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Johnny used to look at the stars without a care in the world. Used to fly over the edge of the Baxter Building like he was chasing a comet just to see if it’d kiss his fingers. There were nights he’d flame on for no reason except to feel a little closer to the heat of dying suns. He called it “space flirting.” Reed would say something about combustion risks and atmospheric pressure. Ben would yell at him to knock it off before he burned his face off. And Sue—Sue would just sigh, shake her head, and smile. Because it was Johnny. That’s what he did.
That was before Galactus. Before she took the fall instead of him.
“Die with yours.” That’s what Shalla-Bal said. He was gripping the edge of her board like it was the only thing keeping him from drifting into nothing, and he couldn’t stop staring at her—at the silver reflection of himself in her skin. At her eyes, and how calm they looked even when everything else was chaos.
She didn’t die with hers. She died saving his.
She made the decision he was seconds away from making. She just… moved faster. Like she always did. Like she knew he’d hesitate.
“Tell Franklin Uncle Johnny loves him.”
And that was it. That was what it came down to. His nephew. He couldn’t let Franklin lose someone else. He couldn’t let that little kid grow up without knowing people could choose to stay.
So he lost someone else instead.
He loved her. Not for long—not in that way where you know someone’s favorite color or what kind of coffee they drink. But in that sudden, stupid, inevitable way. Like the way gravity loves falling things. Like the way fire loves air.
⸻
It’s been five days since Galactus vanished into whatever void Reed flung him into. New York’s trying to bounce back, like it always does. People go to work. Traffic still honks. Paperboys still toss headlines onto sidewalks like they matter.
But the Baxter Building feels… quieter.
Not silent. Ben’s footsteps still boom when he walks too fast, and Franklin’s laughter still drifts down the hall like music from another life. But there’s this weight in the air now. A missing piece.
Johnny’s been in his room for three days.
At first, no one panicked. He’s known to spiral after a big fight. Usually he gets all dramatic, posts some corny quote on social, eats a ton of pizza, and comes back with his hair messier than before. But this? This was different.
No posts. No jokes. Silence.
Even Sue couldn’t get more than a one-word answer through the door.
He was listening, though. That same recording of Shalla-Bal’s blessing, playing on repeat. Her voice echoing through his headphones like a ghost he didn’t want to let go of. It hurt to hear, but it hurt worse to not hear it.
He kept replaying it. Every time he did, it reminded him that someone saw him as worth saving. It made him feel like she was still here.
And he hated himself for letting her go. For not beating her to it. For still being here.
⸻
Sue knocks twice on his door— she always does. They all learned to respect privacy after what happened last year. She doesn’t expect him to answer.
Nothing. But she stays, her forehead pressed gently against the door like she’s hoping she can reach him through the wood.
“I’m not going to force you to talk,” she says quietly. “I just need to know you’re okay.”
He hears her. He always does. And part of him wants to open the door. Wants to let her in. But his body won’t move. His legs are heavy. His hand shakes when he tries to reach the handle. So instead, he curls up again, face buried in his pillow, and tells himself not to cry. Not again. He already cried himself hoarse two days ago. It didn’t help.
Inside his head, everything’s too loud.
I should’ve been quicker. I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve burned instead.
He was supposed to die with his.
And then there’s Reed, making the plan. Making the call. Like always. And everyone listens, because he’s the smart one. Johnny’s just the firecracker. The pretty boy.
So Johnny shuts down.Stops eating.
If he’s empty, maybe the fire’ll go out.
If he shrinks enough, maybe people will stop expecting him to be bright all the time.
⸻
When he finally drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen, it’s like a ghost showed up.
His skin’s pale. His eyes are sunken.
Ben glances up and almost drops his coffee. “Whoa. You look like a wet candle, man.”
Johnny tries to smirk. Doesn’t really stick. “Just needed some air.”
Reed looks up too, concern already halfway to a lecture. “Johnny, you haven’t eaten—”
“I’m fine.” It’s sharp. Too sharp.
He stumbles slightly and grabs the edge of the counter, playing it off.
Sue stands slowly. “Johnny.”
“I said I’m fine!” he snaps. His voice cracks mid-word. The air goes still.
Sue doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue.
“Okay,” she says gently. “Then let me sit with you for a while.”
He doesn’t look at her. Eyes stuck on the wall. Fingers tugging the frayed edge of his sleeve like it’s the only thing tethering him here.
“I don’t need anyone to fix it,” she adds. “I just… want to be here.”
For a while, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.
Then, barely above a whisper: “I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. It’s like I don’t get to anymore.”
Sue stays quiet.
“I loved her. And now she’s gone because I wasn’t fast enough.” His voice is tired, cracking in the places he tried to patch up days ago.
She steps closer.
“Johnny—”
“I can’t do this,” he says, backing up. “I don’t want to be told it’s going to be okay. Because it won’t. Don’t look at me like I’m going to get better.”
Her hand lifts, slow. Reaching. But he’s already walking to the balcony.
He stops in the doorway, just long enough to look back at her.
“I can’t be here right now. Not with the way you all look at me.”
And then he’s gone. Up into the sky. Leaving fire where he should’ve left footprints.
⸻
Outside, the city is quiet. The sky stretches wide and cold, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to chase anything. He just wants to fly.
Higher.
Higher.
Until the stars come into view.
He lets himself pretend. Just for a minute. Pretend she’s still out there. That if he looks hard enough, he’ll see her board cut across the sky like a streak of silver. That she’ll call out to him again and he’ll be fast enough this time.
The wind plays with his flames. His stomach growls. He ignores both.
Somewhere below, the others probably notice he’s gone. But no one follows. No one calls his name.
And weirdly… he’s glad.
Because maybe for once, what he needs isn’t comfort.
Maybe he just needs the space to fall apart in peace.
So he stays there.
Hovering above a world that feels too loud, too fast, too alive.