Chapter Text
Man, nothing beats a long day of hero work and finally being able to crash upon your mattress and fall asleep. Unless a villain ends up actually beating you instead, completely tearing you apart and destroying at least a couple bones in your body.
And it just so happened to be today as one of those days where you had the misfortune to be thrown across the city back and forth. Of course, you manage to capture the villain — barely, as embarrassing as it may come. Before anyone could even find you, you slipped between an alleyway, desperately catching up to your breath as you sat behind a dumpster. The police were handling the tied up criminal, so you didn’t need to worry about that. Though, you are worried about facing the city in a state like this. Times have been hard recently for New York City and it’d only make matters worse if they see their beloved hero ripped up like this.
You glanced down at yourself, using the faint lights of the night life behind you to study your injuries. By the feeling, you’d expect a few scratches, nothing major. As you went to pull yourself up, you let out a sharp hiss alongside a shearing pain ripping straight through your left shoulder.
That might’ve been a forming bruise.
Managing just fine, a few shocks of agony shooting through your entire body, you are able to lean against the dumpster, glancing towards the street. At this point, you’re coming to your wits end, realizing that maybe you’d have to sleep behind this dumpster again due to your minor injuries. You can’t possibly swing across the streets like this. People will see you, maybe even notice the trail of blood left behind as you drag yourself downtown. You’d probably end up losing enough blood to lose consciousness, crashing right into a giant billboard and falling into the roof of a bus.
You sigh, running a hand down your ripped mask in frustration. After such a big day of hero-work, man, you were looking forward to sleeping soundly inside of your bed. Just great. You slide back down against the dumpster when, suddenly, your attention caught onto the name of the street sign. A familiar address. You stare at it for a moment longer before you realized,
“Johnathon,” you murmured quietly.
—
There were about 9 different coffee mug stains scattered across the pile of papers upon Johnathon’s desk. Each one of those mugs were either disposed at the edge of the other side of his desk or left behind at the kitchen counter or the bathroom. Clearly, Johnathon was far too busy to even care to put the mugs into the sink. As they say, science never sleeps or whatever.
Johnathon furiously scribbled down equation after equation, mumbling between his lips. “No, no, ‘cause that’d mean the spin wouldn’t function as it should, it’d travel slower, then what if I…” then he’d scribble across that equation and move on to the next.
Far too busy with his math, he hadn’t even noticed your figure dropping down onto the side of his window. Your hand splayed upon the pane, glancing through ever so quietly. It’s nearly 1 am and this guy’s still working on his papers. Can he be any more unhealthy? You’d hate to disturb him, but this was crucial. You hit your forehead against the glass, awaiting Johnathon's attention.
Already exhausted from the entire day, Johnathon just had to make it worse by not being able to hear your. You groan, hitting your head against the pane repeatedly now. Johnathon jumps, startled by the louder thuds and ends up finding Spider-Man in a rather tattered outfit.
“Oh,” Johnathon quickly gets up from his chair, nearly tripping over his boxes as he runs over to you. “Sorry! I didn’t hear you!”
He finally slides open the window pane, watching you slip inside, head first. You basically somersault through the windowsill and plop upon the carpet with a groan.
“Oh god, are you okay?”
“Peachy. Can I have some water?”
“Sure, yeah, yeah. Did you eat yet?” You watched as Johnathon slightly struggled to hop through his piles of machines and papers.
“I’m fine, I’m just really thirsty,” you pull yourself up on your feet now, immediately being hit with a sharp pain against your side. You wince, nearly tripping back onto the floor as you hold yourself against the wall. With how dark Johnathon’s room is, his computer screens being the only source of actual light, you still weren't able to get a good view of your injuries. How does he even work in the dark like this?
Another wave of aching bled throughout your body. If you don’t sit down anytime soon, you might as well say your goodbyes.
Just as you were going to drag your body across the wall to the nearby couch, Johnathon was already frantically making his way over with a cup of water and a paper plate.
“Hey, hey, woah woah woah, what’re you doing! Let me help!” Johnathon nearly fell over for the fourth time tonight as he placed the dishes down on a nearby box.
He arrived to your side, sliding your arm upon his shoulders. You were about to assure him that you could walk by yourself, but then he held onto your waist, firm. He raised you enough so that your feet were light to actually walk without being dragged down by your weight.
“Okay, couch. I got you water… and then some, uh… reheated Chinese. Yeah. Basic teriyaki chicken and… and some chow mein.”
You could tell that Johnathon was busy calculating where the safest place was to place their feet next in between his sentences. He’d stick a toe between an array of machines then pull back. He only wanted the easiest and safest way for you. It was a nice change of pace for you after a day of nonstop bickering and fighting and punching and awful, awful, pain.
“Thank you,” your words came out soft; light.
“Hey, it’s always nice to have you over,” the man glanced over your way, exchanging a small smile as he shoved files and papers off the couch with his foot. You’d assume those papers held important data, but as Johnathon sat you down on the couch, you watched the papers blow away to the floor. Replacing those papers was you.
“Don’t you need those?” You’d point towards the fallen papers.
Johnathon looked behind him before he scoffed, “Well, clearly I have something a lot more important I need to deal with.”
Important. You don’t know why, but the word ‘important’ slipping out of his lips to describe you instead of his beloved machines made your heart spike. But, then again, you don’t know because it could’ve been an effect of the bleeding and bruising and overall pain that you’re experiencing right now. Afterall, Johnathon probably didn’t mean anything of it since the guy is sitting in front of you, aimlessly searching for the plate of food he had placed on the box behind him.
You’d weakly point behind him, making eye contact with Johnathon’s wide eyes before he turned around. “Oh, there it is. Sorry, hah,” Johnathon turned back around, handing the plate of food and cup of water to you. “Can you hold these? Or do you, like, need me to feed you…?”
“I’m not an infant, Johnathon, I can feed myself,” you’d chuckle as you take the cup. You pull your mask up to the bridge of your nose before you raise the beverage to your lips.
“So, what happened? Who’d you fight today?” Johnathon held the plate upon his lap, sitting criss-cross-apple sauce upon his carpet as he watched you chug down the cup of water.
You sigh, pulling down the empty cup, “Rhino. Y’know, as much as I hate the guy, you gotta admire his enthusiasm. It’s like, what, his second time fighting me this month and he’s still so sure that he can beat me.”
“I’m assuming you won?” Johnathon switches out the plate of food for your cup.
“Why would you assume, of course I won.”
“Oh, sorry, it’s not like you were just crawling through my window wearing your hero suit in shreds or whatever,” Johnathon shrugged as he got up.
“Okay, but you should’ve seen the other guy. Absolutely demolished,” you take a scoop of noodles into your mouth. Come to think of it, you haven’t eaten all day. All this grease and over-seasoned food today is suddenly making you want to weep out in joy right now.
Johnathon pours water into the cup now, peering over at you through the small archway of his kitchen counter. You’d glance back, mouth stuffed with noodles and chicken. “Food’s really good by the way.”
“Okay,” Johnathon lets out a breathy laugh.
He makes his way back to the couch, sitting right in front of you once again as he holds the cup between his fingers. You were all too focused on eating your plate to realize that he was staring at you. His fingers tapped against the cup as he squinted, taking in your damage.
He noticed the seams of your suit were torn apart. Between the holes were scratches; blood dried off at the edges of the red patches. There were blotches of dirt smeared across the suit, along with colorful circles of blue, purple, and yellow forming upon your skin. His eyes trailed up to your face now, noticing a couple more bruises and scratches accompanying the few sauce marks on your chins.
It truly baffles Johnathon whenever he remembers that you’re always out there in the city fighting all sorts of bad guys and swinging about as a real-life superhero. You are a legend around these streets, literally anyone would do anything to share a word with you yet here you are, eating Chinese on his crappy couch.
Sometimes it feels like the world forgets that you’re just one human being. It’s a terrifying position to be forced into. Sure, there’s the whole “great power comes great responsibility,” but in Johnathon’s eyes, this really is a lot for one person. It worries him everyday.
“Johnathon?”
He’s clicked back to the present, blinking a few times before looking back up to you.
“Could you hand me the water?”
“Huh.”
“The. The water…?”
“Oh!” Silly Johnathon, he pulls up the cup from his lap and hands it to you, apologizing under his breath a couple of times.
You take a sip, leaning back against the couch right afterward as you breathe out in relief. “Thanks again. I would’ve been sleeping in an alleyway tonight if it weren’t for you.”
“Alleyway? Why? Isn’t your place a couple minutes away?”
“Yeah, but I can’t really swing right now. Kind of messed up my shoulder after that fight and I didn’t wanna ruin the city’s morale, y’know?” You’d shrug. Johnathon’s lips melted into his typical frown, his eyebrows joining with.
“What, what’s with that face?”
“It’s just,” the man slides his hair back, sighing. “There’s no way you’re going to keep doing this for the rest of your life. I mean, doesn’t it scare you? Going out there, fighting people with guns and giant… mech suits. It’s scary.”
“That’s the thrill of it, Johnny. I get to swoop down there, dodge all their bullets, and be all cool while kicking their butts.”
“I’m being serious, these are life-threatening situations that you put yourself in everyday. This kind of lifestyle just can’t be healthy for you.”
Since when did anyone care if Spider-Man was okay? You kinda scoff at Johnathon’s worrying, holding the empty cup tightly within your grasp, sitting your elbows upon your knees as you leaned closer to the man’s face.
Johnathon would slightly lean back, his eyes fleeting from your eyes then to your mouth in a frantic manner. “What? I’m not wrong.”
You stayed there, watching him freak out over absolutely nothing for a few seconds before you shook your head, chuckling, “I’m literally Spider-Man. No one’s gonna take me down.”
“That’s not gonna stop people from trying.”
“They can try all they want, but I’m always gonna win.”
“Well, I don’t know, there could be a slight, possible chance where you won’t win.”
“Are you doubting my superhero-ness, Johnny? That’s harsh,” you jokingly hold your chest, lip pouting playfully as Johnathon only frowned deeper in response.
“I’m just looking out for you, alright? Besides, no one is forcing you to do this.”
“But it’s my responsibility, y’know, it’s my job to help these people. I gotta spread that good vibes around town; positivity and love,” you’d blink your giant bug-eyes as if you were flapping your bushy eyelashes all goo-goo like. But as you looked back at your friend, he seemed upset. Genuinely upset.
Suddenly, he roughly grabbed the empty cup from your hands and walked away. You were surprised by the sudden attitude, watching him drop the cup into the sink as he ventured further down the hallway without another word.
“C’mon, I was messing around!” You’d call back. Great. Now he’s in a mood. You painfully pull yourself up to your feet, making your way towards your friend. There was so much junk across the floor, you decided to rip off your face mask, too. It didn’t help much since this guy works in the dark, also.
“You can’t be mad at me, man. I get it, you’re worried, but I got this all—“ Another sharp throb churned within your bones. You quickly hold onto the nearest wall, biting back the urge to shout. “…I got this all under control.”
You glance up, finding the striped socks Johnathon was wearing sticking out of the entrance of the bathroom. Gradually, you slide your way over to him. Talkative, big-mouthed Johnathon still hadn’t said a word.
Finally, you lean against the frame of the bathroom’s entrance, watching Johnathon on his knees, digging through the cabinet beneath the sink. Beside his legs were packages of bandages, along with a few containers of antiseptics and cleansers for injuries.
“You don’t gotta pull those out, I’m fine,” though you were clearly towering over him, he still wouldn’t budge a sound, not even a small glance.
Ever since Johnathon found out that you were Spider-Man, you decided to visit his place every so often as Spider-Man. Very rarely would you come over to his place all scratched up like this. It’s not a good look on you, so this was a rare occasion.
In case of these rare occasions, Johnathon bought a whole box of medical equipment from the local pharmacy that would help fix you up after a treacherous battle. He even went out his way to watch YouTube videos that showed how to treat certain wounds. You told him that you didn’t really need all that stuff thanks to your whole regeneration ability, but Johnathon insisted. He’s a good friend, absolutely. There are just times where you can’t read him as well as usual. This one being one of them.
“Johnathon,” you called again as you watched him pull out cotton pads, never once did he bother to look up. “Look, I’m sorry I pissed you off, okay? I was just joking.”
As he continued to dig through his cabinet, a faint mumble managed to slip between all that rattling of the first aid equipment. You’d roll your eyes beneath your mask.
“Couldn’t quite catch that.”
“I’m not pissed, okay?” Johnathon pulls himself out of the cabinet now, throwing his arms to the sides as he looks back up at you, eyebrows furrowed so hard a new wrinkle was beginning to form between the two.
You studied his ‘not-pissed’ expression for a second longer, “I don’t know why you’re upset about my hero work. I’ve been doing this for a while now. This is my nature. You’re freaking out way too much.”
“You literally fell into my apartment bleeding, how am I supposed to not freak out?”
“Again, this is just how I roll. I’m gonna get beat up and then I’m gonna get back up again, Johnathon, why are you super worried all of a sudden?” you began to laugh.
Obviously, Johnathon is upset with you, but your nervous habit of just laughing and smiling away the anxiety started to kick in. This only made him even more upset.
“I’m your friend, I’m supposed to worry about — God, look at you!” Johnathon aggressively points to your body now. “This is not okay, this shouldn’t be your… your nature, this is…! Wrong! This is all wrong and unfair, you shouldn’t risk your life for these strangers! Hell, I bet most of them don’t even care about all the hard work you’ve done for them!”
You watched as his shoulders shook. He breathed soundly, catching up to his breath as those eyebrows began to soften, his eyes slick with tears.
“God,” he removed his glasses and roughly rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t like seeing you like this.”
Any sensible person would understand that. After all, you had entered his home unannounced, splattering red across the carpet in the middle of his work — Johnathon has every right to be worried or mad or sad or… whatever emotion he is feeling right now. Sure, you’re used to all this bleeding, but that doesn’t mean Johnathon is.
You gently slide down the doorframe to level with Johnathon, gritting your teeth to the excruciating stinging within your chest; you weren’t sure if it was the broken rib or the guilt of making your one close friend feel this way.
“I’m sorry,” you start quietly.
Johnathon simply sniffed, shaking his head, “It’s fine.” He shoved his glasses back on as he looked into the cabinet once more, clearly trying to avoid you. You’ve never seen him cry before.
Your fingers dug into the paint of the doorframe as you watched him continue to take out objects from the cabinet. Despite it all, he was still willing to help clean you up. The way he handled the objects were gentle; careful. As if their little quarrel had taken all of the emotions out from him, Johnathon had fallen quiet again just as his movements slowed down.
“You have every reason to be concerned about me, I get that. But if not me… then who else is gonna protect the city?" You watched him gently pause in place. Then, his arm sank down as he sighs, his head still between the doors of the cabinet.
“I’m not saying you're wrong. Kicking ass really takes a lot out of me, believe it or not. But no one else is gonna teach these guys a lesson. Have you seen the size of these guys? Their power?” You gently rock closer against the doorframe.
“So, I might as well since I have the privilege to do so,” you shrug softly, tilting a little to the side so that you could sneak a small glance at your friend. He was rather stubborn, keeping himself within the confines of the wooden cabinet, simply listening to your words.
“…Johnny.”
Reluctant, the man eventually stirs. He sits on his heels now, glancing over at you just barely over the side of the cabinet’s door.
You try a smile. Johnathon blinked at that before he surrendered, returning a faint smile. He sits back now, sighing as he closes the cabinet doors. You watched as he stared ahead of him, thoughts forming beneath those long-lashed eyes. After a second, he looks back at you, gazing upon your entire body; from mouth to knees to your shoulders and to your hands, taking note of each injury that he could find visible in front of him. Getting looked up and down kinda made you feel a little vulnerable.
A chuckle, you lean forward to nudge Johnathon’s knee, “Hey. I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.”
His eyes returned to yours, staring into them with a solemn expression, his eyebrows creasing up to form that worried look you always found adorable. Before you could even comment on that, Johnathon finally spoke,
“You shouldn’t have been through worse. You should’ve never been through anything.”
He leans against the door now, his lanky legs barely stretched forward as his feet hit the cabinet doors, “You don’t know these people you’re saving. How do you know if they even deserve to be saved?”
“It’s not whether or not they ‘deserve’ to be saved, they’re people, Johnny. People like you and me. They deserve this life just as anyone else does.”
“And then what happens if you die?”
You watched as he fidgeted with a spare roll of bandage in his lap, avoiding your glance once again.
“What about your life? It matters just as much as anyone else's, why can’t you just…” He shrugs, shaking his head as he scoffs. “You keep tossing yourself in fights, acting as if you won’t die, I...” Hesitant, his eyes meet yours.
“What if they hit you so hard you just don't get up again?”
A lump formed in your throat, the ability to breathe beginning to suffocate you as you watched Johnathon’s lip quiver softly. You swallow hard.
Responsibility is truly an agitating concept. Neither one of you could really complain about it seriously. After all, you were mature enough to comprehend that this is exactly what you must be doing.
Johnathon could only look at you, gripping tightly onto the wrap of bandages, all in this overwhelming moment of silence. It’s funny. Out of all your years of being Spider-Man, never once had you ever had to sit in front of someone this terrified for not their life, but yours.
Softly, you’d sniff, wiping your eyes quickly before anything could slip out, “I’ll be more careful, okay? For you, I will.”
He eyes you, gradually sitting up straighter when he realizes that you are being genuine. Johnathon blinks, “…Really?”
“Yeah,” you look at him, smiling. “Y’know, it’s not often that I get a check-in. Being Spider-Man for this long, you kinda learn to numb the pain.”
You could hear him call your name beneath his breath in a disappointing manner as you laughed off your nervous antics, “I know, I know, it isn’t healthy. I’ll work on it. As a matter of fact, I’m still kind of, well, bleeding. Everywhere.”
“Oh, God, you’re right, what am I doing, here —“
“I was actually hoping if you could help me.”
Johnathon stopped in the middle of crawling over and handing you the bandage; propped up on his one free hand and knees. He blinked before he pulled back, “Wh — Me? You want me to help you?”
“If you don’t want to —“
“No no no, I can help, totally!” he tosses the bandage back into the bin of other medical equipment as he picks himself up. You softly grin at his franticness as he nearly trips stepping out of the bathroom.
“Here,” before you could retort, Johnathon was already leaning down, taking your arm and slinging it over his shoulders as he picked you up again. This time, his hand held onto your side tighter, that familiar warmth blossoming within you as he led you back to the couch.