissa smiled and started the infusion. “We’ll go slow and monitor how you’re feeling. If anything feels off, let me know.”

Johnny nodded, watching the red liquid drip down the tubing. He still didn’t feel anything. But he knew that would change.

Melissa moved to prepare the next drug. “The other chemo drug in your regimen is cytarabine. It’ll be infused over the next seven days, 24/7.”

Johnny groaned. “So I’m stuck here?”

“Afraid so,” Melissa said. “But it’s important. Cytarabine is a key drug for AML treatment.”

Johnny grumbled but didn’t argue. He was too tired to fight about it. Sue reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

Later That Night

Johnny was curled up in his hospital bed, nausea creeping in now that the chemo had been running for hours. His stomach churned, but nothing was happening yet. He knew it would. It was just a matter of time.

Sue was dozing in the chair next to him when his tablet buzzed. He grabbed it, squinting at the screen. Ben.

Johnny sighed and answered the video call.

“Hey, matchstick,” Ben’s gruff voice filled the quiet hospital room.

Johnny smirked weakly. “Hey, Big Ugly.”

Ben took one look at him and frowned. “You look like hell.”

Johnny gave a tired laugh. “Thanks.”

Ben’s face softened. “How’s it goin’?”

Johnny shrugged. “I mean, I’ve got poison pumping into me 24/7, so… not great.”

Ben huffed. “Bet it’s makin’ ya miserable.”

“Not yet,” Johnny muttered. “Give it a day.”

Ben studied him for a second before grunting, “Wish I could be there.”

Johnny gave him a small smile. “Me too.”

Ben sighed. “Listen, kid. I ain’t gonna give ya the whole ‘stay strong’ speech. But just… don’t be a stubborn idiot, alright? If you need somethin’, say it.”

Johnny swallowed. “Yeah.”

Ben smirked. “And if ya ever need someone to talk trash about Stretch or the hospital food, you call me.”

Johnny snorted. “Deal.”

For the first time in days, he felt a little less alone.

Johnny had been in the hospital for two days, and he was already sick of it. The beeping monitors, the smell of antiseptic, the nurses constantly checking his vitals—it was like he was trapped in a bubble of sickness.

And now, with chemotherapy dripping into his central line, he was officially on the road to feeling like hell.

Melissa, the nurse, had explained everything as she set up his IV—what the drugs would do, how they worked, and what side effects to expect. But none of that really prepared him for the weird, creeping sensation of exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It was like his body knew something bad was coming, bracing for impact.

Sue sat beside him, reading a book on her kindle. Probably something nerdy. Reed stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, studying Johnny like he was an experiment in progress.

Johnny exhaled through his nose. “You two gonna keep staring at me all night, or…?”

Sue looked up from her kindle. “We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

Reed’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not fine, Johnny. You’re starting an aggressive chemotherapy regimen. Your body is going to react.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the uplifting pep-talk, man.”

Reed didn’t respond, just continued watching him like he was waiting for something to happen.

Johnny sighed and leaned back against the pillows. He didn’t feel sick yet. Just tired. But he knew that wouldn’t last.

A thought struck him, and he pushed himself up slightly. “Can I take a shower?”

Sue blinked. “Right now?”

“Yeah, why not? I feel gross.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “Hospital air, chemo, existential dread- it’s a lot. A shower might help.”

Sue glanced at Reed, who frowned slightly. “You’ll need to be careful with your central line,” Reed said. “And you shouldn’t be alone in case you get dizzy.”

Johnny groaned. “Come on, I don’t need a babysitter to take a shower.”

Melissa, the nurse who had been checking his IV line, turned at the mention of his name. “You want a shower, Johnny?”

“Yes, please. But apparently, I need permission first.”

Melissa smiled a little. “You can take one, but there are some rules. First, we’ll need to cover your central line to keep it dry. And second- ” She hesitated slightly. “You’ll need someone with you.”

Johnny made a face. “Define ‘with me.’”

“You won’t be alone in the bathroom. One of us has to be there in case you get lightheaded or need help.”

Johnny groaned again, flopping back dramatically. “This is so stupid. I feel fine.”

“You won’t always,” Reed pointed out.

“Again, love the optimism, dude.”

Melissa gave him an apologetic look. “I know it’s frustrating, but it’s hospital policy. Safety first.”

Johnny muttered something under his breath, but didn’t argue further.

Melissa returned a few minutes later with supplies: plastic wrap and waterproof tape to cover his central line. As she carefully sealed off the area, Johnny sat in annoyed silence.

Sue squeezed his arm. “It’s just for now. If you’re feeling okay later, maybe they’ll let you shower alone.”

Johnny didn’t look convinced, but he let it slide.

When they finally got him into the bathroom, he stopped short at the sight of the shower chair. It was a standard white plastic thing, the kind you’d see in nursing homes.

He scowled. “What the hell is that?”

Melissa followed his gaze. “A shower chair.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much. Why is it in there?”

“In case you feel weak.”

Johnny scoffed. “I’m not using that.”

“Johnny,” Sue warned.

“Nope,” he said firmly, stepping away from it like it was contagious. “I can stand just fine.”

Melissa was patient, but firm. “We strongly recommend you use it. Chemo can cause sudden fatigue, and if you fall—”

“I won’t fall,” Johnny cut in. “I’ve been in zero gravity, I’ve flown through firestorms. I think I can handle a shower.”

Melissa didn’t budge. “Hospital rules.”

Johnny turned to Sue for support, but she just gave him a sympathetic look.

“This sucks,” he muttered.

Sue rubbed his shoulder. “I know.”

Melissa wheeled his IV pole into the bathroom, and Johnny’s irritation doubled.

“Wait, why does that have to come with me?”

“You’re still getting fluids and pre-meds,” Melissa explained. “We can pause the chemo drip, but you need to stay hydrated.”

Johnny eyed the IV line running into his central line like it was a leash. “So I have to shower with an IV?”

“Yup.”

“This just keeps getting better.”

Grumbling, he stepped into the shower, carefully avoiding the chair. He could still stand, dammit.

The warm water felt amazing, washing away the hospital grime. But as the minutes passed, a strange heaviness settled into his limbs. His legs felt weaker than they should, his head lighter.

He ignored it. He was fine.

Until he wasn’t.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit, and he reached for the wall, gripping the tile to steady himself. Melissa was there in an instant.

“Johnny?”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Sit down,” she instructed.

“I’m-”

Another wave of dizziness, stronger this time. His knees wobbled.

Melissa didn’t wait for more protests, she just guided him down onto the chair. Johnny let out a frustrated sigh, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I hate this,” he admitted.

Melissa handed him a washcloth. “I know. But it’s temporary.”

Johnny wasn’t so sure.

For the rest of the shower, he didn’t argue.

Johnny was curled up in his hospital bed, the IV pump humming softly beside him. The nausea had started creeping in - slow at first, just a vague discomfort, but it was building. His stomach churned like a slow, rolling wave, and he swallowed against the feeling.

Sue had dozed off in the chair next to him, her head tilted awkwardly to the side. Johnny glanced at his tablet, debating if he should distract himself with a stupid video or something, when it buzzed with an incoming call.

Peter.

Johnny stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the answer button.

He wanted to pick up. He should pick up.

But the thought of talking, of explaining, of pretending to be okay when he wasn’t, felt exhausting.

So, he let it ring.

After a moment, the call ended, and a message popped up:

Peter: Hey, you okay?

Johnny sighed. He set the tablet aside, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him before he had to think about how to respond.

By the third day, Johnny felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

Everything hurt. His muscles ached, his skin felt too sensitive, and the nausea was a constant presence, making it impossible to even think about food. His stomach cramped painfully every time he tried to sit up, and just the thought of eating made him gag.

Sue noticed. Of course she did.

“Johnny,” she said softly, holding out a cup of apple juice. “Try to drink something, okay?”

Johnny turned his head away, pressing his forehead against the cool pillow. “Not thirsty.”

Sue sighed. “You have to stay hydrated.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care.”

She was quiet for a moment, then tried again. “What about some crackers? Just a few bites.”

Johnny groaned. “Sue.”

“Johnny, please,” she said, her voice raw with frustration and worry. “You haven’t eaten anything today.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m sick,” Johnny snapped. “Kinda the whole point of chemo, remember?”

Sue flinched slightly but didn’t back down. “If you don’t eat, they’re going to have to give you a feeding tube.”

Johnny let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, awesome. Another tube sticking out of me. Love that.”

Sue’s face crumpled. “Johnny, please.”

Her voice wavered, and when Johnny finally looked at her, he realized she was on the verge of tears. His stomach twisted—not from the nausea this time, but from guilt.

She was trying. She was just trying to help, and he was being an asshole.

He sighed and reached for the apple juice, taking a tiny sip just to make her feel better. It tasted like garbage, but at least she stopped looking like she was about to cry.

“Happy?” he muttered.

Sue let out a shaky breath. “For now.”

She didn’t leave his side for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

The hospital room was dim, the soft beeping of the machines creating a steady, almost comforting rhythm. But to Johnny, everything felt wrong. His body was heavy with fatigue, and his mind was spinning with thoughts too jumbled to even make sense of. The chemo had taken its toll—his energy was almost nonexistent, his stomach was constantly churning, and his head throbbed relentlessly. But there was something else, something that he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Johnny’s hand reached up to touch his hair. The first time he noticed the strands coming out, he had brushed it off. No big deal, right? It’s just hair. It’ll grow back, he told himself. But today? Today, it was different.

He pulled a few strands out with his fingers and stared at them in disbelief. There were more. He couldn’t stop it. Stop it from falling, nor stop himself from pulling it out. It was mesmerising. Watching the hair that a minute ago was on his head. That a month ago was healthy. Hair that he had taken great pride in, that had become a part of his identity. One of the last things that had stayed the same as his entire life fundamentally changed. Sure, it had thinned, become brittle and dry, but it was his. And now it was just… Sitting in front of him. There was nothing he could do.

So he kept on pulling. It was early, Sue would be stopping by soon. She had spent the full night at home for the first time this week. As much as he missed her, and wanted to stay in her arms at this very moment, he was still happy she wasn’t here. She didn’t need to see this.

Soon the nurses would get here. Do their morning rounds, check in on him and ask if there was something he needed. They would try to feed him something he couldn’t even taste the flavor of anymore. Then he would puke it up, the nausea constantly present these days.

Then he would go to sleep, wake up with Sue in the plastic chair next to his bed, be taken to chemo, come back, try to make the room stop spinning, and sleep some more. All the while Sue’s eyebags kept getting bigger. Always there comforting him, with a gentle hand on his back or in his hair-

He stopped the fingers at his head, and looked down into his lap. There was a substantial amount of hair there. The hair that had always been a part of his identity, something he’d taken pride in, was slipping away from him, just like everything else.

He swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe. This wasn’t just a bad hair day. This was… this was a loss. He didn’t know what to do with it. He’d bet that if someone walked in here right now he would look crazy. Or just sick.

Johnny… He was sick. Really sick. He had the evidence quite literally in front of his nose. Johnny suddenly started feeling ill, but he had no idea if that was because of the chemo, the fact he hadn’t been able to keep anything down for the last three days, or if it was because of this sudden realization. Maybe it even was the cancer, working against him even as he did the most he could to fight it.

Johnny’s breath hitched, and he pressed his palm over his mouth, willing himself to stay still, to keep it together. He wasn’t going to cry over this. Not over something so stupid. It was just hair. People lost their hair all the time, right? And besides, it would grow back—if everything worked. If he got better. If he made it.

His stomach lurched at the thought, and suddenly, the nausea he’d been keeping at bay roared to the surface. He barely had the strength to sit up, let alone reach for the basin beside the bed. His arms trembled as he pushed himself up just enough to turn onto his side, and then he was heaving, his body curling in on itself. It hurt. Everything hurt.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, curled up, trembling, spitting bile into the basin. His body felt wrung out, feverish and clammy all at once. His fingers dug into the blanket, gripping it tightly as if that could ground him. A few stray hairs stuck to his fingers. He hated this. Hated every second of it. The weakness, the pain, the way he couldn’t do anything without his body betraying him. And now it was the hair.

His fingers twitched toward his head again before he could stop them. He shouldn’t. He already had enough bald spots, he bitterly thought. But his hand moved anyway, and when he pulled it back, more strands clung to his fingers. It was happening too fast.

Panic clawed at his throat.

Johnny wasn’t sure when he started crying. He barely noticed at first, too caught up in the dizziness and nausea and exhaustion, but when he tried to take a breath, his chest hiccupped and stuttered. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face into the pillow, trying to silence the pathetic little sounds escaping his throat.

He didn’t want Sue to see him like this.

Sue had already seen enough.

She had been there for everything—for every vomit session, every bad fever (fevers that shouldn’t even have been possible with his powers, his mind couldn’t help but point out. Wow, low blow, brain) , every moment of quiet suffering when Johnny couldn’t even bring himself to talk. She had stayed by his side through it all, barely even going home anymore. He knew she was running herself into the ground, but she wouldn’t leave, no matter how many times he told her it was okay.

She had to be exhausted.

And if she saw him like this? If she knew how much this stupid, insignificant thing was breaking him?

She would worry even more.

Johnny sniffled and wiped his face quickly. His hands shook as he grabbed the small pile of hair from his lap and shoved them under the thin hospital pillow, hiding the evidence. He wiped his palms on the blanket, pretending there wasn’t still hair sticking to his skin.

It was fine. It had to be fine.

The door clicked open.

Johnny went stiff, scrambling to compose himself as Sue stepped inside. She looked tired—God, she always looked tired these days—but her expression softened immediately when she saw him.

“Hey,” she said gently, closing the door behind her. “How’re you feeling?”

Johnny hesitated. There was no way to tell her the truth.

So he lied.

“Fine,” he croaked. His voice sounded awful.

Sue frowned, like she knew it was bullshit, but she didn’t press—not yet. She just walked over to him, setting her bag down on the chair beside the bed before sitting on the edge of the mattress. Her hand automatically found his forehead, checking for fever, before brushing some of his hair back.

Johnny froze.

She didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong—at least not yet. Her fingers moved carefully, soothing, the way they always did when she was trying to comfort him. It worked, a little. He felt himself relax, just a fraction, but then—

She stilled.

Johnny’s heart stopped.

Sue pulled her hand back. And in her palm—

There it was.

The strands of his hair, tangled in her fingers.

Sue was silent for a long moment. Johnny could feel her looking at him, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. He kept his eyes locked on the sheets, his throat closing up again.

“Johnny…” Her voice was quiet.

His stomach twisted.

Sue had known this was going to happen. She had read all the pamphlets, talked to the doctors, prepared for every possible side effect, every possible thing that could go wrong. But knowing and seeing it happen were two different things.

He clenched his jaw. “It’s—it’s nothing,” he said quickly. His voice was hoarse. “I mean, it’s not—it’s just hair, right?”

Sue didn’t answer immediately. He could feel her watching him, studying him, and God, he wished she wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she finally said.

Johnny’s breath caught in his throat.

He shook his head. “I’m not pretending.”

“Johnny.”

Her voice was too gentle, too understanding, and it made something crack inside him. He swallowed, hard, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.

“I just—I don’t want you to—” His voice wavered, and he had to stop. His fingers curled into the blanket, his knuckles white. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to steady himself, but it didn’t work. The panic was still there, clawing at the edges of his thoughts.

Sue reached for him again, and even though he knew what would happen when she ran her fingers through his hair, he couldn’t stop her. More strands came loose. He saw them. He knew she saw them. And when she gathered them in her hands and set them carefully on the bedside table instead of pretending it wasn’t happening—

That’s when he broke.

A choked sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sue immediately moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. Johnny didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He just buried his face against her shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as the tears came faster, his whole body trembling with exhaustion and grief and fear.

“I hate this,” he whispered. His voice was barely there. “I hate this so much.”

Sue held him tighter. “I know, baby,” she murmured. “I know.”

She rocked him slightly, her fingers stroking over his back, through his hair, not caring that more of it was falling out. It didn’t matter to her. It didn’t change anything.

Johnny wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually, the exhaustion won out. His body was too tired, too drained, and the warmth of Sue’s embrace made it impossible to fight sleep any longer.

He drifted in and out for a while, vaguely aware of Sue shifting, pulling the blankets up higher, adjusting the pillows to make him more comfortable. He thought he felt her fingers in his hair again, softer this time, barely touching, like she was trying to memorize it before it was gone.

“I’m gonna talk to Reed.”

“I’m fine,” he said, forcing his voice to sound steady. It came out weaker than he intended, but he plastered on a smile anyway. “You know me. Tough as ever.”

Sue gave him a look. The kind of look that told him she saw right through the act. He should’ve known better—she always saw through him.

She set her bag down and walked over to the bed, eyes scanning him the way they always did, taking in every detail. Johnny wished he had hidden the basin. He wished his face wasn’t still damp from tears. He wished he looked more like himself and less like… whatever this was.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she murmured as she sat down in the chair beside him.

Johnny huffed a laugh, but it barely sounded like one. “I used to be better at it.”

Sue didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she reached out and ran a hand through his hair, fingers brushing so lightly it almost tickled. It was the same thing she’d done a million times before, the same gesture that had always been comforting. But now, when her fingers came away, Johnny saw the way her expression flickered. The way she noticed the strands left behind.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. She just curled her fingers slightly, letting the hair rest in her palm. Then, carefully, she closed her hand, hiding it from view. As if shielding him from something he already knew.

Johnny looked away. His throat felt tight again.

Sue exhaled softly. “It’s okay, you know.”

Johnny swallowed hard. “I know.”

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Peter had known something was wrong. Johnny had been distant, kept canceling their plans, and when Peter had last seen him three weeks ago, he’d looked… off. Paler, thinner, exhausted. But he hadn’t expected this.

Sue sat across from him at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a coffee cup she wasn’t drinking from. “It’s leukemia, Peter,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Acute myeloid leukemia.”

Peter’s brain stuttered to a stop. “…What?”

Sue exhaled, gripping the cup tighter. “Johnny has cancer.”

Peter blinked, his stomach twisting into knots. “But-” His voice caught, and he tried again. “But he’s... He’s Johnny. He’s...”

“I know,” Sue murmured.

The words wouldn’t come. He felt like he’d just been punched in the gut.

Sue kept going, voice steady but soft. “He’s been in the hospital for over a little over two weeks now. He started chemo right away. It’s… it’s bad, Peter. He’s really sick.”

Peter swallowed hard. His mind was spinning, trying to process, to catch up. He’d thought maybe Johnny had the flu or some weird side effect from his powers, but cancer?

“He didn’t tell me,” Peter muttered, his voice tight.

“He didn’t tell anyone at first.” Sue ran a hand over her face. “He was trying to pretend everything was fine, but it wasn’t. It still isn’t.”

Peter sat back, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. “I- I need to see him.”

Sue looked up at him, hesitation flickering across her face. “That’s actually why I came here.” She shifted, her fingers tapping against the coffee cup. “His hair’s been falling out because of the chemo. Reed and Ben are suggesting they shave it off later today.”

Peter sucked in a breath.

“They think it’ll help him feel like he has some control over what’s happening,” Sue continued, rambling slightly now. “It’s probably gonna happen in a couple of hours, during lunch. It would mean a lot if you were there. Can you?”

“Of course,” Peter said instantly. Then he frowned. “Wait, what day is it?”

Sue blinked. “Isn’t it Saturday?”

Peter stared at her. “…Sue, it’s Wednesday.”

She blinked again, then let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Oh. Right. Well, whatever. Either way, it’s happening during lunch, so maybe you could swing by then?”

Peter shook his head immediately. “No, I’ll take the whole day off. Is that alright, Aunt May?” He turned toward the kitchen, where May had been quietly listening.

“Of course,” she said gently. “I’ll let the school know. You focus on your friend.”

Peter nodded, turning back to Sue. “Tell Johnny I’m coming.”

Sue’s lips quirked into a small, sad smile. “I will.”

Johnny stirred sluggishly, the world coming back into focus in slow, uneven waves. The dull ache in his limbs was familiar, as was the constant nausea sitting heavy in his stomach. What wasn’t familiar was the sound of low voices: not right next to him, but close enough to register.

He blinked himself awake, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in through the half-drawn shades.

Sue wasn’t there.

Instead, Reed was sitting in the chair beside his bed, tablet propped against his knee, his gaze focused on the screen. And on that screen-

“Hey, hotshot.”

Johnny frowned. His brain lagged for a second before fully processing Ben’s face staring back at him through the screen of Reed’s tablet.

“…What the hell?” Johnny croaked, voice rough with sleep.

“Good afternoon,” Reed greeted, setting the tablet up against a stack of books so Ben’s feed was steady. “You’ve been out for a few hours.”

Johnny exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyed. “Great. Just what I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Ben said dryly. “What, were ya plannin’ on running laps around the hospital instead?”

Johnny shot him a look. “No, but I-” He stopped, frowning. “Wait, a few hours? What time is it?”

“A little past noon,” Reed answered.

Johnny groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Seriously?”

“You needed the rest,” Reed said simply.

“I didn’t mean to crash that hard,” Johnny muttered, frustrated. His fingers brushed against his hair, before they stilled.

More strands had come loose. He could feel them clinging to his palm, barely hanging on.

His chest tightened.

There was a pause. Then, Reed’s voice, quieter than before:

“Sue told us about the hair.”

Johnny swallowed. His hand dropped to the blanket.

“We just...” Ben started, then hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “We didn’t want ya to go through it alone.”

Johnny stared at the screen, then at Reed.

“We’ll all help you,” Reed said. “If you want us to.”

Johnny’s throat felt tight.

“You don’t have to decide right this second,” Reed continued, voice even. “But Sue and Peter are on their way now. They’ll be here in about five to ten minutes.”

Johnny blinked. “Wait, Peter?”

Reed nodded. “Sue told him.”

Johnny’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. “Oh.”

Ben’s expression softened. “Kid wanted to come. Ain’t like we had to drag him here.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, staring at his hands. He hated this. He hated how powerless he felt. How fast everything was slipping away from him.

“…I slept better when Sue was here,” he admitted finally, voice quiet.

Reed didn’t react, just gave a small nod like that made perfect sense.

Johnny inhaled deeply, fingers twitching against the blanket. His hair was already falling out in clumps. He was already losing it.

At least this way, it would be his choice.

He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin.

“…Let’s just get it over with. You said 10 minutes?”

“10 minutes,” Reed confirmed, his voice steady.

...

Johnny might’ve been ready to shave off all his hair the minute the missing people arrived, but the moment he saw Peter, he got the air knocked out of him.

Literally. The first thing Peter did, right after saying the most awkward “Hey” ever in human history (causing Johnny to loudly snort), was to get right into Johnny’s space to give him a tight squeeze.

A bit too tight. Johnny winced at the slight pain, already imagining the huge bruises he would sport on his back in a few hours.

Peter pulled back quickly, looking sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking, I just… I’m happy you’re alive, okay? I don’t know what to do or say half the time, but I can’t just… not.”

Johnny let out a huff of breath, shaking his head as a small smile crept on his face despite the discomfort. “You’re lucky you don’t completely crush me with those hugs of yours, Pete.” He glanced at Reed, who was standing nearby, his hands tucked into the pockets of his lab coat, looking more serious than usual.

Johnny felt his stomach drop, the nausea he’d been fighting for the last hour creeping back up. He’d been trying to ignore the sensation, but now it was hard to avoid. The clippers sat ominously on the table in front of him, their presence making everything feel even more real. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been dreading it until now.

“I know,” Johnny muttered, swallowing hard. His voice was hoarse. He reached for the edge of the table to steady himself.

Peter’s brow furrowed in concern. “Johnny, are you- ?”

“I’m fine,” Johnny muttered, his stomach lurching as he clenched his teeth. “I’m just tired. And this whole thing is just… a lot right now.”

Ben’s voice cut through the silence from his Skype screen. “Hey, kid, if it makes you feel better, I can’t even remember the last time I had hair. You’re in good company.”

Johnny gave a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good company, huh? You’re the poster child for baldness, Ben. But hey, at least I’ll be able to pull off the look better than you, right?”

Ben grinned through the screen, clearly not offended. “That’s the spirit, Johnny! Just remember, soon you’ll be just as pretty as me.” He winked.

Johnny rolled his eyes but felt the smallest bit of warmth from Ben’s words. It was good to hear him joke around, even if it was typical Ben. Still, Johnny felt a lingering heaviness in his chest. Like everything was closing in on him at once. The exhaustion and nausea were fighting for his attention, dragging him further into the fog that had been clouding his head for the last several days.

Peter took a step closer, a little more carefully this time. “So… what do you think? About, y’know, the hair?”

Johnny stared at the clippers again, his eyes tired. He still hadn’t fully shaken off the sleepiness from the six-hour nap he’d taken earlier, his body already demanding more. But the thought of just laying back down again made his head spin. He didn’t even want to sleep, not anymore. Not with everything happening so fast. The numbness had settled in a while ago, but now it was as if everything was crashing all at once.

“I dunno,” Johnny said, his voice coming out more quietly than usual. “I guess it’s just… I didn’t think it’d be this hard.” He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to acknowledge how badly he felt at the moment. The constant ache in his body, the way his stomach twisted every time he breathed in too deeply, was starting to get overwhelming.

Reed, finally moving toward him, spoke gently but firmly. “It’s just hair, Johnny. It’ll grow back. And we’re all doing this together, okay?” He stepped closer, his presence calm, even though Johnny could feel the undercurrent of tension in the room. Reed didn’t sugarcoat things; he was simply trying to help Johnny through this, even if it meant having a difficult conversation in the process.

Johnny forced himself to focus on Reed, trying to block out the buzzing in his ears and the sensation of his body feeling like it was going to give out any second. “I know, Reed. I know. It just feels like… another thing that’s slipping away, y’know? One more thing that I don’t get to control.” His voice wavered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “I’m fine, though. I’ll deal. You guys don’t need to treat me like I’m some damsel in distress.” His attempt at a joke fell flat, his breath coming in shallow bursts as a wave of dizziness hit him. He reached for the edge of the table to steady himself.

Peter’s brow furrowed in concern. “Johnny, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Johnny muttered, his stomach lurching as he clenched his teeth. “I’m just tired. And this whole thing is just… a lot right now.”

Ben’s voice boomed from the laptop once again, making Johnny smile a little despite the tension. “Listen, kid, you can take all the naps you want later, but we’re here now, alright? We’re all in this with you. It’s about time we get this show on the road. And hey, who knows? You might look even more handsome without all that hair.”

Johnny gave a tired laugh. “Yeah, right. You’re just saying that because you’ve got the most rockin’ bald head in the family.”

“I’ll take it!” Ben grinned wider, clearly enjoying the moment. “But seriously, kid, we’ve got you. You’re not doing this alone.”

Johnny let out a long breath, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. Reed’s quiet presence was a balm to the storm brewing in Johnny’s chest. He could feel the weight of it all pressing on him, but having them here, making jokes and offering their support, made it easier to breathe.

Reed met Johnny’s eyes with a soft, concerned look. He shifted his weight, preparing to address the harder part of the conversation.

“It’s important to know that you can still change your mind, Johnny,” Reed said gently. “No one here would judge you, or think of you as less. We’re all aware how much this was sprung onto you.”

“Yeah! If you need more time, we understand,” Sue added on.

Johnny blinked, feeling a tightness in his chest. Despite how bad he felt, nauseous, exhausted- Reed’s words hit him with an unexpected comfort. It was almost too much, but also exactly what he needed to hear. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Ben’s voice came through loud and clear from the laptop.

“Aw, Stretch, are you saying looking like me is a bad thing?” Ben grinned, his face filling the screen with that usual cocky, yet endearing expression.

Reed didn’t even flinch. “Yes,” he said flatly, his tone dry.

Johnny’s lips twitched into the slightest grin, a laugh bubbling up despite his exhaustion. It came out a bit ragged, but it still felt good, and for a moment, the heavy weight of his condition seemed lighter. Just hearing Ben’s voice again, something familiar, and full of that trademark banter, was a comfort.

Johnny cleared his throat, trying to settle himself, though his fatigue and nausea lingered like a dull ache. Still, he felt the warmth of his family around him, even if it was just through the screen.

Reed looked at Johnny again, his gaze soft. “You sure about this? You don’t have to go through with it, Johnny. No one’s pushing you.”

Johnny nodded slowly, his chest tightening, but he felt a wave of gratitude for them. “No. I’m good. Let’s do this.”

Reed stepped forward, his hands gently picking up the clippers from the table, the buzzing sound filling the silence. Johnny flinched slightly at the noise, but it wasn’t out of fear, but rather it the suddenness of it all, the weight of this small but significant moment hitting him.

Peter took a step back, and even Ben seemed to quiet down, sensing the shift in the air. There was an unspoken understanding between them, like they all knew this wasn’t just about losing his hair: it was about the larger fight Johnny was facing. It was about taking control back from something that was slowly but surely taking so much from him.

Johnny’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides, his breath coming a little heavier now. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the flush of embarrassment mixing with the knot in his stomach. His thoughts spun. God, how he used to love his hair. How it had been his one constant. Now it was just one more thing slipping away.

“Ready?” Reed asked, his voice soft but steady.

Johnny took in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

Reed, always precise, turned the clippers on, the buzzing noise loud in the quiet room. He carefully positioned them at Johnny’s hairline, just above his forehead. The first few moments felt like eternity as the clippers slid through Johnny’s hair. It was like cutting through his identity, his past: piece by piece, lock by lock.

Johnny’s skin tingled, his scalp exposed to the cool air for the first time in a long while. The sensation was so strange. He could feel every inch of the metal blade moving across his scalp, the small shavings falling away in a slow stream. For a brief moment, he thought he might feel a sense of liberation or relief, but it didn’t come. Instead, all he felt was the sharpness of reality.

It didn’t take long before his once-thick hair was gone, replaced by the soft prickling of stubble and the smoothness of his bare scalp. His fingers reached up to touch the smooth surface almost instinctively, as if making sure it was real. He couldn’t look in the mirror just yet. His reflection could wait.

There was a strange silence in the air for a little bit. Then, before Johnny could react, Reed took a step back and, without a word, picked up the clippers again. This time bringing them to his own hairline. Johnny blinked, watching in disbelief as Reed buzzed through his own hair. The sound of the clippers hummed louder now, slicing through Reed’s once neatly combed hair, shortening it until it matched Johnny’s stubbled scalp.

“Reed, what the hell?” Johnny started, eyes wide.

Reed gave him a small, almost playful smile. “Figured you could use a little solidarity.”

Johnny’s throat tightened with emotion, his chest swelling. Reed had always been the one to fix everything, to be the calm presence that made the impossible seem possible. But this… this was different. It wasn’t just about science, about fixing problems with logic. This was Reed, showing that he wasn’t standing on some pedestal above Johnny, but right there beside him, in it together.

The sound of the clippers against Reed’s head was comforting, in its own way. It made Johnny feel less alone, like maybe they could both face this thing together, no matter what it threw at them.

When Reed finished buzzing the last of his hair off, he glanced at Johnny, a soft glint of humor in his eyes. “What do you think?”

Johnny took a deep breath, his lips twitching. “I think… we both look ridiculous.”

Reed’s smile widened, and he set the clippers down, running a hand over his newly exposed scalp. “Yeah, probably. But at least we’re ridiculous together.”

Sue’s voice chimed in from the corner, her tone teasing but warm. “Give it here.”

Johnny turned, eyes wide as Sue stepped forward, a look of determination in her eyes. Without waiting for an explanation, she took the clippers from Reed’s hand. “You think you’re the only one who can rock a bald head?” she asked with a raised brow, her voice playful but full of the same quiet strength Johnny had always admired.

Reed raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not stopping you.”

Sue smiled at him, then clicked the clippers back on, the sound filling the room once again. She made the first cut with ease, the clippers gliding through her long hair like butter. Johnny watched, a mix of awe and affection rising in him. Sue, ever the strong one, never hesitated. She just did it, one movement after another, her confidence unshaken as strands of her hair fell to the floor. It felt surreal to see her, too, shedding a part of herself. But in that moment, it didn’t seem strange, just right. Like they were all in this together.

Within minutes, Sue’s hair was just as short as Reed’s, and she ran a hand over her own scalp, smiling faintly. “There,” she said with satisfaction, standing tall. “We’re all in this together, right?”

Johnny swallowed hard, the lump in his throat returning. It was a mix of sadness, exhuastion, but also relief. 

Ben’s voice cut through the quiet again, full of mock indignation. “You don’t gotta be Superman, kid. You’ve got the rest of us for that.”

Johnny finally turned toward the mirror, his fingers still lightly grazing the stubbled surface of his scalp. His reflection stared back at him- strange, yet familiar in its own way. He looked different, but he was still Johnny Storm. He always would be.

He straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin. “Thanks, guys. For being here. For all of it.”

Reed, Peter, Ben, and Sue all smiled at him, each in their own way. And in that moment, Johnny felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time; hope.

Chapter Text

Johnny had spent weeks in this hospital bed. Weeks of poison dripping into his veins, weeks of nausea so bad he thought he might just vomit up his own stomach, weeks of fevers that left him delirious.

And now?

Now, he just felt empty.

The IV bag above him was nearly finished, its last drops of chemotherapy crawling down the tube into his central line. It was almost over—for now. The nurse had said it like that, like an afterthought. For now.

Johnny swallowed, staring at the ceiling. He should feel relieved. The first round was done. No more chemo for a while. No more waking up in the middle of the night to be poked and prodded. No more nurses checking in on him every 15 minutes. Instead it would be his family, in his home, and in his own bed.

But it didn’t feel like a victory. The finish line was still somewhere on the horizon.

This was just a break before they threw him back in the ring.

Sue sat in the chair next to his bed, her attention split between her tablet and watching him like a hawk. She had dark circles under her eyes, her hair messier than usual. Reed stood beside her, fiddling with his phone, looking just as exhausted.

“You’re staring,” Johnny muttered, his voice hoarse.

Sue’s lips twitched. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“I am.”

“About what?”

Johnny’s fingers drummed weakly against the blanket. How was he supposed to explain? That he felt like he had been stripped down to nothing—his body barely his own anymore, his energy permanently drained, his future hanging in some doctor’s test results? That he had spent the last year as the indestructible Human Torch, unable to even get a fever, and now a common cold could probably kill him?

Instead, he just sighed. “Dunno. Just tired.”

The soft beeping of the infusion pump interrupted them. Empty.

That was it. The last dose of induction chemo.

The nurse came in, her expression gentle. “All done,” she said, flushing his central line with saline before carefully disconnecting the IV. “How are you feeling, Johnny?”

He gave her a dry, humorless smile. “Like hell.”

She chuckled. “That sounds about right.”

Then came the slow, tedious process of getting discharged.

The blood draw was first, the nurse first flushing saline through the line like had been done so many times. It was cold, but he was too used to it. The nurse murmured something about checking his counts, but he barely listened. He just let her attach the small tube that slowly filled with some of his blood, before she announced that she was done and wheeled away the results.

Next came the paperwork, Sue signing forms while Reed went over the discharge plan with a doctor, a tight, unreadable expression on his face. Johnny caught bits and pieces—hydration, nausea meds, monitoring his temperature, calling the hospital if his fever hit 38°C—but it all felt distant. Like background noise.

Then, the wheelchair.

Johnny stared at it. Then he promptly ignored it, and went to stand before anyone could react. Unfortunately his legs were so shaky that he immediately collapsed back onto the bed.

The nurse explained it like it was no big deal. “Your muscle mass is still rebuilding. You’ll need this to get out of here, and we’re also giving you forearm crutches for when you’re home.”

His stomach twisted. “You’re kidding.”

Reed adjusted his glasses. “Johnny, you nearly passed out just standing yesterday. Your body needs time.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. “I walked in here.”

“And you’ll walk out,” Reed said evenly, “but not today.”

He hated how reasonable Reed sounded. It just made him feel more trapped. Couldn’t someone else see this for what it was?

Still, when he tried to stand, his legs shook like dead weight. Sue caught him before he collapsed. The nurse put the wheelchair closer to the bed.

Johnny swallowed hard and lowered himself into the wheelchair.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

Sue just put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I know.”

She didn’t say “it’s temporary,” or “you’ll get stronger,” or “it’s not that bad.”

She just let him hate it.

Leaving the hospital should have felt like escaping a prison. Instead, it just felt… surreal.

The wheelchair rolled through the hallways, past nurses and doctors who had gotten used to seeing him half-conscious, hooked up to fluids. A few smiled at him, wishing him luck. He barely had the energy to respond.

Reed walked beside him in silence. Sue pushed the wheelchair, her pace slow and careful.

By the time they reached the hospital exit, Johnny could already feel the exhaustion creeping in. Just sitting upright for this long made his back ache, his head swim.

Reed opened the car door. “Here. Take your time.”

Johnny hated how weak he felt just pulling himself into the seat. His arms trembled, his breath coming faster than it should. He slumped against the seat the second he was in, squeezing his eyes shut.

The car ride back was quiet.

He should have been relieved. He was finally going home.

But the moment Sue pulled up to the Baxter Building, he realized something.

Going home didn’t mean going back to normal.

The hospital was gone, but his reality hadn’t changed. He was still weak. Still sick. Still trapped in a body that felt like it barely belonged to him.

Sue turned in her seat. “You ready?”

Johnny let out a shaky breath. Not really. But he nodded anyway.

Reed moved to get the wheelchair, but Johnny shook his head.

“Give me the crutches.”

Sue hesitated. “Johnny—”

“I can do it,” he said, more forcefully than necessary.

She sighed, but handed them over.

Johnny gripped the handles, pushing himself up. His arms felt shaky, unsteady, but he forced himself to hold his weight. His legs screamed in protest, but he locked his knees, shifting forward.

One step.

Another.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t fast. But he was standing on his own.

He didn’t miss the way Reed watched him carefully, like he was waiting to catch him.

Johnny gritted his teeth and moved forward.

One step at a time.

By the time Johnny finally stepped into the Baxter Building, he already felt done.

His arms ached from gripping the crutches, his legs felt like concrete, and just standing upright felt like too much effort. In the elevator he transferred back into the wheelchair, giving his body a small reprieve. The elevator ride up made his head swim, the slow movement making his stomach churn.

Now it was Reed pushing him forward, and Johnny was too tired to question it. Sue hovered nearby—not touching him, but ready to catch him if he was somehow thrown out the seat of the wheelchair. Reed was quieter than usual, and he could feel his stare at the back of his neck. Watching him with that unreadable scientific stare that Johnny had grown to hate over the past few weeks.

The apartment felt… weird.

Too clean. Too sterile. Like Sue had scrubbed the whole place down in preparation of him coming home. The blankets on the couch were folded neatly, there was a pile of beanies waiting for him on the coffee table—some old, some new. The air smelled like a mix of disinfectant and home.

And then—

“Finally! Took ya long enough, Matchstick!”

Johnny barely had time to react before Ben’s voice boomed from the kitchen.

Ben came stomping in, looking bigger than ever. Maybe it was just the exhaustion or the fact that Johnny felt smaller now—shrunken down from weeks of sickness.

Ben took one look at him and froze.

Johnny knew how bad he must look—pale, thinner than he should be, unsteady. He braced himself for some wisecrack, some joke to lighten the mood.

But Ben didn’t say anything at first.

His expression flickered—relief, worry, something else Johnny couldn’t place. His eyes lingered on the wheelchair, his jaw tightening for half a second before he shoved whatever he was thinking down.

Then, finally—

Ben grinned. “C’mere, kid.”

Johnny barely had time to blink before Ben scooped him up into a bear hug.

It should have hurt. It should have been too much.

But it didn’t, and it wasn’t.

For the first time in weeks, Johnny felt safe. Johnny tucked his head under Ben’s chin as best as he could, and soaked in the feeling.

Ben was warm, solid, real. His arms wrapped around Johnny carefully, like he might break if he wasn’t careful. Johnny felt something in his chest unclench.

“Jesus, ya weigh less than a damn feather,” Ben muttered, voice gruff. “They feedin’ ya at that hospital or what?”

Johnny huffed a laugh against Ben’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t call it ‘feeding’ so much as ‘forced suffering.’”

Ben made a noise deep in his chest, something between a snort and a grumble. But he didn’t let go, not yet.

And Johnny didn’t pull away.

He let himself be held for just a few seconds longer, soaking in the warmth, the familiarity, the way Ben didn’t look at him like he was breakable. His tough stone exterior was rough on Johnny’s skin like nothing had been in weeks. Johnny found he liked it

Then, with a grunt, Ben set him back down. It seemed like he was aiming for the chair, but Johnny felt done with it for now. He swayed slightly on impact with the floor, but thankfully Sue just handed him the crutches without making a big deal out of it. Even so, Ben’s hands shot out to steady him.

“Whoa—”

“I’m fine,” Johnny said quickly.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, ya look real steady there, kid.”

Johnny scowled, gripping the crutches a little tighter. “Just—give me a second.”

Ben watched him, then casually stuck out an arm.

Johnny blinked. “What?”

Ben shrugged. “Use me. Easier than those damn crutches.”

Johnny hesitated, pride warring with common sense.

His arms already felt like noodles. His legs weren’t much better.

And Ben was right there.

After a second, Johnny sighed and grabbed Ben’s arm.

Ben smirked. “There ya go.”

Johnny just grumbled but didn’t argue.

By the time Johnny collapsed onto the couch, he was completely spent.

Sue was still in full-on mother hen mode, adjusting his blankets, setting a water bottle within reach, making sure his anti-nausea meds were on the table.

Johnny groaned. “Sue, I swear to God—”

“Just let me do this,” she said, not looking up.

Ben snorted from his own spot on the couch. “Yeah, kid, don’t fight it. She already reorganized the whole damn kitchen twice while ya were gone.”

Johnny raised a brow. “That stressed, huh?”

Sue didn’t dignify him with a response and instead tucked the blanket around his legs.

Reed finally spoke up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We should go over your care plan before you fall asleep.”

Johnny groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “God, you sound like a doctor.”

Reed gave him a pointed look. “I am, but not that kind. Which is why I need to make sure you actually listen to what the specialists said. Or else you might need to go back to the hospital”

Johnny grumbled, but he let Reed talk.

Bits and pieces of information filtered in—monitoring his temperature, staying hydrated, taking meds on time, coming back for checkups, possible transfusions if his blood counts didn’t recover fast enough. Things he already knew, but now that he was home, it all felt different.

Before, it was just part of the hospital routine.

Now, it was his life.

“Got it,” Johnny muttered when Reed finally stopped talking.

Reed adjusted his glasses. “Sue will help with your medications—”

“I can take my own meds.”

Reed gave him a long look. “You’re going to be exhausted. If you forget even one dose—”

“I won’t,” Johnny said flatly. Probably

Reed didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue.

Sue sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just let us help, Johnny.”

Johnny clenched his jaw.

That was the worst part of all of this.

Not the chemo, not the exhaustion.

The helplessness.

The fact that everything had changed.

And he hated it.

But when he looked at his family—Sue sitting beside him, worried but steady, Ben acting like nothing had changed but still watching him carefully, Reed overthinking everything—he realized something.

They weren’t pitying him.

They were just here.

Like they always were.

Like they always would be.

Johnny exhaled, sinking further into the couch. His body already felt like dead weight, the fatigue pressing him down.

“…Fine. But only for now.”

Sue smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “Good.”

Ben smirked, nudging Johnny’s foot. “Damn right, Matchstick.”

Johnny rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into something almost like a smile.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t in a hospital.

For the first time in weeks, he was home.

And for the first time in weeks, he fell asleep surrounded by his entire family, and not the individual parts of it.

Day 1: Silence and Exhaustion

Johnny barely moved the day after they brought him home. His limbs were heavy, the weight of his body a burden he couldn’t shake, and his mind was clouded with exhaustion. It wasn’t the comforting kind of tired, the type that promised sleep and relief—it was a deep, dragging weariness that settled in his bones and refused to leave. He sank into the couch, listless, becoming part of the fabric beneath him. Every breath felt like effort.

Sue made sure he was comfortable, tucking a blanket around him despite knowing he ran warm. It was more for her than for him—something to do, something to control. Johnny didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes were only half-lidded, staring blankly at nothing, as if everything around him was distant.

Sue couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way that didn’t fit him. It scared her. She reached for his hand, rubbing slow circles into his palm with her thumb, hoping for some kind of response.

Johnny barely twitched.

“Johnny?” she said softly, though her voice wavered.

“Yeah.” His voice was barely more than an exhale, flat and unfocused. He didn’t look at her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, already bracing herself for the answer.

Johnny’s gaze shifted slightly but remained distant. “Bad.”

“Do you want anything? Some water? Maybe a popsicle?”

A pause. He wet his lips, hesitating, like he wanted to say yes but knew better. “…No.”

There was no fight in him, no irritation—just tired resignation. It scared her more than if he had been angry.

Later, when Ben stopped by, Johnny barely acknowledged him. He let out a slow breath and shifted slightly, but that was it.

“Hey, kiddo. You doin’ okay?” Ben asked, though he already knew the answer.

Johnny exhaled, slow and heavy. “…Mm-hmm.”

Day 2: Frustration

The second day was much of the same. Johnny was still too weak to do anything himself, still barely speaking, still unable to eat without throwing up. He knew he needed to eat, knew his body was drained and starving, but every attempt ended the same way—retching into a bucket, coughing until his throat burned. His mouth was lined with sores, making the smallest sip of water sting.

Sue knelt beside the couch, holding out a cup with a straw. “Johnny, just try a little.”

Johnny didn’t even look at it. “I’m so sick of trying,” he muttered, his voice thick and slurred with exhaustion.

Sue’s heart clenched. “I know,” she said gently, setting the cup down. She reached for his hand again, squeezing his fingers, grounding him. “But you need something in your stomach.”

Johnny let out a slow, frustrated breath, his face twisting. He wasn’t angry at her, not really, but at the situation, at himself. “I know,” he whispered. “I know, I just—I can’t.”

Reed appeared in the doorway, concern etched into his face. “Johnny, if you don’t eat soon, we’re going to have to look at other options,” he said carefully. “You need nutrition.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. “I don’t need a damn tube,” he snapped, though the bite in his voice was dulled by exhaustion.

“We’re not there yet,” Sue reassured him quickly, shooting Reed a look. “Just a little, okay? One sip.”

Johnny swallowed thickly, then forced himself to take a small sip of water. It burned on the way down, and he shuddered, clenching his eyes shut as nausea rolled over him. He gritted his teeth, willing his stomach to behave.

It didn’t.

Within minutes, he was curled over a bucket, heaving up nothing but bile. Sue rubbed his back, murmuring quiet reassurances, while Ben stood in the background, his hands balled into useless fists.

Johnny’s breathing was ragged by the time it was over. He flopped back against the couch, drained and miserable. “This sucks,” he muttered, voice wrecked and small.

Sue wiped his face with a damp cloth, her own heart breaking. “I know, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I know.”

Day 3: Breaking Point

By the third day, Johnny was more alert, but with it came frustration. He felt just as weak as he had in the hospital, if not worse. Home was supposed to feel better. Home was supposed to mean progress.

Instead, he felt like he was drowning.

Sue sat beside him on the couch, offering a spoonful of broth. Johnny eyed it, his stomach twisting in both hunger and dread. He wanted to eat—his body ached with hunger—but he already knew how this would end. The moment food hit his stomach, it would claw its way back up.

Still, he was so damn hungry.

His fingers twitched, restless. He wanted to grab the spoon and shove the food down, even if it hurt. He wanted to be normal again. But his arms felt like dead weight, his body unwilling to cooperate.

Sue saw his hesitation and softened. “Just one bite,” she coaxed. “I’ll sit with you, okay?”

Johnny’s throat bobbed. Slowly, he parted his lips, letting her feed him like a child. He barely had time to register the warmth of the broth before nausea surged violently through him.

He gagged. Sue barely had time to grab the bucket before he retched, body shuddering with the force of it. His entire frame curled in on itself as his stomach revolted.

When it was over, he slumped back, chest heaving. “I hate this,” he rasped. His voice was raw, but there was emotion there now—anger, frustration, something close to defeat.

“I know, Johnny,” Sue said softly, brushing a cool washcloth over his fevered skin. “I know.”

Johnny blinked up at her, exhaustion pulling at his face. His voice cracked as he whispered, “Why am I not getting better?”

Sue’s breath hitched. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You are,” she promised, holding him close. “It just doesn’t feel like it yet.”

Johnny closed his eyes, letting himself rest against her. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But right now, it was hard to feel anything other than empty.

And God, he was so tired of feeling empty.

Chapter Text

The light coming through the blinds was soft, almost gentle, casting long shadows across the room. But it wasn’t the light that woke Sue—it was the hollow, quiet silence that seemed to have settled over the apartment, the source coming from the youngest room. Johnny wasn’t moving. He wasn’t shifting in bed, rolling over to reach for his phone or pulling the covers tighter around him.

Sue stood beside Johnny’s bed, the air thick with the tension of the previous days, when Johnny’s condition had worsened without warning. His shallow breathing, his constant exhaustion, his refusal to eat—it had all escalated so quickly. But Sue knew she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the fear that had settled like a weight in her chest. Not now.

“Johnny,” she whispered, her fingers brushing through the soft, short stubble that had replaced her long hair. She didn’t regret it, but it had required some getting use to.

“Johnny, it’s time for your meds.”

She carefully placed the pill cup by his mouth, her fingers trembling slightly as she gently shook him, trying to rouse him from his fitful sleep.

No response.

Sue furrowed her brow, pushing the feeling of dread away, focusing only on the task. She shook him a little harder, her voice rising a notch. “Johnny, come on. You need to take your medicine. Please.”

Still, nothing. He didn’t even flinch.

Sue’s heart began to race. She bent closer, pressing her palm against his forehead—and froze.

Johnny’s skin felt burning hot. Her fingers moved to his neck, checking his pulse, but his skin was too warm, too damp with sweat. Her breath caught as she saw the way his chest barely moved with each labored, shallow breath. He wasn’t responding, but he should have been by now.

Panic tugged at the edges of her calm resolve, but she forced herself to stay steady. Focused. It didn’t matter what she was feeling right now—Johnny needed help.

She pressed her ear to his chest, feeling his heartbeat too erratic, too faint. No. He shouldn’t be like this. He couldn’t be like this. Not after all they’d been through. Not after everything.

“Johnny,” she whispered again, her voice trembling as her hand gently cupped his cheek. His skin was cold—too cold. He was clammy, but it didn’t make sense. He was feverish, but it was an unnatural kind of chill, one that felt wrong against her touch.

“Johnny, please…”

His eyelids flickered, and his lips parted in a soft, groaning sound. It wasn’t the kind of groan that indicated he was coming out of sleep—it was pained. The kind of groan a person makes when they’re lost, when the body’s too tired, too broken to keep up.

Her breath hitched as she watched him shift slightly, but his eyes remained closed. He wasn’t even fully aware of her presence.

And then, all at once, the groan became louder, more guttural. Johnny’s chest heaved once, then twice, his breath catching in a strained, shallow rhythm.

Sue’s heartbeat quickened, the sound deafening in her ears as panic began to rise in her chest. She had to act fast—this wasn’t just a bad fever, it wasn’t just exhaustion anymore. His body was fighting him, pushing him past his limits. He was slipping away, and it felt like he was going to vanish if she didn’t do something now.

She reached for the phone by the bedside, her fingers fumbling as she dialed the number for an ambulance. As soon as she hung up, she pressed her palm against Johnny’s chest again, but she couldn’t tell if his heartbeat seemed to falter or not, just that it was too weak.

“Johnny,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “don’t you dare do this. Don’t you dare leave me.”

She remembered she wasn’t alone, “Ben! Ben, I need your help!”

Within moments, Ben appeared in the doorway, looking frantic as he took in the sight of Johnny’s labored breathing. His face paled as he moved to the bedside, his large hands hovering near Johnny’s limp form, unsure.

“Is he…?” Ben’s voice cracked, the words getting stuck in his throat. He didn’t need to finish the question. He could see it. He could see it in Johnny’s pale face, the way his lips were blue, the shallowness of his breaths.

Sue kept her hands on Johnny’s shoulders, trying to get him to move, to react, but he was too far gone. His breathing wasn’t enough, wasn’t deep enough. It wasn’t even close to being enough.

Ben, his hands trembling, grabbed the side of Johnny’s bed. “Where’s Reed?”

Sue didn’t even spare him a glance. Her eyes stayed on Johnny, her attention sharp as she leaned in close again feeling his temperature with her lips. She had no idea what she was doing.

“He’s not here,” she snapped, “he got called away. Something about work for NASA or the government.” Her voice shook with frustration, but she pushed it down. There wasn’t time for this.

Ben seemed to hesitate, then nodded, looking down at Johnny with a worried, helpless gaze. Sue, however, remained resolute.

“Stay with him,” she instructed sharply, standing up and pacing to the window overlooking the street below. The ambulance couldn’t come fast enough.

She breathed deeply, fighting the panic that was threatening to rise up. There was no time for that right now. No time for anything but getting Johnny the help he needed.

The sound of sirens in the distance pulled her focus back to Johnny’s face. She could feel her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she held onto her resolve. Sue turned away again, not allowing herself to break, not until Johnny was out of danger.

The ambulance ride was a blur. The sirens were wailing, but Sue couldn’t hear them over the frantic pulse of her own heartbeat. Johnny’s cold hand felt limp in hers as she clung to it, every bump of the road causing her heart to skip a beat. His shallow, uneven breathing was the only thing she could focus on, each gasping breath sending a jolt of panic through her chest.

Johnny had never looked so small.

Sue kept her gaze fixed on him, barely registering the sterile hum of the ambulance or the voices of the paramedics as they moved with practiced efficiency. Her fingers were numb, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

They arrived at the hospital in a flash. The door of the ambulance opened, and Sue felt the cold air hit her as they rushed Johnny inside. The sounds of movement, the swift exchange between paramedics, and the rapid beeping of monitors were drowned out by the pounding in her head.

She was still gripping Johnny’s hand as they transferred him to the stretcher. His fever was still rising, his skin feeling too hot, too frail.

Once inside the ER, a blur of activity unfolded around her—doctors, nurses, equipment being rushed to Johnny’s side. Sue’s eyes darted between the figures moving swiftly and steadily around her brother, but she could only focus on his face. His lips were dry, his skin pale, but his chest was still rising and falling in weak breaths.

A nurse stopped her as she tried to follow him past a frosted-glass door. “Please, ma’am, wait here. We need to get him stabilized.”

Sue barely processed the words. She nodded and stepped back, her heart lodged in her throat. As they wheeled Johnny away, she forced herself to breathe deeply, though it didn’t help. The hallway felt impossibly long, and she could barely focus as she watched them disappear around the corner.

Her fingers fumbled for her phone. She had to call Reed. Where is he? But as the call rang out, she felt an ache in her chest grow. He wasn’t answering. Not once. Not twice. She pressed her lips together and dialed again, her hands shaking.

Still no answer.

She glanced at the clock—early morning. Was he already gone for the day?

She kept her eyes on the door where Johnny had disappeared. She needed him here, right now. Her phone call went unanswered again, and the ache in her chest grew. She was so angry. So scared. But she couldn’t afford to feel that now. Not with Johnny in danger.

Minutes passed, and Sue stood still, willing herself not to spiral. Then the door opened. A doctor entered, clipboard in hand. His expression was grim.

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor said as he approached. Sue barely heard him, her heart pounding in her ears.

“His kidneys are showing signs of stress, but nothing we can’t manage,” he continued, taking in her anxious expression. “We’ve started IV fluids to help hydrate him and support his organs, but it’s going to take a few days for him to fully recover from this strain. His fever’s still high, but we’re working on bringing it down.”

Sue felt a small breath of relief escape her—just a few days. That was something. He wasn’t in complete failure. Yet. But it wasn’t over.

The doctor hesitated before continuing. “We’ve also started him on dialysis to take some strain off his kidneys. We’ll be monitoring him closely through the day, and we’ll reassess his progress tomorrow.”

Sue nodded, the words barely registering in her mind. He’ll make it through this. He had to.

“Can I see him?” Sue asked.

“Of course. We’ll let you in once we have gotten everything properly set up in a room. It’ll be soon.”

She nodded, feeling a tiny flicker of hope in the back of her mind. Her eyes went back to her phone. Reed wasn’t picking up, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She needed him to be here.

But he was still gone.

The afternoon sun streamed weakly through the blinds, casting long shadows on the sterile white walls of the hospital room. It was quiet now. Too quiet. She listened to the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, the hum of the machines, and the soft shuffle of nurses outside the door. It was all strangely soothing, but also heavy in its repetitiveness.

Sue sat beside Johnny’s bed, her fingers gently tracing the edges of his hand, every inch of her being focused on him. His body was still, his breath faint, but it was steady now. She could feel the exhaustion weighing down on her shoulders, but she refused to allow it to overtake her. Not while Johnny still needed her.

She hadn’t let herself think much of what had happened, of the panic that had consumed her when she found him unresponsive, and not of the chaos of the ambulance ride. But now, in the quiet, when the noise of the world around her had dulled to a distant murmur, her mind was slowly catching up to the gravity of it all.

She hadn’t even realized how long she’d been sitting here until she glanced down at her phone and saw the time. 3:00 p.m. Her stomach churned in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. She hadn’t called Ben. Not yet.

She felt a surge of guilt in her chest. He should have known what had happened. He had every right to know what was going on with Johnny. And she had been so lost in the chaos, so frantic in the moment, that she hadn’t even thought to call him until now.

Her fingers were stiff as she picked up her phone and dialed Ben’s number. It rang for what felt like an eternity, the seconds stretching thin, each one adding to the weight of her silence. Finally, his voice came through the speaker.

“Sue? Is everything okay?” His voice was soft, but the edge of fear was clear.

Sue took a steadying breath. She was grateful for the sound of his voice. It anchored her, but the words caught in her throat for a moment. She had to tell him. She had to keep it together.

“Ben… I forgot to call you. I—” Her voice wavered, but she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I… I’ve just been caught up. But Johnny’s stable now. Apparently his body’s just been through too much lately. The doctors said they caught the stress on his organs early, so they’re treating him. He’s improving.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Sue could practically hear Ben exhale, his relief washing through the phone. “Okay. Okay, that’s good to hear. But Sue, are you okay? I know you’re taking care of him, but you’ve got to look after yourself too.”

She closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the phone as she focused on Johnny. “I’m fine, Ben. I just… needed to tell you. I’ll keep you updated.”

Ben’s voice softened again, the concern still there but tempered with a kind of quiet understanding. “You don’t have to do this alone, Sue. I’m here if you need anything.”

Sue’s throat tightened, but she swallowed hard, pushing the emotions back. “Thanks, Ben. I’ll talk to you later.”

She ended the call, her hand lingering on the phone for just a second longer than necessary, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She turned her attention back to Johnny, her fingers resting lightly on his hand. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, but she was almost afraid to leave his side. He needed her - he needed someone- and she was the only one here.

Hours passed like this: Sue sitting, waiting, watching as Johnny slowly showed signs of improvement, his vitals remaining stable and his breathing easing with every hour that passed. But she couldn’t shake the anxiety gnawing at the back of her mind. Every time she looked at Johnny, she saw how fragile he still was. She couldn’t relax, not fully. Not yet.

It wasn’t until the sound of the door creaked open that she noticed Reed’s presence. His tired eyes met hers, and his disheveled appearance made it clear that he had come straight from work. His tie was loosened, his jacket hanging off his shoulders like an afterthought. His eyes darted between her and Johnny, his brow furrowing as he stepped inside.

“Sue…” His voice was thick with hesitation, confusion flickering across his face. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize…”

Sue’s heart lurched at the sight of him—of Reed, standing there, his face painted with regret. Her jaw clenched. She was so tired, so worn out, but the anger had been building since the moment Johnny had been rushed to the hospital, and it was starting to surface now.

She stood slowly, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer.

“Of course, you didn’t know, Reed. You were too busy to notice, weren’t you?” Her voice was tight, controlled, but the frustration seeped through.

Reed flinched, stepping back as if her words had struck him physically. “Sue, I- I’m sorry. I was working on this thing for NASA- there was no way I could’ve known…”

Her gaze hardened, and her voice dropped, heavy with unspoken emotion. “And what if you had been here, Reed? What if you had been here when it all happened? Maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.” She stopped, taking a deep breath as her chest tightened, trying not to let the frustration boil over completely. She had to stay calm for Johnny, but every inch of her wanted to explode.

Reed was silent for a moment, looking at the floor, and then back at Sue. His eyes were filled with guilt. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here. I shouldn’t have been so focused on work.”

Sue didn’t say anything right away. She let the silence sit between them, the weight of it stretching out as she crossed her arms over her chest, turning slightly away. “He could’ve died today, Reed. Did you even realize that? While you were busy doing… whatever it was you were doing, I was sitting in the back of an ambulance, wondering if I was going to lose him.”

Reed took a slow, shaky step toward her, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant for that to happen, Sue. I’m sorry. I should have been there, and I wasn’t.”

Sue didn’t look at him, but she felt the weight of his apology. She wanted to accept it, to let it go, but the anger still sat heavy in her chest. “I don’t need your apologies, Reed. I just… I need you to be here, when it matters. When it really matters.”

Reed nodded, his face tense with regret. “I will. I promise you, I will. I won’t let you go through this alone again.”

Sue took a steadying breath, turning back to Johnny, her hand lightly brushing his. “It’s not me who needs you. It’s him.” Her voice was softer, but it was still laced with that edge of exhaustion.

For a moment, there was only the sound of Johnny’s steady breathing, the soft beep of the monitor. Sue’s thoughts wandered, but then she felt a presence near her as a nurse stepping into the room, holding a steaming cup of something in her hands.

“Would you like some coffe?” The nurse’s voice was kind, her eyes soft with understanding.

Sue nodded gratefully, accepting the coffee with a quiet thanks. As the nurse left, she sank back into the chair, her body aching with the weight of everything. She took a sip, letting the warmth of the coffee fill the space that had felt too cold only moments before.

The hours passed slowly, and Reed remained by her side, quiet, his presence almost a gentle contrast to the storm that had been building inside her.

Johnny’s condition had improved steadily, the worst of the crisis behind them. But Sue couldn’t let herself rest just yet. Not when she knew how fragile everything still was.

Reed glanced at his watch, then back at Sue, his voice low. “I’m here, Sue. I’ll stay from now on.”

She didn’t respond immediately. She was focused on Johnny, her eyes scanning his face, her hand still resting on his. “I know you’re here, Reed. But I need you to understand… I don’t want to go through this alone again.”

Johnny’s eyes fluttered open, but the world around him was a blur. He could hear soft voices, distant murmurs, like they were coming from far down a tunnel. His head felt heavy, his body stiff, and there was a tightness in his chest, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. His thoughts were slow, tangled, refusing to make sense.

Where am I?

He blinked again, trying to clear his vision, but everything felt muffled, distant. His breath was shallow, but it didn’t hurt. He didn’t feel the panic at first. It was just the weight of his body, of not knowing what was going on. There was nothing sharp, nothing to latch onto except this strange sensation of being here—wherever here was.

The beeping of machines was faint, almost comforting, like a background hum. His fingers twitched, then brushed against the cold, smooth fabric under him. Soft, cool sheets. He felt them, but it didn’t register in his mind. He should know what this is.

There were voices now, but they felt foreign, like whispers just out of reach. He tried to focus on them, but his thoughts wouldn’t cooperate.

“Johnny?” A voice, soft and warm. A woman’s voice, but he couldn’t place it.

His eyelids fluttered again, but the light made it hard to keep his eyes open. The haze, the dull ache in his head—it felt like waking from a bad dream. But then… something. A cold, sick feeling hit him, sinking into his chest. He didn’t know why, but it made him shiver.

Where am I?

It clicked, and, everything came rushing back. The tightness in his chest, the machines, the smell of antiseptic—no. No, this wasn’t right. He was—he was in the hospital. His heart stumbled, his pulse picking up at the realization, the panic creeping in, quick and sharp.

He blinked rapidly, eyes searching, and then, finally, he saw them. Two figures standing by his bed. They were close, but their faces felt unfamiliar, blurred, like looking at them through a fogged window.

Who are they? He wanted to ask, but his mouth felt thick, dry. He didn’t know these people. He couldn’t remember. But they knew him. They were looking at him with… concern? Worry? He couldn’t tell.

“Johnny, it’s okay. You’re okay,” a voice reassured, but Johnny didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust them. Not yet.

His heart started to race, a tremble running through him. His body wanted to fight, but it was like moving underwater, sluggish and slow. Get up. Get out. But his limbs wouldn’t move. His chest felt tight, too tight, and the world was spinning again. Spinning faster this time.

His breath started coming quicker, more erratic. He shifted, panic rising, but everything felt wrong. No, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Johnny, calm down. Breathe with me.” The woman’s voice again, more insistent now, but it wasn’t real. She didn’t know him. Not the way he needed.

Johnny’s hand shot up to his face. Something was wrong there too—something tight, too tight. He felt the cold, the plastic against his skin. He tried to move it, to tug it away, but his fingers were weak, trembling. His breath hitched, too fast, too shallow, like it couldn’t catch up.

He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t breathe. He needed to get it off.

His hands fumbled weakly at the tube, pulling at it, but it wouldn’t budge. His chest was rising and falling too quickly, and his head swam, too much to make sense of.

“Johnny, stop. Please, stop. It’s okay,” the voice—her voice, the one who had been speaking—was more frantic now, but it didn’t help. The panic was swallowing him, pushing against his chest.

A warm hand touched his wrist, firm and gentle, but it felt like it belonged to someone else. He pulled his hand away, desperate, trying to fight. But his body wouldn’t respond the way he wanted. It was heavy, drained. Too weak.

“Johnny- Johnny, look at me.” The voice cut through the fog, and for a second, something in him—something small—recognised it.

But still, he couldn’t make sense of it. Who was she? Why was she here? Was she trying to hurt him?

The beeping grew louder, faster. His panic climbed higher. He needed to get away. He needed to get out.

Then, the door opened. Another figure. Taller, broader. His chest tightened even more, like a vice. Who was it?

“Johnny!” the man’s voice, deep and familiar now, said sharply. It still didn’t make sense. He couldn’t connect the dots. His eyes were wild, his hands shaking, still trying to get the tube off. He couldn’t stop. He needed it gone.

The soft, warm hands gripped his wrists again, not the nurse’s this time. These hands were stronger, more familiar, and Johnny’s mind fumbled with recognition. Sue?

“Johnny, listen to me,” she said, her voice desperate, but steady. “You’re safe. You’re okay. Calm down.”

The panic was still there, thrashing inside of him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but Sue’s voice—Sue’s voice—was something he recognized. Something real. She was here. She was with him.

Her voice soothed him, even as his body trembled, still fighting the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. Her hands were on his, holding him, grounding him. Slowly, the panic began to recede, though his breath still came too fast, and his heart raced in his chest.

If he had more energy to spare, he might’ve tried asking what had happened. As it was, he was too tired to keep his eyes open. He could probably deal with it another day.

Chapter Text

Johnny wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the nurses came to move him.

His world had been a slow, heavy blur, with time slipping through his fingers like sand. He’d drifted in and out of sleep, always hovering on the edge of consciousness, but never fully resting. The sounds of the ICU had faded into background noise: the machines beeping, hushed voices, the occasional shuffle of footsteps.

Then, gentle hands on his arm. A nurse speaking softly.

“Johnny? We’re moving you to another room now, sweetheart. Out of the ICU. Can you open your eyes for me?”

He tried. It took effort, his eyelids feeling like dead weight, but after a few seconds, he managed it. Everything was slightly out of focus, the bright overhead lights, the faint blur of Sue standing nearby, the sterile white walls he had come to hate.

His body barely responded when they shifted him onto the gurney. He was vaguely aware of movement, the slow rolling of wheels, the cool air of the hallway as they left the ICU behind. Someone adjusted his blanket. Someone murmured something reassuring.

He barely processed any of it.

By the time they reached his new room, he was already exhausted again.

The bed was softer here, or maybe that was just the fatigue numbing everything. The machines weren’t as loud, but the ever-present beeping of the heart monitor remained. The IV pole followed him, and the feeding tube still sat uncomfortably in his throat.

Nothing felt different.

Nothing ever felt different.

The next day things were quieter. Less urgent. The alarms had since long settled, the rush of doctors and nurses had slowed. But for Johnny, everything still felt like a blur, like he was caught between waking and dreaming, floating in and out of a reality he didn’t want to return to

The first thing he became aware of was the weight in his limbs. Heavy, unmoving, like his body wasn’t his own. Then the dull, persistent ache beneath his skin—bone-deep exhaustion wrapping around his muscles, pressing into his chest. His head throbbed in slow, miserable pulses.

His eyes cracked open sluggishly, but the light above was too harsh, too bright. He shut them again, swallowing against the dry, awful taste in his mouth. Something tugged at his nose, no- his throat. A sickening pressure.

The feeding tube.

His stomach twisted.

The panic from earlier came rushing back in flashes—waking up gasping, hands clawing at the tube, Sue’s voice, Reed’s hands on his shoulders, the machines shrieking. He squeezed his eyes shut again, willing himself not to relive it.

Something warm pressed against his hand.

“Johnny?”

Sue’s voice. Soft. Careful.

He forced his eyes open again, blinking sluggishly against the brightness. He winced, and someone dimmed the lights. He tried again. His vision swam at first, but then, slowly, it settled enough for him to make out Sue sitting beside him, her fingers wrapped gently around his.

“You’re okay,” she murmured. Her thumb brushed against his knuckles, grounding. “You’re safe.”

Johnny swallowed thickly, the discomfort of the tube making it worse. He shifted slightly, trying to wet his lips, but the movement took more effort than it should have. His body felt drained, wrung out, like he’d been put through hell and barely crawled out the other side.

Sue must have noticed his struggle because she reached for something out of sight, then held a damp sponge swab to his lips. “Here,” she said softly. “This’ll help.”

The cool moisture was a relief against the raw dryness of his mouth, but it didn’t stop the nausea curling in his gut. He turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek into the pillow, and let out a weak breath.

“…Hate this,” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sue huffed a quiet, breathy laugh—one without humor. “I know.”

Silence settled between them, stretching long and heavy.

Johnny wanted to say something, to ask what had happened, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to understand the answer. Instead, he let his gaze drift around the room, trying to ground himself. The walls were the same dull off-white, the monitors beside his bed still blinking with quiet persistence. The IV lines were still there, going from the stand next to the bed and under the blue gown he was currently wearing. The feeding tube remained an uncomfortable presence, but at least the chaos from earlier had passed.

A slow realization crept in.

He was back here.

Back in the hospital.

A lump formed in his throat.

“Sue…” He forced her name out, though his voice cracked around the syllable. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. There were too many things tangled inside him.

Sue squeezed his hand, like she understood anyway.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she admitted, her voice just as unsteady. “At first I thought you were just tired. And then you wouldn’t wake up. I was scared you were never gonna.”

Johnny let out a slow, shaky breath. “Not… yet,” he muttered, trying for a smirk, but it barely formed.

Sue didn’t laugh.

Instead, she just looked at him-really looked at him, her expression tight with something she wasn’t saying.

Something in Johnny’s chest twisted.

“…How bad?” he asked finally.

Sue hesitated. Then, with careful honesty, she answered, “Your body couldn’t keep up. You weren’t eating, your blood counts were too low, and everything just… Started shutting down. They caught it in time though.”

Johnny swallowed. He could feel the exhaustion in every inch of his body, the way his muscles ached, the dull pressure in his chest. Even now, just lying there, he felt like he could sink into the bed and never get up again.

The weight of it all was suffocating.

He turned his head away, staring at the ceiling. “Feels like I’m only ever getting worse”

The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Johnny could feel it pressing down on them, thick with everything they weren’t saying.

A weak chuckle escaped him, humorless and bitter. “Kinda sucks.”

Sue let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh—broken, quiet. She squeezed his hand again. “Yeah,” she agreed softly. “It really does.”

For a little while, neither of them spoke.

Sue just sat there, her thumb still brushing against his knuckles, and Johnny let himself sink into the quiet.

He let himself feel how utterly exhausted he was of this. Of hospitals and tubes and fear, of waking up weaker than before. He let himself acknowledge, even if just for a moment, how much it hurt.

And Sue didn’t try to fix it.

She didn’t offer reassurances or empty promises.

She just stayed.

It made the whole thing a little more bearable.

The week passed slowly as he recovered. Sue was always there, seemingly afraid to let him out of her sight. Reed was there too: More than before. A bit too much. It was kind of confusing, to be honest. He’d never had that much of Reeds attention, like, ever. It felt a bit funny to have it now, although not unwelcome.

Johnny missed his bed again. To get to sleep in it for a few days just to get back to where he started was awful, especially since he spent most of his time sleeping. They’d never unpacked the hospital bag at home, so most of his comfort items had been easy to bring along to the hospital. They consisted of the softest (as well as thickest) blanket he owned, some of his own pillows (he usually slept with about 3-5 depending on how much his bones ached), some sweats and hoodies (naturally flame proof, even though he couldn’t exactly ignite at the moment) and a few small trinkets and plushies.

His favourite one was a knock-off Spiderman, with beady eyes and too big feet. He loved it, and swore it looked more like Peter than the actual merch did.

At one point during the week they had taken him to get another bone marrow biopsy. He knew that it was necessary, that they needed to see if the chemo had done its job, but every single time he managed to get surprised by the size of the needle. Thankfully he was on some good shit, that together with the localized anesthesia blocked most of the sensations from it.

Soon came the day He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before the doctor arrived.

Dr. Ramirez had been part of his care team since the beginning, and Johnny had never decided whether he liked her or not. She was always straightforward—never cold, but never sugarcoating anything either.

She stood at the foot of his bed, her clipboard held close to her chest. Sue was sitting beside him, her grip on his hand just a little too tight. Reed was standing near the door, his arms crossed, tension etched into every line of his body.

Johnny knew this was bad before she even opened her mouth.

“Johnny,” she said, her voice level but gentle. “We got the results of your latest bone marrow biopsy.”

His stomach twisted.

Sue’s hand tightened around his.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled slightly before continuing, her gaze steady. “The chemotherapy wasn’t enough. You’re not in remission.”

Johnny blinked.

For a second, he wasn’t sure if he had heard her right.

He wasn’t in remission.

The words sat there, hovering in the air, thick and suffocating.

His mouth was dry. His throat was tight.

He wasn’t in remission.

The room felt too small. His chest felt too tight.

Sue said something, but he wasn’t sure what. Reed asked a question. Dr. Ramirez answered. The words didn’t register.

His body felt numb.

This was supposed to be it.

He had gone through the hell of chemo, the endless vomiting, the weakness, the exhaustion- for what?

For nothing?

“Johnny?” Sue’s voice pulled him back, but it sounded far away.

He swallowed, but it felt like there was cotton in his mouth. “…So what now?”

Dr. Ramirez shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on the clipboard. “We need to move forward with a bone marrow transplant.”

Johnny stared at her. His brain was moving too slow to keep up.

A bone marrow transplant.

Johnny was pretty sure that was a worst-case scenario type of plan.

“This isn’t uncommon in cases like yours,” Dr. Ramirez continued, as if she could sense his spiraling thoughts. “Your leukemia is resistant to standard chemotherapy, which means we need to take a more aggressive approach. The transplant gives you the best chance of achieving remission.”

Johnny barely heard her.

His heart was pounding. His skin felt cold.

His body had already felt like it was breaking down under the first round of chemo, not to mention that his body had tried to shut down just a few days ago. Had it even been days? And now they were saying he had to go through something else, potentially worse?

He felt his breathing pick up. His fingers twitched against the blanket.

“We’ve already started the search for a donor,” Dr. Ramirez said. “And as we discussed before, siblings have the highest likelihood of being a match.”

What? When had they talked about that? Johnny barely processed the way Sue straightened beside him, how she sat up just a little taller.

“I’ll do it,” Sue said immediately.

Johnny’s head snapped toward her.

Dr. Ramirez gave her a small nod. “We’ll run the tests as soon as possible to confirm. If you’re a match, we’ll schedule the transplant as soon as the conditioning chemo is over.”

Johnny’s mind was still spinning. His stomach was twisting in knots.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

His voice felt distant when he finally managed to speak. “…What happens if we don’t do it?”

A long silence followed.

Johnny already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear someone say it.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled quietly, her expression unreadable. “Without the transplant, the leukemia will continue to progress. If we don’t take action, you’ll likely only have a few more months before the disease becomes untreatable.”

His ears started ringing.

A few months. That was all he had if he didn’t go through chemo-hell again.

Johnny let out a slow, shaky breath. His hands were trembling. His chest felt tight. But he knew he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to stop already.

He barely felt it when Sue’s grip on his hand tightened, her nails digging into his skin. He barely registered the way Reed had shifted, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

The panic was creeping in again, but it wasn’t like earlier.

Earlier, it had been raw fear.

This was something else.

Something heavier.

Something suffocating.

He closed his eyes.

He wanted to disappear.

Peter Parker had been staring at his phone for over ten minutes.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

The Baxter Building had been too quiet all day. No texts, no updates, nothing from Johnny. That wasn’t normal. Even when Johnny was too tired or sick to text, Sue would usually send something—a quick ‘he’s okay’ or ‘rough day, but stable’.

But today?

Nothing.

Peter’s stomach twisted as he hovered his thumb over Sue’s contact.

Maybe he was overreacting.

Maybe Johnny was just resting.

Maybe-

No.

Something was wrong.

He exhaled sharply and hit the call button.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then-

“Peter.”

Sue’s voice was tight. Tired.

Peter’s heart dropped.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, already pushing himself up from where he had been sitting.

There was a pause, then Sue sighed. “He collapsed this morning. We had to call an ambulance.”

Peter’s grip on the phone tightened.

His mind raced. Collapsed. Ambulance. Shit.

“How bad?” His voice sounded small.

“He was unconscious for most of the day. His body just… couldn’t keep up anymore.”

Peter swallowed hard. “But he’s awake now?”

“Yeah. Weak, but awake.”

Peter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Can I see him?”

Another pause. Then, softer—

“Yeah.”

Peter was already grabbing his things.

The elevator ride up felt like it took forever.

Peter shifted on his feet, his fingers drumming anxiously against his leg. The hospital was too cold, too sterile, the scent of antiseptic clinging to the air.

He hated this.

Hated the way the halls reminded him of too many bad memories, hated how many times he had visited this place in the last few months alone.

When the doors finally slid open, Sue was already waiting for him outside Johnny’s room.

She looked exhausted. Her arms were crossed over her chest, dark circles under her eyes.

Peter hesitated. “…Hey.”

Sue exhaled softly, offering a tired smile. “Hey.”

Peter glanced toward the door. “How is he?”

Sue rubbed a hand over her face. “Tired. Miserable.” She sighed. “He just got the news.”

Peter frowned. “What news?”

Sue hesitated. Then-

“The chemo didn’t work.”

Peter’s stomach dropped.

“He’s not in remission.”

For a moment, all Peter could do was stare at her, his heart pounding.

No.

No, that wasn’t- That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Johnny was supposed to be done. He was supposed to be better.

Not this.

Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat. “So what now?”

Sue inhaled deeply, glancing toward the door. “They’re preparing him for a bone marrow transplant. It’s… a lot. More chemo, more treatment.”

Peter exhaled shakily. More hell.

His fingers curled into fists.

Sue studied him for a moment, then placed a hand on his arm. “He’s not in a good place, Pete. Just—go easy on him.”

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Then he stepped inside.

The room was dim, the blinds half-drawn to block out most of the light. The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the space, along with the faint hum of the IV pump.

Johnny was lying still, propped up slightly by pillows. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pale against the stark white sheets.

He turned his head sluggishly when Peter stepped in.

“…Hey,” Johnny muttered, voice hoarse.

Peter forced a smile. “Hey, man.”

He walked over, hesitating for just a second before pulling up a chair beside the bed.

Johnny huffed softly. “No jokes? Thought you’d come in swinging.”

Peter smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think you were up for the full Parker experience right now.”

Johnny let out a weak chuckle, but the sound barely lasted.

Silence settled between them.

Peter’s gaze flickered to the feeding tube, the IV lines, the sheer tiredness written all over Johnny’s face.

“…I heard.”

Johnny exhaled through his nose. “Yeah.”

Peter leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. “You okay?”

Johnny gave him a look.

Peter sighed. “Stupid question.”

Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, then muttered, “I just… I thought I was done.” His fingers twitched slightly against the blanket. “Thought I made it.”

Peter swallowed hard.

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Because Johnny should have been done.

He deserved to be done.

Instead, he had to start over.

“…It’s not fair,” Peter said quietly.

Johnny let out a slow, bitter breath. “No. It’s really not.”

Peter hesitated, then carefully reached over, gripping Johnny’s wrist. Not tight, just enough to ground.

“You’re gonna get through this.”

Johnny didn’t say anything.

Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t acknowledge the words at all.

But he didn’t need to.

Peter wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Johnny didn’t know how long Peter stayed.

The hours blurred together, marked only by the quiet hums of the machines, and the soft murmur of conversation. Sue had stepped out at some point, taking a small break, but Johnny had barely noticed. The exhaustion sat heavy in his chest, making it hard to focus on anything for very long.

His body still felt wrecked from earlier. Weak. Like every muscle had been stretched too thin, leaving a general ache behind. He hadn’t recovered from the collapse, not really. Every few minutes, a fresh wave of nausea curled through his stomach, made worse by the pressure of the feeding tube in his throat. He hated it. Hated the way it sat there, unnatural, a constant reminder that he couldn’t even eat on his own anymore. There was a small relief in the fact he would no longer be forced to eat, and as a result throw up 10 times a day, but Johnny was too mad to admit that.

Peter never pushed him to talk. He just stayed. Occasionally he cracked some weak joke, his voice light in a way that did not match his eyes. Those dumb fucking brown-ass eyes.

When Peter finally left, giving Johnny’s hand one last squeeze before stepping out, Johnny exhaled shakily, sinking deeper into the mattress.

He had thought he was done.

Thought he had made it.

And now he was right back at the beginning.

By the time the morning shift change rolled around, Johnny had barely slept.

His head ached in slow, miserable pulses, his body too hot beneath the blankets but too cold without them. He was still feverish, he could feel the heat clinging to him, making his limbs feel heavy and his skin too tight. He had the power to burn over 5000° Kelvin, but a simple fever knocked him down now. The irony wasn’t totally lost on him.

Still, he was tired of feeling like this.

He had barely cracked his eyes open when the door creaked, followed by the soft-footed steps of Sue.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she said gently, setting a cup of coffee on the bedside table in between the soft chair she had claimed a long time ago, and Johnny’s bed. The coffe was probably for herself, because Johnny sure as hell wasn’t drinking anything.

Johnny groaned in response, his throat raw. His entire body ached, like he’d been put through a wringer and left out to dry. He turned his head slightly, but even that was too much effort. The world tilted sluggishly, sending nausea curling up his throat.

Sue sat down beside him, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand. “Dr. Ramirez is coming soon to go over everything,” she said carefully. “She wants to run a few more tests and talk through the transplant plan.”

Johnny barely reacted.

Didn’t want to react.

Because reacting meant processing.

And processing meant accepting.

Sue sighed. “I’m getting tested today.”

Johnny’s throat tightened.

He swallowed, blinking sluggishly at her.

“…You don’t have to,” he muttered. His voice came out weaker than he wanted, raspier.

Sue let out a breath, squeezing his fingers. “Yes, I do.”

He turned his head slightly, his vision swimming for a moment. “…What if you’re a match?”

“Then we do this,” Sue said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Johnny exhaled, closing his eyes. “And if you’re not?”

Sue hesitated. “…Then we find someone who is.”

She said it like it was that simple.

Like they weren’t already running out of time.

Dr. Ramirez arrived not long after, clipboard in hand, her expression calm but unreadable.

Sue sat beside Johnny, her fingers still curled loosely around his, while Reed stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Dr. Ramirez flipped through her notes before speaking. “Sue is getting tested today, and we’ve already started searching the national registry. If she’s a match, we’ll be able to proceed fairly quickly. If not, we’ll need to find an alternative donor, which could take longer.”

Johnny wanted to care.

Wanted to listen.

But everything felt foggy. His head was too thick, his body too exhausted.

Dr. Ramirez continued, her voice steady. “The transplant itself will take place after the conditioning phase.”

Johnny forced himself to focus. “Conditioning?”

Dr. Ramirez gave a small nod. “It’s a necessary step before transplantation. We need to destroy any remaining leukemia cells and suppress your immune system so your body doesn’t reject the donor cells.”

Johnny didn’t like where this was going.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled, her tone even. “The conditioning phase will include high-dose chemotherapy. It’ll be more aggressive than before, with the goal of wiping out your existing bone marrow.”

Johnny’s stomach twisted.

More aggressive than before.

He barely survived the first round.

And now he had to go through worse?

Dr. Ramirez must have seen the way his hands curled into fists against the blanket because she softened slightly. “It’s not going to be easy, Johnny. But this is your best shot at remission.”

Johnny closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

It was always that, wasn’t it?

His best shot.

Fuck.

Everything was always dangling on the edge of something irreversible.

He was so tired of it.

The first dose of conditioning chemotherapy started that evening.

Sue had returned by then, her testing done, though they wouldn’t get the results back for a while. She sat by his side again, Reed nearby, all of them pretending they weren’t waiting for the worst of it to hit.

Johnny already knew how this worked.

The drugs would drip into his central line, running through his veins like poison, burning everything in its path.

A nurse stood beside him, checking the IV bags, adjusting the infusion rate. “We’re starting with cytarabine and fludarabine tonight,” she explained. “We’ll be monitoring you closely, but let me know if you feel anything unusual, okay?”

Johnny barely nodded.

It didn’t matter.

It never mattered.

The nausea started early this time, a stark contrast to a few weeks before..

He could felt it creeping in, slowly at first, then more insistent; curling like a fist in his stomach.

He closed his eyes, breathing through it, willing himself to stay still.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” one of the nurses murmured gently, adjusting the IV line. Melissa wasn’t there that day. “We’ve got anti-nausea meds coming, okay?”

Johnny barely nodded.

It didn’t matter.

It never mattered.

The nausea would still win in the end.

The chemotherapy hit harder than Johnny expected.

By the second day, everything blurred together into an exhausting, nauseating haze. His body felt heavier than before, weighed down by the sheer force of the medication running through his veins. The persistent ache in his bones, the gnawing nausea in his stomach, the dizziness that made even shifting in bed a monumental task.

By that night he hardly spoke.

It took too much energy. And really, what was there to say? That he felt like absolute shit? That he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take? That every day stretched into another fight he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to win?

Sue noticed. Of course, she did. She was always there, always watching him with quiet concern, holding his hand when he was too tired to move, brushing damp cloths over his fevered skin. She didn’t push him to talk, but she stayed, and somehow, that helped.

Reed tried in his own way, but Johnny could see the frustration in his eyes. Not at Johnny, never at Johnny- but at the situation. Reed wasn’t used to problems he couldn’t solve. Johnny caught him late at night sometimes when he should be sleeping, hunched over his tablet, researching studies, looking for anything that might help. As if he could outthink cancer. As if his giant brain could fix what was broken.

But nothing could fix this. Not yet. Not for a while. Maybe never.

The nurses checked in constantly, he recognized a few of them. Adjusting his IV, checking his vitals, ensuring the feeding tube was still properly in place. Johnny had stopped protesting it. The energy for that didn’t exist, and really, what was the point? He hadn’t been able to eat properly for a while anyway. Even just thinking about food made his stomach churn.

By the end of the week, his body was barely his own. It was just something he existed in: something that hurt, that ached, that carried him through each damned hour. He was being hollowed out, like every ounce of strength was dripping away, leaving only this husk behind.

And he still had so much more to go.

Sue’s results came in the following night.

Johnny was dozing when she came in, shifting in his bed, exhaustion tugging at his bones. But he stirred at the sound of the door opening, blinking blearily up at her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside him, taking his hand like she always did.

Then, softly-

“I’m a match.”

Johnny felt his stomach drop.

Sue squeezed his hand. “We can do the transplant, Johnny. I can help you.”

His throat felt tight. He looked away, staring at the ceiling. “…You still don’t have to do this.”

Sue inhaled sharply. “Yes, I do.”

He swallowed. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Sue exhaled, shifting slightly. “No. But I know you need this. And I know I’m not losing you.”

Johnny shut his eyes.

“…Okay,” he whispered, voice barely there.

Sue squeezed his hand tighter. “Okay.”

The doctors finally cleared him to leave his room after a week.

Johnny wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Isolation had been miserable, but at least it let him disappear. Out there in the common room he’d have to face people. He wasn’t sure he could do that.

But Sue had been insistent.

“You don’t have to talk to anyone,” she said gently, helping him ease onto his crutches. “But it might help, Johnny. Just… being around people who understand.”

He doubted it.

But he let her help him anyway.

The common area wasn’t huge, but it was filled with light from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. A few couches, a TV playing some movie in the background, tables where some of the patients sat talking. Johnny had been here before, during his first round of chemo, but he had never stayed long. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stay now.

He heard someone gasp. Yippie.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Johnny blinked, turning toward the voice. A boy, probably around fifteen, was gaping at him from his seat on one of the couches, eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way,” another kid, a girl this time, murmured. “You’re actually Johnny Storm?”

Johnny managed a weak smirk, shifting his crutches slightly. “That’s what they tell me.”

The first kid shook his head. “Dude. I thought you were, like, immortal or something.”

Johnny let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, well. So did I.”

That earned a chuckle from a few of them. Someone gestured for him to sit, and, too exhausted to argue, he lowered himself onto one of the couches.

“So, uh,” Johnny started, glancing around. “I take it you guys saw the news?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah. It was kinda crazy seeing you on the front page. No offense, but we thought superheroes didn’t… get sick like the rest of us.”

Johnny huffed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Silence stretched for a moment before one of the other kids spoke up. “I mean… it kinda sucks that you’re here, but, uh-” Johnny could see a slight blush on the boys cheek.

“-it’s nice not being the only one dealing with this.”

Johnny looked at him closer. He was younger, maybe thirteen, with an IV line snaking from his arm. He looked tired, the same kind of tired Johnny saw in the mirror every day.

“…Yeah,” Johnny admitted quietly. “I get that.”

They talked for a while. Nothing too deep, just jokes- stupid conversations, stories about which nurses were the strictest about bed rest. It was easy, in a way that Johnny hadn’t expected. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to perform. He wasn’t Johnny Storm, the Human Torch. He was just… another sick kid.

For now that had to be enough.

Johnny didn’t make it to the common room every day. He was surprised he had even felt good enough to go the first time. Mostly the nausea and exhaustion pinned him to his bed, too weak to even consider moving. But on the days when he felt slightly less like he’d been steamrolled by his own body, Sue encouraged him to go.

So, he went.

And surprisingly? It continued to not be terrible.

The group had already started treating him like one of their own. At first, there had been some awkwardness. Being a former teenage-superhero turned teenage-cancer patient was a hard jump for some of the other people there, for some reason. He supposed it wasn’t every day a superhero ended up stuck in a hospital with them though, he supposed.

But eventually, after a few visits, they stopped treating him like the Johnny Storm and just saw him as another kid going through the same thing.

And honestly? That was kind of nice.

Johnny sat curled up on the couch, blanket draped around his shoulders, crutches propped up beside him. He wasn’t sure if it was the chemo or just the constant hospital air conditioning, but he was always cold now.

“Okay, okay,” said Hannah, a sixteen-year-old with bright pink pajama pants and a nasal cannula feeding her oxygen. She sat cross-legged on the couch, a deck of cards in her hands. “Serious question. What’s the worst part of all this?”

The group groaned collectively.

“Oh, easy,” said Eric, a kid with a Yankees beanie covering his bald head. “The smell of the chemo room. You guys know what I mean, right? It’s, like, weirdly metallic.”

“Dude,” groaned Nina, a girl who had been in and out of treatment since she was twelve. “You just unlocked a memory I was repressing.”

Johnny smirked. “You guys are telling me that smell is the worst part? Not, y’know, the constant nausea? The ‘surprise’ spinal taps?”

A chorus of groans went up.

“Way to bring up spinal taps, Storm,” said Benji, a boy who was almost always wrapped up in a fuzzy green blanket. “Now I’m stressed.”

Johnny chuckled but leaned back against the couch, exhausted. His body still ached, and the nausea wasn’t ever gone, just duller today.

Hannah tossed a card at him. “Okay, what about you, Supernova? What’s your personal hell?”

Johnny snorted at the nickname. The group had decided he needed one since they all had them. Eric was Yankee, Benji was Beanie, and Hannah, who had technically finished treatment but still hung around, was Escapee.

Johnny thought for a second. “Honestly? The damn feeding tube.”

There were nods of understanding.

“Oh yeah,” said Nina. “That thing sucks.”

“Like, I get why it’s there,” Johnny continued, gesturing vaguely toward the tube taped to his cheek. “But man, it’s the worst. I swear I can feel it every time I swallow.”

“That’s because you can,” Benji pointed out.

Johnny groaned, leaning back further into the couch.

The conversation drifted from there—stories about nurses sneaking them extra pudding cups, debates on which hospital movie selection was the worst (Legally Blonde 2 was inexplicably played every day). At some point, Eric threw a paper ball at Benji’s head, and Nina attempted to build a tower out of empty juice cups.

Then the conversation took a quieter turn.

Hannah leaned back, fidgeting with the edges of a hospital bracelet that was too loose on her wrist. “You ever think about what you’ll do after this?”

Johnny hesitated. “After…?”

She shrugged. “After all of this. If— ” She paused, glanced at the rest of them. “ —when we get out.”

There was a pause.

Johnny had been avoiding that thought. He used to dream about what he’d do when this was over—going back to missions, flying again, feeling normal again. But now… now it was hard to picture.

“I dunno,” he admitted, voice softer than before. “Haven’t really thought about it lately.”

“You should,” Eric said.

Johnny looked at him. “Why?”

Eric shrugged. “It helps.”

Benji nodded. “Yeah. Like, for me, I wanna go camping again. Get out in the middle of nowhere and sleep under the stars. No hospitals, no wires, just me and the sky.”

Nina grinned. “I wanna get my driver’s license.”

“You don’t have your license?” Hannah asked.

Nina threw a pillow at her. “I was supposed to, but then, y’know. Cancer.”

Johnny huffed a laugh.

Hannah nudged him. “C’mon, Storm. There’s gotta be something you wanna do.”

Johnny hesitated.

Flying. Actually flying again. Feeling weightless, free, strong.

But that felt too far away.

“…I wanna eat an entire large pizza by myself,” he said instead.

The group erupted into laughter.

“Now that,” Eric said, wiping his eyes, “is a goal I can get behind.”

And for the first time in a long time, Johnny felt something almost like normal.

Not quite. But close.

And right now, close was enough.

Chapter Text

Johnny didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the ceiling.

Hours, probably. Maybe longer. It didn’t really matter. Time had lost its meaning days ago, slipping through his fingers in an endless cycle of nausea, pain, and exhaustion.

He had barely moved since the last chemo session. His body felt like dead weight, too weak to do anything but exist. The pain sat deep in his bones, a dull, constant ache that no amount of meds seemed to dull. He could feel his heartbeat in his skull, slow and sluggish, a painful reminder that his body was still fighting… Still struggling to keep up.

He wished it would stop.

For a little while, after they had let him leave his room, things had felt easier. He had met other patients, laughed at their dumb jokes, let himself pretend—just for a second—that he wasn’t completely alone in this.

But it hadn’t lasted.

His body wasn’t bouncing back the way it had before. Every day, it felt like something else got worse. The nausea was unrelenting, and eating was out of the question. Even with the feeding tube, he was getting weaker. He spent more and more time asleep, but rest never helped. His fevers spiked and fell at random, his hands shook so badly he could barely hold a phone, and sometimes, just breathing felt like a task.

Even talking to his new friends had become exhausting. It was too much effort to fake a smile, to pretend that this wasn’t eating him alive from the inside out. He was basically dead on his feet, and he could tell he was killing the mood for everyone else. So he stopped going to the common room. Stopped answering texts. Stopped trying.

It didn’t matter anyway.

Nothing did.

He would never get to eat that pizza.

The dull chime of his laptop startled him. He turned his head slightly, blinking blearily at the screen. A video call request.

Ben.

Johnny stared at it.

He could let it go to voicemail. Ben would call again later, or Sue would check in on him, or someone would remind him that he wasn’t actually alone in this.

But right now, that felt like a lie.

Because no matter how many people were in his corner, he was the one who had to survive this. He was the one who had to drag himself through hell over and over again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.

And he wasn’t sure he could anymore.

The call was about to time out.

Johnny exhaled and clicked accept.

Ben’s face filled the screen, his massive, rocky features scrunched up into what was probably supposed to be a smile. “Hey, Matchstick.”

Johnny huffed weakly. “Hey, Big Guy.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Ben’s expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly, the way they always did when he was trying not to look worried.

“Damn, kid,” he muttered. “You look like hell.”

Johnny let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah, well. It’s a great look for me.”

Ben’s eyes didn’t leave his face. Johnny knew he was being assessed.

“…How ya holdin’ up?”

Johnny should lie. Should say fine, or it’s not that bad, or I’ll get through it.

Instead, he swallowed, his fingers curling into the blanket. “I’ve been thinking ‘bout dying.”

Ben froze.

Not just stilled- froze. Like his entire body locked up, like his brain needed a second to process what Johnny had just said. For a second he thought the screen had frozen, but nope.

“…Johnny-”

“I don’t mean right now,” Johnny muttered. His voice was flat, emotionless. “I mean, like… in general. A lot.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. He shifted, leaning forward slightly, his massive hands folding together like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Kid…” He let out a slow breath. “You’re stronger than this.”

Johnny let out a bitter laugh. “No. I’m really not.”

“Bullshit.” Ben’s voice was firm, but not harsh. Just solid. Like he needed Johnny to hear it. To believe it. “You’ve gotten through hell, Johnny. You’ve got people who love you, who are fightin’ for you. You got friends, people who get it, who want you to make it through this.”

Johnny scoffed. “Yeah. Friends that are probably gonna die. Just like me.”

Ben’s face went tight.

Johnny exhaled, his fingers twitching against the blanket. “There’s this kid. Noah. He’s thirteen.” His throat felt tight. “He talks about the future like it’s something he’s gonna get to have. But I see how sick he is, Ben. I see how he knows. He’s just pretending.”

Ben didn’t say anything.

Johnny swallowed hard. “And when he dies, and it’s my turn, I’ll have to pretend too.”

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Ben’s voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than before.

“…What if you don’t?”

Johnny blinked sluggishly. “What?”

“What if you don’t die, Matchstick?” Ben’s voice was careful, measured. Like he was trying to lay the words down gently, even though they felt like a slap to Johnny’s chest. “What if you survive this? What if you make it through, and one day, some other kid in your shoes looks at you and believes they can survive too?”

Johnny inhaled shakily. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Because the idea, the very notion that there was a future where he was still here, where he wasn’t just a cautionary tale, felt so impossible that it almost hurt.

“Do you know what the odds are of me getting into remission? And then, the odds of me staying in remission? I’m not stupid, and I’m not deaf. I know the prognosis they told Sue.”

Johnny’s voice broke up, he could see the number staring at him in his mind.

He looked down at the laptop in his lap. “There is a 70% chance that I’ll be dead in five years, Ben. It’s as simple as that.”

“Don’t say that- Hey! Hey, look at me-” against his own wishes, Johnny gradually raised his head until he was looking at Ben again.

“Listen to me, kid. It is not that simple. You haven’t been simple a day in your life! You will survive this, and come out stronger for it.”

“…I don’t know how to believe in that,” Johnny admitted, voice small.

Ben’s throat bobbed.

“That’s okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll believe in it for you.”

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

He was so tired.

He didn’t want to keep fighting. He didn’t know how to.

He closed the computer and hung up on Ben.

Sue knew something was wrong the second she answered Ben’s call.

It wasn’t the usual check-in. Ben didn’t waste time with How’s he doing? or Any updates? He got right to the point, voice low and rough, tinged with something Sue wasn’t used to hearing from him.

Fear.

“I just talked to Johnny.”

Sue immediately straightened. “What happened?”

Ben hesitated. “He told me he’s been thinking about dying.”

Sue’s breath caught in her throat.

She stood from the chair beside Johnny’s bed, pacing toward the window, her grip on the phone tightening. “What exactly did he say?”

Ben exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep himself steady. “He said he doesn’t think he can do this anymore, though not in so many words. That he doesn’t believe he’s gonna make it.”

Sue squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

She had seen it. Of course she had. The way Johnny had stopped talking as much, the way he spent more time staring at the ceiling than actually engaging with anyone. She had known the chemo was destroying him this time, but she hadn’t realized just how deep it went.

Not until now.

Ben’s voice softened slightly. “Sue… he needs help.”

Sue inhaled, forcing herself to stay calm. “I know.”

“Not just doctors.” Ben’s voice was firm. “He needs you.”

Sue swallowed, nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “I’ll take care of it.”

Ben exhaled, the tension in his voice lingering. “Good.”

Sue hung up and turned back toward Johnny.

He was still asleep, curled slightly on his side, his features slack with exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes stood out starkly against his pale skin, his breathing slow but steady. His fingers twitched slightly against the blanket, like even in sleep, he wasn’t fully at rest.

Sue settled back into the chair beside his bed, exhaling slowly.

She had spent most of her life protecting Johnny. From bullies, from their father, from himself.

But this, this was a fight she couldn’t punch or argue her way through.

She didn’t know how to fix this.

But she could stay.

She could be here.

And maybe, for tonight, that would be enough.

Johnny woke up feeling worse.

Not just physically (though that much was obvious), but emotionally.

His eyes barely cracked open before he realized someone was sitting beside him.

Sue.

She was still there.

She hadn’t left.

Johnny swallowed, his throat dry. “What time is it?”

Sue shrugged. “Early.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. He felt like shit. His body ached, his stomach churned, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Sue studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly-

“Ben called me last night.”

Johnny’s breath caught.

He turned his head slightly, but Sue wasn’t looking at him. She was staring down at her hands, her expression carefully neutral.

“He told me what you said.”

Johnny’s fingers curled into the blanket.

He should have seen this coming.

Sue inhaled, finally meeting his gaze. “Johnny…” She hesitated, something raw in her expression. “I need you to talk to me.”

Johnny let out a slow breath, his chest tightening. He turned his head away, staring at the wall.

“…I already did,” he muttered. “Talked to Ben.”

Sue didn’t react. “Now talk to me.”

Johnny clenched his jaw.

What was there to say? That he didn’t want to be here? That waking up every day felt like another punishment? That he wasn’t scared of dying as much as he was scared of it never ending?

He swallowed hard. “…I don’t know what to say.”

Sue exhaled softly. “Then just listen.”

She shifted slightly, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“I know this is hell,” she said, voice quiet but strong. “I know you’re tired. I know you’re scared. And I know you feel like this is never going to end.”

Johnny let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Wow. Thanks. That’s real comforting.”

Sue didn’t flinch. “I’m not here to tell you what you want to hear. I’m here because I love you. And because you are not doing this alone. You have us.”

Johnny’s fingers twitched against the blanket.

He let out a slow breath. And then, his voice rough with exhaustion, he said-

“Which ‘us’ are you talking about, Sue?”

Sue frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Johnny’s grip tightened. “The same ‘us’ that keeps leaving? The ‘us’ that goes on missions while I sit here rotting in a hospital bed?” His voice was rising, shaking slightly. “Or maybe the ‘us’ that lets Reed lock himself away with his research because he can’t handle seeing me like this?”

Sue opened her mouth, but Johnny didn’t let her speak.

“Or hell, maybe it’s the ‘us’ that’s never had to go through this! The ‘us’ that doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up every damn day feeling like your body’s eating itself alive!”

Sue inhaled sharply, her expression momentarily pained.

Johnny exhaled harshly, his breathing uneven. His pulse was pounding in his ears. His heart beat like crazy.

“…I am alone,” he muttered, voice tight. “You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”

Sue was quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly…

“You’re right.”

Johnny blinked.

Sue’s grip on his hand was firm but gentle. “I don’t know what it’s like. I can’t. I haven’t been through what you have.” She swallowed, her voice shaking slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean I’m not here.”

Johnny looked away, his throat thick.

Sue exhaled. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know it doesn’t change how bad this is. But I need you to believe me when I say this, Johnny.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Johnny closed his eyes.

He wanted to believe her.

But belief felt like a luxury he didn’t have anymore.

“…I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Sue squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to.”

Johnny exhaled shakily.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

Sue hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I talked to the doctors earlier.”

Johnny blinked, barely turning his head.

“…About what?”

Sue squeezed his fingers. “About your mental health.”

Johnny frowned. His body still felt wrecked, too exhausted to properly react, but something uneasy curled in his stomach.

“…Sue.”

“They think you should talk to someone,” she said, voice careful. “About… everything.”

Johnny tensed.

“I talk to people,” he muttered.

Sue’s face softened. “Not like that.”

Johnny hated the way his chest tightened.

“…I don’t need a shrink.”

Sue didn’t push, but she didn’t back down either. “Johnny-”

“No,” Johnny cut in, sharper now. “I don’t need some doctor sitting across from me, telling me how to feel.”

Sue didn’t flinch. “It wouldn’t be like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

She sighed, shifting forward. “I know you, Johnny. And I know that you’re carrying all of this alone.”

Johnny gritted his teeth.

He hated this conversation.

Hated that Sue could see through him even when he didn’t want her to.

“I’m not alone,” he muttered.

Sue tilted her head.

Her next words were gentle, but they cut through him like a knife.

“Didn’t you just say you were?” Sue pointed out, not unkindly.

Johnny’s throat tightened.

He turned his head away, staring at the ceiling, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Sue didn’t push.

She just sat there.

Letting the silence settle.

Letting him sit in it.

“…I don’t know,” Johnny admitted finally. His voice came out small.

Sue exhaled.

She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over his scalp, soothing in a way that didn’t demand anything from him.

“I’m not saying it’ll fix everything,” she murmured. “But it might help. And I just…” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to go through this without support. All of it.”

Johnny swallowed.

His hands twitched against the blanket.

He didn’t want to agree.

Didn’t want to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, she had a point.

But he didn’t argue.

Didn’t say no.

And that was enough for Sue.

For now.

Extra scene:

Johnny had barely drifted off when a familiar voice pulled him from the haze.

“You awake?”

Johnny cracked his eyes open.

Reed was standing near the foot of the bed, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

Johnny blinked sluggishly. “…Depends.”

Reed huffed. “On?”

Johnny exhaled. “If you’re about to make me talk about my feelings.”

Reed snorted. “Not unless you want to.”

Johnny hummed. “Good.”

Silence settled.

Johnny could feel Reed watching him.

Measuring. Calculating.

Probably trying to figure out some scientific way to fix what couldn’t be fixed.

Johnny sighed. “Just say whatever you came to say.”

Reed hesitated—just for a second.

Then, quietly—

“I’m proud of you.”

Johnny froze.

Of all the things Reed could’ve said, that wasn’t what he had expected.

His fingers twitched. “For what?”

Reed’s voice didn’t waver.

“For getting through this.”

Johnny let out a weak laugh.

“Not exactly killing it over here, Stretch.”

Reed tilted his head. “You’re still fighting.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. “Not like I have a choice.”

“That doesn’t make it any less impressive.”

Johnny swallowed.

His throat felt tight.

Reed took a small step closer, his expression unreadable.

“You think being strong means not struggling,” he said simply. “But I think being strong means fighting even when you don’t want to.”

Johnny didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

He just let the words sit there.

Reed didn’t push for a response.

Didn’t ask for anything.

He just gave Johnny’s shoulder a brief squeeze—gentle, grounding—before stepping back.

“…Get some rest,” he murmured.

Then he left.

Johnny stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t magically feel better.

Didn’t suddenly have hope again.

But for the first time in a while…

He felt heard.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Johnny never got to meet that therapist: he was too sick to even sit through a conversation.

The decline had been sharp. Unrelenting.

Two weeks had passed since his breakdown with Sue and Ben, and Johnny had only gotten worse. The chemo had taken everything. Any fleeting moments of energy were gone. Any small victories, like spending time in the common room or keeping up with conversations, had slipped through his fingers like sand. Now, even lifting his head felt like an impossible task.

His body ached in ways it never had before. His muscles felt like they were wasting away, his joints stiff and sore from lack of movement. He was constantly nauseous, but there was nothing left to throw up. He hadn’t eaten in days; not by mouth, at least. The feeding tube was the only thing keeping him alive now.

Even breathing felt heavy.

Most days, he just lay there.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, lost in fevered dreams and stretches of empty, silent exhaustion. The world existed in a haze of IV pumps, hushed voices, and the steady beep of the heart monitor. Nurses checked in on him constantly, adjusting medications, replacing fluid bags, whispering soft reassurances he barely heard.

Sue was always there.

She sat beside his bed, holding his hand, running cool cloths over his forehead, pretending not to cry when she thought he was asleep. Reed came when he could, but it was different with him. He couldn’t fix this, and Johnny could see how much that tore him apart.

They were waiting for him to get better. Waiting for the worst of it to pass.

But Johnny wasn’t sure there was anything left to wait for.

The Days Blurred Together.

Time didn’t feel real anymore. Johnny didn’t know if it was morning or night most of the time. He didn’t bother asking.

Some days, he felt like he was suffocating in his own skin, too hot, then too cold. His body shook with fever, sweat dampening the sheets. Other days, he felt nothing at all. Just a distant numbness, like he wasn’t really there.

He barely spoke. It was too much effort. He only responded when absolutely necessary, and even then, it was usually just a faint nod or a slurred whisper.

Even the other patients stopped visiting. At first, some of them had tried. Benji had left a stupid comic book by his bed. Hannah had sat with him for a while, talking softly even though he barely reacted. But after a while, they stopped coming.

Johnny didn’t blame them.

He wouldn’t want to see himself either.

The night before his birthday, Sue had been sitting by his bedside, as always, when she suddenly exhaled and ran a hand through her hair.

“Your birthday is tomorrow,” she said softly.

Johnny barely reacted.

His birthday. Right.

Seventeen.

Not that it mattered. Not like he had the energy to care.

Sue’s grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I know you feel awful, Johnny, but… we still want to do something. Just… something small. Just us.”

Johnny swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes open. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment before finally responding, “Sue… I don’t think I’m gonna be awake tomorrow.”

Her face crumpled for a split second before she forced a smile. “That’s okay. We’ll celebrate when you are.”

Johnny huffed a breath, barely more than a whisper. “What if I’m never awake?”

Silence.

Sue’s fingers curled tighter around his, her nails pressing into his skin like an anchor. Like she refused to let him slip away.

“Then we’ll wait,” she whispered.

Johnny didn’t answer. Didn’t have the strength to fight her on it.

Because deep down, a small, quiet part of him wondered if there would even be anything left to wait for.

Johnny’s 17th birthday barely registered.

He woke up to the sound of quiet murmurs, voices just outside his hospital room. The world felt thick and distant, like he was moving through water, his body too heavy to lift, his thoughts slow and unfocused. His head throbbed in dull, persistent pulses, and every inch of him ached like he had been wrung out and left to dry.

He didn’t even realize what day it was until Sue gently touched his shoulder, her voice soft and cautious. “Happy birthday, Johnny.”

For a moment, the words didn’t compute. His brain struggled to grasp them, to process why they mattered. His birthday. Right. Seventeen.

It didn’t feel like anything.

Sue smiled at him, but her eyes were tight at the edges, filled with the same worry that had been there for weeks now. She looked exhausted. She always did these days. Johnny wanted to say something, maybe make a joke, pretend this wasn’t as awful as it was- but the words felt like lead in his throat.

Instead, he just blinked at her, his body too tired to do much else.

Reed was there too, standing near the window, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. And Ben… Ben was on the screen of a laptop, propped up on the tray table beside Johnny’s bed, his massive form barely fitting in the frame.

“Happy birthday, kid,” Ben said, his voice softer than usual.

Johnny swallowed. His throat hurt. Everything hurt.

Sue hesitated before reaching over, brushing her fingers lightly against his wrist. “We thought we’d decorate a little,” she said, nodding toward the small collection of balloons tied to the chair in the corner, the faint smell of vanilla cake lingering in the air.

Johnny turned his head slightly, his vision swimming at the movement. A cake sat on the table, untouched. It looked perfect: white frosting, blue candles, his name written neatly in icing. He felt a flicker of guilt. They had tried so hard. But the thought of eating made his stomach churn, nausea already curling in his gut just from the scent.

“I-” His voice came out rough, barely a whisper. He tried again. “Thanks.”

Sue’s smile faltered, just for a second, before she masked it with something softer. “Do you want us to light the candles?”

Johnny exhaled slowly, eyes slipping shut. The room felt too bright, too heavy. He knew they wanted this to be something good. They wanted to make this day special, to remind him that he was still here. Still fighting.

But he didn’t feel like celebrating.

“I think,” he rasped, forcing his eyes open again, “I just wanna rest.”

Sue nodded immediately, smoothing a hand over his blanket. “Of course,” she said, voice steady even though he could see the disappointment in her eyes. “Whatever you need.”

Ben cleared his throat from the laptop. “Hey, you get some sleep, hothead. When you’re up for it, I’ll tell ya some stories from back in the day. Embarrassin’ ones about Reed.”

Reed shot Ben a look, but there was no real heat in it. “We’ll be here when you wake up, Johnny.”

Johnny hummed softly in response, already fading again, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind. He felt Sue’s hand squeeze his lightly, grounding him for just a moment before he drifted away.

The last thing he saw before sleep took him was the glow of the untouched candles, flickering softly in the dim room.

The final days of conditioning chemotherapy were worse than anything Johnny had been through before. He thought he had known exhaustion, known nausea, known pain, but this was something different. This was being completely and utterly hollowed out, his body stripped down to nothing, his immune system wiped away like it had never existed.

Every movement hurt. His muscles ached from weeks of inactivity, his mouth was riddled with sores that made even swallowing water an agonizing task. The nausea never stopped. He felt like he was drifting through a fog, only vaguely aware of Sue’s voice, Reed’s presence, the nurses who came in and out like ghosts.

Each night blurred into the next, his body too weak to distinguish between them. Sometimes he would wake disoriented, the beeping of the monitors his only tether to reality. He had no strength to protest when the nurses adjusted his IV lines, no energy to comment when they increased his pain meds. Time lost all meaning, and all that was left was waiting.

The world around Johnny was a blur, spinning and twisting like a kaleidoscope of confusion. His head pounded with the weight of the fever, and every movement felt sluggish and distant. His body felt heavy, like his skin was made of lead, and every breath he took was shallow, labored. The constant beeping of the machines around him was both reassuring and maddening, keeping him tethered to this place, this reality. But his thoughts? His thoughts were too far gone. They kept slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He had barely been able to keep his eyes open for longer than a few seconds, his eyelids fluttering as if they weighed more than anything in the world. The central line in his chest, the one that was meant to pump chemotherapy into his bloodstream, felt like it was digging into his skin, a constant reminder that his body was no longer his own.

His brain was fogged. The chemo brain was a nightmare on its own, making it hard to string two thoughts together, but combined with the fever, it was like his mind was trying to run a race in molasses.

He should have been sleeping. That was what he wanted more than anything right now, just to escape the constant discomfort, the feeling of being pulled in every direction at once. But somehow, he couldn’t. The fever kept pushing him back to wakefulness, and his thoughts kept spinning in useless circles. The blurry shapes and half-formed thoughts passed through his mind like flickering lights in a storm.

And then there was a sound.

A footstep, soft and deliberate. Johnny’s brain couldn’t quite make sense of it. His vision swam, and for a moment, he thought he was imagining it. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, his body slick with fever, but there was something else now, too. A presence in the room.

Johnny’s half-lidded eyes flickered toward the door, but all he could see was a dark shape. It loomed there, just beyond the dim glow of the hospital lights.

The figure was tall, imposing. The silhouette was all too familiar.

“Viktor?” Johnny’s voice barely rose above a rasp, his throat dry and scratchy, but he couldn’t ignore the strange sense of recognition. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His arms trembled with the effort, but he only managed to push himself up a few inches before slumping back into the bed.

A low, deep voice responded. “You’re awake.” It wasn’t a question, but Viktor’s tone was… something else. Almost a statement of surprise, or perhaps reluctance. Johnny’s fever-clouded mind couldn’t quite place it.

Johnny blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the figure standing at the foot of his bed, but his vision kept slipping in and out, colors blurring and swirling. “What… what are you doing here?” His words were slow, thick with exhaustion.

Viktor Doom was standing just out of reach, arms folded across his chest, his posture uncharacteristically still. He was watching Johnny with something close to detachment, but there was a glint in his eyes-something Johnny couldn’t quite interpret in his fevered state.

“I’ve been told it’s customary to check in on someone when they’re… ill,” Viktor said, his tone almost flat. It wasn’t mocking, but it wasn’t particularly warm, either. Still, Johnny could feel the weight of it, the strange, uncomfortable gravity that made it hard to breathe.

Johnny tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a rasping cough, his throat burning as he struggled to breathe. “You?” he managed, his words still thick with confusion. “You’re not here to… to blow up my bed or something?”

Viktor’s gaze remained unwavering, though Johnny couldn’t be sure if there was even the smallest flicker of emotion in his expression. “No. Not this time.” His voice was calm, even, with that same detached edge Johnny had always heard in it, but tonight it felt different. “I’m not here for them. Just… you.”

Johnny’s mind whirled. What does that mean?

“Just me?” Johnny croaked. His mind was a swirl of fog, thoughts coming and going too fast to hold onto. He could barely keep track of his own words. “Why…?”

“Because,” Viktor began, his gaze flicking briefly to the side, as if he was trying to find the words, “you shouldn’t be here. Not like this.”

Johnny’s breath hitched. His heart started pounding. It took him a moment to piece together what Viktor meant. “I’m… dying, right?” His voice cracked, a rawness that surprised him. The words were so simple, so cold, but they felt like they were tearing at his insides.

The room swam again, and Johnny could feel his head drooping. His limbs felt so heavy, too heavy to move. He struggled to hold onto the conversation, to stay focused on the present.

Viktor’s response came in a low murmur, almost too quiet to hear. “Yes,” he said softly. “And no one deserves to go out like this.”

Johnny couldn’t really respond to that. He could feel his consciousness slipping further. He wanted to argue, to say something about being a fighter, about not giving up, but his mind couldn’t form the words. He just… couldn’t.

For a moment, Viktor stood there in silence, watching Johnny with a gaze that seemed to linger far beyond what Johnny could process in his current state.

The silence was thick, heavy with an unspoken understanding. Viktor, the man who had once been Sue’s boyfriend, the man who had watched Johnny grow up long before he was the Human Torch, stood by Johnny’s bed, not as an enemy, not as a villain, but as something else entirely. Johnny couldn’t say what that something was. Maybe Viktor didn’t know, either.

Finally, Viktor spoke again, his voice softer than before. “You’re not supposed to die like this, Johnny.”

Johnny didn’t have the strength to argue. His mind was slipping away, the fever pulling him under, and all he could do was close his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the world settle around him. Viktor’s words lingered in the air, like a whisper he couldn’t fully grasp.

The next thing Johnny knew, everything had gone quiet. The machines, the bed, even his own breathing seemed to fade out of focus. And when he opened his eyes again, Viktor was gone.

Johnny’s body was exhausted, aching, his fever still raging, but the room felt emptier somehow, as though the presence had never been real. It was all a haze. Had it really happened?

He wasn’t sure. All Johnny knew was that the world was still spinning, and he was still fighting to stay alive.

The transplant was scheduled for a random Monday morning. He should have felt something, maybe hope or fear, anything, but he was too drained to process it.

Sue downplayed the bone marrow donation process, but Johnny knew better. She had gone through anesthesia, had doctors withdraw the marrow straight from her hip bones with needles, and now she was sitting beside him in his hospital room, trying to pretend she wasn’t in pain.

“You look worse than me,” Johnny rasped, voice rough from dehydration and mouth sores.

Sue huffed a soft laugh, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand. “Not possible.”

His stomach twisted, not from nausea this time, but from guilt. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Sue squeezed his fingers. “Yeah, I did.”

There was nothing more to say. They sat in silence, the weight of what came next pressing down on them both.

The transplant itself was… anticlimactic.

No surgery. No dramatic moment. Just a bag of Sue’s harvested stem cells, hooked up to his central line, dripping into his body like any other transfusion.

“This is it?” Johnny mumbled, eyes half-lidded as he watched the crimson liquid travel through the tubing.

“This is it,” Dr. Ramirez confirmed. “Now we wait.”

Johnny exhaled slowly. His entire future, reduced to a slow-moving IV bag.

Waiting was hell.

For days, nothing changed.

His immune system was so compromised by the conditioning chemotherapy that he was restricted to his room. His door remained locked most of the time to protect him from any infection, and the glass window between him and the outside world felt like a painful reminder that he was alone.

The room itself felt like a holding cell. It was cold, almost clinical, with the faint beep of heart monitors and the constant hum of machines that monitored his condition. The only comfort was the presence of his family, and even that was limited. Only Sue and Reed were allowed to visit him, both of them covered head to toe in protective suits.

Even Peter had been kept away for a few weeks; Johnny had no idea when he’d last seen him. He hated this. He hated feeling cut off. He hated that his own body had betrayed him in such a cruel way. Even a week after the transplant he could feel the aftereffects of the chemo eating away at him. It was like his mind couldn’t keep up with the rest of his body. His thoughts weren’t his own, swirling around in a haze of confusion and dizziness.

He was exhausted beyond reason. Too weak to sit up, too nauseous to talk. Sue, recovering from her own procedure, came in when she could, but Johnny barely had the energy to acknowledge her.

The days blurred together, each one worse than the last. The fevers burned through him, making him delirious at times. He woke up once in the middle of the night, disoriented, convinced for a moment that he was back home. But the harsh lighting and the weight of the feeding tube brought reality crashing back.

Nurses checked his vitals every few hours, adjusting his medications as needed. He was given transfusions, fluids, anything to keep his body from completely shutting down. But still, the fear crept in slowly. What if it didn’t work? What if his body rejected the cells? What if this was all for nothing?

He didn’t voice any of it. Couldn’t. Most of the time his tongue felt too heavy to move.

On the twelfth day, something changed.

Dr. Ramirez came in with his morning bloodwork results, her expression unreadable. Sue was perched on the edge of Johnny’s bed, already holding his hand, like she could sense something was coming.

“Johnny,” Dr. Ramirez started carefully. “Your white cell count is rising.”

Johnny blinked slowly, the words taking too long to sink in. “Meaning…?”

“Meaning Sue’s cells are grafting,” she said, and for the first time since this started, she smiled. “It’s working.”

Something inside Johnny cracked. He let out a slow, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around Sue’s.

It wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

But there was a chance.

The next few days were a careful balancing act. His body was fragile, his immune system only barely starting to rebuild. He was still weak, still exhausted, but the numbers on his bloodwork kept climbing. The doctors remained cautious, monitoring every change, every shift in his condition.

Johnny still felt like hell, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just waiting for things to get worse.

For the first time, there was a sliver of something else.

Hope.

Chapter Text

Recovery was supposed to feel like relief.

Instead, it felt like limbo.

Johnny had expected to wake up one day and feel normal again, like his body would suddenly decide it was done being broken, done hurting. Done making every little movement feel like running a marathon. But that wasn’t how it worked. His white blood cell count was rising, his new marrow was officially his, and yet his body still felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.

The fatigue was unbearable. It wasn’t just tiredness; it was exhaustion so deep it sank into his bones. Sitting up too long left him winded. Walking across the room was an event. The simplest tasks, like shifting in bed, or just lifting a cup of water, felt like monumental efforts. The doctors and nurses assured him this was normal, that his body had been through hell and needed time to rebuild. But patience had never been Johnny’s strong suit, and now it felt like a cruel joke that even as he got better, he still wasn’t better.

And then there was his mind.

The first time he noticed it, he had been trying to text Peter back. His fingers hovered over his phone, and the words just… wouldn’t come. It was like his brain had disconnected from his hands, like the effort of stringing together a coherent thought was too much. He kept forgetting things, simple things: what day it was, what a nurse had just told him, what he had been about to say. And reading? Forget it. He tried once, staring at the same paragraph in a book Sue had brought him for nearly ten minutes before realizing he hadn’t absorbed a single word.

Chemo brain. That’s what the doctors called it.

Cognitive dysfunction as a side effect of the high-dose chemotherapy. It was temporary, they reassured him. His brain would heal, just like the rest of him.

But what if it didn’t?

What if he stayed like this, trapped in a body that barely functioned, with a mind that refused to keep up?

The frustration boiled under his skin, sitting heavy on his chest, coiling in his gut. He tried not to show it. He knew Sue and Reed were watching him closely, knew they were relieved but still on edge, waiting for the next crisis. He didn’t want to burden them with how angry he was, how much he hated this version of himself.

But sometimes, it slipped through.

The first real outburst came on a quiet evening, when Sue was helping him sit up in bed. His limbs felt weak, his muscles shaking with effort, and halfway through he just- collapsed, back against the pillows, his entire body screaming at him to stop.

“I can’t even sit up by myself,” he snapped, voice thick with exhaustion and frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to ever get back to normal?”

Sue didn’t flinch. She just sat beside him, her expression calm, steady. “You are getting back to normal,” she said softly. “It’s just… a different normal now.”

Johnny clenched his jaw, looking away. He hated that answer. Hated that she was probably right.

But the thing was, he was improving. Slowly, painfully, frustratingly, but improving.

A week after the transplant, even before they knew it had worked, he could sit up without feeling like he was going to pass out. A few days later, he managed a slow walk to the bathroom without help. The first time he made it down the hall and back, a nurse called it a victory. He didn’t feel victorious. He felt pathetic. But he forced himself to acknowledge the progress, even when it felt insignificant.

His hair wasn’t growing back yet. The doctors told him it would take time, but Johnny didn’t care. He barely recognized himself in the mirror anyway. The weight loss, the pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes- he looked hollow, like a ghost of who he used to be. Like someone had taken the Johnny Storm people knew and burned him down to the foundation, leaving only this fragile, unfinished version behind.

But he wasn’t dying anymore.

That counted for something.

He had good days. Days where the nausea wasn’t as bad, where he could hold a conversation without feeling like his brain was moving through sludge. But the bad days still crept in, unexpected and cruel. Sometimes he’d wake up and feel like he had been hit by a truck, his body aching down to his bones. Other days, it was his mind that failed him, forgetting things, struggling to focus, the words slipping away before he could grasp them.

Reed started bringing in puzzles. Just small ones, things that were supposed to help with cognitive recovery. At first, Johnny had scoffed at them, but eventually, he found himself trying. Some days he could manage. Others, he wanted to throw the pieces across the room.

Sue never pushed him. She just sat with him, patient, present, unwavering.

And somehow, the world kept moving forward.

The days blurred together in a cycle of slow recovery. Johnny wasn’t used to this kind of exhaustion, the kind that lingered even when his body started to show signs of improvement. His counts continued to rise, the doctors cautiously optimistic. But while his body healed, the toll of everything he had endured settled in ways he hadn’t expected.

The first time he left his room, it wasn’t under his own power.

The nurse had suggested it after a morning of particularly good vitals. Johnny had been hesitant, but the thought of being stuck in bed another day made him want to crawl out of his own skin. So, with Sue’s encouragement and a nurse’s help, they eased him into a wheelchair, tucking a blanket over his legs before rolling him into the hallway.

It was strange, seeing the hospital outside of his room again. The bright lights, the hushed voices, the faint scent of antiseptic. It felt different, like stepping into a world that had moved on without him.

When they wheeled him into the common room, the noise hit him first. It wasn’t loud, but after weeks of near silence, the sound of conversation, laughter, and the hum of the TV was almost overwhelming.

Then-

“Holy shit. You’re alive.”

Johnny turned his head toward the voice and found Milo, the first kid he had talked to when he’d started socializing before things got bad. The boy grinned, leaning back in his chair, IV line still attached to his arm.

“Barely,” Johnny rasped, the corners of his mouth twitching.

A few others turned to look at him: some smiling, some just watching. There was something familiar in their gazes, something he had seen in the mirror before.

Recognition. Understanding.

He was just like them, another person surviving, another kid who had faced the worst and was still standing- well, sitting, but still.

Milo smirked. “Took you long enough to crawl out of your cave.”

Johnny let out a weak chuckle. “Had to make a dramatic entrance.”

And just like that, he wasn’t alone.

The first time he brushed his own teeth again, it took twice as long as it should have.

His arms felt like lead, his fingers uncooperative, his body shaking by the time he was done. But he did it. By himself.

The first time he managed to walk more than a few steps, even with help, his legs felt wobbly and weak, but the nurses clapped for him anyway.

The first time he managed to hold a conversation without zoning out halfway through, Peter actually high-fived him like he’d won the Olympics.

They were stupid things. Tiny things. But they meant something.

Even if his body still ached, even if exhaustion still weighed him down, even if his memory still felt frustratingly sluggish—he was getting better.

The problem was, getting better was terrifying, because what if it wasn’t real?

The next day, it took Johnny a few tries to get his hands to stop shaking long enough to hold the phone properly.

Sue had offered to call Ben for him, but Johnny wanted to do it himself. It was something normal. Something that made him feel like a person again, instead of just a patient hooked up to machines.

The phone rang once. Twice.

Then Ben’s gruff voice answered, “Kid?”

Johnny let out a breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, Rocky.”

There was a pause. Then a deep exhale, like Ben had been holding his breath. “Damn, it’s good to hear ya, Johnny.”

Johnny huffed a quiet laugh, shifting against the pillows. “Yeah, well. Still alive.”

“Hell yeah, you are.”

Ben’s voice was warm, steady. Johnny hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

“How’re ya doin’?” Ben asked, softer this time.

Johnny glanced at the IV still in his arm, at the feeding tube, at the wheelchair parked in the corner of the room.

“…Better,” he admitted. “Tired. But better.”

Ben let out another breath. “Ya look better. Sue sent me a picture the other day. Looked like you weren’t tryin’ to haunt the place no more.”

Johnny snorted. “High standards you got there.”

“Damn right,” Ben said. “’Bout time you started livin’ up to ‘em.”

Johnny let the words settle in his chest, warm and steady.

They didn’t talk about the biopsy he would have next week to see if he was in remission, about the what-ifs hanging in the air. They just talked. About dumb things. About a movie Ben had watched that Johnny needed to see when he got out. About how the city was still a mess without him keeping it on its toes.

And for a little while, Johnny almost forgot to be scared.

The biopsy wasn’t the worst thing Johnny had been through, not by a long shot, but the results? That was nervbreaking.

If his marrow was clear, he was in remission.

If not…

He didn’t want to think about the alternative. Wouldn’t, and couldn’t.

Reed and Sue were with him when the doctors came in to prep him that morning. He was lying on his side, his hospital gown open at the back, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin. The doctor explained the procedure again, even though Johnny already knew it by heart.

“A local anesthetic will numb the area,” Dr. Ramirez said as she pulled on her gloves. “You’ll feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful.”

Johnny huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with.”

Sue squeezed his hand as the first needle went in, numbing the site on his lower back. Johnny barely reacted. He had been poked and prodded so many times that it barely registered anymore.

Then came the biopsy needle.

It was a deep, pulling pressure, a strange kind of discomfort that made his breath hitch slightly. The doctor extracted the sample, working quickly, and then—

“All done,” she announced, withdrawing the needle and covering the area with gauze. “You did great, Johnny.”

Johnny exhaled, relieved it was over. But the hard part hadn’t even started yet.

Three days.

That was how long it took to get the results.

Three days of pretending he wasn’t on edge, of distracting himself with movies in the common room, of avoiding conversations about what came next.

Peter visited again, this time bringing a deck of cards. “Figured we could play something. You know. Take your mind off it.”

Johnny smirked. “You just want to hustle me.”

“Obviously.”

It helped, at least a little.

But the closer they got to the moment of truth, the harder it was to pretend he wasn’t terrified.

Then, finally-

Dr. Ramirez walked into his hospital room, holding a clipboard, her expression unreadable.

Johnny’s breath caught.

Sue straightened in her chair. Reed set down his tablet. The entire room went silent.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled, looking at Johnny with something almost like warmth.

“We have the results.”

Johnny’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The world narrowed down to this one moment.

This one sentence.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The moment stretched just a moment too long.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled softly. “Johnny…”

That was all it took for the panic to spike.

The edges of his vision blurred, his breath catching in his throat. His body felt too tight, his skin too hot, like the walls were closing in.

She hadn’t just said it.

If it was good news, she would’ve just said it.

Johnny’s stomach twisted violently. “Just tell me,” he blurted out, voice hoarse, almost cracking. “Don’t- don’t do the doctor thing, don’t ease me into it, don’t soften the blow. Just just say it.”

Dr. Ramirez hesitated, and that was another nail in the coffin. He could feel Sue tense beside him. Reed shifted where he stood, silent but clearly bracing himself.

Johnny swallowed hard. His chest felt like it was caving in.

Dr. Ramirez finally met his gaze, her expression steady but kind. “You’re improving, Johnny. Your counts are rising, your strength is coming back… but the biopsy still showed residual leukemia cells.”

The air left his lungs.

Still there.

Still in him.

Still killing him.

It felt like the room tilted sideways. He barely heard the rest of what Dr. Ramirez was saying, something about how this wasn’t uncommon, how they had options, how this wasn’t the end of the line-

But it sure as hell felt like it.

His grip on the blanket tightened, his knuckles white. His breath was coming too fast, but he couldn’t slow it down. Couldn’t stop the ice-cold dread creeping up his spine, couldn’t stop the wave of exhaustion slamming into him.

He had done everything. Gone through hell. Let them poison his body, drain him, break him down to nothing. And it still wasn’t enough.

His head started shaking before he even realized it. “No. No, that… No.”

Sue’s grip on his hand tightened, but he barely felt it.

“Johnny-”

“No,” he snapped, looking up at Dr. Ramirez with wide, wild eyes. “I did everything! I did everything you told me to do! I, I let you put me through all of it. I let you take everything from me! And you’re saying it wasn’t enough?”

Dr. Ramirez’s expression didn’t falter, but there was something in her eyes. Sympathy. Regret. Understanding, as much as she could. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but-”

Johnny let out a harsh, breathless laugh, one that barely made it past the lump in his throat. “Oh, really? You think?”

He could feel himself unraveling. His hands were trembling, his chest too tight, his vision too blurry. The panic was crawling up his throat, thick and suffocating, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Johnny, breathe,” Sue said gently, but her voice wavered.

He shook his head. “I- I can’t do this again. I can’t- I don’t have anything left, I-”

His own breath caught, his body threatening to shut down on him again.

Reed stepped forward. “Johnny-”

But Johnny wasn’t listening anymore.

He shoved the blankets off his legs, struggling to push himself up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. The IV tugged painfully at his tubes, but he didn’t care: he needed to get out of here. Needed to move, to do something before the weight of this news crushed him entirely.

Sue stood up quickly. “Johnny, stop-”

He was already too unsteady, too weak. The second he tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, his vision darkened, his balance gave out, and he barely registered Sue catching him before everything blurred together in dizzy, spinning motion.

A nurse rushed in at the sound of the monitors blaring.

“Johnny, you need to stay still,” Dr. Ramirez said firmly, but not unkindly. “I know this is hard. I know it’s not fair. But we can figure out the next step together.”

Johnny let out a shuddering breath, his body trembling against Sue’s steadying grip. His whole chest ached. His mind was screaming.

Not enough.

Still there.

Still sick.

He shut his eyes, a weak, broken whisper slipping past his lips.

“…I can’t do this.”

Sue held onto him, one hand bracing against his back, the other still wrapped around his own. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because right now, he didn’t know if he could do it at all.

The silence after the doctor left was suffocating.

Johnny couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Not in remission.

Not enough.

Not done.

The words kept echoing in his skull, bouncing around like sharp-edged shrapnel, cutting into him every time he tried to process them.

He was still sick.

He was still sick.

It didn’t matter that he felt better than before. Didn’t matter that he had fought through hell and made it out alive. The cancer was still there, still clinging to his bones, still laughing in his fucking face.

He clenched his fists into the blanket, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. His body felt too heavy, too weak, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. His skin was clammy with sweat, and everything inside him was spiraling too fast, too loud.

“I c-can’t do it again.”

The words broke out of him before he even realized he was speaking. His voice was barely there, rough and cracking at the edges, but the second they left his mouth, the dam inside him shattered.

His head snapped toward Sue, eyes wild and desperate. “I c-can’t do this again, Sue.”

Sue inhaled sharply, already shaking her head. “Johnny-”

“No, no, no, you don’t get it!” Johnny’s breath hitched violently, his whole body trembling. “I won’t! I- I can’t do this again, I can’t… I can’t go through all of that for nothing again, I c-can’t-”

“You’re not doing it for nothing!” Sue’s voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Johnny, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me!” Johnny snapped, his hands shaking harder as he gripped the blankets like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the bed. His vision blurred with hot, frustrated, furious tears. “I let you put me through it not once, but twice! I let them poison me, I let you- I let you let them take everything from me! And now you want me to do it again?”

His voice broke on the last word, and he barely registered that he had started crying, really crying, tears streaming down his face, his chest heaving with the sheer force of it.

“I can’t, Sue!” His voice was hoarse, frantic. “I can’t go back to that! I c-can’t go back to not being able to move, to- t-to being stuck in bed, to not even being able to sit up on my own, to puking my guts out every fucking day- I just got better! I just- I just started to feel human again-” His breath hitched sharply. “And now you want me to go back to that? You want me to willingly let them break me down to nothing again?”

His hands twisted in the blankets, his whole body trembling from something far worse than exhaustion. “I can’t- I can’t do it, I won’t-”

“Yes, you will.”

Sue’s voice was sharp, forceful, shaking with emotion.

Johnny’s head snapped up, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Sue was crying now, too.

“I can’t lose you, Johnny,” she ground out, her voice thick, desperate, barely holding together. “I won’t lose you. Not now. Not when we’re this close.”

“This isn’t close!” Johnny nearly screamed, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of his emotions. His heart was slamming against his ribs, his chest too tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. “This is a fucking joke, Sue! They keep saying one more round, one more treatment, one more chance, but there’s always gonna be something else! I can’t keep doing this, I won’t! I’d rather”

He cut himself off abruptly, his throat closing up, his breath stuttering.

Sue went still.

Her grip on his hand tightened like a vice. “Rather what, Johnny?”

Johnny’s breath was too quick now, too ragged, his entire body shaking from the force of everything spiraling inside him.

But the words were already there, raw and brutal and clawing their way out of him.

“I’d rather live,” he choked out, his voice broken. “I’d rather have whatever time I’ve got left, you know, actually have it. Actually be able to do something with it instead of wasting it rotting in a hospital bed-”

Sue flinched.

And then she snapped.

“No!” Her voice was louder than he had ever heard it, her whole body trembling. “No, Johnny, you don’t get to say that! You don’t get to just give up now, not after everything we’ve done to keep you here!”

Johnny let out a sharp, bitter laugh, even as his vision blurred further, even as his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

“Oh, right,” he spat, his voice shaking. “Because you decided I had to keep going, I’m just supposed to do whatever you say, huh? Like it’s your choice?”

Sue’s expression shattered.

Johnny wasn’t done.

“I get it now,” he forced out, his voice like broken glass. “When you say we, you don’t mean us. You mean you and Reed. You mean the family. You mean everyone else. Everyone but me.” His throat clenched. “But I’m the one who’s actually going through it. I’m the one who has to live with it. I’m the one who has to hurt for it.” His voice cracked violently. “And I’m telling you right now: I can’t do it again.”

Sue’s jaw tightened, her breath coming fast, uneven.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides.

And then-

“You don’t have a choice.”

Johnny froze.

The world stopped.

Sue’s eyes were red-rimmed, her face set in something steely, unyielding. “I’m your legal guardian, Johnny.” Her voice trembled, but there was no hesitation. “I make the decisions. And I will make this one.”

The words were like a punch to the gut.

Johnny’s breathing hitched violently. His whole body locked up, trembling with something too much, something unbearable.

His voice came out small. Broken.

“…You’re not even gonna let me choose?”

Sue’s expression wavered, but she didn’t back down. “No.” Her breath was sharp. “Because if I let you choose, you’d die.”

Johnny let out a shuddering exhale, something fragile snapping inside him.

He looked away, turning his head into the pillow.

And he said nothing.

Sue’s breath hitched, like she wanted to say more, like she needed to say more.

But then she left.

The door slammed behind her.

And Johnny was left, shaking, his chest hollowed out, his mind blank with something raw and unbearable.

A beat of silence.

Then-

“…That was a bit much.”

Johnny flinched.

He had forgotten Reed was there.

A chair scraped against the floor. A moment later, Reed sat beside him.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to justify Sue’s words.

He just placed a hand on Johnny’s back, grounding, quiet.

And Johnny finally broke down, sobbing so hard he couldn’t breath. Until it felt like he was being choked. Making him strain for every breath he took, getting lightheaded.

But maybe…

Maybe there was still a way for him to choose.

Sue wasn’t in the hallway.

Reed found her in the stairwell.

She was sitting on the second step, arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the wall.

She didn’t look up when he opened the door.

Didn’t acknowledge him when he sat beside her.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then she spoke. “I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice was wrecked. Quiet.

Reed exhaled slowly.

“…Sue.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “I don’t-” She cut herself off, pressing her knuckles against her forehead.

Reed watched her carefully. He had seen Sue upset before. Had seen her angry, scared, desperate.

But this… This was Sue on the verge of breaking.

“You know I had to say it, right?” she whispered. “I had to tell him.” She let out a shaky breath. “If I let him say no, he’s dead.”

Reed swallowed hard. “Sue…”

“No,” she snapped, head jerking up to look at him, eyes red-rimmed, glistening. “We’re not having this conversation, Reed.”

Reed held her gaze, steady. “We need to.”

Sue shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes,” Reed said firmly. “There is.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head again, looking away.

Reed inhaled slowly. “Sue,” he murmured, voice gentle. “Did you hear him?”

Sue flinched.

Reed continued. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Stop.”

“He’s tired, Sue.”

“Reed.”

“He doesn’t think it’s worth it anymore.”

Sue’s jaw tightened.

“He’s not okay,” Reed said quietly.

Sue let out a sharp, shaky breath. “I know he’s not okay.”

“Then listen to him.”

That was it.

That was what shattered her.

Her breath hitched violently, her whole body tensing, her fingers curling into her arms. “If I listen to him,” she whispered, “he dies.”

Reed exhaled sharply. “Sue—”

“No, you don’t get it!” She turned to him fully, eyes shining with unshed tears, voice breaking. “I can’t listen to him, Reed. I can’t-” Her breath hitched again. “I can’t even think about letting him choose, because if I do, if I even consider it, then I’m already losing him.”

Reed felt something break in his chest.

Because this, this whole interaction, wasn’t just Sue being stubborn.

This was Sue begging.

Begging for a way to keep her brother.

Begging for Reed to tell her she was doing the right thing.

Begging for him to fix it.

Reed let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

And then, carefully:

“…I don’t think he can do it again.”

Sue inhaled sharply, her entire body locking up.

Reed hesitated, throat tight. “Sue,” he said carefully, gently. “What if forcing him to go through it kills him anyway?”

Sue squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Reed kept going. “I know this is terrifying. I know you don’t want to think about it. But this is his life, Sue. He’s the one suffering through it. And if he…” His breath hitched. “If he really doesn’t want to do it, then… maybe we need to respect that.”

Sue let out a sharp, broken sob, pressing a hand over her mouth.

Reed reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

Sue let herself break.

Chapter Text

He waited until Reed left. Then he waited for his breaths to stop coming in waves and his arms to stop shaking. He lost some time to that, but he knew Sue – She wouldn’t be back until she calmed down, which would take a while. And Reed wouldn’t come back without her.

The room was quiet, dark except for the glow of the monitors beside his bed. The hallway beyond the door was silent; the night shift had settled in, the nurses were busy with other patients, and the chaos of the day was slowly winding down.

His body ached, the deep, marrow-deep exhaustion making every movement sluggish. But he forced himself to sit up.

Every inch of him hurt. His muscles were weak from months of wasting away, his limbs too heavy, his head too light.

But he wasn’t stopping.

Not this time.

His eyes flickered to the IV stand beside his bed.

Wires. Tubes.

Thin. Strong.

His gaze lingered there for too long.

His stomach twisted.

A different plan settled in his mind—one that would take less effort.

The pills.

He was on so many meds.

Painkillers, anti-nausea drugs, sedatives—things to keep him comfortable, things to keep him alive, things that could end this, right now, if he took enough of them.

And no one would even know.

Not until it was too late.

His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle on the bedside table.

The childproof cap made him pause. His fingers fumbled with it for a second, weak, shaking, but he forced it open, tipping the bottle into his palm.

Too many pills.

More than he should ever take.

He swallowed hard. Stared at the small white pills.

This was it.

The last thing that was truly his.

He lifted his hand to his mouth-

And the door swung open.

“Johnny?”

Sue.

Why was she back so soon?

Johnny froze.

She had stopped in the doorway, her expression shifting from exhaustion to absolute horror in less than a second.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then-

She lunged.

The pills tumbled from his palm, scattering across the sheets as Sue ripped the bottle away from him, her breath sharp and panicked.

“Johnny, what the hell are you doing!?”

His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. His vision blurred.

She was here. Too soon.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He wasn’t supposed to be caught.

Sue was already pressing the call button on his bed, her hands shaking so badly she nearly missed it. “I need help in here, now!”

The realization hit him all at once.

He had failed.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, something broken, something desperate.

“No,” he rasped, trying to pull away from her. His limbs were weak, uncooperative, his body too fucking weak to fight back. “Sue, just- just let me-”

“No,” Sue snapped, her voice breaking. “No, Johnny, you don’t get to do this.”

“I don’t get to do anything!” The words came out harsh, raw. He barely recognized his own voice. “You already took everything- I don’t get a say, I don’t get a choice, I don’t-” His chest heaved, his vision swimming. “I don’t- I don’t-”

His body buckled.

Sue caught him before he could collapse completely, guiding him back against the pillows. Her hands were so gentle, but her face was a wreck, tears streaking down her cheeks, breath ragged.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, something breaking loose in his chest.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered.

Sue made a sound like she had just been punched in the stomach.

The door burst open, nurses flooding the room.

Johnny didn’t fight them.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t react as they checked him over, as they made sure he hadn’t swallowed anything, as they took the pills away, as they adjusted the monitors.

He just lay there.

Too tired to do anything else.

Sue never left his side.

Her fingers threaded through his, gripping tightly, like she was afraid he might slip away if she let go.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Johnny didn’t answer.

He just let himself sink, let the exhaustion drag him under.

Because at the end of the day…

He had no cards left to play to make them understand. To stop it-

He still didn’t get a choice.

**READ FROM HERE IF SKIPPED THE ABOVE (FRITT FRAM, as the Swedes would say haha)**

Johnny woke up to the feeling of restraints around his wrists.

Panic flared instantly, his breath catching in his throat. He jerked his arms, weak and trembling, but the straps held firm. His body ached from exhaustion, from the weight of everything, from the sheer overwhelming wrongness of being trapped like this.

Then he remembered.

The pills. Sue. The way the bottle had been wrenched from his hands, the way Sue’s voice had shaken when she called for help. The aftermath: the sedative, the hands pressing him down, the blurry voices assuring him he was safe even as they stripped away his last shred of control.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath, staring up at the ceiling. The room was dimly lit, the beeping of the monitors the only sound.

Then, the door creaked open.

Sue. Speaking of the devil.

Johnny turned his head sluggishly, his body too weak to do anything else. She looked awful. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale, her hair disheveled like she had been running her hands through it over and over again. There was none of her usual unshakable confidence, none of the strength she always carried.

She looked broken.

Johnny had never seen her like this before.

She walked to his bedside slowly, sinking into the chair beside him. She didn’t speak at first, just reached out, running her fingers over the restraints on his wrist. Her touch was light, barely there, as if she were afraid he might disappear if she pressed too hard.

“I had to fight them for you,” she whispered finally, voice hoarse. “They wanted to keep you sedated longer.”

Johnny swallowed. His throat was dry, his voice barely more than a rasp when he finally spoke. “Why didn’t you let them?”

Sue inhaled sharply, like he had physically struck her. Her hand curled into a fist against the mattress. “Because I need you to talk to me, Johnny. I need to understand-” Her voice cracked, and she exhaled shakily. “I could have lost you.”

Johnny turned his head away, staring at the ceiling again. “You already did.”

Sue let out a choked sound, pressing her fingers to her mouth as if she could stop the sob from escaping. He didn’t think he had ever seen her cry before. Not like this.

She wiped at her face hastily, sniffling, trying to hold herself together, but Johnny could see it, the way she was crumbling. The weight of everything was finally too much.

“I… I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought if I just pushed you through it, if I just made you keep going, then you’d come out on the other side. Alive. Whole.” She shook her head, letting out a hollow, broken laugh. “But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Johnny turned back toward her, watching as her shoulders shook with the effort of holding herself together.

“I don’t want to die,” he admitted, his voice barely there. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t, Sue… Not when it probably won’t work.”

Her breath hitched. “I know.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Johnny closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. For her to tell him it didn’t matter, that he had to keep fighting, that he had to keep suffering through it whether he wanted to or not.

Instead, she let out a long, unsteady breath. “One more round.”

Johnny’s eyes snapped open.

Sue met his gaze, her own eyes shimmering with tears. “One more round of chemo,” she repeated, voice steadier this time. “And if it doesn’t work, if the cancer is still there, then…” Her voice caught, and she had to force herself to continue. “Then no more.”

Johnny’s heart clenched painfully in his chest.

He barely understood what she was saying at first. It felt impossible. Sue, who had fought tooth and nail for every treatment, every procedure, who had dragged him kicking and screaming through hell because she refused to let him go-

She was giving him a choice.

His breath came out in a shaky exhale. He turned his head fully toward her, his entire body trembling, tears stinging his eyes. “…You mean it?”

Sue nodded, though her expression was agonized, like the words physically hurt to say. “I mean it.”

Johnny let out a sob, small and broken, but it was the first real sound of relief he had made in months. His chest heaved as the sheer weight of it hit him all at once. He still had to do another round, he still had to go through hell again, but after that, it was his choice.

Sue sniffled, reaching out, cupping his face gently in her hands. “We’ll go somewhere,” she whispered. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll go somewhere warm. The whole team. We’ll make the time we have good, Johnny. I swear to you.”

Johnny closed his eyes, pressing his face into her palm, his breath coming in uneven, choked gasps. He didn’t want to do another round. He didn’t. But at least now…

Now he knew there was an end.

“…Okay,” he whispered. “One more.”

Sue let out a shaky breath, nodding. “One more.”

She pressed her forehead against his, holding onto him like she was afraid he would slip away if she let go.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to believe this wasn’t just another promise that would be broken.

For the first time in a long, long time, he let himself hope.

One way or another, there was an end in sight.

Chapter Text

The deal had been made. 

One last round.

If it worked, they would keep going. If it didn’t… then he was done.

Johnny thought it would bring him peace.

Instead, it left him drowning.

The weight of it settled in his chest, pressing down with every breath. It was a strange thing, to know the exact moment his suffering would end - one way or another. Either he walked out of this whole, or he didn’t. Either way, the endless cycle of hospitals and chemo and barely clinging on would be over soon.

And that should’ve made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

He stared at the ceiling of his hospital room, the IV pole a familiar shadow in his peripheral vision. The soft beep of the monitors, the quiet hum of machines… This had been his world for so long that the thought of anything else felt foreign.

The nurses came in and out, moving around him like they always did. He barely acknowledged them. He barely acknowledged anyone. He just played on his phone, and watched dumb tiktoks Peter sent him. His own account since long neglected, gaining and losing followers each time the news made new hypothesizes of his disappearance.

Reed checked in constantly, never pushing, just… being there. A quiet presence in the background, working on his tablet, as if sheer intellect could change what was already written.

Sue sat beside him, fingers curled around his wrist, like she was afraid he would disappear if she let go.

Ben called every day. Made dumb jokes. Told him stories about ridiculous things happening in the city. Things Johnny would’ve found funny before.

Now, he just listened.

He was too tired for anything else.

Dr. Ramirez knocked lightly before stepping into the room, her expression carefully neutral.

Sue and Reed were already there. Sue sat in the chair beside Johnny’s bed, holding his hand in both of hers, while Reed stood near the window, arms crossed. Johnny barely reacted to the doctor’s arrival.

She didn’t expect him to.

Ramirez pulled up a chair, settling in across from them. “Johnny,” she greeted, her voice softer than usual. “How are you feeling?”

Johnny exhaled slowly. “Like hell.”

Ramirez nodded like that was the answer she expected. “I know last night was difficult.”

A muscle in Johnny’s jaw twitched.

Sue tensed beside him. “Did the nurses tell you?”

“Yes,” Ramirez confirmed, glancing at Johnny’s chart before setting it aside. “And before we talk about next steps, I want to acknowledge what happened.” She looked at Johnny directly. “You’re not just physically exhausted. You’re emotionally exhausted. And after everything, I understand why.”

Johnny clenched his teeth, staring at the blanket over his lap.

“I am also of the understanding that you don’t want to continue treatment.”

That made him look up.

Ramirez’s voice remained steady, careful. “Johnny, I need to hear it from you. Do you still want to fight?”

Silence.

Johnny felt Sue’s grip tighten, felt Reed shift slightly from where he stood. The air in the room was suffocating.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Sue inhaled sharply. “Johnny-”

“Not like this,” he interrupted, closing his eyes for a moment before forcing himself to look at Ramirez again. “I- I just… I can’t keep doing this over and over. If this next round doesn’t work, then I… I just want to stop.”

Ramirez didn’t react right away. She studied him, like she was weighing his words, considering every possible angle before responding.

“You’re saying you want to make this your final round of chemotherapy?”

Johnny swallowed hard.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Ramirez shifted her gaze to Sue and Reed. “And you both agree with this?”

Sue’s fingers trembled where they clutched Johnny’s hand. “We-” She hesitated. Looked at Johnny. Then closed her eyes for a second before nodding. “Yes. This is the last one.”

Ramirez leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling through her nose. She looked… unsurprised. Maybe even relieved.

“I think that’s a reasonable choice,” she finally said.

Johnny’s breath caught. He hadn’t realized how much tension had built up in his chest until that moment.

Ramirez looked at him again, firm but not unkind. “You’ve been through so much already. No one should have to suffer this much, Johnny. If this next round doesn’t work, then shifting the focus to comfort care is the right call.”

Johnny let out a shaky breath.

Sue looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.

Reed was the one to speak instead. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure he’s comfortable. If that means leaving the city, taking him somewhere warm…”

Sue squeezed Johnny’s hand. “Then we’ll go.”

Ramirez nodded. “Then we’ll proceed under those terms. Tomorrow, we begin the final round of chemotherapy. If it succeeds, we celebrate. If not…” She hesitated, her eyes softening. “Then we focus on giving you as much time, and as much quality of life, as possible.”

Johnny swallowed, his throat tight.

One more.

Just one more.

And then, no matter what, it would be over.

They didn’t trust him anymore.

Not that he blamed them.

It was small things, things that wouldn’t have meant anything a few weeks ago. But now? Now, they were glaring.

A nurse was always nearby. If they left the room, another replaced them. He wasn’t allowed to be alone. Not even for a minute.

His medications were no longer kept at his bedside. Every dose was administered by a nurse, recorded, watched.

Even his IV wires were shorter now.

He could see it on the faces of the nurses, the doctors, the way they lingered just a little longer after speaking to him, the way they spoke softer, like he was something fragile.

Sue never left his side.

Reed, normally busy with work, was suddenly here every single day.

It should’ve made him angry.

It didn’t.

Because they were right.

Sue didn’t leave his side.

She hadn’t, not really, not since that night.

Johnny saw it in the way she looked at him. Like she was waiting for him to shatter again. Like she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop him next time.

She had barely spoken about it. About what she had seen. About what she had walked in on.

Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe if she said it out loud, it would become real again.

He hated that look.

“You should go home,” he murmured.

Sue huffed softly. “Nice try.”

Johnny swallowed, turning his head against the pillow. “…The nurses won’t leave me alone.”

“I know,” Sue said. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Silence stretched between them. The weight of everything hanging in the air.

Then, quietly:

“Do you regret it?”

Sue inhaled sharply.

Johnny didn’t clarify. Didn’t need to.

Her fingers curled tighter around his hand. “No,” she said, firm. “Never.”

Johnny exhaled shakily. His throat felt tight.

“…I do.”

Sue flinched.

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“I don’t regret wanting it to end,” he admitted. “I regret failing.”

Sue’s breath hitched.

Johnny swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling. “I had control, for once. It was mine. And then it wasn’t.” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “Now I’m back here, doing this all over again, and I don’t even know if it’ll work. I just…” His throat closed up.

Sue’s grip on his hand tightened. “Johnny…”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You should’ve just let me do it.”

Sue’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood abruptly, pacing the small room. Johnny could hear her breathing uneven, too fast.

Then, suddenly:

“I don’t care,” she snapped, turning back toward him, eyes wet and furious. “I don’t care if you hate me for stopping you, I don’t care if you wish I let you die. You are my little brother, and I will never, never, let you go like that.”

Johnny clenched his jaw, looking away. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”

Sue let out a ragged breath, gripping the edge of the windowsill. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“…I don’t know how to help you,” she admitted finally, voice thick. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t… I can’t make this better.”

Johnny closed his eyes. “Then stop trying.”

A moment of silence, then Sue’s soft voice-

“I can’t do that either.”

The morning came too soon.

Johnny barely slept. Not that it mattered. Sleep didn’t change anything. Didn’t make him feel better. Didn’t make him feel ready.

There was no such thing as ready.

A nurse came in early, gently rousing him, taking his vitals. Sue was still there, curled up in the chair beside his bed, her head resting against the armrest. She must have fallen asleep late, probably when she thought he was, too.

She stirred when the nurse adjusted his IV line, her eyes groggy but instantly sharpening as she remembered where they were.

Johnny wished she hadn’t woken up.

She was just going to look at him like that again.

The look that was both anger and grief, guilt and love, helplessness and fierce determination; all wrapped into one.

He hated that look.

Reed arrived not long after, freshly showered, looking like he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. He offered a small nod to Johnny, a quiet I’m here, before shifting his gaze toward the IV stand.

A second nurse followed soon after, wheeling in the chemotherapy drugs, adjusting the tubing, preparing everything with calm efficiency. It was routine for them. Just another day.

For Johnny, it was the beginning of the end.

Dr. Ramirez arrived last. She looked at him like she always did; clinical, but with just enough warmth to remind him she cared. She checked his chart, nodded to the nurses, then looked back at Johnny.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

No.

He nodded anyway.

The nurses started the infusion.

A slow drip.

A poison meant to save him.

A death sentence or a second chance, no one knew which.

Sue curled her fingers around his wrist again, her grip grounding, solid. Reed stood by the window, arms crossed, silent.

Johnny stared at the IV tubing. Watched the clear liquid drip down, inch by inch.

And for the last time, he let himself wonder-

Would this be the one that killed him?

...

Did he want it to be?

It didn’t take long for the side effects to start.

By the second hour, he started feeling it, an ache in his bones, a heaviness in his chest. A familiar nausea curling in his gut, slow and insidious.

By the afternoon, he couldn’t sit up without the room tilting, his stomach twisting violently at even the slightest movement.

By nightfall, he was dry-heaving into a bucket, his body rejecting everything, even though there was nothing left to throw up.

The nurses had warned him it would be worse this time. That after so many sessions, his body wouldn’t tolerate the drugs as well.

They were right.

God, they were right.

The exhaustion was deeper than anything he had felt before. A complete depletion. His limbs felt like dead weight, his head too heavy for his neck.

The nausea was constant. They pumped him full of anti-nausea meds, but nothing really helped. His stomach cramped from hunger, but the moment he thought about food, bile burned the back of his throat.

His mouth grew sore again. His throat raw. His skin sensitive, burning.

Sue was always there. Reed, too. The nurses came and went, checking vitals, pushing fluids, offering small reassurances that didn’t mean anything.

And Johnny just lay there.

Falling apart.

It was the fourth day when the fever hit.

It started slow, just a slight warmth in his cheeks, a heaviness behind his eyes.

By evening, it had spiked dangerously high.

Johnny drifted in and out of consciousness, his body trembling beneath sweat-soaked sheets. He could hear voices: Sue’s, sharp and frantic. Reed’s, calm but urgent.

Then hands holding cool cloths against his forehead, fingers checking his pulse, someone adjusting his IV, another pressing a thermometer beneath his tongue.

“104.3,” a voice said.

Too high.

Too dangerous.

More fluids. More ice packs. More medication.

Johnny barely registered any of it.

His body burned.

His mind swam in fevered half-dreams, memories and nightmares blurring together into a mess of too much, too fast, too real, too fake.

At one point, he thought he saw his mother.

At another, he thought he was dying.

Maybe he was.

But then the fever broke.

Slowly.

Sweat cooled against his skin, his breathing evened, the fire inside him finally dimmed.

Sue’s fingers brushed through his damp, bare scalp. He barely had the strength to open his eyes, but he felt her there.

He was still here.

Still alive.

Still fighting.

For now.

By the seventh day, Johnny could sit up again.

Not on his own. His muscles were too weak, too atrophied, but with help, propped up against pillows, Sue’s steady hands guiding him.

The nausea wasn’t as relentless. He still couldn’t eat, but at least the dry heaving had stopped.

His mind felt… clearer. A little.

The fever hadn’t returned.

His body still felt like a war zone, but the battle was shifting.

“Halfway,” Sue murmured, squeezing his hand.

Johnny let out a slow breath.

Halfway.

Still too much left to go.

But at least he had made it this far.

Chapter Text

The fever started small, almost unnoticeable, like a distant warmth creeping under his skin.

It was still early. Early enough that not even Sue or Reed had arrived on the scene yet. Therefore, it was also too early for Johnny to have any wish to be awake. The soft, steady beep of the monitors and the rustling of papers from the nurse beside his bed were the only things pulling him from his dreamless haze. His limbs felt heavy, a comfortable blanket of drowsiness over them, and his head was thick with sleep, each thought sluggish as it floated through the fog.

He could barely open his eyes, squinting against the harsh, sterile light that bathed the room. The nurse was speaking to him, but her words didn’t quite register yet. He mumbled something, too tired to form a complete response, hoping she’d take that as an answer and let him drift back to sleep.

“Johnny,” the nurse’s voice was soft but clear. “You look a bit flushed like that. I’m going to take your temperature. Just a quick check.”

He groaned, shifting his head slightly against the pillow, trying to get comfortable again. He didn’t want to deal with anything. Not right now.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, too sleepy to care.

The nurse’s hands were warm, gentle, as she placed the thermometer in his mouth. He barely noticed the coolness of it. He just wanted to go back to sleep, to forget about everything for a while longer. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air. It wasalways the same, always too clean. He hated it, but it was part of the routine. At this point he at least knew what to expect; during the first round of chemo he always woke up to a surge of adrenaline, his body reacting to being somewhere unfamiliar and distressing before reality came crashing down.

A soft click, and the nurse removed the thermometer. He could hear her moving around, the rustle of paper as she noted the reading on her clipboard.

“100.4,” she said, her voice calm but with a hint of concern. “It’s a low fever. We’ll keep an eye on it, okay?”

“Great,” Johnny muttered, still half-asleep, his voice thick and heavy with exhaustion. “Just do what you gotta do, ‘kay?”. He broke out in a huge yawn.

The nurse didn’t respond right away. She just moved on, as she always did, gently pulling back the dressing on his central line to clean and inspect the site. It was part of his daily care, no need for him to wake up fully for this. She was just doing her job as she always did.

He barely noticed the slight pressure as she cleaned the site. He’d grown used to it, like everything else in this hospital. It was just another part of the endless cycle of treatments. His eyes slipped shut again, the dull ache of his fever still lingering in the back of his mind, but not enough to make him care.

The nurse was quiet for a moment, and that’s when Johnny finally stirred, just enough to feel her fingers gently pressing around the area. The faintest flicker of discomfort had him drawing in a sharp breath, but he didn’t have the energy to care about that, either.

“Any pain here, Johnny?” Her tone was careful, but nor very concerned. She knew the answer wasn’t likely to be anything serious. He’d been through this a hundred times before.

“Not really,” he muttered, barely aware of what he was saying. He shifted again, trying to ignore the nagging discomfort. “It’s fine. Just… get it over with.”

But when she didn’t move right away, he cracked open an eye, blinking slowly in her direction. He could feel her studying the site more closely than usual.

Johnny frowned, trying to focus enough to respond, but everything felt foggy. “What?”

Her gloved hands were still hovering around the incision, and Johnny’s heart rate sped up for a second, though he wasn’t fully sure why.

“There’s some redness here,” the nurse said, pressing lightly against the area again. “A bit more irritation than yesterday. Not unusual, but… I’ll make a note of it. We’ll keep an eye on it for now.”

Johnny groaned again, feeling the weight of sleep pulling him back under. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning his head into the pillow. “It’s fine… just… let me sleep.”

The nurse paused, then nodded quietly. “I’ll call Dr. Ramirez to take a look, just to be safe. It could be nothing, but we’ll want to monitor it closely.”

“Yeah, whatever…” Johnny’s voice trailed off as he pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, his body sinking back into the soft, warm haze of sleep.

The nurse moved away from the bed, but her presence lingered in the quiet, sterile air.

As Johnny’s eyes fluttered shut again, the weight of the fever started to press a little heavier on his body. Still, he sighed and sunk lower into the mattress: Sleeping was the best part of his day.

The afternoon light was weak, barely filtering through the blinds, and the air in the hospital room felt stale. Johnny barely registered any of it. He was half-asleep, his body leaden, his skin sticky with sweat. He wasn’t comfortable, but the effort of shifting to find a better position felt like too much. His head pounded dully, and his limbs ached in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

The sound of the door clicking open should have woken him fully, but it didn’t. He just groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.

“Johnny,” Sue’s voice was soft but insistent, a thread of worry woven through it.

He exhaled slowly, turning his face deeper into the pillow. “M’up,” he mumbled, not really meaning it.

Sue sighed, and he felt the light press of her hand against his forehead. It was cool, a relief against his overheated skin. Johnny would have leaned into it if he wasn’t so exhausted.

“Shit,” Sue muttered under her breath.

“That bad?” Johnny slurred, not bothering to open his eyes.

“You’re a bit too warm for my taste,” she said, and yeah, he figured. He felt like his whole body was overheating from the inside out.

Sue’s hand lingered a second longer before she pulled away, shifting around the room. Johnny cracked his eyes open just a little, watching her rummage through the mess of things on the counter.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Looking for the thermometer,” she muttered, and a second later, she was back at his bedside, pressing it to his forehead. She didn’t need to wait for the beep to know he had a fever, but when it came, she frowned. “100.8.”

Johnny let out a slow breath. “S’fine,” he mumbled.

Sue didn’t look convinced. “It’s creeping up.”

He let his eyes close again. “Wake me when it gets interesting,” he murmured.

Sue huffed, but there was no amusement behind it. “You look worse than this morning.”

Johnny barely reacted. Maybe because she was right. Maybe because he didn’t have the energy to argue.

There was a pause before Sue spoke again. “Hey,” she said, her tone shifting just slightly, like she was trying not to sound too serious. “The nurse said your line looked a little irritated this morning.”

Johnny hummed, not quite following.

Sue didn’t push him, but after a moment, he felt her shift again. The blanket rustled as she pulled it back slightly.

“Just checking your line, don’t be weird about it,” she said quickly, as if Johnny had the energy to protest.

He let out a faint, breathy laugh anyway, too tired to make it anything more. “M’not weird.”

“Debatable,” Sue muttered, but her voice was distant, distracted.

She peeled back the bandage carefully, her fingers gentle but quick. Sue didn’t usually do this, at least not unless she had to. The nurses checked it every morning, and Johnny figured she trusted them to keep an eye on it. But right now, she was staring at it like something was off.

“Does this hurt?” she asked, running her fingers lightly around the edge of the catheter site.

Johnny frowned. It was a weird question. His central line always felt kind of uncomfortable, it was a tube sticking out of his chest.

“Not… really?” he mumbled. He thought about it again. “Maybe a little.”

Sue let out a small breath, pressing her lips together.

Johnny could barely focus on her expression, but he caught the crease in her forehead, the way her shoulders tensed just a little.

“What?” he rasped.

Sue didn’t answer right away. She was too busy reapplying the dressing, but now she was doing it with extra care, like she was handling something fragile.

“Nothing,” she said finally.

“Don’t-” Johnny exhaled, forcing his eyes open. “Don’t lie.”

Sue hesitated, then sat back with a sigh. “It’s a little red.”

Johnny blinked slowly. “‘Kay.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “You could pretend to care.”

“M’too tired,” Johnny muttered.

Sue huffed again, pressing her palm to his forehead one more time before pushing herself up. “I’m getting the nurse,” she said, and before Johnny could protest, she was already out the door.

A few moments passed, almost allowing Johnny to fall asleep again before he and his pillow was rudely interrupted. The same nurse from the morning was there again, but he couldn’t remember her name.

“Hi Johnny, mind if I take a look?”, She asked kindly, already putting on gloves as she walked to the bed.

Johnny mumbled an affirmative, and felt her cool hands touch his skin.

“It’s a little more irritated than this morning,” she noted, pressing gently around the site. “But there’s no swelling or drainage. Nothing to worry about yet.”

Sue didn’t look convinced, but the nurse was already reapplying the dressing.

“Let me know if his fever gets worse,” she said before leaving.

Sue stayed by Johnny’s bedside long after the door clicked shut, watching his too-pale face as he drifted back into uneasy sleep.

The light outside had changed again when he stirred. Dimmer now. Evening.

Sue was still there. Johnny registered her presence before he even opened his eyes, the familiar weight of her worry pressing down on the room. He didn’t have the energy to acknowledge it.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “You with me?”

Johnny swallowed against the dryness in his throat. He wasn’t sure he was.

Sue reached for the thermometer again, pressing it to his forehead. It beeped, and her jaw tightened.

“101.8,” she muttered.

Johnny blinked slowly. “Oh no,” he rasped. “The horror.”

Sue didn’t even roll her eyes this time. Instead, she reached over, brushing damp hair back from his forehead before pressing her palm there.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I’m calling the nurse.”

Johnny didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure he could.

Sue hit the call button, and it didn’t take long for the nurse to arrive. She was the same one from earlier, moving with quiet efficiency as she checked Johnny over.

“Fever’s creeping up,” Sue said before the nurse could even ask.

The nurse hummed, already peeling back the fresh bandage she had put on there a few hours earlier. Johnny barely reacted when she pressed lightly around the catheter site, but Sue noticed the way her brows pinched slightly.

“It looks a little worse than before,” the nurse admitted. “Redder. A little warmer.”

Sue’s fingers curled against her knee. “What does that mean?”

The nurse exhaled through her nose, thoughtful. “It’s not concerning yet,” she said carefully. “But we’ll keep a closer eye on it. I’ll let the doctor know, and if his fever keeps climbing, we’ll probably run some blood cultures to be safe.”

Sue’s stomach twisted. That didn’t sound great.

Johnny, predictably, just mumbled, “M’fine.”

Neither of them acknowledged it.

“I’ll be back in a bit to check again,” the nurse said, smoothing the bandage back down. “Try to rest, Johnny.”

She left with a reassuring nod, but Sue didn’t feel reassured. She stayed at Johnny’s bedside, watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against the sheets.

And she waited.

Sue left sometime after lunch, only to return with Reed, who immediately took a seat near the end of Johnny’s bed. Sue barely spoke, just kept checking him, hand on his forehead, adjusting the blanket, quietly asking the nurse questions he didn’t want answers to.

That afternoon, the fever climbed. 102.4. Then 103.

“Feels higher now”

Johnny was too tired to argue. Too hot to think. The dull ache in his left leg was beginning to grow. It felt heavy, almost like a weight pressing down, but he didn’t bother mentioning it. He just wanted to sleep.

Dr. Ramirez ordered blood cultures and a preliminary dose of broad-spectrum antibiotics. They were very aware of the risks the fever posed. His immune system was essentially nonexistent, especially now, during his third round of chemotherapy.

Nurses moved around with a practiced urgency, switching out IV bags, monitoring vitals. Johnny could barely keep his eyes open.

Sue sat at his bedside, arms crossed, watching the clock.

The first bag of antibiotics finished around 3:40 p.m.

They started a second.

By 5 p.m., the fever hadn’t budged.

Dr. Ramirez returned, her brow furrowed as she reviewed the reports. “We’re seeing some concerning signs here. His white blood cell count is elevated, and the cultures will take a few hours. We need to keep a close eye on him: he’s showing signs of sepsis.”

Johnny felt the weight of his exhaustion deepening. His head swam, and the heat was relentless. The ache in his left leg persisted, a dull throb that he couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Johnny, can you hear me?” Sue asked, squeezing his hand.

“Mm,” he mumbled, too tired to engage.

Dr. Ramirez leaned closer. “We’re going to monitor you closely, okay? If this fever keeps rising, we might have to adjust your treatment.”

He nodded, but the effort felt monumental. As the evening wore on, Johnny drifted in and out of sleep, his body caught in a restless cycle, battling the fever that confirmed the sepsis was taking hold.

It was after 8 p.m. when things took a turn.

He was lost in a haze of fever dreams when his body suddenly tensed. It felt like an electric jolt shot through him, pulling him from sleep into a panic. His heart raced as he felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

Then came the first tremor, limbs shaking slightly.

“Johnny?” Sue’s voice broke through the fog.

He didn’t answer. His muscles seized, contracting violently. The alarms blared, piercing through the dim light of the room. He was aware of hands gripping him, the frantic movements of the medical team rushing in.

Someone yelled, “He’s seizing!”

In a whirlwind of activity, the staff rolled him onto his side to protect his airway. The lights flickered as Dr. Ramirez arrived, assessing the situation.

“Administer diazepam!” she commanded.

The room was chaotic, but Sue could only focus on Johnny’s face: pale, mouth opening in a silent cry. His body continued to convulse, a reflection of the turmoil within him.

The seizure felt like an eternity, though it lasted only a minute. When it finally subsided, Johnny lay still, breathing shallowly, his body trembling slightly.

“Get him to ICU,” Dr. Ramirez ordered, her voice firm. “We need to stabilize him. He’s in septic shock.”

The transfer was swift, urgent. Johnny was hooked up to more machines than Sue had ever seen. The ICU lights were dimmer, colder, but the mood was heavier.

“BP’s falling.”

“Heart rate’s elevated.”

“Still febrile. 103.6.”

Dr. Ramirez read from the preliminary report. “Cultures show early signs of gram-positive bacteria. He’s actively experiencing sepsis, likely from the CVC site. We need to prepare for aggressive treatment.”

The staff worked quickly, hanging new IV bags, adjusting monitors, and checking his vitals. Sue saw how someone stuck a tube into his throat to help him breathe. Sue felt paralyzed as she watched, her heart pounding in her chest as she held Johnny’s hand.

“Dr. Ramirez,” one of the nurses said, her voice low. “There’s some redness and swelling around his left thigh. I’m concerned it might be an infection.”

“Let’s get imaging done,” Ramirez replied, glancing at Sue. “Hopefully it is nothing, but we need to rule out something more serious. If there’s another infection we need to address it immediately.”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding. Sue felt a chill run down her spine. She didn’t want to think about what that could mean.

As the team continued to work, she leaned closer to Johnny. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, but the words felt hollow. He lay there, pale and vulnerable, his body fighting a battle she couldn’t see.

Please, she thought. Just hang on.

Chapter Text

The ICU was too quiet.

Machines beeped in slow, steady intervals. The ventilator hissed with each artificial breath, forcing oxygen into Johnny’s failing lungs. The fluorescent lights hummed above them, casting everything in a sterile, unnatural glow.

Sue hated it.

She sat beside the bed, gripping Johnny’s hand tightly, but there was no response. His skin was too cold. His body, once so full of restless energy, lay unnaturally still beneath the thin hospital sheets. The monitors showed his heart still beating, his lungs still moving- but none of it was real. The machines were the only thing keeping him here.

Her fingers tightened around his.

“You better not leave me,” she whispered. “You hear me? You better not leave me.”

The door swung open.

Dr. Martinez stepped inside, a folder clutched in her hands. She looked exhausted. The deep lines around her eyes had grown heavier in the last few hours, her usually composed demeanor strained.

Sue shot to her feet before she could speak. “What is it?”

Dr. Martinez glanced at Reed, who stood stiffly near the monitors, arms crossed so tightly against his chest that his knuckles had turned white. Then the doctor sighed. “We have the imaging results.”

Sue’s breath hitched.

The way she said it: calm, careful, deliberate; it all made her stomach lurch. She was preparing them. Bracing them for the blow.

Reed spoke first. “What did you find?”

Dr. Martinez set the folder down, flipping it open to reveal a set of scans. She pointed to the image of Johnny’s left thigh. The bone was marked with dark patches, spreading like rot beneath the surface.

“This,” she said, tracing the area with her finger, “is osteomyelitis. A severe infection of the bone.”

Sue felt her body go cold. “What?”

Dr. Martinez didn’t hesitate. “It’s why the antibiotics aren’t working. His immune system is too weak to fight it, and the infection has spread deep into the femur. This-” She tapped the darkened area again. “-is necrotic tissue. Dead bone. It’s acting as a reservoir for the infection, constantly feeding the bacteria back into his bloodstream.”

Sue’s mouth had gone dry. “So what does that mean?”

Dr. Martinez exhaled. “It means that no matter how many antibiotics we give him, they won’t be able to reach the source of the infection. The dead tissue is essentially trapping the bacteria, keeping them protected from treatment.”

She felt dizzy.

Reed, always the scientist, stepped forward. “But if we increase the antibiotic dose-”

Dr. Martinez shook her head. “We’re already maxing out what his body can handle. At this point, the infection isn’t just resistant: it’s overwhelming his system. If we don’t remove the source, the sepsis will continue to spread.”

Sue swallowed hard. “And if it keeps spreading?”

Dr. Martinez looked her in the eye.

“If we don’t act soon, he won’t survive the night.”

The words sucked all the air from the room.

Sue swayed, catching herself against the chair. “No.”

Dr. Martinez’s voice softened, but it didn’t waver. “His body is already shutting down. His kidneys are failing, his blood pressure is dropping despite the vasopressors, and his oxygen levels are unstable. Right now, he’s in septic shock.”

Reed tensed beside her. “Multi-organ failure,” he murmured, his voice hollow.

Dr. Martinez nodded grimly. “We are running out of time.”

Sue’s nails dug into her palms. “So what do we do?”

Dr. Martinez hesitated. Just for a moment. Then she said it.

“We need to amputate.”

Silence.

The word amputate echoed in Sue’s head, rattling around like a broken thing.

She shook her head. “No. No, you can’t just-”

“We have to,” Dr. Martinez said firmly. “If we don’t remove the infected bone, the sepsis will kill him.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“But he’s already so weak,” she choked out. “If you put him through surgery now, won’t that just…”

Dr. Martinez nodded solemnly. “Yes. There’s a significant chance that his body won’t tolerate the procedure. But without it, he has no chance at all.”

Sue turned to Reed, searching for something. An answer. An argument. A way out, but his face had gone pale. His eyes were locked on Johnny, his jaw clenched so tightly she thought he might shatter his own teeth.

He was thinking. Calculating. Looking for another option.

There wasn’t one.

Sue’s breath hitched.

“He’s seventeen,” she whispered. “He’s just a kid.”

Dr. Martinez’s expression softened. “I know.”

Sue’s hands were shaking.

The truth was, she had known this moment would come. Maybe not this exact moment, but something like it. Ever since Johnny had been diagnosed, ever since he had started looking at her with those exhausted, hollowed-out eyes, silently begging her to just let him rest, she had known.

She had made him fight. Through the chemo, through the endless treatments, through the pain, she had refused to let him give up. She had caught him red handed when he tried to give up, and still refused.

And now, if she said yes, she was signing away part of him. If he woke up, when he woke up, he would have to live with what she had chosen for him.

But if she said no he wouldn’t wake up at all.

She wiped her face, took a shaky breath, and straightened.

“We do it,” she said.

Reed inhaled sharply behind her, but she couldn’t look at him.

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t let it break. “I’m his legal guardian. I won’t let him die. Not for as long as there’s a chance.”

Reed’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, finally, he gave a small nod. “Do it.”

Dr. Martinez gave them both a solemn nod before turning to the nurses. “Prep him for surgery.”

The room exploded into motion. Machines beeped, nurses barked orders, all of the different tubes and wires attached to Johnny being prepared for transfer into the OR. Sue barely saw any of it. Her world had narrowed to Johnny.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. “I know you’re tired,” she whispered, voice thick. “I know you’re hurting. But you don’t get to give up right now. You don’t get to leave me.”

The bed moved beneath her hands.

She stepped back as they wheeled him toward the door. Her chest tightened, a raw, desperate ache tearing through her ribs.

Then he was gone. Just like that. She didn’t even remember the last thing he said-

She stood frozen for half a second before her knees gave out.

Reed caught her just before she hit the floor.

Chapter Text

Ben had actually been having a good day for once. He ate breakfast with Reed at Baxter building, Sue already being at the hospital when he woke up, but he saw the little smiley-note she had left Reed on the refridgerator.

Things had been tough for the last few months. He couldn’t really comprehend how fast everything went wrong. One day Johnny was healthy, the next he took a tumble in the air and was diagnosed with cancer.

And Ben hadn’t even been able to be there, all because of his so-called ‘Unique Physiology’. He wasn’t allowed in the hospital, except when they made an exception for him on Johnny’s birthday.

So he had been limited on seeing everything go down on a screen, silently supporting the kid and Sue through the nightmare. When Johnny had finally been able to come home after the first round he had changed. Ben didn’t care. It was still Johnny. Then he was rushed to the hospital again, and it wasn’t over. Months later, and it still wasn’t over.

So when Reed disappeared during lunch, Ben did his best not to think that anything was wrong.

At 22:34 that hope was brutally killed by a phone call from Sue, but when he picked up it was Reed who talked. As usual, most of the things he said meant absolutely nothing to Ben, but it didn’t sound good. Infection. Fever. Seizure. Johnny had a seizure, and was moved to the ICU.

“It is not looking good, Ben.” Reed sounded haunted. Ben could hear Sue crying in the background, and he could almost see they way the sobs wrecked her frame.

Ben closed his eyes, and felt Alicia rub her hand over his back. She had also been woken up by the call. He let the words continue to wash over him, a mix between words he knew and didn’t.

Sepsis. Septic shock. Multiple organ failure.

And for some reason: Amputation.

“Whoah, whoah. Slow down, da hell you talking about now?!”

Reed swallowed audibly. “The sepsis caused an infection in Johnny’s left femur. It’s- It’s in the bone itself.”

Ben blinked, trying to keep up.

“What?”

“It’s something called osteomyelitis. It’s killing the bone, trapping bacteria within it that feeds into the sepsis.”

Reed hesitated before adding the next part.

“If they don’t remove the infection, his leg, he won’t survive the night. But even if they do, it might already be too late. He’s… He’s not responding. His vitals are unstable. He’s on three vasopressors just to keep his blood pressure up. His kidneys are showing early signs of failure.”

Ben’s hand clutched the phone so tightly it creaked.

And still, in the background he heard Sue’s quiet crying. Sharp breaths. A choked-off sob.

“Jesus,” Ben whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Reed said, barely audible. “I- I didn’t want to say it like this. I didn’t want to say it at all.”

Ben pressed his palm over his eyes. His chest ached.

“I’m coming down there,” he said. “I need to be with him. If he… if he dies- I need to be there.”

Another pause.

“Ben… no. You can’t.”

Ben’s head snapped up. “What the hell do you mean I can’t?”

Reed’s voice cracked. “They won’t let you in. You know they won’t especially not into the ICU. Protective isolation. Right now he isn’t even there anyway. He’s in the OR-”

“I’ll scrub down. I’ll put on a dozen gowns. I’ll stand on the other side of the glass, Reed, don’t do this-”

“You think I don’t want you here?” Reed snapped, and for the first time, there was fire in his voice. Grief-blurred, desperate fire. “You think I don’t want you standing next to me and Sue, holding his hand, being there when…”

He cut himself off like it physically hurt to finish the sentence.

Sue’s voice broke through, high and raw. “He’s just a kid.”

Ben froze.

She wasn’t even talking to him, just saying it into the void. Like she was trying to convince the universe it had made a mistake.

“He’s just a kid, Reed.”

And Reed whispered, “I know.”

Ben sank back into the couch, numb.

“You let me know if anything changes,” he said, voice rough. “Anything. The second he wakes up. Or if he…”

He couldn’t finish it either.

Reed didn’t make him.

“I promise,” Reed whispered.

Sue was still crying. Reed’s voice was fraying. The world felt like it had tipped sideways.

“Here- Let me talk ta Sue.”

Some sort of silent axchange was going on on the other end, before Ben heard Sue’s shaky breaths into the microphone.

“Sue?” Ben asked softly, voice filled with concern.

“Ben,” she said, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back her tears. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m here,” he said gently, his voice steady. “I’m so sorry about all of this. I wish I could be there with you both.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, the pain evident in her tone. “How did we get here? He’s just a kid- It shouldn’t be him in there.”

“I know,” Ben replied, his voice thick with emotion. “And I know it feels impossible to accept. But Johnny’s a fighter. He’s been through so much already. We have to hold onto that.”

“But he might not make it,” Sue said, tears spilling over. “In fact- He probably won’t. They told us that themselves, Ben.”

“Don’t think like that,” Ben urged, his voice firm yet compassionate. “We have to believe he’s going to pull through. He needs us to stay strong for him. I know it’s hard, but we can’t give up on him.”

Sue closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath.

“I’m not giving up, but I am so scared that he is. I am not ready for him to die. Is that selfish of me? I’ve spent the entire evening seeing how much pain he’s in- And I still wish that he holds on just a little longer. Because I’m not ready.” Her voice broke off.

“You’re not selfish. You’re scared, and doing everything you can by being there for him,” Ben reassured her. “He needs to know you’re with him, that you love him. That’s what matters right now.”

“I love him so much,” Sue whispered, her voice breaking again. “I can’t lose him. I just can’t.”

“I’ll be here,” Ben said. “All night. Just… tell him I’m here. Even if he doesn’t know or can’t hear the words. Just tell him.”

“I will.”

Ben lowered the phone slowly and stared at the screen as the call ended.

Alicia touched his arm. “Ben…”

He didn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Time didn’t exist anymore.

Johnny floated.

Sometimes, there were voices. They were sharp and urgent, talking about him, around him. Other times, there was nothing but the deep, unbearable heat pressing against his skin, curling into his chest, seeping into his bones.

The pain in his leg was unbearable now, a pulsing, festering thing that refused to let up. It wasn’t just in his calf anymore; it was everywhere, radiating through his entire body, sinking its claws into his spine, his skull, his ribs.

He wasn’t even sure if he was conscious.

Everything blurred together.

“…Moving him to the OR soon…”

“…elevate the limb…”

“…cardiac stress…need to stabilize…”

Hands adjusting something. Cool fingers pressing against his burning skin.

He tried to move. His body wouldn’t listen.

The voices were more urgent now.

“…heart rate unstable…”

“…too weak for anesthesia…”

“…he doesn’t have much time…”

I know, Johnny thought dully.

He could feel it.

The way his body was shutting down. The way everything was slowing, like a car running out of gas, sputtering toward an inevitable stop.

And yet-

He was still here.

He exhaled shakily, barely aware of it.

Then,

A new sensation.

Cool air against his overheated skin. The soft hum of machines, different than the ones he was used to. The bright, sterile scent of antiseptic.

Something was wrong.

This wasn’t his hospital room.

There were voices, doctors, nurses, shifting around him, adjusting things. His arms were strapped down.

He tried to move.

A light touch landed on his forehead.

“Johnny?”

Sue.

Her voice was thick with something… Fear? Grief?

His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, but her voice wavered. “They’re gonna take care of you now, okay?”

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t want to understand.

A new voice joined hers. “His breathing’s too shallow, we need to intubate now.”

There was pressure against his face. Something firm, something foreign, something sliding down his throat.

Panic surged. His body jerked instinctively, but his muscles were too weak to fight back.

Then…

Nothing.

Time passed.

He wasn’t sure how much.

He drifted in and out, never fully awake, never fully asleep.

When he finally surfaced again, things felt sharper.

The meds weren’t as heavy. The fog in his head was starting to lift.

And the pain.

The pain was still there.

A dull, constant ache, radiating from his lower body, curling deep into his bones. But it was manageable. Less like his body was actively being torn apart, more like a deep bruise settling in.

He let out a slow breath.

Okay.

That was okay.

It wasn’t great, but it was better than before.

His fingers twitched against the blanket, testing movement. His arms were weak, but they responded. His right leg, too, shifted slightly beneath the sheets.

His left-

Johnny frowned.

Something was wrong.

There was pain. He could feel it, deep and steady, wrapping around what should’ve been his knee, his calf, his ankle.

But…

Something was wrong.

His breath hitched slightly, his sluggish brain struggling to piece together why.

He flexed his foot.

Or rather, he tried to.

His fingers curled tighter around the blanket. His pulse kicked up.

No.

His foot- No, his whole leg-

His breath came sharper, his chest rising and falling too fast.

Sue was there in an instant. “Johnny?”

He turned his head slightly, his vision hazy but locking onto her.

His lips were dry, his throat still hoarse.

“…Where?” His breath shuddered. “Where’s my-?”

The words caught in his throat.

Sue’s face crumpled.

His pulse was racing now, panic crawling up his spine.

He couldn’t move his leg because it wasn’t there.

Not because of the pain, not because he was weak.

Because it was gone.

A sharp, twisting pressure shot through his calf, except there was no calf.

His stomach lurched. This had to be a dream. The cancer was in his blood- They had no reason to take his leg of all things.

His breathing was too fast, too shallow. His heart pounded in his chest, the monitor beside him beeping rapidly.

Sue leaned in, her hands pressing gently on his arms, grounding him.

“Johnny,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Breathe.”

He barely heard her.

His whole body was trembling, cold seeping into his bones despite the heat of the blankets.

Even if it was just a dream- They had taken it.

His leg.

They had taken it.

His breath came out in short, broken gasps. His chest felt too tight, the room too small.

Sue’s fingers curled around his hand, firm but careful. “Johnny, listen to me,” she murmured. “You were dying. The infection was spreading. If they didn’t-” Her voice wavered. “If they didn’t take your leg, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn’t understand.

His whole body felt wrong.

Like a part of him had been carved out, erased, leaving behind nothing but empty space and pain that shouldn’t even exist.

The panic twisted tighter in his chest.

His fingers clenched weakly against the sheets.

Sue’s voice wavered. “Johnny, please.”

His breath hitched.

He was so tired.

Too tired to keep fighting.

But Sue, Sue was looking at him like he was breaking apart right in front of her.

Like she didn’t know how to hold him together.

And didn’t want to see that.

Not right now.

So he let out a shaky, uneven breath.

And he forced himself to nod.

Sue’s face crumpled with relief.

Her hands tightened around his, anchoring him to the moment, to her.

Johnny let his head sink back into the pillow.

His body still ached. His head was still spinning.

Everything felt wrong.

But he was alive.

For better or worse-

He was alive.

They told him of the plan going forward two days after he properly woke up. Not the first time in the ICU, but rather the second time in his regular room.

It should’ve been obvious. But his mind was slow, thick with exhaustion, weighed down by medication and something deeper. Something heavier. Everything felt distant. His body didn’t feel like his own, his thoughts sluggish and tangled.

So he wasn’t really thinking about the deal.

How could he, when all he had been trying to do was survive?

But the infection was under control now. His body was healing. And that meant…

It meant…

Reed was talking.

“We need to continue the last round of chemo.”

Johnny blinked slowly. His head felt too heavy to lift, his limbs leaden. The words didn’t make sense at first. They reached him as if from underwater, muffled and strange.

Finish?

Chemo?

Something cold slid through his chest, but it was distant, dulled by everything else pressing down on him. He swallowed thickly, trying to focus, but his vision blurred at the edges.

“No.” The word slipped out automatically, barely above a whisper.

There was movement near the foot of his bed. Ramirez. Her voice was careful. “Johnny-”

“No,” he said again, but it came out weaker this time, breathy and unsteady. His fingers twitched against the blanket, but that was all he could manage.

He tried to sit up, tried to gather enough strength to push himself upright, but his body refused to cooperate. The effort sent his pulse spiking, nausea curling tight in his stomach.

Everything ached.

His chest. His head. His throat. His leg- except, no, not his leg.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, the blankets felt wrong. Too flat. Looking down at the bed, he still expected to see two similar shapes hiding under the covers, but there wasn’t.

A flicker of panic skittered through his chest, but before he could process it, Sue’s hand tightened around his wrist. Warm, steady.

He blinked at her, still trying to catch up.

“Johnny,” she said softly.

Her eyes were red.

Why were her eyes red?

His stomach twisted.

“Are you serious?” His voice came out uneven, barely there. His throat was dry, his mouth tasting stale and bitter. “You- you want me to keep going?”

Sue inhaled sharply. “Johnny, this was always the plan.”

Plan.

That word felt wrong, too.

Hadn’t the plan been- hadn’t he already-?

His head felt stuffed with cotton. He couldn’t think straight. He swallowed again, but it didn’t help. His body felt too light and too heavy all at once, everything distant and wrong.

“The plan was…” He trailed off, brow furrowing as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I…”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was so tired.

“I lost my leg,” he murmured. His fingers curled weakly in the sheets, but he could barely feel them.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating.

“I know,” Sue whispered, her grip tightening just slightly.

His breath came shallow and uneven. He could feel his pulse in his throat, weak and thready.

“I can’t even get out of bed,” he rasped. “And you- you think I can survive more chemo?”

Sue let out a soft, shaky breath. “Johnny-”

“I can’t.” He shook his head, or at least, he thought he did. He wasn’t sure if his body actually moved. “I can’t do this again.”

Ramirez leaned forward, her voice gentle but steady. “I know it feels impossible right now. But we wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t believe you could handle it.”

Johnny let out a soft, breathy laugh- except it wasn’t really a laugh at all. Just a broken sound, barely there.

“You don’t know that.”

Reed hesitated, then spoke quietly. “Johnny, I know how much this has taken from you. And I know it’s not fair.”

“Unfair was the first time,” Johnny murmured. His head lolled slightly to the side, his breath shaky. “This is just… cruel.”

Sue inhaled sharply. “I know it feels that way.”

“It is.” His voice was barely a whisper now, hoarse and thin.

Sue was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly-

“We made a deal.”

Johnny blinked sluggishly.

Deal.

Right.

One more round.

That had been-

Had it been his idea? No. Sue’s.

His pulse fluttered. His chest felt too tight.

“Johnny,” Reed said carefully, “we still believe you can do this.”

His vision blurred.

He was so, so tired.

Sue’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist. He could barely feel it.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Ramirez said quietly.

Johnny exhaled slowly. It came out shaky, barely controlled.

“Then I won’t,” he whispered.

He turned his head away, eyes slipping shut.

Sue wiped at her face, exhaling through her nose.

She didn’t say anything.

For now, at least, she let him be.

Chapter Text

Johnny barely spoke for the rest of the day. He turned away from everyone, as much as he could physically move through the pain and heaviness in his limbs. All four of them, even though one of them was gone. He tried not to think about it, but it was impossible. Not only did it hurt, but it was also swollen and gnarly. Every time he looked down he expected to see his leg. Like, c’mon, it’s his leg! But it just wasn’t there. He was relieved that it was way too bandaged to see how it really looked. It needed to heal more before that.

He hated Sue, who undoubtedly made the decision. He hated the stupid doctors who did it. He hated the hospital, the chemo, some stupid infection he couldn’t pronounce if his life so depended on it- He hated it all.

…Couldn’t he just have died? He had been so close. It was unfair. He had been behaving like a good boy, doing what he was told, taking his meds, talking to his fucking family, and yet… He still lost.

He felt his eyes tear up, and he turned down into the pillow to let the fabric soak them in. He hated cancer. He hated cancer so, so much. In his head he had always seen two possible futures for him: One where he survived, and one where he died.

And he would probably die. He had nothing left to give, nothing else he was willing to give. Yet even if he survived at this point, he would be altered forever. He never imagined that third option: where he would be left alive, but not all of him. There were no future where he could pretend the cancer didn’t happen. He wouldn’t get that piece of mind.

Sue didn’t leave his side, but she didn’t try to talk to him again. Not about that. She must’ve known he wasn’t ready.

Reed, on the other hand, had retreated into silence, lost in thought the way he always was when he was working through a problem. Johnny knew what that meant. It meant he was looking for answers. For solutions.

But there weren’t any.

Not for this.

That night, Johnny barely slept.

The phantom pain in his missing leg came in waves, a sharp, pulsing ache that felt like someone was twisting a knife into his shin, his ankle, his toes. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe through it, but it didn’t help. The pain was there. It was real.

And worst of all, he kept trying to move it.

Even though it was gone.

That thought made his stomach churn.

He hated this. He hated this.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Johnny had asked to be alone. Sue had hesitated (of course she had), but after checking twice that there was nothing in reach he could use to hurt himself, she had kissed his forehead, whispered she’d be back in a little while, and left.

And now, Johnny laid there, weak and somewhat feverish, his body sinking into the mattress like dead weight. His limbs were too heavy to move, his head thick with exhaustion. Every breath felt sluggish, dragging in and out of his aching chest.

He was so tired.

None of this made sense.

His body had fought so hard to survive. He had fought so hard.

And for what?

He had nothing left. He was nothing.

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind slipping sideways, half-conscious, half-dreaming.

The air shifted.

Johnny’s brow furrowed slightly.

A shadow moved in the dim moonlight, just past the glow of the monitors.

The air smelled different, sharp like metal and something faintly herbal, something foreign.

“Jonathan.”

Johnny’s eyes barely opened.

A figure stood at the foot of his bed, half-shrouded in darkness, the dim blue glow of the machines casting long shadows across his silver mask.

Victor Von Doom.

Johnny blinked sluggishly, his vision swimming.

He had to be dreaming.

“Real…?” he croaked, voice wrecked. His throat was raw, every word scraping out like sandpaper.

Doom tilted his head slightly. “I was real last time.”

Johnny let out a weak, rasping breath. “Yeah… guess you were.”

His head lolled against the pillow, too exhausted to keep looking at him. His body felt distant, weightless, like he was floating just beneath the surface of reality.

“You look worse,” Doom observed.

Johnny let out a soft, breathy huff. Maybe it was supposed to be a laugh. “Yeah. Not really thriving over here.”

Doom didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Then, carefully

“Have you decided?”

Johnny’s fingers twitched weakly against the blanket.

“Decided what?” he rasped, even though he already knew.

Doom exhaled through his nose. “Do not play dumb, Storm. It does not suit you.”

Johnny swallowed thickly. His throat was so dry. He barely had the energy to respond.

He didn’t want to respond.

Because the truth was simple.

He hadn’t decided.

He couldn’t decide.

His body was wrecked. His mind was wrecked. The idea of enduring another round of chemo, of more suffering, was unbearable.

But-

The thought of stopping…

Of giving up…

That wasn’t easy either.

“…Dunno,” he murmured tiredly. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

Doom made a soft, unimpressed sound. “You have never been one for hesitation, Johnny. You’re reckless. Stubborn. Foolhardy. And yet, now, you sit at the precipice of life and death, and you choose to stall?”

Johnny’s fingers curled weakly into the sheets.

He was so tired.

Too tired for this.

“I don’t… have anything left,” he breathed. “I fought. I lost. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

Doom was silent for a long moment.

Then:

“You have already endured far more than someone your age should.” he said, his voice quieter now, steady. “And yet you live.”

Johnny flinched. His stomach twisted.

Doom took a step closer, his shadow stretching across the bed. “I have seen men broken by far less. You, however, are not broken. You are battered. Weakened. But you are still here.”

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

“And what happens,” Doom continued, “if you stop here? If you allow this to be the end?”

Johnny swallowed, his throat too tight.

Doom’s voice was measured, unwavering.

“You have already suffered. Already lost. If you surrender now, then everything you endured will have been for nothing.”

Johnny’s breath hitched.

His heart was pounding weakly in his chest.

He wanted to argue. To snap back.

But Doom was right.

Johnny hated that Doom was right.

He had lost his leg. His body had been broken down, torn apart, stitched back together again.

And for what?

To stop now?

To let it all be pointless?

Johnny’s fingers twitched again, gripping the sheets.

He couldn’t do this again.

But…

He also couldn’t stop now.

“…I don’t know,” he murmured, voice shaking.

Doom exhaled softly, like he already knew Johnny’s choice before he did.

“You do,” he said simply.

Johnny let out a slow, shuddering breath.

Doom shifted slightly, stepping back toward the shadows. “I will leave you to it.”

Johnny barely managed to turn his head, sluggish and exhausted. “You always do.”

Doom didn’t reply.

His figure blurred, Johnny’s vision dimming, the exhaustion dragging him under.

By the time he blinked again he was alone.

The room was still. Silent.

Like Doom had never been there at all.

Johnny let out a slow, shaking breath.

His body was still too heavy. His head still spun.

Maybe it really had been a dream.

His gaze flickered toward the bedside table-

And there, neatly placed beside his water glass, was a small, carefully wrapped pouch of Latverian herbal tea.

Johnny’s breath caught.

Real.

It was real.

His chest ached, something twisting deep in his ribs.

Doom was right.

He hated that Doom was right.

Johnny stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow… He vaguely thought.

Tomorrow, he would tell them.

Johnny barely slept.

He was too exhausted to stay awake, but his body refused to rest. His mind looped over the same thoughts, the same exhaustion, the same question: was this worth it?

He didn’t have an answer.

A Conversation in the Dark

Sometime early that morning, Reed came back.

Johnny wasn’t asleep, but he had his eyes closed, pretending. It didn’t work.

“You’re awake,” Reed murmured.

Johnny let out a quiet breath, cracking one eye open. “No shit, genius.”

Reed exhaled softly, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “I wanted to check on you.”

Johnny didn’t answer.

Reed didn’t push.

For a while, there was just silence. The hum of the machines, the quiet beeping of the monitors.

“I ran through all the research I could find.” Reed’s voice was careful. “On cases like yours. On recovery outcomes.”

Johnny swallowed. “And?”

Reed hesitated. Then, softly,

“If we stop now, before remission, there is no alternative treatment. It would be the end. We have to finish.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. He knew that. Of course, he knew that. But hearing it out loud, hearing that there really wasn’t a way out, made something inside him crack.

Reed leaned forward slightly. “Johnny, I know you don’t want this. I know how much it’s taken from you. But I need you to understand: if we don’t finish this, everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve lost…” He swallowed. “It won’t matter.”

Johnny closed his eyes.

He already knew that.

But it didn’t make it any easier.

By morning, Johnny still hadn’t given an answer.

Not until Sue sat down beside him, her hands gentle as they took his.

“Johnny,” she said softly. “You don’t have to say yes right now. But if you don’t-” Her voice wavered. “If you don’t, we need to start thinking about palliative care.”

That was what you gave people who weren’t going to make it.

Johnny’s throat tightened. “I-”

He stopped.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

He thought of the months he’d spent fighting. The endless days of sickness, of exhaustion. The hospital walls, the wires, the pain.

Johnny’s pulse kicked up. “You mean… Letting me give up?”

Sue inhaled sharply. “No. I mean stopping treatment. Focusing on making sure you’re comfortable.”

His breath was uneven. “So I just- That’s it? You will let me stop?”

Her face crumpled. She hated the hope in his voice.

Reed looked away.

The room felt too small.

Too quiet.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut.

“I- I thought you didn’t want me to die,” he muttered.

Sue’s breath hitched.

“I know,” she said softly. “But it’s your life, Johnny.”

His throat felt tight.

“I don’t want to die.”

She inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening against the blanket. “Then fight.”

He hesitated.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Fighting hurt. Fighting meant more pain, more weakness, more of everything that had nearly killed him already.

But stopping…

Stopping meant…

His breath shuddered.

Sue reached for his hand. “Johnny,” she whispered. “Just one more.”

He swallowed hard.

One more.

And if it worked-

If it worked, he would keep going.

If it didn’t…

“…If this puts me in remission,” Johnny murmured finally, “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay there.” His voice was hoarse, unsure. “But if not-” His throat tightened. “-I want first-class tickets to Malibu.”

Sue let out a shaky breath, half a laugh, half something else entirely.

Reed exhaled, shoulders sagging slightly.

And Johnny closed his eyes.

One more.

Just one more.

And then no one could say he didn’t try.

His chest rose and fell in a shaky breath.

“…Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

Sue squeezed his hand, and for the first time since waking up, Johnny let himself lean into her touch.

Because this was it.

One last try.

And then…

Then it would be over.

+Bonus scene

Reed’s gaze flickered toward the bedside table.

Johnny saw the exact moment he noticed it.

The small pouch of Latverian herbal tea, resting neatly beside the water glass.

Reed’s eyes narrowed.

“…Where did that come from?”

Johnny didn’t answer.

Reed reached for it, turning it over in his fingers. “This looks-” His expression shifted. “This is Doom’s.”

Sue’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Johnny stayed quiet.

Reed stared at him. “Johnny…”

“It’s tea,” Johnny muttered, looking away.

Reed’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He knew Johnny was avoiding the question.

Sue exhaled sharply. “Seriously? This isn’t funny.”

Johnny sighed, exhausted. “I know.”

Sue ran a hand through her hair, her shoulders tense. “You’re telling me Doom just, what? Broke into your hospital room and gave you tea?”

Johnny swallowed.

“…Yeah. Pretty much.”

Reed’s expression darkened. “And what did he say?”

Johnny hesitated.

Then, finally:

“He told me to finish what I started.”

Silence.

Sue shook her head. “I hate that he’s right.”

Johnny let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”

Reed didn’t say anything. But after a long moment he set the tea back down.

“…Alright,” he murmured.

Chapter Text

Johnny stared at the IV line.

It was already hooked up, the clear tubing snaking up to the bag of poison hanging from the IV pole. The pump beeped softly, ready to start the slow, steady drip into his veins.

He should have been used to this by now.

He wasn’t.

His stomach churned. His chest felt tight.

Even knowing this was his choice, that he had agreed to this, didn’t make it easier.

Because this wasn’t just a bag of chemo.

This was hell in liquid form.

A nurse stood beside him, glancing between Johnny and the pump’s screen. “You ready?”

No.

He wasn’t.

But he gave a weak nod anyway.

The nurse pressed a button.

The pump whirred.

And just like that, the poison was inside him.

Johnny exhaled slowly, pressing his head back against the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling. It had begun.

Again.

Sue wasn’t smiling.

She tried to. She really did.

She sat in the chair beside him, one leg tucked under the other, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist like she could hold him together through sheer force. “You know,” she said, trying to sound casual, “we should do something fun this time.”

Johnny flicked his gaze toward her. “Fun?” he repeated, voice already dry.

Sue lifted her chin. “Yeah. Like… a game or something. Something to pass the time.”

He huffed. “I have a game.” He lifted the Game Boy weakly, resting in his lap. “Reed’s ancient tech museum donation.”

“Hey,” Reed muttered from across the room. “That’s a collectible.”

Sue ignored him. “Okay, fine, but that thing doesn’t even have color.”

“Wow,” Johnny muttered. “You’re really selling me on staying alive.”

Sue’s face twitched.

The joke landed wrong.

Johnny felt it.

He swallowed. He hadn’t meant it like that.

“…Sorry,” he muttered.

Sue exhaled sharply. Then, slowly, she nodded. “It’s fine.” She forced a smile. “Maybe we do a bet instead.”

Johnny raised a brow. “A bet?”

“Yeah.” She shifted in her seat. “If you don’t puke in the next three hours, I’ll…” She squinted. “I don’t know. Let you pick my next haircut.”

Johnny blinked.

Sue had already shaved her head once for him, back when this nightmare first started.

“You’d do that?” he asked.

Sue shrugged. “Sure. But if you do puke, then I get to pick the next dumb thing you post online.”

Johnny huffed, shaking his head. “You’re assuming I’ll have followers left when I get out of here.”

Sue nudged him. “Is that a no?”

Johnny was silent for a second.

Then, weakly, “…Fine.”

Sue’s grin was instant.

“Three hours,” she declared, tapping the watch on her wrist. “Clock starts now.”

Johnny sighed.

This was so stupid.

But Sue’s eyes were brighter than they had been in weeks.

And maybe, just maybe, he could give her this.

Reed watched quietly from across the room.

Sue was trying.

She always tried.

And Johnny…

Johnny was playing along.

That was a good sign.

Reed knew better than to think this would be easy. None of it had been. But watching Johnny lean into the banter, seeing some of his fire return, however weak-

It mattered.

“You know,” Reed said after a moment, adjusting his glasses, “you’d have better odds of winning if you drank more water.”

Johnny groaned.

“I already have a mom,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Reed said, unimpressed. “And she’s currently deciding whether or not to let you butcher her hair.”

Sue pointed at him. “Thank you.”

Johnny exhaled, rolling his eyes. But when Reed handed him a water bottle, he took it.

Small victories.

Reed would take them.

Two hours later, Johnny was asleep.

The first dose always hit fast.

The fatigue crept in, slowly at first, then all at once. His limbs felt heavier, his stomach a slow, rolling storm of nausea waiting to break. He had barely managed to blink through half a level of Tetris before his body gave in.

Sue stayed.

She didn’t let go of his wrist.

Reed sat nearby, typing away on his tablet, eyes flicking toward Johnny every few minutes.

The pump beeped.

More medication. More poison.

Sue let out a slow breath, fingers tightening just a little.

The fight had begun.

And this time, he... Still wasn't ready. 

...

You never were.

Johnny was miserable, but at least he had bragging rights.

Sue came in the next morning, coffee in hand, looking exhausted.

Johnny barely had the energy to smirk at her. But he did.

“I won,” he rasped, voice hoarse from dehydration.

Sue frowned. “What?”

He licked his cracked lips, swallowing thickly. “Didn’t puke. I win.”

Sue stared at him.

Then, snorted. “You slept through it, dumbass.”

Johnny tilted his head slightly, mock-thoughtful. “Still counts.”

Sue rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Fine. You win.”

Johnny hummed, victorious. Then, weakly, “I’ll collect my prize when your hair grows out.”

Sue huffed. “It’s been months, Johnny, it’s already grown out.”

Johnny shook his head. “Nah. Not long enough. Give it, like… another few inches.”

Sue laughed, brushing a hand through her hair, still shorter than before, but growing.

It was a reminder of how long this fight had been.

How much had changed.

But for now, at least, Johnny had won something.

Later that evening, after another brutal round of chemo, Sue propped up Johnny’s tablet, Ben’s face filling the screen.

“Hey, Matchstick.”

Johnny snorted. “Which part of me is still a matchstick?”

Ben grinned. “Ain’t about what’s on the outside, kid. You’re still a pain in the ass, so you must still be Johnny Storm.”

Johnny huffed. “Wow. Touching.”

Ben’s smile softened. “How ya holdin’ up?”

Johnny shifted weakly against the pillows. His body felt like lead, exhaustion pressing into every muscle. The nausea hadn’t let up, and he had zero energy left.

But he wasn’t dead.

So.

“Been worse,” he muttered.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

Johnny paused.

Then, quietly, “Yeah.”

Ben studied him. “So what’s eatin’ at ya?”

Johnny exhaled, staring at the ceiling. “Everything.”

Ben waited.

Johnny hesitated, then sighed.

“It’s just…” He swallowed, voice rough. “I chose this, right? I chose to do this last round. But it still… sucks.” His fingers curled weakly into the blanket. “And I’m so tired, Ben. I don’t even know if it’s working. What if-”

He stopped.

Ben’s expression darkened. “Don’t go there.”

Johnny huffed weakly. “It’s a fair question.”

Ben leaned in, voice firm. “It’s also a pointless one. We ain’t there yet, kid. And until we are? You keep fightin’.”

Johnny shut his eyes. His body ached. He felt sick, exhausted, drained.

But Ben was right.

They weren’t there yet.

He’d keep fighting.

Even if it sucked.

Even if it felt endless.

Because he chose this.

And he wasn’t backing down now.

A week later, Johnny felt it start.

The universe sure had an irony to it- And it was currently laughing at him.

It started small. A scratch in his throat, barely worth noticing. He waved it off, brushing past Sue’s concern with a lazy smirk and a half-hearted “I’m fine.” But the next morning, the scratch had turned into a cough, deep and rattling in his chest. Reed checked his vitals, frowning at his slightly elevated temperature, but Johnny dismissed it. “It’s just a cold,” he muttered. “Not a big deal.”

By nightfall, he wasn’t so sure.

His muscles ached in a way that had nothing to do with chemo, his skin felt too hot, and every breath came with a dull pressure in his ribs. Sue hovered at his bedside, watching him too closely, but he didn’t have the energy to tease her about it.

Another day passed. Then another.

And then, just like that, he was slipping.

The exhaustion hit like a freight train, his limbs leaden, his head pounding. His chest tightened, breathing turning shallow and uneven. The nausea that had been a constant companion now curled around his ribs like a vice. Even drinking water felt like running a marathon.

Somewhere in the background, he heard voices; Sue’s, sharp with worry, and Reed’s, steady but strained. Their words blurred together, distant echoes of a world Johnny wasn’t fully part of anymore. He slept.

Then came the fever.

It burned through him, twisting reality into something unfamiliar. The hospital room melted away, and suddenly, he was airborne: flames licking at his skin, the wind roaring past his ears. He was flying again, free, weightless. The sky stretched endlessly in front of him, an open expanse of light and heat.

Then, just as quickly, the vision shattered.

He was on the ground, fighting. Not a villain, not some cosmic horror, just Sue. They were kids again, standing in their old house, arguing over something stupid. He saw the way her eyes burned with frustration, the way her fists clenched at her sides. He wanted to yell, to tease, to push her buttons just because he could.

But the words wouldn’t come. His throat was raw, his body too weak to even imagine speaking.

The scene shifted.

A mirror. A reflection staring back at him. Not the man he was now, but the kid he used to be before the powers, before the fame, before the sickness. The younger Johnny tilted his head, eyes sharp, curious.

“You still wanna do this?” the kid asked. His voice was light, easy. “You sure?”

Johnny blinked. His skin was on fire- no, freezing. His body couldn’t decide what it was supposed to feel like. His muscles ached like they’d been wrung dry. The simple act of existing was exhausting.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

The kid hummed, rocking back on his heels. “That’s not an answer.”

“Yeah, well,” Johnny swallowed thickly. “I don’t have one.”

The kid sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Then you gotta figure it out, man. ‘Cause right now? You’re kinda in the middle of it.”

Johnny tried to laugh, but it came out weak and wheezing. “No kidding.”

The kid smirked, then faded into the static.

“His fever’s not breaking.”

Sue’s voice was taut, barely held together. Johnny could feel her fingers wrapped around his wrist, grounding him to the real world. He wanted to squeeze back, to let her know he was still here, but his body wouldn’t cooperate.

“We have to keep going,” Reed’s voice came next, controlled but fraying at the edges. “He knew this round would be brutal.”

“He didn’t know it would kill him.”

Reed exhaled sharply. “It’s not going to kill him.”

Sue’s grip tightened. “You don’t know that.”

Silence. Heavy. Pressing.

Johnny tried to open his mouth, to tell them to knock it off, to make a joke, to say anything, but no words came. Just the sound of the IV pump, the beeping monitor, and his own ragged breathing.

The cold had nearly wiped him out.

Sue’s worry grew with every shiver that wracked his frame. Reed monitored his vitals with growing concern. Even a simple cold, something that wouldn’t have even slowed him down before, was now something dangerous.

His breaths came short and labored, and at one point, the nurses considered moving him to a higher-care unit. But with careful monitoring, fluids, and medication, they managed to stabilize him just in time. It wasn’t a miracle recovery, (it never was) but it was enough to keep him out of the ICU.

Hours passed. Or maybe days. Time didn’t make sense anymore.

But at some point, the fever broke.

Johnny’s body still felt like a battlefield, but the fire beneath his skin had dimmed. He cracked his eyes open to find Sue slumped in a chair beside him, exhaustion carved into every inch of her. Reed was standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, staring at Johnny like he was an equation that still needed solving.

Johnny swallowed, his throat raw. “Still here,” he rasped.

Sue startled, eyes flying open. When she saw him awake, her breath hitched. She didn’t cry, he knew she wouldn’t. But her hand shot forward, gripping his tightly, like she was afraid he’d slip away again.

Reed sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You gave us a scare.”

Johnny exhaled, exhausted. “That’s… kinda my thing.”

Sue let out a watery laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

Johnny managed a weak smile. “Yeah. But I’m still here.”

For better or worse. 

...he hoped it was for the better.

Chapter Text

Johnny wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel when it was over.

The last bag of round three (and a half) ran dry with a soft beep from the IV pump. A nurse moved efficiently to disconnect the tubing, pressing a piece of gauze against the port in his chest before securing it with medical tape. The process was routine, something he’d been through more times than he could count, but this time was different.

Because this time, there was no next bag waiting. No more poison to drip into his veins. No more chemicals to burn their way through his body, leaving him hollowed out and raw.

It was over.

Sue was there, perched on the edge of his bed like she had been for weeks. Her hands twisted anxiously in her lap, eyes darting between Johnny and the now-empty IV pole as if expecting another round to appear out of nowhere. She had spent so long bracing herself for the next dose, the next fight, that the sudden nothingness left her unmoored.

Reed, who had been watching the machine from his self-appointed workspace at the end of the bed, glanced up. “That’s the last of it.”

Johnny let out a slow breath. “So this is what freedom feels like.”

One of the nurses, a familiar woman named Linda, smiled warmly as she finished disposing of the IV tubing. “It’s a big moment, Johnny. You made it.”

Another nurse, Mark, chimed in from the doorway. “You’re officially out of the ring, at least for the chemo part. We should throw a party.”

“A hospital party?” Johnny muttered. “Sounds wild. Juice boxes for everyone.”

Sue huffed a laugh, but there was a slight wobble to it, like she was holding something back. Her fingers were still curled around his wrist, grounding herself just as much as him.

Ben was on video call, his face filling the small screen of Reed’s tablet. “Look at you, Matchstick. Still breathin’.” His voice was rough, but there was something undeniably soft in it. “Knew you would.”

Johnny swallowed. He wanted to believe that meant something, that surviving meant winning, but all he could think about was how much more waiting there was still ahead.

Reed, ever the problem-solver, pushed his glasses up his nose. “Medically speaking, you’re in the best position possible for remission. Statistically-”

“Reed,” Sue cut him off gently. “Not now.”

Reed hesitated before nodding, returning to his tablet as if solving a new equation in his head.

Mark patted Johnny’s shoulder. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on you, but for now, celebrate the win. You deserve it.”

Linda nodded. “And no matter what happens next, you’ve gotten through the hardest part.”

Johnny wasn’t sure if he believed that.

But he nodded anyway.

Johnny had spent so much time feeling like a ghost of himself that he almost forgot what it was like to be himself.

But that was the thing about surviving; at some point, you had to figure out what came next.

The problem was, he wasn’t sure how.

His leg was gone. That much was obvious.

But knowing it and feeling it were two very different things.

The phantom pain was constant, deep, twisting aches curling through the limb that no longer existed. Sometimes it felt like his foot was still there, cramping up, the muscles tight and burning. Other times, it was sharp, an electric jolt shooting up from where his knee should have been.

It was wrong.

Even when the pain wasn’t there, it was.

He’d reach to adjust the blanket, only to find empty space. He’d try to shift in bed, expecting the solid weight of his foot against the mattress, only to feel nothing. Every time he looked down, it sent his stomach twisting, his brain still struggling to catch up with what his body already knew.

It was easier not to look at it.

But that didn’t change the fact that it was there. Or rather… wasn’t.

The doctors told him it would get better with time. That the nerve endings were still confused, still expecting signals from a limb that no longer existed.

Maybe they were right.

But right now? It sucked.

And it wasn’t just the pain.

Everything was harder now.

Sitting up. Moving. Even reaching for things felt different, his balance completely shot. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on his legs for everything until suddenly, one was missing.

He wasn’t used to feeling small.

But here he was.

Weak. Unbalanced. Not even strong enough to move himself from the bed to the chair without help.

And that?

That was maybe the worst part.

It took a week before the doctors gave him the okay to leave his room again.

He almost didn’t take them up on it.

But he had spent weeks cooped up in the same four walls, first with the bone infection, then the surgery, then recovery, then chemo again. He was starting to hate this room, the way the monitors beeped, the way the walls never changed, the way the air smelled too clean, too sterile.

So, when the nurse came in with a wheelchair and an offer to take him to the common room, he didn’t argue.

Sue had been surprised at first, then relieved.

“Are you sure?” she had asked, already grabbing his blanket.

He had shrugged, too tired to put much emotion into it. “Might as well.”

He wasn’t sure he was ready to see anyone.

But it wasn’t like waiting longer would change anything.

So, he let the nurse help him into the wheelchair, awkward and slow, his body still too weak to move the way he wanted it to. His missing leg throbbed as he shifted, his body still adjusting to the absence.

He ignored it.

He had to.

The common room was the same as he remembered it. Light spilling through the tall windows, the soft murmur of conversation, the faint hum of a TV playing some random movie. A couple of the other patients were already there, talking or playing cards.

It was normal.

Johnny had never felt further from normal in his life.

At first, no one noticed him.

Then they did.

“Holy shit.”

All eyes turned toward him.

Johnny resisted the urge to shrink into himself.

They had seen him sick before.

But they had never seen him like this.

It wasn’t just the fact that he looked worse than before, his skin still pale and drawn, his body thinner than it had ever been. It wasn’t even the fact that he was in a wheelchair now, too weak to walk on his own.

No.

It was the leg.

Or lack thereof.

One of the kids, Lucas, recovered first.

“…Dude.” He let out a breath. “You weren’t kidding when you said shit kept getting worse.”

Johnny barked out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Turns out, cancer’s a real dick.”

The tension in the room eased slightly.

“Do you get, like, a cool prosthetic now?” another kid, Milo, asked, tilting his head. “Because if you do, I vote for a flamethrower attachment.”

Johnny smirked. “I am the flamethrower, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

They laughed.

Just like that, the mood shifted.

And for the first time in weeks, Johnny felt like a person again.

They watched a movie together.

It was some dumb action flick, full of explosions and one-liners. Exactly the kind of thing Johnny would have made fun of before.

But now?

Now, he let himself enjoy it.

The easy conversation. The stupid jokes. The way no one treated him like he was made of glass.

It wasn’t perfect.

His body still hurt. His head was still foggy. His missing leg still ached, phantom pain twisting through nerves that didn’t know they had nothing left to feel.

But for a little while, it was enough.

By the time he got back to his room, the exhaustion had settled deep into his bones.

Sue was already waiting, arms crossed, clearly trying to look casual.

“How was it?” she asked.

Johnny shrugged. “Didn’t die.”

Sue exhaled, shaking her head. “Always setting the bar high.”

He smirked. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sue hesitated.

“They were happy to see you.”

Johnny huffed. “They were surprised I’m still here.”

Sue’s face flickered.

Johnny closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have said that.

But it was true.

Sue sat beside him, her fingers brushing lightly over the blanket.

“…You did good today,” she murmured.

Johnny swallowed. His throat felt too tight.

“…Yeah.”

For the first time in months, he almost believed it.

The visit to the common room had been good.

But it didn’t change the fact that he still had an uphill battle ahead of him.

The doctors were already planning his physical therapy.

The last round of chemo had left him weaker than ever.

His missing leg was still a constant, jarring absence, something he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

And he still wasn’t in remission.

That was the next step.

The next fight.

And Johnny was more than ready for it to finally be over.

The days leading up to the biopsy were slow, thick with waiting. For the first time in weeks, Johnny was awake enough to feel every second of it.

Sue never left his side. She curled up in the chair next to his bed, her fingers latched onto his wrist whenever she thought he was drifting too far into his own head. He didn’t call her out on it. He let her hold on as tight as she needed to.

The biopsy day arrived faster than Johnny wanted.

Sue was pacing. She had been for the last twenty minutes.

“Sue,” Johnny drawled from the bed, watching her wear a track into the hospital floor. “You’re going to ruin their nice, sterile tiles.”

She shot him a glare, crossing her arms. “Excuse me for being concerned.”

Johnny sighed, shifting against the pillows. “We had a deal, remember?”

Sue stopped pacing. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “One more round, then done.”

She was holding onto those words like they were law. Like sheer force of will could make them true.

Johnny swallowed. “Right.”

Sue sat down on the edge of his bed, gripping his hand tightly. “You’re not going to die, Johnny.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sue said, her voice trembling but firm. “The chemo worked. I know it did.”

Johnny let his head sink into the pillow, too tired to fight. “And if it didn’t?”

Sue squeezed his hand harder, her nails pressing into his skin. “It did.”

Johnny hesitated before murmuring, “Even if it did, it’s not over. There’s still maintenance chemo. Still tests. Years of waiting to see if it comes back.”

Sue nodded. “Yeah. But you’ll be alive.”

Johnny turned his head to look at her, exhaustion dulling his features. “I don’t know if I want to be.”

Sue inhaled sharply. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious,” Johnny whispered. “I’m tired, Sue. If I’m not in remission… at least this stops. At least I don’t have to keep fighting.”

Sue’s grip on his hand turned desperate. “But you are in remission.”

Johnny searched her face. “And if I’m not?”

She shook her head fiercely. “You are.”

Johnny gave a weak, humorless chuckle. “You’re really betting everything on that, huh?”

“I have to.” Sue’s voice wavered. “Because if I don’t believe it, who will?”

Johnny didn’t answer. He just let her hold onto him like she could will him into believing it.

The nurse entered, prepping for the procedure. “We’ll need you to lie on your side. We’re going to take a sample from your hip bone. You’ll feel pressure, but we’ll numb the area.”

Johnny exhaled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m a pro at these by now. Might as well have a punch card- one more, and I get a free coffee.”

Sue gave him a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time.”

“Yet, I persist,” Johnny muttered as the nurse finished sterilizing the area.

The lidocaine burned going in, a sharp sting before the area went numb. Johnny gritted his teeth, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Then came the aspiration, sharp as always, a deep pulling sensation as they drew out liquid marrow. He tensed involuntarily, fingers clutching the hospital sheet.

Sue had moved closer, hand gripping his. He barely had the strength to squeeze back.

“Almost done,” the doctor said. “Now the core biopsy.”

Johnny barely had time to brace himself before the hollow needle drove deeper. Even numb, he felt the pressure, the grind of bone resisting before it gave way. A strangled noise escaped him before he could stop it.

Sue sucked in a breath, and when Johnny glanced at her, he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched. She was barely holding it together.

“Stop that,” Johnny murmured, voice tight with pain.

Sue frowned. “Stop what?”

“Looking like that.” He shifted slightly, wincing. “Like I’m dying right in front of you.”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her grip on his hand tightened. “I just-”

“Deal, remember?” Johnny rasped. “One more round, then done. It’s done.”

Sue exhaled shakily, nodding, but he could still see the worry written all over her face.

Then, finally, “Got it. We’re done.”

Johnny let out a shaky breath as they bandaged the site. He was exhausted, drained in a way that had nothing to do with chemo. He didn’t protest when Sue helped him shift back onto his back, her hand lingering on his arm like she wasn’t ready to let go yet.

Now all that was left was to wait.

Later that evening, Mia showed up, perching on the edge of the chair beside his bed like she owned the place. “So,” she said, voice casual. “Almost done, huh?”

Johnny tilted his head, looking at her. “That’s the word on the street.”

Mia hummed, twirling the tubing of her IV between her fingers. “How do you feel about that?”

Johnny shrugged. “Dunno. Everyone keeps telling me I should be excited, but…” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to want anymore.”

Mia didn’t answer right away. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “I get that.”

Johnny turned to look at her. She wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead focusing on the blanket draped over his legs. “When I finished my first round,” she said, “I thought I’d feel happy. Like I won something. But all I felt was… empty.”

Johnny swallowed. “And if you weren’t?”

Mia’s mouth twitched. “Then at least I’d know what came next.”

She let the words hang between them before sighing. “It’s not that I wanted to die. But it felt easier to think about. Like… at least I wouldn’t have to deal with the waiting, the worrying. The way people look at you like you’re already gone.”

Johnny stared at the ceiling, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Mia was quiet for a moment. Then, she pulled something from her pocket and held it out to him. “Here,” she said. “I made you something.”

Johnny blinked at the friendship bracelet in her hand before slipping it over his wrist.

Mia smirked. “You have to wear it. Hospital rules.”

Johnny let out a weak chuckle, running his fingers over the uneven knots. “You just make this stuff up, don’t you?”

She grinned. “Absolutely.”

For the first time in a while, Johnny felt something lighter settle in his chest. It wasn’t hope. Not yet. But it was something close.

The days after the biopsy were slow, thick with waiting. For the first time in months, Johnny was awake enough to feel every second of it.

Sue never left his side. She curled up in the chair next to his bed, her fingers latched onto his wrist whenever she thought he was drifting too far into his own head. He didn’t call her out on it. He let her hold on as tight as she needed to.

Reed had set up a makeshift workspace in Johnny’s hospital room, typing furiously on his tablet between suggesting improvements to Johnny’s diet, sleep schedule, and physical therapy routine. Johnny played Tetris on Reeds old Game Boy in response, deliberately losing just to annoy him.

“You know, if you actually tried,” Reed muttered, eyes still on his screen, “you’d beat that level.”

Johnny smirked, tilting his head back against the pillows. “And if I actually tried, I might survive this whole thing. But here we are.”

Sue shot him a look, her grip on his wrist tightening. Reed to his credit, didn’t react, just adjusted his glasses, exhaling through his nose. “Your gallows humor is misplaced.”

“My gallows humor is what’s keeping me entertained,” Johnny muttered.

Ben called every few hours, and Johnny could hear the tension in his voice even when he tried to mask it with jokes.

“You’re hanging in there, right, Matchstick?” Ben asked during one call, his voice unusually soft.

Johnny hummed. “Haven’t died in my sleep yet have I?”

“Damn right, you haven’t.” Ben cleared his throat. “We’re all waitin’ on the good news, kid.”

Johnny swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

The waiting was suffocating.

For months, Johnny had been able to sleep through most of the worst of it, too sick or too medicated to fully sit in the weight of his own fear. But now, there was nothing to distract him. He was awake for all of it: the anxiety, the silence, the way Sue kept touching his wrist just to make sure he was still warm.

For a few days, it felt like they were in a strange little bubble. Just the four of them, existing in this limbo of waiting. No test results yet. No next steps. Just quiet moments filled with unspoken fears, Reed’s typing, Sue’s grip on his wrist, and the sound of Tetris music playing softly from his lap.

But bubbles always pop.

Chapter Text

Dr. Ramirez walked into the room with a folder in her hands.

She wasn’t the kind of doctor who wasted words. She wasn’t the kind to stall, or sugarcoat, or ease her way into bad news.

Which was why the way she stood there, gripping the folder tightly, her mouth pressed into a thin line, it made Johnny’s stomach twist.

Sue was already standing, her fingers clenched together like she was bracing for impact. Reed sat stiff-backed in the chair beside Johnny’s bed, hands folded neatly over his knee, his foot tapping just once, twice, then stopping, like he caught himself.

Ben was on video call, the pixelated glow of Reed’s tablet making his face look sharper, older. He was silent, which was the worst part.

Johnny didn’t move.

Dr. Ramirez exhaled, adjusting her glasses. Then she looked right at him. “Johnny.”

His fingers twitched.

“Your biopsy results came back.” She paused, then took a step closer, lowering the folder slightly. “You’re in remission.”

Silence.

The words didn’t land the way they should have.

He saw Sue inhale sharply, saw Reed let out a slow breath like he had been holding it for hours. On the screen, Ben pressed a hand over his face.

Johnny blinked.

Dr. Ramirez gave a small nod, as if confirming the words for herself. “No signs of leukemia. The treatment worked.”

Sue made a sound, a sharp, quiet gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Then she was on him, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders, gripping him like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

Johnny just… sat there.

Remission.

The word drifted through his head, weightless.

Dr. Ramirez was still speaking, going over the results, talking about percentages, next steps- but the words were just sounds, bouncing off his skull without sinking in.

He wasn’t sick anymore.

So why did he still feel hollow?

Sue was trembling against him. He felt her shake with every breath, every sharp inhale as she tried to hold it together, but she was already falling apart.

Johnny blinked slowly, staring at the wall.

He should say something.

Ben cleared his throat on the screen, his voice rough. “Damn, kid.” He let out a shaky, wet laugh. “You really pulled it off.”

Johnny swallowed, forcing his voice to work. “Yeah.”

Sue let out a half-laugh, half-sob, pulling back just enough to cup his face in her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed, wide, frantic with relief. “You hear that? It worked, Johnny. It worked.”

He forced a small nod.

He should feel something.

Sue was crying. Ben kept rubbing his face, breathing hard through the phone like he had been waiting to hear those words for years, not months.

But Johnny just sat there, his chest hollow, his mind strangely blank.

Dr. Ramirez’s voice cut through the fog. “This is what we’ve been fighting for, Johnny.”

Johnny licked his lips, his voice dry. “So… what now?”

Reed finally spoke, adjusting his glasses. “Now, we begin maintenance therapy.” His voice was clinical, steady. “It won’t be as intense, but it’s necessary to keep the leukemia from returning. You’ll have lower-dose chemo, regular check-ups- ”

More chemo. More hospitals. More waiting.

Johnny inhaled slowly, feeling Sue’s fingers curl into his sleeve. He heard the sound of Ben letting out a slow, steady breath on the screen.

Dr. Ramirez was still watching him, her expression unreadable.

Johnny’s voice came out thin. “Right. More chemo.”

Silence.

Sue’s grip on him tightened.

Ben’s jaw tensed on the screen.

And Johnny sat there, waiting for relief to hit, waiting for something to break through the wall in his head.

But it didn’t.

It wasn’t over.

He had survived, but he still had to suffer.

And that was the part that felt impossible to wrap his head around.

Johnny couldn’t sleep.

He had tried. He had closed his eyes, forced himself to take deep breaths, focused on the steady hum of the machines around him. But his mind wouldn’t shut up.

The words from earlier kept circling in his head. You’re in remission.

It didn’t feel real.

He had spent so long being sick, his life tied to hospital beds, IV drips, numbers on a screen. For months, he had only thought in terms of getting through. The next round, the next dose, the next scan. And now that he was through it, now that the cancer was finally gone…

What did that even mean?

His body didn’t feel any different. He was still exhausted, still nauseous, still aching in every muscle and joint. His skin was still too pale, his body still weak. He felt like he was waiting for something, waiting for the next round of chemo, waiting for another bag to be hooked up, waiting for the next wave of misery.

But there was nothing left.

Except there was.

Because it wasn’t really over.

Even if the hardest part was behind him, he still had years of check-ups, blood tests, scans, and treatment. Maintenance chemo.

Johnny turned onto his side, staring at the faint red glow of the clock on the hospital wall. He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying there, but it felt like a lifetime.

His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind wouldn’t settle. Because deep down, underneath all the noise, he knew something he didn’t want to say out loud.

He could stop.

No one could force him to continue treatment. If he told them he was done, if he walked away from all of it, they would have to let him go. He was seventeen- still a kid, but old enough to decide.

And for one brief, flickering second, he imagined it.

No more needles. No more hospitals. No more poison running through his veins.

Just rest.

But then he thought about what that would really mean.

The cancer coming back.

Fighting again.

Dying.

His stomach twisted.

Because no matter how much he hated all of this, he didn’t want to die.

Not anymore.

And that was the difference. Months ago, when things were at their worst, there had been moments when he had wanted to just let go. But now, after everything, he wanted to live.

Even if it meant suffering a little longer.

Johnny swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t a choice, not really.

He had already made it.

Johnny must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he knew, the room was brighter. The sun had started creeping in through the curtains, painting soft golden light across the walls.

Sue was still there.

Curled up in the chair beside his bed, she had her head tucked against her arm, breathing softly in sleep. She had never left.

Reed was there too, sitting quietly in the corner, reading something on his tablet. Not his usual frantic typing, just waiting.

For him.

Johnny swallowed, his throat dry. He turned his head slightly and saw Dr. Ramirez standing near the door, holding her clipboard.

She gave him a small nod. “Good morning, Johnny.”

Johnny let out a rough breath. “Is it?”

Her lips twitched slightly. “Depends on how you look at it.”

Sue stirred at his voice, blinking sleepily before she sat up quickly. “You’re awake.”

Johnny sighed. “Yeah. For now.”

Reed straightened slightly, setting his tablet down. “Dr. Ramirez wanted to go over the next steps with you.”

Johnny already knew what was coming, but he let her say it anyway.

Dr. Ramirez pulled up the chair beside his bed, her expression calm, patient. “Your official remission status means we move into the maintenance phase of treatment.” She rested her clipboard on her lap. “It won’t be like before. The chemo will be lower dose, spread out over months instead of weeks. No long hospital stays unless something unexpected happens.”

Johnny nodded slowly. “But it’s still chemo.”

Dr. Ramirez’s gaze was steady. “Yes. But this time, it’s to keep you in remission. To make sure the leukemia doesn’t come back.”

Johnny let his head sink back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. He already knew all of this. It wasn’t a surprise.

But hearing it out loud still felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.

Sue was watching him carefully, fingers clenched together in her lap. “It won’t be as bad, Johnny. It won’t be like before.”

He exhaled sharply. “It won’t be fun, either.”

Dr. Ramirez didn’t deny it. “No, it won’t. But it’s necessary.”

Johnny swallowed. His voice came out quieter than before. “And if I said no?”

The question hung in the air.

Reed shifted slightly, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Sue went rigid.

Dr. Ramirez’s expression didn’t change. “Then it would be your choice.”

Johnny licked his lips, his chest tightening. “But?”

She met his gaze evenly. “But the risk of relapse would be high. And if the leukemia came back, the fight would be harder than the first time.”

Johnny already knew that. He had always known that.

Sue was still staring at him, her knuckles white against her jeans. “You’re not seriously-” She stopped herself, exhaling sharply. “Johnny.”

Johnny let his eyes slip shut. “I know.”

He knew.

He wasn’t going to stop.

Not after everything.

Not when he had fought this hard.

But damn, he had wanted the break.

He had wanted to feel like he had won.

And now he realized that survival wasn’t a finish line.

It was just the start of another road.

Dr. Ramirez watched him for a long moment before she spoke again, her voice softer this time. “You’ve already done the hardest part, Johnny. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you have.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, opening his eyes again.

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, but steady. “I know.”

Sue’s fingers curled over his hand, squeezing gently. “So… we keep going?”

Johnny looked at her.

She was tired. More exhausted than he had ever seen her. But she was still here. She was still holding on.

And so was he.

He nodded. “Yeah. We keep going.”

Sue let out a shaky breath, her shoulders finally relaxing.

Reed gave him a small nod, approval clear in his eyes.

And Dr. Ramirez… she just smiled, the kind of smile that wasn’t happy, but knowing.

Like she had always known he would choose to keep fighting.

The bell hung on the wall at the front of the unit, mounted near the nurses’ station.

Johnny had seen other people ring it before, but he had never let himself imagine it.

Dr. Ramirez, Sue, Reed, the nurses, and his friends all gathered to watch. Even Ben was on video call, his face blurry but determined.

Mia rolled up beside him, smirking. “Go on, Storm. You earned it.”

Johnny exhaled, rolling his wheelchair forward until he was right under the bell.

His fingers curled around the rope.

Ben’s voice crackled through the speaker: “Give ‘em hell, Matchstick.”

Johnny smirked.

And rang the damn bell.

The sound echoed through the unit - loud, triumphant, real.

Everyone cheered.

And for the first time, Johnny truly felt free.

Chapter Text

Johnny had spent months in this hospital.

Months of staring at the same sterile walls, listening to the same beeping machines, feeling his body betray him over and over again.

He had almost died here.

More than once.

And yet, somehow, he had survived.

Now, sitting in the hospital common room, he knew this was his last night as a patient. His discharge papers were signed. His bags were packed.

And in the morning, he would be gone.

The common room had been decorated, if you could even call it that.

A banner was taped to the wall, uneven and slightly torn at the edges. The handwriting was a mess, like too many people had contributed.

It read:

“JOHNNY'S FINALLY LEAVING”

And underneath it, someone (Mia, obviously) had scrawled:

“Try not to set the rehab center on fire.”

Johnny snorted when he saw it.

“Wow. Touching.”

Mia, sitting in her wheelchair, smirked. “Thought you’d like it.”

“I feel so loved.”

Benji, Parker, and Hannahwere perched on the couch, passing a bag of contraband snacks between them. Linda, one of his favorite nurses, was pretending not to notice.

Sue was standing off to the side with Reed, talking quietly with Dr. Ramirez.

The food table was piled with snacks. Mostly hospital-approved, but someone had smuggled in real cake.

Johnny eyed it for a long moment.

For months, he had relied on feeding tubes. His stomach had been too wrecked to handle real food. The first time they had given him solid food, he had barely managed three bites of applesauce.

Now, finally, he was free.

Mia nudged him, raising an eyebrow. “You scared of cake now?”

Johnny rolled his eyes and took a bite.

Sweet. Rich. Overwhelming.

The second it hit his tongue, something in his chest unclenched.

He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this.

It was just cake.

But it was so much more than that.

He caught Sue watching him from across the room, her face soft, like she had been waiting for this moment.

He raised an eyebrow. “You gonna cry over this?”

Sue huffed, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

But she was smiling.

The laughter, the voices, the smell of food: it all felt normal. For a few minutes, he wasn’t the guy who had spent the last few months circling the drain. He was just Johnny.

But then, the clock on the wall ticked forward, and reality started pressing in again.

He was leaving.

He had dreamed of this moment for so long. Getting out, escaping the walls that had felt like a prison.

But now that it was here, he felt…

Unsteady.

Because this place, this hellhole that had nearly killed him, had also become his second home.

The people in this room, nurses, doctors, his friends from the unit, they had become his family. His support. The only ones who got it, and made him feel human.

And tomorrow, he would be leaving them behind, too.

Linda appeared beside him, a warm hand on his shoulder. “You ready for freedom, Storm?”

Johnny exhaled, gripping the arms of his wheelchair.

He thought about everything he had been through.

The nights where he had barely been able to breathe.

The days where he had been too weak to sit up.

The moments where he had wondered if he was going to make it.

And yet, somehow, he was still here.

He looked up at Linda and smirked. “As long as freedom includes cake.”

Linda winked. “Go for it, kid. You earned it.”

Johnny turned back to his friends- the ones who weren’t leaving with him.

Nina stood first, offering a fist bump. “Try not to forget us when you’re famous again.”

Johnny bumped it. “Not a chance.”

Benji grinned. “Not unless the chemo fried his last remaining brain cells.”

Hannah smirked. “And they’re saying that like you had any to begin with.”

Johnny snorted, but the lump in his throat was real.

Then he turned to Mia.

She had been the first person to really talk to him here. The first person who got it.

And now, she was still sitting in that wheelchair, IV still hooked into her arm, still fighting.

His stomach twisted.

“You better text me,” she said, pretending to be casual.

Johnny knew her well enough to hear what she wasn’t saying.

That he was leaving, and she wasn’t. That this wasn’t fair.

That she was scared she’d never see him again.

His voice came out rough. “You kidding? I’m gonna annoy you constantly.”

Mia smirked, but it was tight around the edges.

She pulled something from her pocket, a second bracelet, identical to the one he already wore.

“Just in case you lose the first one.”

Johnny stared at it for a second before slipping it over his wrist.

“Thanks.”

Mia nodded once, like she knew exactly how much that meant.

Johnny swallowed hard, gripping the wheels tight. The hospital smelled different on the way out.

For months, Johnny had been trapped inside its walls, breathing in nothing but sterile air, antiseptic, and the faint scent of industrial-grade cleaner. He had gotten so used to it that it barely registered anymore.

But now, rolling through the front lobby in his wheelchair, he noticed how it smelled… fresher.

It wasn’t much, just a hint of crisp air drifting in through the sliding doors, but it was enough to make his chest tighten.

Because this was it.

He was really leaving.

Sue walked beside him, pushing his duffel bag over her shoulder like she was on a mission. She had barely said a word since they left the unit, and Johnny could see the way her jaw kept clenching and unclenching, like she was holding back something she didn’t want to say.

He let the silence stretch between them as they reached the transport van waiting outside.

The driver stepped out and nodded to Sue before opening the side door. Johnny rolled himself closer, only for Sue to immediately step in and help him.

“I got it,” he muttered.

Sue ignored him, steadying the chair as he maneuvered himself up the ramp.

Johnny sighed but let her.

The inside of the van was plain and quiet, the medical-grade seating just another reminder that he still wasn’t completely free.

As soon as Johnny was settled, Sue climbed in next to him. The driver shut the doors, and then-

The hospital doors slid closed.

Johnny turned his head, watching as the building disappeared behind them.

No more IVs. No more chemo infusions. No more machines beeping beside him while he tried to sleep.

It was over.

Or at least, this part was.

Sue let out a slow breath, shifting beside him. She had pulled her phone out, scrolling mindlessly, but Johnny could tell she wasn’t actually looking at anything.

Her knee was bouncing.

Johnny smirked. “You okay, Mom?”

Sue huffed out a breath. “Shut up.”

He let the teasing die down after that.

The car rumbled over a bump in the road, and Johnny shifted slightly, adjusting to the movement. It was weird sitting in a car, moving through the city, not stuck in a hospital bed.

For the first time in forever, he wasn’t waiting for someone to come in and take his blood, or push meds through his IV, or tell him what the next treatment plan was.

He wasn’t hooked up to anything.

He wasn’t a patient anymore.

Sue exhaled sharply and finally glanced over at him.

“You’re gonna miss it, aren’t you?”

Johnny hesitated.

Not the chemo. Not the pain. Not the nausea or the exhaustion.

But the people.

The nurses, the night staff, the other kids who had sat beside him in treatment, trading war stories and dark jokes about their broken bodies.

The people who had understood.

His fingers curled slightly over the armrest.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

Sue didn’t say anything at first. Then, softly-

“Me too.”

Johnny glanced over at her, surprised.

Sue wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on the city streets passing by, but there was something tired and relieved and sad all at once in her face.

And for the first time in a while, Johnny really, really understood just how hard this had been for her, too.

Not just him.

Her.

Reed.

Ben.

All of them.

They had all been fighting the same war, just from different sides.

Johnny swallowed and turned back to the window.

The ride continued in silence.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just… quiet.

Like they both needed a moment to breathe.

The rehab facility was nothing like the hospital.

The walls weren’t stark white but warm beige. The floors weren’t polished linoleum but soft carpet in some areas, hardwood in others. The air didn’t smell like antiseptic, it smelled clean but lived-in, like fresh laundry and coffee.

It was… nice.

Too nice.

Johnny gripped the wheels of his chair as the transport van pulled into the circular driveway. Through the window, he could already tell this place was built differently.

Spacious pathways. Wide doors. Room for everyone, including Ben.

Johnny swallowed.

The van stopped.

Sue was out first, talking quietly with one of the facility workers before stepping back and looking at Johnny.

“You ready?” she asked.

Johnny wasn’t.

But he forced a smirk anyway. “Sure. Let’s see my new prison.”

Sue rolled her eyes but didn’t fight him on it.

The driver helped lower Johnny’s chair down the ramp. As soon as his wheels hit the pavement, he took a deep breath.

The air was different here.

Crisper. Freer.

It didn’t feel like he was being swallowed whole.

That should have helped.

It didn’t.

His stomach twisted as he took in the new walls, new people, new everything.

Then a shadow passed over him.

A very, very large shadow.

“There’s my kid.”

Johnny barely had time to react before Ben was there.

Not on a screen.

Not through a phone.

Not just a voice.

Actually there.

Ben, who had been too big for the hospital hallways, who hadn’t been able to visit in person for months.

Ben, who was standing right in front of him, arms crossed, eyes already red-rimmed.

Johnny blinked rapidly, gripping the arms of his chair.

He hadn’t cried in front of Ben since he was a little kid.

He wasn’t gonna start now.

Ben crouched down to his level, shaking his head. “Damn, kid. Look at you.”

Johnny let out a breathless, shaky laugh. “I’d rather not.”

Ben huffed, and then he was pulling Johnny into a hug.

It was careful, because Johnny was still too thin, still too weak, but it was warm and real and there.

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead into Ben’s shoulder.

Ben exhaled shakily. “You scared the hell outta me, Matchstick.”

Johnny swallowed. His throat was tight.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Scared myself a little too.”

Another pair of arms wrapped around them: Sue. Then Reed.

It was ridiculous, how they all barely fit into the hug, but none of them pulled away.

Johnny was crushed between them, completely surrounded, and for the first time in a long time…

He didn’t feel like he was going to disappear.

Sue was the first to pull back, wiping at her eyes like she wasn’t totally crying.

Ben gripped Johnny’s shoulder, shaking his head. “They treating you right here?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Ben, I’ve been here for five minutes.”

Ben grunted. “Yeah, well. You tell me if they don’t, got it?”

Johnny huffed a laugh. “Got it.”

Chapter Text

The rehab center looked like someone had tried very hard to make it not feel like a hospital. Wide hallways, lots of glass, a small indoor garden with actual plants that weren’t dying. The air smelled faintly of cleaning supplies, but at least there weren’t constant alarms or machines beeping in the distance.

Johnny wheeled himself along, pretending not to notice how Sue’s hand hovered close to the back of his chair like she didn’t trust him not to launch himself down the hall for fun.

“This place looks like a hotel lobby,” he muttered.

“Then consider yourself lucky,” Sue said without missing a beat.

“Hotels usually have buffets.”

“Don’t push it.”

The head nurse, Marsha, was giving them the grand tour. She had the calm, unflappable presence of someone who’d seen every kind of patient attitude. Johnny had already tested her with one-liners, but she didn’t even blink.

“We’ve got your room ready,” Marsha said, scrolling through her tablet. “You’ll have daily physical therapy, check-ins with the oncology team for your maintenance treatment, and plenty of time to rest in between. Any requests before we settle you in?”

Johnny raised a brow. “Yeah. You got a hot tub?”

Marsha’s expression didn’t change. “We’ve got heated compresses.”

Sue hid a smile. Ben chuckled. Reed started to comment about hydrotherapy benefits, then wisely stopped.

Johnny sighed dramatically. “Figures.”

Still, as they rolled him into his new room, he felt something loosen in his chest. The place didn’t feel like the hospital. And even if it wasn’t home, it wasn’t a bad middle ground.

Johnny wasn’t weak in the same way he had been months ago. He could sit up in bed on his own, get from wheelchair to chair without anyone hovering, and even balance on his good leg for a bit if he held onto something.

What he didn’t have was stamina. His body wore out fast, and the maintenance chemo didn’t help. Some days it barely fazed him; other days, it left him feeling like he’d just run a marathon in wet cement.

His first full day at the center was basically a parade of staff: physical therapist, nutritionist, oncologist, even a guy from recreational therapy who offered board games and art classes. Johnny politely declined the art. Sue accepted on his behalf anyway.

“Maybe you’ll discover a hidden talent,” she teased.

“I already have one. Fire.”

She gave him a look that said don’t even think about it.

His first physical therapy session didn’t involve any prosthetic. Just testing how much his body could do.

Melissa, his therapist, was patient without being patronizing, which Johnny appreciated. She had him start with basic mobility: standing up at the parallel bars, holding himself steady, then lowering back down into the chair.

“Looks easy,” Johnny said, bracing himself.

“Try it first,” Melissa said, folding her arms.

He pushed himself up, gripping the bars tight. For a moment, he felt steady. Then his thigh muscles started to burn. His arms tensed from taking more of his weight than they were used to. After about twenty seconds, he lowered himself back down, breathing harder than he wanted to admit.

Melissa glanced at the stopwatch. “Not bad. We’ll work on making that feel less like climbing Everest.”

Johnny wiped sweat off his forehead. “Good, ‘cause I don’t even like hiking.”

Sue, watching from the side, cracked a small smile.

They moved on to upper body strength: resistance bands, light weights, core exercises. Johnny complained the whole time, but it wasn’t really serious. The truth was, he liked the challenge. This was finally something he could do to be an active participant of his treatment, rather than just being subjected to it’s It felt like training, not surviving.

The maintenance chemo was still part of the routine, and it wasn’t nothing. The occasional IVs, pills, bloodwork, endless checkups.

At least the chemo had changed form, from infusions to small, harmless-looking pills. The rhythm to it was similar to before, in that he took it for a few weeks before getting a break. Thankfully the side effects were not as extreme, and while he still had nausea and his hair refused to grow, he could actually think during the two weeks he were on chemo.

That didn’t stop Sue from hovering when he had a bad day, like now, when he was half-sitting half-laying down on his bed with a damp cloth over his eyes.

“You don’t have to sit there like I’m about to flatline,” he said.

“You don’t have to act like buckets are the highlight of your week,” she shot back.

He grinned, lifting his phone. “Actually, highlight of my week is beating Ben at Mario Kart.”

Sue rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased.

Days took on a rhythm:

Morning: bloodwork, meds, breakfast.

Late morning: therapy sessions.

Lunch.

Afternoon: more therapy, sometimes focused on balance, sometimes endurance.

Evenings: exhausted collapse, usually accompanied by Sue scrolling through her phone in the corner.

The exercises weren’t flashy. Sit-to-stands. Stretching. Core work. Transfers from chair to bed. But every week, Johnny noticed small shifts: he could stand longer, balance steadier, do more reps without needing to flop back in his chair.

He complained constantly, of course.

“Do you make everyone do this many squats, or are you just trying to kill me?”

Melissa didn’t even look up from her clipboard. “You’ve done six. Calm down.”

Sue snorted from the corner. Johnny shot her a glare.

Still, at the end of each session, when his muscles buzzed from effort, he felt good. Not “on fire” good, but progress good.

By the third week, Melissa finally introduced the prosthetic.

It looked slick. Black carbon fiber, streamlined, lightweight. Johnny eyed it with suspicion.

“Pretty sure it looks cooler on the brochure,” he muttered as Melissa fitted it onto his leg.

“Everyone says that at first,” she replied.

Standing with it felt strange, secure, but wrong, like trying to wear someone else’s shoe. He gripped the parallel bars, testing his weight.

“Okay, try a step,” Melissa said.

Johnny shifted forward. The prosthetic didn’t move like his old leg. His brain screamed at him that something was off. He fell, just barely catching himself against the bar.

Sue let out a sharp breath. Melissa didn’t flinch. “That’s normal. Again.”

They tried a few more times. Each step was clumsy, awkward, but Johnny stayed upright.

After the session, sweaty and sore, he leaned back in his chair. “So basically I’ve gotta relearn how to walk.”

Melissa shrugged. “Pretty much. But you’re stubborn, so I’m not worried.”

Johnny cracked a grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Evenings became his favorite part. Not because of the food (which was terrible), but because that’s when things slowed down.

Sue usually stayed, camped out with her laptop. Reed dropped by sometimes with statistics Johnny didn’t want to hear. Ben came with snacks hidden in his pockets.

Johnny sprawled on his bed, prosthetic resting on the chair beside him, and pretended it was all normal.

“You don’t have to be here every night,” he told Sue once.

“You don’t have to whine every night,” she answered.

Johnny smirked, too tired to push it further. Truth was, he didn’t mind.

By the end of the month, Melissa decided he was ready to try walking without the parallel bars.

Johnny wasn’t nervous exactly, but his stomach did a weird flip as he stood. Melissa stayed close but didn’t touch.

One step. Then another.

It wasn’t smooth. His gait was uneven. His arms tensed as if ready to catch himself. But he moved. On his own.

“Not bad,” Melissa said with a small nod.

Sue was grinning from ear to ear. Johnny rolled his eyes at her expression, but secretly, he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his mouth too.

Chapter Text

The first time Johnny looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize himself had been in the hospital.

Too thin. Too pale. Eyes sunken in. His body had been fighting for survival, and it showed.

But now?

Now, he almost looked normal again.

His face wasn’t so hollow anymore. His arms weren’t just skin and bone. He had muscle again, still lean, but real. His skin had some color, and for the first time in forever, he didn’t look like a walking ghost.

Melissa had noticed first.

“You’re starting to look like a real human again, Storm.”

Johnny had smirked. “I was always a human!”

She had raised an eyebrow. “You were a reckless idiot in a fireproof uniform. Big difference.”

Johnny had laughed, and it had felt good.

Now, sitting in his rehab room, dressed in real clothes instead of hospital sweats, he felt…

Not completely normal. But closer than before.

And today?

He was going home.

Johnny had arrived in a wheelchair.

He had been weak, barely functioning, needing help for everything.

Now, he wasn’t walking out of here perfectly.

But he was walking.

Sort of.

He used crutches, his prosthetic shifting naturally with each step. The wheelchair was still his backup, waiting by the exit. Some days, his body could handle walking. Some days, it couldn’t. And that was fine.

Sue stood beside him, watching his every move like she was ready to catch him if he fell.

“You know,” Johnny said, adjusting his grip on his crutches, “you staring at me like I’m about to faceplant isn’t helping my confidence.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “I’m allowed to stare. You almost died.”

Johnny sighed. “That’s your excuse for everything.”

Reed stood nearby, nodding approvingly. “Your balance is significantly improved. Have you considered-”

“No, Reed,” Johnny interrupted immediately.

Reed frowned. “I didn’t even finish my sentence.”

“Because I know where it was going. No science experiments on my new leg.”

Reed muttered something about “missed research opportunities,” but seemingly let it go.

Ben, standing by the exit, grinned. “You ready, Matchstick?”

Johnny exhaled, staring at the doors.

Beyond them, the city waited.

Beyond them, his life was waiting.

He swallowed.

Then he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

The ride through the city felt surreal.

Johnny had spent so long in hospitals and rehab centers that he had almost forgotten what real life looked like.

But the second the Baxter Building came into view, something inside him unclenched.

Sue turned to look at him. “You okay?”

Johnny nodded. “Yeah.”

And for the first time, he meant it.

The car pulled up, and Johnny stared at the entrance.

He had left this place as someone who wasn’t sure he’d survive.

Now, he was coming back.

Ben got out first, stretching. “You want the chair or the crutches, kid?”

Johnny hesitated, then grabbed the crutches.

He wanted to walk in.

Sue looked at him like she wanted to argue, but for once, she didn’t.

Johnny stepped out.

It wasn’t graceful, his body was still adjusting, still healing. But it was his.

Step by step, he made his way through the front doors.

Home.

...

The Baxter Building hadn’t changed.

Johnny had.

But as he walked through the familiar hallways, something in his chest loosened.

He wasn’t a patient anymore.

He wasn’t in a hospital bed.

He was home.

Sue hovered near him, clearly resisting the urge to guide him.

Reed walked beside them, already rambling about the ‘adjustments’ he’d made to Johnny’s room, something about ergonomic seating and accessibility modifications.

Johnny didn’t care.

He was here.

Ben clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Welcome back, kid.”

Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat and smirked. “I just saw you a few days ago. Told you I wasn’t dying.”

Ben huffed a laugh, eyes a little too shiny. “Yeah, yeah.”

Sue folded her arms. “You know, you still have a ton of appointments. You’re not completely free yet.”

Johnny shrugged. “I know.”

And he did.

He still had physical therapy. Some maintenance chemo. Medical checkups. Recovery wasn’t over.

But for the first time in so long…

It wasn’t the only thing in his life.

He was home.

His family was whole again.

And that was enough.

For now.

Being home was supposed to feel normal.

But Johnny was starting to realize that “normal” wasn’t going to look the same anymore.

He had been back in the Baxter Building for two days before the frustration kicked in.

At the rehab center, everything had been designed for recovery. There had been ramps, railings, grab bars, and people to help when he needed it.

Here? Not so much.

It was stupid stuff, really. Like how the kitchen counters were too high when he was in his wheelchair. Or how he couldn’t stand for more than fifteen minutes without his legs aching. 

And then there was cooking.

Johnny had always loved cooking.

It had been his thing.

Back when he was healthy, he had been the one making breakfast, experimenting with new recipes, throwing together meals like it was second nature.

So, of course, he had wanted to jump right back into it.

Except…

His legs weren’t cooperating.

He had barely been in the kitchen for five minutes before his body started protesting. His good leg burned from bearing too much weight. His prosthetic felt awkward on the tile floor, like it wasn’t quite in sync with the rest of him.

And the worst part?

There wasn’t anywhere to sit.

He couldn’t roll his wheelchair up to the counter - it didn’t fit. The stools were too high. He could either stand there, struggling, or give up.

Johnny gritted his teeth. No. He could do this.

He grabbed the cutting board, his movements clumsy, slower than before. His hands were steady, but his body?

His body was done.

His muscles trembled, his balance shifting too much, and before he could stop himself-

The knife clattered against the cutting board.

Johnny cursed under his breath, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.

His heart was pounding too hard. His body wasn’t keeping up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply.

This was stupid.

It was just standing. Just cooking. Just existing in his own damn kitchen.

And yet, here he was.

Weak.

Johnny clenched his jaw.

He didn’t want to ask for help. He didn’t want to be the guy who couldn’t even make himself food.

But his body wasn’t listening.

And that?

That pissed him off more than anything.

A moment later, he felt a presence beside him.

Sue.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him, taking in the way he was gripping the counter too hard, the way his breath was just a little too sharp.

Finally, she spoke.

“You want help?”

Johnny hated how much that stung.

Because, yeah. He did.

But he also hated that he did.

His voice was tight when he answered. “I just… I thought I’d be able to do this.”

Sue exhaled softly, leaning against the counter.

“You will.”

Johnny let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah? When?”

Sue didn’t answer right away. Instead, she grabbed a chair, dragging it across the floor with a loud screech before setting it next to him.

“Sit down,” she said simply.

Johnny hesitated.

But his body was already screaming at him, and he knew better than to fight it.

So, he sat.

And just like that, the tension in his muscles eased.

Sue grabbed the knife, handing it back to him. “There. Problem solved.”

Johnny blinked at her. “You know, for someone who’s usually bossy, that was actually helpful.”

Sue smirked. “I’m evolving.”

Johnny let out a slow breath, nodding.

One problem at a time.

That night, Johnny sank into the couch, his body sore but comfortable.

It was family movie night. Something they hadn’t done in months.

Sue was curled up in her usual spot. Reed was half-distracted by his tablet but still trying to act like he was watching. Ben was taking up way too much space as usual.

And Johnny?

Johnny had a pizza.

A whole pizza.

Extra cheese.

His throat felt tight just looking at it.

Because months ago, back in the hospital, when food had been a distant impossible dream, he had told the other patients, “First thing I’m doing when I get out of here? I’m eating an entire pizza. Extra cheese.”

And now?

Here it was.

His body was healed enough to handle it. He could actually eat. No feeding tubes. No IVs.

Just him and the damn pizza.

Sue nudged him, smirking. “Are you gonna eat it, or just stare at it dramatically?”

Johnny rolled his eyes but grabbed a slice. The first bite was everything he had dreamed of.

Sue was watching him, something soft in her expression.

Johnny swallowed and met her gaze. “I told you I’d get here.”

Sue’s smile wobbled, just a little.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet. “You did.”

Ben clapped him on the back, nearly making him choke on his food.

“That’s my boy! Look at you, back to eating like a champ!”

Johnny coughed. “Jesus, Ben!”

Ben just grinned. “Admit it, kid. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Johnny didn’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah.”

Because for the first time in forever…

It really did.

Johnny hadn’t realized how much he missed his bed until the moment he collapsed onto it.

The mattress was softer than he remembered. Probably because for the last year, he had slept on hospital beds, therapy beds, and whatever else counted as a sleeping surface while recovering.

But this? This was his.

The blankets smelled like his detergent. The pillows were shaped the way he liked them. The ceiling above him had the same tiny scorch mark from when he had once accidentally sneezed fire.

And yet…

It still didn’t feel quite right.

He rolled onto his side, his body instinctively making space where his leg used to be. It was a habit he hadn’t shaken yet.

His room was exactly how he had left it.

His posters, his shelves full of random junk, his old clothes still shoved messily into his dresser. Everything was untouched.

And yet, laying there now, he felt like a stranger in his own life.

Slowly, Johnny sat up, dragging himself toward his desk.

His fingers brushed over old notebooks, old photos, old pieces of himself that had been waiting for him to come back.

There were magazines he used to flip through, action figures he had never thrown away, a half-burned ticket stub from a movie he barely remembered seeing.

Then his eyes landed on his running shoes.

Still tucked under the desk, right where he had left them.

Back then, they had been just another part of his routine. Something he had thrown on without thinking.

Now?

He would never use them again.

His chest tightened.

He wasn’t sad. Not really.

But he wasn’t okay either.

Johnny leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

Coming home was supposed to feel like the finish line. Like he had won.

But instead, he felt like he was standing at the starting line of something else.

The hardest part was over.

But what came next?

He had survived.

But what did surviving even mean?

His hand curled around the bracelet on his wrist, the one Mia had given him.

She was still in the hospital. Still fighting. Still stuck in the life that he had somehow escaped.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head to look around his room.

This space had been his world before cancer.

Now, he had to figure out how to live in it again.

Chapter Text

The Baxter Building had always been huge.

Growing up, it had usually been fun: big open spaces, high ceilings, and too much room to ever feel trapped.

Now?

Now it felt like too much.

Johnny sat in the kitchen, his wheelchair pulled up to the kitchen table, fingers drumming against the surface. The whole place was exactly the same. The only thing different was him.

Sue was at the stove, stirring something that smelled halfway decent. Reed was at the dining table, typing away on his tablet.

Ben had been lingering all morning, hovering like he thought Johnny might collapse at any second.

Johnny sighed dramatically. “Are you guys seriously just gonna act like I’m not here?”

Sue didn’t turn around. “You’ve been home for twenty-four hours. If I smother you already, you’ll start planning your escape.”

Johnny smirked. “Already am.”

Ben snorted from the other side of the kitchen. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, Matchstick. You can barely make it up the stairs.”

Johnny’s smirk faltered slightly.

Because yeah. That part sucked.

Sure, he could use crutches. Sure, he could walk, just not for long.

But there were so many little things that were harder now.

Like getting out of bed too fast and his body not cooperating.

Like moving too much in his wheelchair and his leg aching where the prosthetic met his skin.

Like reaching for a pan in the kitchen and realizing he didn’t have the balance to stand long enough to cook the way he used to.

His fingers curled against the counter.

Sue finally turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

Johnny forced an easy grin. “Yeah. Just thinking about how much of a nightmare I can be now that I’m back.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “So, business as usual.”

Johnny huffed a laugh, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Because he wasn’t okay. Not really.

But he’d figure it out.

Johnny had never thought he’d be jealous of Sue walking down a hallway.

And yet, here he was.

He pushed his wheelchair forward, trying to ignore the way the smooth flooring made it easier and harder at the same time.

He hated using the chair inside the apartment.

He hated that it was sometimes necessary.

Because yeah, he could use the prosthetic, or his crutches. He could walk short distances. But his body still got exhausted.

The first time he had tried to go from the kitchen to his bedroom without stopping, he had made it about three-quarters of the way before his muscles gave up on him.

He had ended up gripping the wall, sliding down onto the floor, too drained to keep going.

Sue had found him like that.

She hadn’t said anything. Just sat down next to him until he felt like moving again.

Now, as he rolled into the living room, he caught her watching him from the couch.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? You waiting for me to crash into something?”

Sue smirked. “I mean. Statistically?”

Johnny rolled his eyes.

Then, too late, he saw the corner of the rug.

The chair caught just enough to throw off his momentum.

Johnny swore as one of the wheels lifted slightly.

Sue was already moving before he could fully tip, steadying the chair with both hands.

Johnny groaned.

Sue grinned. “Statistically, I was right.”

Johnny dropped his head back against the chair. “I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

The next morning, Johnny wheeled himself into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

Ben was already there, eating something out of a bowl that was way too small for his giant hands. Reed sat at the table, flipping through something on his tablet, muttering equations under his breath.

Sue was leaning against the counter, sipping coffee.

She raised an eyebrow when she saw Johnny.

“You’re up early.”

Johnny rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, well. Turns out sleeping in your own bed is a lot harder when your body forgot how to sleep like a normal person.”

Sue snorted. “Sounds fake. I slept great.”

Johnny grabbed a piece of toast from a plate on the counter, biting into it.

Real food. No hospital trays. No meal replacement shakes. Just regular, boring breakfast.

He wasn’t sure if it made him relieved or sad.

Ben eyed him. “How’s it feel, kid?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “What, being home?”

Ben shrugged, spooning another bite of cereal into his mouth. “Yeah. Eating real food. Bein’ around us annoying people again.”

Johnny chewed slowly, considering. How did it feel?

Weird.

Good, but weird.

The Baxter Building was his home, but it felt off now, like it hadn’t quite adjusted to fit the person he’d become.

But he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

Instead, he smirked. “Mostly, I just missed being able to insult you Ben in person.”

Sue rolled her eyes. “You did video calls, Johnny. You had plenty of opportunities.”

Johnny gestured vaguely. “Yeah, but it’s not the same. If I called Ben a rock-faced idiot over the phone, he couldn’t chuck a pillow at me. In person? Way more consequences.”

Ben grinned and reached for a couch cushion. “Want me to test that theory?”

Johnny held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa- disabled. This is a violation of my rights.”

Ben rolled his eyes but put the pillow down.

Sue took another sip of coffee, her expression unreadable.

She was still watching him.

Johnny sighed. “You can stop analyzing me. I’m fine.”

Sue took another sip. “Never said you weren’t.”

But she didn’t look away.

And Johnny let her watch.

Because maybe he wasn’t fine. Not completely. But that wasn’t something they had to talk about. Not today.

Later that afternoon, Johnny wheeled himself into the living room with a very specific goal in mind.

He locked eyes with Sue and pointed at her.

“Alright. Time to pay up.”

Sue, sprawled on the couch with a book in her hands, blinked at him. “What?”

Johnny smirked. “You remember our bet, right? Three hours without puking during chemo? That means I get to pick your next hairstyle.”

Sue groaned immediately, flopping backward dramatically. “You’re seriously bringing that up now?”

Johnny grinned wider. “Absolutely. A bet’s a bet.”

Reed, who had been reading quietly in the corner, looked up with mild concern. “I should probably intervene, shouldn’t I?”

Ben, who had zero intention of stopping this, just grinned. “No way, Stretch. This is gonna be good.”

Sue sat up, crossing her arms. “Alright, fine. Lay it on me. What’s the damage?”

Johnny casually pulled out his phone and held up a picture.

It was a disaster.

Messy spikes, at least three different colors clashing horribly, something between an anime character and a very bad life decision.

Sue stared at it. Then at him.

“No.”

Johnny cackled. “Yes.”

Ben was already losing it, shaking with laughter. Reed looked deeply unamused.

Sue glared. “You really wanna do this, Storm?”

Johnny’s smirk faded just a little. He leaned forward, voice dropping into something softer, but still teasing.

“Come on, Sue. My hair hasn’t even started growing back yet. You owe me this.”

Sue exhaled through her nose. “Low blow.”

Johnny just gave her a look. The look.

Sue groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Fine. But I’m not letting you dye it!”

Johnny grinned, victorious. “Deal. Now sit your ass down.”

Sue grumbled the whole way to the bathroom.

Ben, still laughing, followed them in, purely for the entertainment. Reed, with a deep sigh, went back to his book.

Twenty minutes later, Sue had a mohawk.

And Johnny had photographic evidence.

Sue examined herself in the mirror, turning her head side to side.

Ben was still laughing. “You actually rock it, Susie.”

Johnny, still holding his phone up for extra pictures, grinned. “Honestly? Not bad. I was gonna make it worse, but you’re lucky I got tired halfway through.”

Sue ran a hand through the short strip of hair left in the middle of her head.

Then, to everyone’s shock, she smirked.

“You know what? I think I like it.”

Johnny froze. “Wait. No. You’re supposed to hate it.”

Sue ruffled her hair and grinned. “Too bad. I look amazing.”

Ben burst into laughter again. “Oh man, Matchstick, you played yourself.”

Johnny groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “I was supposed to make you suffer, not give you a personality upgrade.”

Sue just winked at him in the mirror. “Tough luck.”

Johnny sighed.

Still.

He got to mess with her hair, got to make her laugh, got to win.

And in the grand scheme of things?

That was enough.

For now.

Johnny was sitting on the couch, feet (both real and fake) propped up on the coffee table, flipping through TV channels, when Sue walked in, already in uniform.

She hesitated.

Johnny noticed immediately.

He smirked. “You guys planning on sneaking out without telling me?”

Sue sighed, sitting down next to him. “I don’t know, Johnny. It just feels weird, leaving without you.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “I’m not a lost puppy, Sue. I can handle being home alone.”

Ben and Reed appeared in the doorway, both looking equally conflicted.

Johnny groaned. “Oh my God. You guys are acting like I’m gonna drop dead the second you leave.”

Ben scratched the back of his head. “I mean, not to be dramatic, kid, but that almost happened. Multiple times.”

Johnny exhaled, leaning forward, meeting all of their eyes.

“I promise. I’m okay. You guys can go save the world without me for a little while.”

Sue frowned. “Are you sure? I mean, if you-”

Johnny cut her off. “Sue. Go. I’m serious. I’m good.”

She studied him.

And for the first time, Johnny realized: he really was good.

For months, he had felt useless, like he was just sitting on the sidelines while the world moved on without him.

But now?

Now, he didn’t mind.

He didn’t have to jump right back into hero work.

He could just exist. Heal. Be Johnny for a while.

Sue let out a slow breath. “Alright. But if you need anything-”

“I know. I’ll call.”

She nodded.

Then, finally, they left.

And Johnny sat back, feeling something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Peace.

Getting up to the roof wasn’t easy.

It should have been.

Before, he wouldn’t have even thought about it. Just a couple flights of stairs. No big deal.

But now?

Now, it was a challenge.

Johnny took a deep breath, gripping the railing as he adjusted his balance. His crutches were useless on stairs, so he had left them at the bottom, relying on his one good leg and the prosthetic to get him up.

His thighs burned as he climbed, his arms straining with every pull.

Step. Pause. Step. Pause.

He could feel the sweat gathering at his temples, his heart pounding way harder than it should have for something this simple.

By the time he reached the top, his entire body ached.

His lungs felt too tight. His leg was screaming at him for making it do most of the work.

And his prosthetic?

It hurt.

Not unbearable pain. But the kind of deep, throbbing ache that meant he had overdone it.

He staggered to the nearest wall, gritting his teeth as he sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him.

The second he unlocked the prosthetic from his limb and pulled it off, he exhaled sharply.

Relief.

His residual limb, named Nub (very appropriate in his opinion, which was the only one that mattered) was red and sore, the pressure from the socket leaving deep imprints in his skin.

Johnny dropped the prosthetic beside him with a tired grunt.

He wasn’t even mad about it, not really.

Just… annoyed.

Because this was his new normal.

Climbing stairs used to be nothing. Now it felt like a full-body workout.

Before, he had been strong. Fast. Unstoppable.

Now, everything took effort.

Johnny leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the night sky, letting the frustration simmer.

And then, as if his brain didn’t already have enough to be pissed off about.

…He thought about his powers.

The thought had been gnawing at Johnny’s brain for weeks.

But now, sitting alone on the rooftop, staring out over the city, he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

His flames were weak.

It had started at the rehab center. Just small tests, nothing big. Just a spark here, a flicker there. Enough to tell him that his powers weren’t gone completely.

But they were nothing like before.

Before, his flames had been instant. Effortless. A part of him.

Now?

Now they felt like they belonged to someone else.

He raised a shaky hand, willing even a small flame to appear.

It did. Barely.

Just a flicker of orange before it sputtered out.

His chest tightened.

What if it never came back?

What if he was never the same?

...

Johnny heard the door to the rooftop click open.

Footsteps. Measured. Familiar.

Reed. Back from the mission.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Reed said, coming to stand beside him.

Johnny didn’t look at him. “Yeah, well. You make it hard to be dramatic when you throw science at me all the time.”

Reed hummed. “You’re worried about your abilities.”

Johnny huffed. “No. I just like brooding on rooftops for fun.”

Reed didn’t react to the sarcasm. He just waited.

Johnny exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists.

“They’re weak,” he muttered. “Before, I didn’t even have to try. Now? Now I can barely light a match.”

Reed finally sat down beside him, calm as ever.

“That’s normal.”

Johnny let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? What if it stays like this?”

Reed adjusted his glasses. “Then we work with it. Adapt. But I don’t believe this is permanent.”

Johnny frowned. “And why’s that?”

“Because your body has been through hell, Johnny.”

Reed’s tone wasn’t harsh. Just matter-of-fact.

“You spent months having chemicals pushed through your system to kill the cancer. Your cells, every part of you, were under attack. It makes sense that your abilities would be affected.”

Johnny clenched his jaw. He knew Reed was right. But that didn’t make it easier.

Then Reed hesitated.

And when he spoke next, his voice was softer.

“If anything, it’s a good thing your flames were weak during treatment.”

Johnny frowned. “What?”

Reed looked at him carefully. “Your abilities react to your body, Johnny. If they had been at full strength during chemotherapy… the heat from your internal combustion could have burned the chemicals away before they had the chance to work.”

Johnny froze.

He hadn’t thought about that.

Reed continued, voice steady. “If your flames had been stronger, you might not be here right now.”

Johnny swallowed hard, turning his gaze back toward the skyline.

The city stretched out in front of him, bright and alive.

...and so was he.

Johnny didn’t speak for a long time.

Because… what was he supposed to say to that?

He had spent so long being afraid of losing his powers.

But if they had been at full strength?

He might not have made it at all.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “So, what? I should be grateful I suck at fire now?”

Reed huffed a small laugh. “I’m saying your body did what it had to do to survive. Give it time. You’re still healing.”

Johnny pressed his lips together. He hated waiting.

He hated feeling like a shell of himself.

But… maybe Reed was right.

His flames weren’t gone. They were just quiet.

And maybe, just maybe, they were waiting for him to be ready again.

Reed patted his shoulder. “You’re still Johnny Storm. With or without fire.”

Johnny exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sentimental on me, Stretch.”

Reed just gave him a knowing look before standing up.

“Come inside when you’re done brooding.”

Johnny smirked. “No promises.”

Reed rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

And as the door closed behind him, Johnny looked back down at his hands.

This wasn’t over.

He wasn’t done.

His flames would come back.

And when they did… he’d be ready.

A week later, Johnny stood at the edge of a cliffside in Greece, the ocean stretching out below him, the wind warm against his skin.

Sue was next to him, wearing sunglasses, sipping a drink.

Ben was wading into the water, scaring the hell out of the tourists.

Reed was attempting to explain ancient Greek architecture to a very uninterested Johnny.

And Johnny? He was letting it happen with a smile.

He was just there.

Alive.

He had spent so long fighting to survive that he had forgotten what it was like to just exist.

To wake up and not immediately feel like the world was crushing him.

To breathe without thinking about whether it would hurt.

To be free.

Sue nudged him. “You good?”

Johnny let out a slow breath.

He smirked. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Sue smiled. “Good.”

And for the first time, Johnny actually believed it.

Because after everything, he was still here.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

Johnny had never had a birthday party this big before.

The Baxter Building was completely decked out. Lights strung across the massive lounge, tables stacked with food, music blasting. People were everywhere, from his team, his hospital friends- hell, even some old school buddies.

He had missed his 17th birthday. Spent it sick, stuck in a hospital bed, too weak to even sit up properly. So this?

This was for both years.

Ben was at the cake, a massive, ridiculous five-tier monstrosity with literal flames made out of frosting.

“Damn, Matchstick, you’re really milkin’ this, huh?”

Johnny smirked, leaning on his crutches. “You kidding? I’m never letting you guys forget I survived. I expect this level of effort every year from now on.”

Ben huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Like we would forget eitha’ way. Blow out the candles, ya diva.”

Johnny stared at the flickering flames.

He still couldn’t light up.

Not yet. Not for a while.

But he didn’t need to.

He took a deep breath.

Then blew out the candles.

And for the first time in two years, he actually had a wish that felt achievable.

Johnny was making his usual rounds, basking in the attention, soaking in every second of being celebrated.

Then, from across the room, he saw Peter.

And Peter was of course already looking at him.

Johnny grinned and strolled (hopped, whatever) over. “Look who finally decided to show up!”

Peter rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Dude. I was here an hour ago. You just ignored me.”

Johnny snorted. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

Peter tilted his head. “So. How’s it feel? Eighteen, officially an adult, no take-backs?”

Johnny grinned. “Terrifying. I think I should get a refund.”

Peter laughed, and something about the way his eyes crinkled when he did made Johnny’s stomach flip.

It was sudden.

Unexpected.

Like someone had flicked a switch in his brain.

Because Peter was Peter.

Peter, someone who had been there through most of the bad stuff.

Who had snuck him dumb memes during chemo,and kept him company when he was too exhausted to talk. Someone who had FaceTimed him at stupid hours just to make sure he wasn’t feeling alone.

And now?

Now, Johnny was looking at him and realizing that maybe, just maybe, he had a problem.

(The problem itself being massive crush threatening to make his heart jump outta his chest.)

Johnny quickly decided to stop thinking about it.

Instead, he smirked and lightly nudged Peter with his right crutch. “C’mon, nerd. Help me get some cake before Ben eats it all. How he works that knife with those hands is a mystery.”

Peter shook his head, grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Johnny had no idea if Peter noticed the way his ears went a little pink.

But Johnny sure as hell did, and he let himself think about what that meant.

An hour later, Johnny was very pleased with himself.

He was eighteen now. A legal adult.

Which meant that technically, he could drink.

Sue, standing across the room, had a very nice-looking glass of wine in her hand.

Johnny casually strolled over (as much as he could with crutches).

Sue narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Johnny was on his third slice of cake when Peter sat down next to him.

Johnny didn’t react at first. Peter was always around.

And maybe Johnny’s heart did a dumb little jump when he saw him, but that was normal.

Right?

“So,” Peter said, casual. Too casual.

Johnny, mouth full of cake, raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Peter shifted a little. “I was gonna ask this later, but I figured- screw it. It’s your birthday, and I-”

He hesitated.

Johnny grinned, shoving another bite into his mouth. “Dude, why are you nervous? It’s just me.”

Peter groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “That’s exactly why I’m nervous.”

Johnny, still oblivious, just laughed. “Oh my God, what? You act like you’re about to ask me out or something.”

Peter stared at him.

Johnny blinked.

The realization hit him like a truck.

“Wait. Are you actually…?”

Peter, visibly mortified, nodded quickly. “Uh. Yeah.”

Johnny froze.

His brain completely short-circuited.

Because, what?

Peter Parker wanted to date him?

Now? After everything?

Johnny’s grip tightened slightly on his crutches. “Peter, are you sure?”

Peter blinked. “What?”

Johnny forced a laugh, suddenly feeling like his skin was too tight. “I mean, look at me. I still have check-ups, I still get exhausted all the time, I can’t even flame on right now. Dating me is-”

He hesitated.

Because he knew what he wanted to say.

A lot.

It’s a lot.

And maybe a tiny part of him - the part that remembered all the times he felt like a burden - was afraid that Peter hadn’t really thought this through.

Peter studied him carefully. Then, with zero hesitation, he shrugged.

“Okay. And?”

Johnny stared. “And? That’s all you have to say?”

Peter tilted his head. “Yeah? Dude, I know all that. I’ve been here, remember? I’m not asking you out because I expect some perfect, invincible version of you.”

Johnny exhaled sharply. “Yeah, but-”

Peter leaned forward, voice softer. “Johnny. I want to be with you. Not just when you’re healthy, or when it’s easy. You. Right now. However that looks.”

Johnny opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

His brain was still screaming.

He had fully prepared for Peter to see him as ‘recovering Johnny’ or ‘former Human Torch Johnny.’ He had not prepared for Peter to just… want him.

Just like this.

Just like always.

Peter grinned, nudging his arm. “I mean, if you’re turning me down, just say so. But if you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you’re broken.”

Johnny let out a breathless laugh. “No, I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, flustered. “God, you’re serious.”

Peter snorted. “Uh, yeah? That’s kinda how asking someone out works.”

Johnny blinked again.

Then, he nudged Peter’s shoulder.

“Took you long enough, Spidey.”

Peter blinked. “Wait, so that’s a yes?”

Johnny grinned. “Duh. Now shut up and pass me another slice of cake.”

Peter, still processing, just handed him the plate.

Sue, watching from across the room, just sighed and muttered, “Finally.”

Johnny grabbed his prosthetic and clicked it into place, adjusting the strap as he leaned against the side of his bed.

Even after all this time, some days were easier than others.

Most of the time, he didn’t think about it. He walked, he moved, he lived. It was just his leg now.

But sometimes?

Sometimes, it still ached.

Sometimes, the phantom pain kicked in at the worst moments.

And sometimes, the reality of it all hit him out of nowhere.

Not in a sad way. Just… a reminder.

Ben knocked on the door. “You comin’ or what?”

Johnny shook the thoughts off, pushing himself to his feet. He grabbed his crutches. It was one of those days.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, Rocky.”

He had places to be. Things to do.

A leg wasn’t gonna slow him down.

Johnny had spent 195 days admitted to the hospital. Give or take.

It wasn’t something he actively thought about most of the time. But now, sitting cross-legged on a hospital bed in the pediatric ward, surrounded by kids who were still in the fight, it hit him all over again.

He had spent half a year in places like this.

The beds, the fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic… They had been his whole world.

And now?

Now, he was here by choice.

“Alright, guys,” Johnny said, leaning back on his hands, flashing the group of kids his signature Johnny Storm™ smirk. “Serious question. Who here has already planned what they’re gonna do when they beat this thing?”

A few hands went up.

One kid, a scrawny 10-year-old with a nasal cannula, lifted his chin. “I’m getting a dog.”

Johnny grinned. “Solid choice. What kinda dog?”

The kid shrugged. “A cool one.”

Johnny nodded. “Respect.”

A girl sitting next to him, bald, maybe seven years old, with a stuffed unicorn in her lap, raised a hand. “I wanna be a ballerina!”

Johnny clutched his chest dramatically. “Incredible. You’ll be famous in, like, three years, I’m calling it now.”

A few of the older kids laughed.

Then, a quiet voice spoke up.

“I dunno what I wanna do.”

Johnny turned toward the girl who had spoken.

She was probably around twelve, dark curls tucked under a bandana, arms wrapped around her knees. And Johnny noticed immediately: her right leg was missing below the knee.

His heart twisted.

He knew that look.

The way she tried to make herself smaller, like she didn’t want to take up too much space.

Like she didn’t want to be noticed.

Johnny tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

“Lina.”

“Lina,” Johnny repeated, leaning forward. “Can I show you something cool?”

Lina frowned slightly. “I guess?”

Johnny grinned. “Awesome. Check this out.”

He stuck out his leg, reaching down to pull up his pant leg, revealing the sleek black design of his prosthetic. Then, without hesitation, he popped it off.

A few kids gasped. One of the little ones looked absolutely horrified.

Lina stared. “Whoa.”

Johnny wiggled his eyebrows. “Pretty sick, right?”

Lina blinked at him. Then, without a word, she rolled up her own pant leg and tapped her prosthetic.

Johnny grinned. “Matching set. Love that for us.”

Lina hesitated. Then, in the quietest voice, she asked, “Does it get easier?”

Johnny’s smile softened.

Because he knew exactly what she was asking.

She wasn’t just talking about the prosthetic.

She was talking about all of it.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

Lina stared at her leg for a second. “You don’t seem sad about it.”

Johnny exhaled, glancing around the room. The IV poles, the hospital beds, the monitors. The same things that had surrounded him for so long.

Then, he looked back at her.

“I was, at first,” he admitted. “And yeah, sometimes it still sucks. But you know what doesn’t suck?”

Lina tilted her head. “What?”

Johnny grinned. “The fact that I’m still here.”

She didn’t say anything right away. But he saw it. The way her shoulders relaxed just a little.

Johnny nudged her prosthetic lightly. “And the fact that we both get to be absolute badasses with these things.”

Lina’s lips quirked up. Just a little. “Yeah, I guess that’s kinda cool.”

Johnny smirked. “Damn right it is.”

The other kids watched quietly.

Because Johnny wasn’t just telling them it would get better.

He was proving it.

He had been them.

And now?

Now, he was the guy sitting here, fully alive, prosthetic leg and all, telling them they were gonna make it.

And when they did-

They were gonna have the biggest party ever.

Johnny sat on the balcony, watching the sunset.

He still couldn’t flame on.

Well technically he could, but he really shouldn’t.

The heat, the adrenaline, it could mess with the chemo (residual, which he was gonna be able to stop in just another few months), and with his blood counts.

And honestly?

He was fine with it.

Peter walked out, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s waist. They’d been dating for a few months now, he’d been in remission for over a year, and life was good.

“You think you’ll be able to fly again?”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah. Eventually.”

He studied him. “Does it bother you?”

Johnny shook his head. “Nah. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I miss it. But I can still help people. And right now? I just gotta take care of myself first.”

Peter snorted, but cuddled further into Johnny’s neck. “Who are you, and what have you done to my normally irresponsible boyfriend?”

Johnny smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, Johnny Storm wasn’t rushing.

He had nothing to prove.

His fire would come back when it was ready.

And when it did?

The world better watch out.