Chapter Text
Being spiderman kind of sucks. Now, don't get Will wrong, saving old ladies and fighting off strange interdimensional men and getting clout on social media is fun. But he's talking about his current situation, all brought upon by being spiderman. Falling off a building while your sister screams at you through a half busted earbud is not fun. He has no idea how El hasn't woken their entire family up. Hell, their entire apartment complex up.
Take that back- she probably has.
This feels like a moment where the movie would pause as the character is half-way through a fall and say something like “Now you're probably wondering how I got in this situation-” But Will is not a cartoon character. And he is very much past the whole ‘half-way’ thing.
He hates it here. officially. He doesn't get paid (Which, in nancy wheeler’s wise words and catch phrase, is absolute bullshit.) But if he did he definitely doesn't get paid enough to fall off seven story buildings three hours before school starts.
Really, why choose a fifteen year old to fight evil? Half of this city’s crime control- no take that back, all of it. The New York police department doesn't do shit- is relying on someone who can't even get his acne under control.
But in retrospect he shouldn't be thinking about that and should probably, you know, pay attention to the fact that he is about to break all of his bones from falling (correction, being thrown) off a bank. Not cool. Absolutely the least cool. He just wants to have a fun time playing dnd with his friends or sleeping or being forced to watch the newest romcom that el is obsessed with, but no he has to do this shit. He's quitting after this. Screw the greater good. The greater good can be held up by someone who actually has a high school diploma instead of Will Byers.
He tries to twist in the air and get the ground facing his back so that he can slingshot out of here, which, yes, probably should have been considered earlier. But earlier he was being thrown off a building, so you know. Duty calls or whatever.
He finally manages to get his back facing towards the ground and presses his middle and ring finger down, activating his webs.
It doesn't work. He jams his fingers down harder, breath coming out just a little fast considering how absolutely fucked he is.
He lets out a yell of frustration, jamming his fingers onto the button again. His webs aren't working.
His webs. Are not. Working.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-”
He can feel tears pricking at his eyes and being blown away by the wind. The terror settles deeply into his bones, clawing into his gut and making itself known.
Usually he can escape these things. A bit tired and sore, but still escaped them. But no, he just had to use all of his webs up in the fight without realizing.
He has enough foresight left to wrap his arms around himself in an attempt to buffer the fall at the last moment.
He hates that he’s conscious when he hits the concrete.
-’
He wakes up to Lucas Sinclair yelling directly in his face.
“-And then El calls me all crying and is like ‘Hey Lucas! Will, yeah you know, Will fucking byers, is spiderman! And just fell of a seven story building. Can you go grab him for me, since I'm grounded?” And I’m like, what the fuck El! No!? But then shes all scared that you’re dead so i have to drag my ass down to some stupid bank parking lot at Three in the fucking morning-”
Will has never wanted to see the boy less, he thinks. His head is still fuzzy, considering he probably has a nasty concussion, but otherwise he can comprehend everything around him fairly well.
He wishes he couldn't, to be entirely honest.
His arm is definitely, totally, without a doubt, %100 broken. With his whole enhanced healing thing it'll be fine soon, but with the way that it’s twisted in all the wrong ways under his back isn't exactly comfortable. Stopping a bank robbery was not worth all of this. Hell, capitalism probably deserves it anyways.
He can feel the prickling sensation of bleed dripping down the back of his head and soaking the back of his mask and his hair.
And look, he’s spiderman, relatively immortal, Or at the very least he’s much sturdier than the average human. But the pain in his skull, abdomen, back, arm- hell, everywhere, is worrying. Considering the fact that he can't move without white hot pain shooting through him is definitely something too.
He whines as he shifts in an attempt to get his arm in a different position. It relieves the pain a bit, but otherwise doesn't do shit.
Why spiderman? Why couldn't he have settled for customer service like a normal teenager?
Lucas’ rushed rambling stops abruptly when he makes the noise.
“Oh shit,” he mumbles. “Youre actually hurt aren't you?”
He levels him with a stare. Yes, he may be unable to see it through the mask, but the Will Byers Look™ isn't gonna be held back by a glorified piece of fabric.
Seriously? He was thrown off a building. He's obviously hurt.
He looks away and grits out, "don't take me to the hospital,”
Lucas is immediately indignant. “You are so stupid!”
His voice goes all high pitched at the end, like it used to when they were kids. If Will didn't feel like he was run over by 7 school buses in a row, maybe he would've chuckled.
Instead he just closes his eyes and prays to a god he doesn't believe in for Lucas to shut up and take him home.
He doesn't offer an explanation for the whole “no hospital” thing, because there are a lot. At least a few lucas should know of.
For one, his family cannot deal with hospital bills right now. Money is strapped as is, with Joyce and Jonathan working full time minimum wage jobs trying to single handedly support a family of four. Two of which are fifteen and rapidly outgrowing clothes, shoes, everything. They don't need an added $4,000 bill to add onto that stress.
Secondly, he is absolutely not lucid enough to come up with a convincing cover story. ‘Oh yeah I got blasted off a roof trying to stop a bank robbery!’ is not a normal thing for a tenth grader to say, and he doesn't feel like dealing with an investigation into him and his family,
or their living conditions, again. 6th grade wasn't a fun time.
Third, this isn't something a little ibuprofen cant fix.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Lucas squints at him. Will says nothing.
Lucas sighs, breaking the stare and dragging his eyes over Will, assessing the few visible injuries.
“You do know I’m not strong enough to drag you home, right?”
Will says nothing. Lucas sighs.
-
In the end, Lucas was somewhat right. After several muttered curses from the both of them, an indignant and slightly delirious rant from the boy, and Will having to put just enough weight onto his legs to not crumble to the ground as he was borderline dragged home, they managed.
A few upset… choice words from El (He’a willing to bet money that mike taught her those) and some bruise cream later, he passes out cold onto his shitty mattress settled in his floor.
It could've been worse, after all.