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littlelovelyspiderling · 10 days

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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 10)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9

word count: 28,732

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meet me on the 15th floor 😘

Peter’s heart did a somersault when the text message popped up on his phone. He flew to his feet, gunning instantly for the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears. He’d been pacing the halls of Avengers Tower since he’d returned home from feeding Marshmallow, checking the news and scratching his bandages and tinkering with his web-shooters—anxiously awaiting any proof of life from the Human Torch. Even though he’d hung around the fundraiser long after Wilson Fisk had left, watching Johnny and the massive figure have it out from his hiding spot in a nearby tree, cortisol pumping hot through his veins, he was still terrified that Fisk might go after him once the event was over and there were fewer witnesses around. It didn’t help that Peter had put his number into Johnny’s phone, but Johnny hadn’t given him his. He had no way of contacting the hotheaded celebrity to make sure he was okay—until now, anyway.

Every second felt like an hour as the elevator descended towards the bottom half of the tower. When he finally reached the 15th floor, Peter dashed out of the sliding doors into the empty room, eyes searching frantically for his friend’s familiar shape.

“Johnny?” Peter called, muscles coiled, head on a swivel. “Where are you? Are you in here? Are you all right?”

A strange little squeak noise came from behind the sofa in front of him. Peter frowned, creeping forward cautiously, ready for anything.

A moment later, five little fuzz balls came stampeding around the sectional, scampering straight for him, tiny paws slipping all over the hardwood. Peter stiffened in surprise as a bundle of wet tongues and wiggling tails surrounded him on every side, whimpering and barking and jumping on his shins.

“What the—?” he stammered, glancing between the five puppies in disbelief. It only took about three more seconds for him to stop caring what the hell was going on or what they were doing here and start gushing with endearment.

“Oh my goodness!” Peter exclaimed in delight. “Look at you guys! Oh my god! You’re so cute!” He knelt down to their level, trying to pet all their bouncing little heads at once as they licked and nibbled at his fingers. Peter giggled brightly, sitting all the way onto the floor as the pups dog-piled into his lap, squirming and whimpering and showering him in sticky kisses.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Peter asked, scooping one of the puppies up and pressing its nose against his. “Where did you guys come from?” The tiny pit bull pawed at his mask in reply, teething his nose through the fabric, making Peter laugh like—well, a boy covered in puppies. He made the terrible mistake of fully laying on the ground, which activated some feisty little instinct in the pups to all swarm straight to his face. They ambushed him with playful nibbles and slobbery tongues, transforming Peter’s giggles into all-out belly laughs.

“Wahait!” he cackled. Wet noses nuzzled his neck while baby teeth chewed on his ears. A couple of the puppies hopped onto his chest to get better access to his face, tiny tails swishing like windshield wipers. The masked hero squealed and squirmed, attempting to shield himself with his hands as giggles poured out of him nonstop.

“I’m being attahacked! Oh my god! Merhercy!” He was about to die of laughter beneath a furry avalanche of puppies, and he still didn’t even know how they’d all gotten here. As he gathered three of the five dogs into his arms and peppered their heads with kisses, a figure rose from behind the sofa, making Spidey glance up with a sharp intake of air.

“Why did I know that was exactly how you’d react to a room full of puppies with no explanation?” the Human Torch chuckled amusedly.

“Johnny!” Peter cried in relief. “You’re okay!”

Johnny cocked his head to the side. “Uh…yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter stood with one puppy tucked under each arm while the others jumped around his feet. “Wilson Fisk showed up at your event. I, uh—saw it on Twitter. I thought he might try to get back at you after what you said about him.”

Johnny winced. “Oh. Right.” He scratched at his chin and crossed his arms, a hard look overtaking his face. “He was angry for sure, but no, he didn’t try anything. He’s certainly one scheming, slimy, son of a bitch with more money than god. He asked me to endorse him as mayor, which I immediately declined, and practically popped a hemorrhoid when I told him you and I were friends.”

Peter grimaced. “I don’t think you should’ve done that.”

Johnny yawned and shrugged. “Why not? He was gonna find out we’re friends anyway—if he didn’t already know from all the posts and public statements I’ve made about you.” One of the puppies scurried from Peter’s legs to Johnny’s, and the Human Torch scooped the little rascal off the ground to cradle like a baby.

“Maybe advertising our friendship to the world isn’t the best idea at the moment,” Peter said gingerly. A smile reclaimed his features as he watched the pup in Johnny’s arms nip at his fingers while he scratched its belly. Peter placed the two sleepy pups he was holding back on the floor and snatched up the one currently gnawing on his ankle, bundling it against his chest and stroking his fingers through its baby-soft fur. “Where’d you get these cuties, anyway? And why are they here at the tower?”

Johnny shook his finger around as the puppy chewed it like a squeaker toy. “One of the animal shelters our donations from today are going to asked if we could help them get some puppies adopted since they're currently at capacity. I figured if we did some posts of us with the dogs, people would be tripping over themselves to take them home.” He smiled at him, pure sunshine stretching from ear to ear. “I also thought it’d make for a great new Spidey video. It’s really hard to see someone who turns into a giggly, baby-talking goofball the moment puppies are involved as a menace.” Johnny nodded towards the couch where a phone was propped up against the cushion, lips curling into a smirk.

Peter reddened shyly, petting the dog behind its ears. “It might be best if we put the Spidey PR videos on pause for now. If Fisk is really angry with you—”

“Dude—fuck Fisk. Fuck anyone who has a problem with me using my platform how I want. I promised I was gonna help you fix your public image, and that’s exactly what I plan to do, dickhead bald guys and pissy older siblings be damned.”

Peter hinted a grin despite the anxious pinch in his gut. “We just need to be careful. Any Fisk-busting activities from here on out need to stay under the radar. Let’s not post anything else that has anything to do with him on any of your socials again. Okay?”

Johnny plucked his phone off the sofa. “Duh. That was my plan already. All I’m interested in posting now is this adorable video of you drowning in a puppy mosh pit.” The sound of Peter’s laughter spilled from the device as Johnny watched the recording back, making the young hero flush with embarrassment. He replayed it again and again, snickering delightedly at Spider-Man’s childish reaction to the dogs, deep frying Peter’s skin from the inside out.

“Oh god,” Peter chuckled miserably. “Do you have to? I wouldn’t have acted so ridiculous if I knew you were filming me.”

“Exactly!” Johnny countered, tapping at the screen. “This right here is the real Spider-Man: uncensored, unscripted, and unequivocally cute as fuck. This is what the world is missing right now! Content of Spidey just being Spidey. Not whatever blurry, doctored images the Bugle has decided to run with this week alongside a headline straight out of an Onion article.”

“Couldn’t we go with something a little more…superhero-y?” Peter suggested. “What you captured was more of a me-me moment, not a Spider-Man moment. I think your fans would prefer something with a bit more action and excitement. Maybe you could film me—I don’t know—running through the alien invasion battle simulator? Hurling you as far as I can off the roof?”

Johnny arched an eyebrow. “Newsflash, dumbass—you and Spider-Man are the same person. Any ‘you’ moment is, by default, a Spidey moment. Also, between the two of us, remind me again who’s managed to win the hearts of millions upon millions of fans?”

Peter sighed. “You…”

“And who’s currently not allowed to do any strenuous activity?”

“Uh…me?”

“Right. And who agreed to let me take care of all their PR problems, no questions asked?”

“I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“Sure you did! And who had well over seventy people come up to him at today’s event telling him how much they appreciated his positive Spidey content?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then held up his free hand in submission. “All right, I get it. You’re the wise, all-knowing marketing wizard, and I’m your stupid, lowly apprentice.”

“And who had droves of people waiting hours in line just to rant to him that Johnny Storm is their favorite superhero in the whole wide world ‘cuz he’s so stunning and cool and sexy and perfect?” He jammed a thumb against his puffed up chest. “That’s good marketing in action, my friend. There was even this one guy—what was his name? I think it started with a P—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Peter shoved the puppy he was holding into Johnny’s face, which gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on the lips. Johnny sputtered and spat while Peter laughed out loud.

“Cool, sexy, and a great kisser? No wonder everyone’s so darn obsessed with you.”

“Blech! Spidey!” Johnny scrubbed his lips with his sleeve, face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh! It’s tongue went in my mouth!”

“Can you blame him? You’re everyone’s favorite superhero, after all. Little Fido here took one look at that perfect, stunning kisser of yours and knew he just had to shoot his shot. Do you charge extra for that kind of thing? You really should.”

Johnny scoffed, releasing the squirmy pup in his arms back to the floor. “I don’t let people kiss me in exchange for money, asshole. I have some class. I’m not a complete floozy.” He ran his hand over his mouth again, then winked at him. “Not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?” The Human Torch pressed closer to the masked hero, hands interlaced at his heart, batting his thick eyelashes. “Interested in buying one off me? Shall we talk numbers?”

Peter’s body took a screenshot. He really should’ve learned his lesson by now. Anytime he dared to tease Johnny Storm, the teenage heartthrob always struck back with five times the firepower and ten times the audacity. His eyes darted between Johnny’s cerulean stare and the delicate, freckled lips underneath, his pulse registering on the Richter scale. He does this to everyone, he tried to remind his runaway heart. It’s just a game to him. Nothing more. All his fans dreamt of pressing their mouths to his, of feeling their breaths collide, of carding their fingers through his strawberry-blonde locks. Just ‘cuz Peter believed he wanted it the most didn’t make him any more deserving of it.

Spider-Man inched back a step.“I—I don’t think I could afford you, Torch,” he managed to say, punching out a brittle laugh. Johnny bridged the space between them in a heartbeat.

“But you are interested?” he pressed him. Vulpine thrill twinkled in his eyes.

Peter swallowed, thorns of desire and panic and despair puncturing the back of his throat. Before he could attempt a reply, the puppy in his arms lunged forward and laid another wet one on Johnny’s unsuspecting lips, making the teen flinch back with a yelp and Peter double over with laughter.

“Ack! Not again!” Johnny spat.

“This little scoundrel certainly can’t get enough of you,” Peter giggled, squishing the puppy against his cheek as it licked him all over his mask. “If anyone finds out he’s managed to open-mouth kiss the Human Torch twice already, I don’t think he’s gonna have any trouble getting adopted.”

Johnny rubbed his lips and rolled his eyes while Peter gave the pup a grateful smooch on the forehead. Thanks for the quick save, he thought, blood still prickling beneath his flesh. How was he supposed to keep his feelings contained with Johnny pulling stunts like that? How much longer could he keep this charade going under these conditions? Hell—what if he already knew how hard Peter was crushing and just liked toying with his emotions? Dangling the possibility in front of him like a carrot on a string—only to snatch it away at the last second? How else would someone who knew how universally coveted their affection was keep themselves entertained?

Dizzied by the harrowing prospect, Peter returned to the ground and let the puppies flock to him, tickling their plump little pot bellies and chuckling at their adorable clumsiness. Johnny joined him a moment later, nudging one of the dogs with his toe while it nipped ferociously at his foot.

“Other than dick face showing up at the end, was the fundraiser good? Did you—y’know, earn a lot of money for the animal shelters?” He hoped his attempt to dodge Johnny’s question and move on from the subject didn’t come off as obvious as it felt.

Johnny smiled softly, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and something harder to diagnose from the long day of catering to the masses. “Yeah. It went good. Really good. Everyone seemed happy, and we raised lots of funds for a really good cause.” He scratched lazily at the back of the pup currently dozing on his thigh. “I wish you’d been there,” he added with a yawn.

Peter admired the sleepy teen with a fondness that threatened to cleave him in two. Even if he couldn’t be with him the way he so desperately wanted to, he had to appreciate what a privilege it was simply basking in his presence like this. To be by his side after the crowds had departed, after the festivities and decorations had been disassembled and discarded, after his hair had started to lose its gravity-defying texture and his voice was hoarse from talking so long and his endlessly infectious energy had finally been fatigued to the point he looked seconds from slumping face-first into the hardwood. Few others got to see Johnny Storm in this state: mask off, walls down, ring lights and news cameras nowhere to be found, soft and human and drowsy and in dire need of some aloe vera.

“How did your thing go?” Johnny asked, kneading his eye with the heel of his hand.

Peter wrinkled his brow. “What thing?” he said.

“The thing you said you had to go to that was happening the same time as my event,” he reminded him, a knowing smile touching his lips.

The teenage vigilante flushed. “Oh. Right. That thing.” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. “Good. Great. Yeah. No complaints.”

Johnny giggled lightly. Peter reached out and tapped the tip of his nose, which was as red as a ripely picked cherry. “You should really put something on that, Rudolph.”

The Human Torch blinked at him. “On what?”

“Your face. You’ve got a pretty bad sunburn.”

“I do?” he said bemusedly. “How? I even reapplied sunscreen and everything!”

“Every hour?” Peter inquired, raising an eyebrow. Johnny huffed.

“Now you’re the one sounding like my sister,” he grumbled. He prodded at his face with a scowl. “Where? Just on my nose?”

Peter scooted closer, tilting his head to one side. “Pretty much all over,” he conceded. He extended his hand and poked Johnny in the cheek. “Here,” he said, followed by a second poke to his other cheek. “Here.” Johnny chuckled sleepily as Spidey’s finger traveled across his face, prodding at the rosy pink skin. “Here, here, here.” His thumb hovered over the scar just above his eyebrow. For a moment, he considered running his finger across the same spot he had caressed just hours ago, the same way Peter Parker had as the two teens held each other's gazes. Johnny’s forehead was burnt, after all. But the fear of being found out was too stark, too paralyzing. Instead, he placed his palm over his entire face and gave it a playful shove, making Johnny exclaim in surprise. “Aaand here. Looks like you’re not burn-proof after all, Hothead.”

“Ow!” Johnny yelped, rubbing gingerly at the bridge of his nose with his eyes pinched shut. “Okay. Yep. I feel it now. Definitely burned. Ugh.” He held up his phone to examine his reflection, grimacing at the flushed face staring back at him. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough freckles already.”

“I like your freckles,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. He cringed as Johnny turned towards him with a look of surprise and fantasized about backhanding himself across his own stupid mouth. “I just—think they make you unique,” he added meekly. “Like…a dalmatian. Or a ladybug. But, y’know. In human form...”

Johnny snorted. Lucky for Peter, he seemed too tired to tease him for the comment as much as he deserved. “I hate when my sister is right,” he groused.

Peter stroked a finger over the nose of the puppy napping in Johnny’s lap. “Are you planning to babysit all five of these guys overnight?” he asked. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“No. I have to get them back to the shelter before ten tonight. Which reminds me—” The Human Torch turned his phone camera on Peter and gestured at him like a drunk maestro conducting a one-man orchestra. “Go on. Be cute. Say something to get these puppies adopted and make people think you’re hot shit. Friendly neighborhood hot shit.”

Peter snickered, holding one of the pups under the armpits and waving its floppy paws around. “Why don’t we save any more performative social media ventures for tomorrow?” he suggested gently. “You’ve been in peppy, upbeat, fan-service mode this entire day. You look exhausted.”

“But we won’t have the puppies then,” Johnny whined. “I have to take them back soon.”

“I trust you’re more than capable of restoring my image without exploiting the likeness of these poor, innocent doggies. Here.” Peter plucked the phone out of Johnny’s hand and held it up so both of them were in the shot, the two heroes hugging the five pups close as he snapped the selfie. Spidey handed the device back to Johnny. “Post that. Tag the shelter. List the names of dogs and why people should adopt them. Boom. Easy.”

Johnny studied the photo Peter had taken, pursed his lips, then nodded. “Boring, but effective. I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”

Peter split into a massive grin. “Did you just quote Star Wars at me?” he beamed.

Johnny chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve watched the movies. Who hasn’t? I doubt I’m as ridiculously obsessed as you are, but I don’t live under a rock.” He waved his phone at him tauntingly. “I’m still posting the puppy ambush video, by the way. Keeping this gem out of the public eye would be a condemnable offense.”

The masked hero sighed. “Fine,” he relented, gathering all the puppies in his arms and plopping them into Johnny’s lap. “You can post it if you fly these babies home right now and then go straight to bed. Sound good?”

Johnny offered him a drowsy smile and cupped a hand under Peter’s chin. “So bossy this evening,” he chided. “Very well. As you wish, yah sticky-fingered bitch.”

“You’re loopy,” Peter giggled, nudging his hand aside. He jabbed a finger towards the wide windows. “Go. Before you get so tired you pass out mid-flight. Or, if you need me too, I can take the pups myself on the subway.”

“I got it,” Johnny mumbled. Peter helped him stand and herd all five fuzz balls into the carrier. As Johnny walked up to the window, hugging the crate-full of puppies close to his chest, he turned and flashed a lazy grin over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, Webhead. I’ve planned out a very busy day for us, so be ready to get started bright and early.”

“What diabolical schemes of yours can I look forward to this time?” Peter asked playfully. “Any tar pits or bear traps I should keep an eye out for?”

“We both know you love my schemes,” Johnny replied, popping open the retractable window Stark had installed to make Spidey’s comings and goings more seamless. “Why don’t you use your foresight powers to see what I’m planning?”

“They don’t work like that,” Peter chuckled. “I can’t see into the future. I can just…feel when something bad is about to happen. In the very near future.”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “So like…super anxiety,” he concluded. Peter snorted.

“Huh. I guess so. Except if I ignore it, I have to deal with the very real, very immediate consequences.”

Johnny tucked the dog carrier under his armpit. “Well, I can assure you tomorrow will be all fun things. Nothing that should set off your spider anxiety. Hopefully.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be waiting on the 78th floor for you whenever you decide to roll out of bed. Before noon would be preferable.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter said, guiding Johnny towards the window. “Text me when you get back, okay?”

Johnny met his eye with a curious grin. “Why?” he asked.

Spider-Man blinked. “To…make sure you’re safe?” he said hesitantly.

The Human Torch’s smile softened. “Aww. How cute.” He reached out and pinched the apple of Peter’s cheek. “Sweet little Spidey’s worried about me—a superhero who takes down robot monsters and armed gangs for his day-to-day—flying across the city and back safely. That’s precious.”

“Now that Fisk is pissed at you too, I have to be,” Peter grumbled, shadows of concern lacing his voice. He flinched out of Johnny’s reach and rubbed at his cheek sourly. “Just…keep your guard up. There’s a very real chance he could try…I don’t know. Doing something to scare you into supporting him.”

A twinge of uncertainty crossed Johnny’s expression before melting back into a carefree grin. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, patting Peter’s opposite cheek. “But if it’ll ease your super anxiety, I’ll go ahead and text you when I’m home safe and sound. We can make it a regular thing. I’ll let you know that I’m okay, and you can reply back with shirtless videos for me to make into Spider-Man velocity edits.”

Blood rushed into Peter’s face like an upside-down waterfall. “Into—what?” he squeaked out, a bewildered laugh escaping him.

“Velocity edits! You’ve definitely seen them before. They’re all over TikTok. Superhero ones are particularly popular. I’ve gotten pretty good at making them, actually. I’ve been practicing. All I need now is a steady supply of video clips of you being hot on camera, and we’re golden.”

“I am not doing that,” the masked vigilante giggled sheepishly. “You told me I didn’t have to post that kind of stuff to get people to like me.”

“No, but it would certainly speed things along,” Johnny said, gesturing to Peter’s gaunt frame. “What’s the point of having a body as hot as yours if you’re not gonna show it off and use it to your advantage? Beauty is power, babydoll, and like you always say: with great power comes great marketability. Even just a photo or two without the gaudy leotard would make my job so much easier. I have some fishnets and a strappy leather vest you can borrow if you prefer—”

“Goodnight Johnny!” Peter shoved the cackling celebrity fully out the window, who burst into flame to stop himself from dropping like a stone towards the earth far below. All parts of him except for the ones touching the dog carrier ignited like gasoline, coating his body in flickering tongues of fire that suspended him in the air. He spun towards Peter, glowing brighter than every light in the city, a galaxy of stars confined to the flesh of one radiant boy.

“Goodnight Spidey,” Johnny said back, dazzling in every sense of the word. He pressed his palm to his lips and blew Peter a kiss that drifted off his fingertips as a perfect ring of smoke. Just like he had to that girl back at the fundraising event—the little party trick that had singed Peter with the shameful sting of envy. Except now it was him on the receiving end, yet the gesture only left his heart more threadbare than ever before.

Johnny rocketed away before the smoke ring breached the distance between them, his dramatic exit buffeting its lovely shape, but not destroying it. Peter watched the Human Torch soar between skyscrapers and the pale spatter of stars freckling the night sky, a tail of pure light trailing behind him. As he disappeared into the city, the circle of smoke floated through the open window, slow and ethereal and cruel, then poofed into nothing the moment it brushed Peter’s cheek, dousing the masked hero in the warm, oaky scent of Johnny Storm. He held up his hands and watched the fading tendrils of smoke ghost between his fingers before evanescing completely.

What is really going on here? he asked himself hollowly, lifting his gaze back to the Manhattan skyline that perforated the barrier between heaven and earth.

Peter presumed there were three options:

One, Johnny knew how much Peter liked him and was just dicking around with his feelings for his own personal amusement. That was probably the worst scenario out of the trio Peter had in mind.

Two, Johnny was just being his usual flirty self and had no idea that Peter liked him that way, and no clue what his relentless teasing was putting Spidey’s poor, lovesick heart through. Peter suspected this was the most likely situation.

Or three…oh god. The most daunting and delusional of them all. The possibility he could hardly let himself think about without his heart threatening to spontaneously combust. That Johnny was flirting with him outright because he liked him back, and Peter was, per usual, a hopeless moron too clueless and afraid to take a hint and make a move. That everything he wanted was right in front of him, if he only had the courage to risk everything he had to seize it.

If by some miracle option three was the truth, why was Johnny being so reticent with his feelings? He wasn’t the type to shy away from staking claim to what he wanted. Was it possible he was harboring the same fears Peter was? That his crush might not like him back? Peter didn’t think his infatuation with the flaming hero could be more obvious, despite his attempts to disguise and subdue and smother it. But maybe he was doing a better job than he thought. Maybe Johnny was scared of confessing his feelings outright because he feared the masked hero’s rejection. Maybe Peter was the one needlessly toying with Johnny’s emotions, not the other way around.

Or maybe he was kidding himself. Whichever option held the truth, Peter had to know what Johnny’s real intentions were. If he had any at all.

Lucky for him, Peter was stuck with the zany, beautiful teen for the next couple days. Plenty of time for him to conduct a secret investigation into Johnny Storm’s true feelings towards Spider-Man, platonic or otherwise. Better to shatter his own heart sooner rather than later, lest he drive himself mad entertaining these inane fantasies of him and Johnny and sneaking kisses on rooftops and ughhh.

And before Johnny’s torturous flirting rendered him catatonic.

Unlucky for him, for this plan to work, Peter had to be bolder. Braver. The exact opposite of his natural state. And somehow magically transform himself into a morning person overnight.

Fuck it.

That was the mindset Johnny woke to following a night of burning questions and nauseating restlessness. As things stood now, it would seem he and the masked vigilante were at an impasse. He’d surged too far forward, dug his thumb in a little too deep, and now there was nothing left to do except press onward, forge ahead, follow the clear-cut path he’d carved for himself, or give up entirely before it was too late.

Johnny had tested the bounds of his and Spidey’s relationship more than ever before last night—stabbing recklessly at that splintering line he and the spider-themed hero always danced around but didn’t dare cross. Do you think about me? About kissing me? How often? Why do you worry about my safety? Because we’re friends, or because I mean more than that to you? Just tell me. Say it. One word, one leap of faith, and I’m yours. That’s all I’m waiting for. Just say it. Please say it. I need to hear you say it.

The webhead had once again circumvented his inquiries with his trusty wards of humor, fighting to sustain their little game of back-and-forth a tiny bit longer, grappling to keep the playful ruse alive—where things were comfortable and familiar and safe. But Johnny was tired of skirting around what neither of them could no longer deny. Johnny was done acting demure and playing games. He’d charted the stars, aligned the coordinates, mapped out trajectories, assembled his case, and all paths pointed to the inevitable.

Spidey liked Johnny. Johnny liked Spidey. And it was about damn time for both of them to grow a pair and admit it already.

So…fuck it.

The Human Torch rose from his bed, threw on his favorite crewneck and his light-wash Levi’s that fit like a dream, tagged his neck with a spritz of Bleu de Chanel, and marched his ass into the goddamn elevator.

Sure, this could change a lot of things between us, Johnny thought to himself, flipping another pancake onto the stack to his right. He’d made one of each of his signature flavors: dark chocolate chip, peanut butter banana, and strawberry shortcake. But I want him to know what he means to me. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore. At least not from him. He scooped a thick helping of steaming hash browns and turkey sausage onto the plate as well. And this time, I know he feels the same. I’m certain of it.

Johnny garnished his dish with freshly cut strawberry slices, which he arranged into a smiley face on top of the pancake stack, then poured a tall glass of orange juice. He lifted his perfectly curated breakfast assemblage off the counter with care and strode towards the elevator, nervous excitement pounding through his bloodstream. He reached out to press the “up” arrow button, but the elevator doors pared open before he had the chance. A bolt of heat flashed through him as a familiar masked figure peeled into view.

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. Tiny flames spiked outwards off the shells of his ears, but he managed to extinguish them a second later, although the heat in his cheeks continued to burn like two defiant suns. Clearing his throat, the Human Torch jumped back a step to give him space to enter the room. “Um, hi! I thought you’d still be asleep. I was just about to come see you.”

Despite the mask concealing his features, Johnny could hear the webhead’s sleepy smile in his voice. “Good morning,” Spider-Man greeted him, joining the celebrity hero on the 78th floor. His eye lenses shuttered closed as he stretched his arms out at his sides, flexing and flaunting the lean muscle corded across his torso and limbs. “I thought I would be, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I woke up around eight this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured I might as well come down now so we could get an early start on whatever horrors you have in store for me today.”

The fishing line of anxiety strung taut through Johnny’s insides unraveled a little. “I didn’t sleep well, either,” he said carefully. His eyes lowered to the warm plate of food balanced on his fingertips. “I had…a lot on my mind.”

Spidey’s gaze followed his, head tilting to one side. “Did you make all that? It looks incredible.”

“It’s for you,” Johnny said a bit too quickly, thrusting the plate and the glass into the vigilante’s chest. Spidey blinked his wide eye lenses before taking them awkwardly in his hands, a small laugh fluttering out of him.

“Wow. Really? That’s so sweet.” He adjusted his grip to a more comfortable angle, spilling a bit of juice from the overflowing glass and almost sending the pancake stack splattering to the floor. “Whoops. I got it. There we go.” His voice lifted with appreciation. “Thank you so much! Y’know, if you keep feeding me this good, Mr. Stark’s gonna have to add some extra give to the waistline of this suit.”

“Don’t worry,” Johnny assured him with a smile. “I only make breakfasts like this for very special occasions.”

Spidey perked up. “Oh? What’s so special about today?”

Johnny’s smooth grin wobbled as bombshells of uncertainty went off in his gut. His eyes traced over the intricate details of Spidey’s mask; the delicate black lines branching out from the center of his face and fanning across his entire body as one beautiful, interconnected web. He wanted to glide his hands across the threads, to trace their paths to the edge of his mask, to slip his fingers underneath and peel back the layer separating the mystery boy’s lips from his own.

It was great being Spider-Man’s friend. Absolutely wonderful. Things could stay exactly as they were between them, and Johnny would be happy. Grateful. Content. But Apollo knew he wanted more. So much more. They both did.

And god, did they deserve it.

Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, then exhaled weakly.

No more games. No more lies. Just the truth.

Slowly, the Human Torch reached out his hand and curled his fingers around Spider-Man’s wrist, anchoring himself to the soft thump of the vigilante’s pulse. He sat that way in silence for a moment, trying to match his frenzied heartbeat to Spidey’s gentle, steady one.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now,” he said, battling to keep his voice strong and unshakeable. “I’ve just been…scared of how you might react. You’re really important to me, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. But…”

“You’re part of a multi-leveling marketing company that sells plant-based wrinkle cream in bulk, and you want to invite me to join you in this lucrative sales opportunity to be my own boss and reach financial freedom?”

Johnny stared at him bemusedly for a moment, then scowled. Spider-Man giggled to himself.

“Sorry. Was that not what you were going to say?”

“Please be serious for a second,” Johnny implored, giving his wrist a squeeze. “No jokes, all right? This is important.”

“Now look who’s being the bossy one.”

“Webs,” Johnny deadpanned. Spider-Man suppressed another childish snicker. The Human Torch pinched his eyes shut, frustration and terror churning inside him, then lifted his hand from Spidey’s wrist to his cheek, running a finger along his jawline as his heartbeat crawled into his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Immediately, the masked hero’s laughter dried up, his body going rigid beneath Johnny’s gentle touch.

“I like you, okay?” Johnny blurted out, voice shaky but steadfast. “I’ve liked you since the day we met, even if I didn’t know it at the time. You’re funny, smart, obnoxiously selfless, and so fucking humble about how amazing you are it makes me wanna puke.” He cradled the boy’s masked face in both hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I love everything about you. And I love being your friend, but I’d love it even more if we were more than that. I’d love to hold your hand, to call you mine, to take you on elaborate dates…” He dragged his thumb along the perfect curve of his lips. “To kiss you.”

For the next few moments, Johnny stood before the masked hero in silence, trembling slightly, his body as hot and volatile as a volcano seconds from erupting. He waited, ill with anticipation. Spidey gazed back at him for the entire length of the confession without uttering a word or moving a muscle. Johnny brushed his knuckle against his cheekbone.

“Well, say something,” he beseeched him.

Johnny felt a shudder shoot through Spider-Man’s skeleton. Then he flinched backwards violently, staggering away from his touch, the plate of food and glass of juice slipping from his hands and crashing to the floor, making Johnny wince in alarm.

“Shit!” the Human Torch yelped. “Are you okay?” He took a step towards him, but Spidey retreated back even farther, shaking his head from side to side.

“Dude,” he finally said, voice tinged with incredulous laughter. “What the fuck?”

Johnny froze in place, eyes lifting mirthlessly to Spider-Man’s. A ball of ice hardened inside him. “W-what—” he began to say.

“You’re gay?” the masked hero scoffed, flicking syrup and orange juice from his fingers. “And you thought I was gay, too? Are you being serious right now? Holy shit, bro—this is so fucking weird.”

Johnny swallowed, heart withering with dread and disbelief, tears stinging in his eyes. “Spidey—listen. I didn’t—I thought—”

“All the time we’ve spent hanging out and working together, all the nice things you’ve done for me—it’s all been because of this? Because you think I’m hot and want to get in my pants? That’s what made you decide to be friends with me? That’s what our entire friendship has been built off of since day one?”

As Spider-Man’s voice grew louder and angrier, the world around them began to shift. The kitchen and the tower and the earth as a whole fell away from their feet, dissipating like smoke, leaving nothing but endless blackness save for the light of countless stars twinkling in galaxies millions of lightyears away. The two teenagers hovered in the dark expanse of space, the Fantastic Four’s starship floating soundlessly in the distance.

“It’s not like that,” Johnny croaked out, red-hot flames building beneath his flesh. “Please, just—forget I said anything. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to lose you as a friend over something as stupid as this.”

Wordlessly, Spider-Man reached underneath his chin and grabbed hold of the edge of his mask, making Johnny’s eyes flash wide. His jaw fell open as the vigilante peeled the disguise off his head, then practically dropped to the edge of the universe at the familiar face he was met with when the person underneath was fully revealed.

“Sam?” Johnny breathed, tears slipping down his cheeks. Sam Alexander glared back at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Sam sneered—although the voice was a chilling blend of both Nova’s and Spider-Man’s. “How can you expect me to stay friends with a guy who I now know is constantly thinking about dating and kissing me?”

“W-what are you saying?” Johnny asked hollowly. Sam crossed his arms against his chest, the Spider-Man costume disintegrating off his body to reveal the black and gold Nova Corps suit underneath.

“I’m saying this is too fucking weird,” he clarified. “I’m saying…I don’t think we should talk or hang out anymore. Like, ever.” The Nova helmet crawled across his face along with the rest of his suit, hiding his dark eyes behind the even darker uniform. Exactly how he’d looked in Johnny’s final memories of him. Sam tore his gaze away from Johnny’s, muscles rigid with discomfort. “It’s probably for the best that after this mission, we just go our separate ways.”

Johnny shook his head, dismay surging through him like a tidal wave. “Sam,” he said, voice breaking. He extended a hand towards his friend. “Sam, please—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam turned away from him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. He blasted upwards without looking back, shooting into the dark abyss like a streak of pure stardust. The Human Torch was left floating in the empty black expanse, sobs rattling through him, shell-shocked and alone.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Fire began to fill every corner of his vision, even with his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t leave. Please. I'm sorry.” The flames raging inside him were hot enough to burn up anything and everything in existence.

“I tried to warn you.”

Johnny’s head whipped towards the sound of his sister’s voice. She and the rest of his teammates had him surrounded, expressions steeled with disappointment.

“S-stay back!” he cried, throwing his hands out in front of himself. His body was coated in hungry orange flames he did not summon—tongues of blazing fire he could not control. As his despair fed and grew, so too did the flames engulfing his entire being.

“You’re never going to learn, are you?” Susan snarled. Johnny’s flames were melting the skin clean off her bones. “You can’t help yourself. You think having millions of fans makes you entitled to the affection of anyone you choose. Even those who had zero chance of ever liking you back.”

“You’re dying!” Johnny screamed, shielding his eyes in horror. The flames radiating off him howled and crackled, swallowing up his friends in their deadly wake. “Please! Get away from me! I can’t make it stop!”

“It’s a game to you,” Sue gurgled, gagging on her own liquefied flesh. “A way to make your perfect, pathetic life a little more interesting. A way to torture yourself with the one thing you want most that you know you’ll never have or deserve.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around his midsection, tears boiling in his eyes, shrinking into himself in hopes that it would shrink the ravenous flames, too. But the fire only intensified, searing the life out of everyone it touched. Roasting every remaining member of his family alive.

“Help me,” he pleaded, fire and heat pouring from his soul like the core of a dying star. The ungovernable inferno scorched into his cells had finally conquered him, had finally won. Sobs tore from the Human Torch’s throat. There was nothing left but the anathema of his destruction. A monster forged in death and carnage.

“Help me! Help! Please help! Spidey!”

Johnny Storm was on fire when he shot upright in bed.

He doused the flames as soon as he was conscious enough to do so, choking down panicked gulps of air, but the damage was already done. His sheets were scorched, the mattress fried, and his pillow had a giant charred chunk burned through it that vaguely resembled the shape of his head. He swatted frantically at the tiny wisps of fire dotted across the comforter, swirls of smoke curling towards the ceiling.

“Shit,” he hissed, scrubbing a hand across his sweat-speckled face. Unusually bright sunlight spilled through the window onto the foot of his bed. The stench of singed linens hung in the air. He closed his eyes, pressing a palm to his chest where his heart felt seconds from bursting out of his rib cage.

A dream, he realized, panting harshly, skin hot yet cold and slick with perspiration. Not real. Not real. Not real.

Not all of it, at least.

“Good morning, Johnny,” Tony Stark’s A.I. greeted him from overhead, making the teen flinch. “It would appear you had a nightmare and accidentally lit yourself on fire in your sleep. An assistance robot is on the way to help attend to the situation.”

A few seconds later, the door to his room eased open, and what appeared to be some kind of claw machine arm on wheels rolled inside. It was much more bulky and clunky-looking compared to the other robots Johnny had seen working around Avengers Tower. It held a tube in its three-pronged hand that was pointed directly between Johnny’s eyes. The bot lumbered over to the side of his bed, strange little beeps and warbling sounds emanating from it.

“Uh,” Johnny said, drawing back a little. “Okay…? What’s it gonna—”

A blast of foam straight to the face cut him off. Johnny shrieked in surprise as the robot layered him and the bed in extinguishing suds, shielding his eyes and pinching his mouth shut. By the time the bot was through with him, he was drenched in soapy chemicals and thoroughly unamused. Satisfied with its work, the robot left the way it had come, politely shutting the door behind itself. Johnny sat beneath the mountain of bubbly foam, disheveled and disoriented.

“I’ve submitted an order for a replacement mattress and pillows to be delivered to the tower. They should both arrive in the next couple of days. You can sleep in the spare room on this floor in the meantime. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Johnny clambered out of the bed and onto the floor, muttering colorful curses as he brushed the suds off himself in large globs. “Nope. Pretty sure you got it all. Better late than never, I guess.” He kicked his feet with a grimace, painting the walls in splatters of foam, then dusted off his shoulder blades. Knives punched into his belly as the details of his nightmare returned to him, as his pulse finally began to slow and steady its pace. As the last words Sam Alexander had left him with echoed in his ears—but in Spider-Man’s voice.

All his excitement and enthusiasm for the day ahead, struck dead in a heartbeat. All his eagerness to confess his true feelings to the webhead, scoured clean from his bones. Anguish closed around the young hero’s throat like a fist.

“Is Spider-Man still asleep?” Johnny asked the ceiling somberly, smearing suds across his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Spider-Man is currently making toast on the 78th floor,” FRIDAY replied. Johnny frowned.

“Really? He got up before I did?” Johnny turned towards the harsh glow of the window and narrowed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“8:41 am.”

The teenage celebrity’s mouth fell open. He rarely ever slept past 8, and couldn’t remember the last time he woke up after 8:30. He must’ve really needed the rest after all those hours of charming the crowds while baking in the hot sun. Even more shocking was the fact that Spider-Man had gotten up and beaten Johnny to their rendezvous point before Johnny was even dressed for the day.

He considered rushing through his morning routine so he could join the webhead as soon as possible and playfully interrogate him for this duplicitous subterfuge, but he found his heart just wasn’t in it. He was too shaken up, too demoralized. Every fear he’d pushed down and bottled away since that final day with Sam was now boiling at the surface of his skin, roaring through his veins.

What if he reacts the same way Nova did? he thought, hugging his midsection as tears slipped from his eyes. What if he never wants to talk to me again once he knows the truth?

Johnny’s insides twisted as the realization sprinkled over him. He would never find the courage to confess his feelings to Spidey. He’d never be confident enough to summon the words or take that risk. Not again.

“If it’s not too much to ask, you might want to go downstairs and lend Spider-Man a hand,” FRIDAY suggested gently. “He just pulled the eggs out of the fridge, and the last time he tried making an omelet, he almost burnt down the whole kitchen.”

Despite the tears in his eyes, a smile found its way onto Johnny’s lips. He laughed softly, wiping at his cheeks. “Fair enough,” he said, taking a level breath in and out. “I’ll head down in just a bit.”

As he ran a comb through his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, Johnny gave his arms a few sharp pinches. Just to make sure whatever he faced downstairs was real—and not a resumption of the same sinister nightmare.

A miserable whine slipped between Peter’s lips as the strawberry-blonde celebrity appeared at the bottom of the staircase just in time to watch him scrape viciously at the charred remains of what used to be eggs that were burnt to the bottom of the pan. He dumped the inedible concoction into the trash along with the rest of his failed omelet attempts and palmed his forehead in his hand.

“Nooo,” Peter groaned, shoving the smoking skillet under the faucet. “Why are you up already? I thought I had more time! Nothing’s even close to being ready yet!”

Johnny strode towards him with one hand hanging in the pocket of his sweatpants, taking in the scene of the arachnid-themed hero spattered in pancake batter and surrounded by pans crusted in half-scorched culinary disasters. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as a weak smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?” he asked amusedly.

“I’m trying to cook you breakfast,” Peter huffed, tearing an avocado in half with a tad too much super strength. “You’ve made me two of the best meals I’ve ever had without me even asking, so I thought it’d be nice if I made you something in return!” He started slicing the avocado into long spears, not bothering with a cutting board, a small prickle of warning tingling along his neck as the knife slammed down hard against the countertop, coming dangerously close to chopping off his pinky finger. A large chunk of avocado shot across the room and hit the tile with a wet splat.

“Whoops,” Peter murmured. Grimacing, Johnny rushed around the island and snatched the blade out of his hand.

“Okay—I’ve seen enough. You’ve officially lost all knife privileges.”

Peter sulked in defeat, scooping the smooshed avocado off the counter and onto a plate. This was not going at all how he’d planned. He’d lied awake in bed late into the night yesterday, scrolling through dozens of articles and TikTok videos with cringe-inducing titles such as “36 Signs A Guy Has A Crush On You,” “How To Tell If Your Friend Likes You Back,” “20 Foolproof Ways To Find Out If He’s Into You,” etc—trying to get some insight into Johnny’s feelings towards him and coming up with a strategy to uncover the full truth. One girl suggested doing something romantic and unexpected for them and gauging their reaction. If their response was positive, there was a good chance they liked you. Indifferent—or outright negative—probably not.

She had neglected to mention what to do if you completely bombed step one and were found grimy and frazzled without one palatable offering to your name, standing in a kitchen dirtied and overflowing with your unseemly cooking blunders. Johnny squinted at the lumps of ash gathered at the bottom of the sink and furrowed his brow.

“What the hell were you even trying to make?” he asked with a snort.

Peter sighed. “Crepes, french toast, fruit tarts, eggs benedict…” He counted off the fares on his fingers, eyeing each failed feat where they sat either burnt or botched on the counter, feeling more and more disheartened with every word.

Johnny chuckled, looking far too cute and way too cuddly in his color blocked sweatpants-hoodie combo, cheeks still dusted pink from yesterday’s sun exposure. “Those are not the easiest dishes to make, Webs,” the Human Torch said, shooting a glance at the stack of pots piled high in the sink and the blackened pans scattered across the stovetop. “Especially when you’re trying to make all of them at once instead of focusing on one dish at a time.” He poked at a mound of suspicious goop by the faucet that vaguely looked like it was breathing. “Why not try something simpler that doesn’t result in you turning the kitchen into a radioactive hot zone?”

Peter swallowed, heat bleeding into his ears. “I just…wanted to do something nice for you,” he explained quietly. He felt Johnny’s gaze lift to his face and suddenly found a speck of egg shell on the counter the most interesting thing in the entire universe. “You’re always doing such nice things for me—making stuff and planning things and sticking your neck out for my sake. I wanted to show my appreciation.” He scratched at one of many oil stains on his costume with a frown. “But I guess I should’ve picked a gesture I’m actually capable of executing. Like—inventing a new type of webbing and naming it after you or whatever. Cooking is your strong suit, not mine. I don’t know why I thought whipping up a multi-course breakfast for you was a skill I possessed. I mean—I followed the instructions! Well, er—I tried to, at least! How do you always make it look so damn easy?”

To Peter’s surprise, the smile Johnny offered him barely reached his eyes. “Being able to control the temperature of what I’m cooking definitely helps,” he said halfheartedly, tossing the knife into the sink. It wasn’t until now Peter noticed that Johnny’s voice was missing its usual vibrant spark; that his expression was distant and weary. Even though he’d slept later than normal this morning, he seemed even more tired than he was last night. Dark circles ringed his downcast eyes. Worry rippling through him, Peter abandoned his mushy avocado carcass and laid a hand on Johnny’s arm.

“Hey—Torchy.” His voice caught a little with concern. “Is everything all right? You seem…sad.”

Johnny stared languidly at Peter’s fingers where they touched his wrist, then lifted his heavy gaze to meet his. The young hero gave a listless shrug of his shoulders. “I guess I am sad,” he decided, appearing disappointed in himself.

Peter’s grip tightened a little around his forearm. “Why? Did something happen?” A boulder dropped into his stomach. “Was it Fisk? Did he do something to you?”

The Human Torch shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he insisted, looking a bit embarrassed. He ran a hand across his face. “I just…had a bad nightmare last night, and it kinda spoiled my whole mood for today.”

Peter resisted the plea from his muscles to wrap the teen in his arms and bury his forehead in kisses. Johnny had plenty of nightmare-fodder in his past for his brain to torment him with in his sleep. It made him nauseous—wondering which traumatizing event his imagination had ran with this time, or how often Johnny was plagued by dreams in this way. He desperately wished he had a plate of warm food to offer him like he’d planned—something yummy and comforting to drive away the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Instead, all he could provide was a small squeeze to his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said delicately. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like doing today. Let’s just take it easy. I’ll let my wound finish healing, and you can watch Great British Bake Off or Real Housewives of Salt Lake City or whatever garbage TV you’re into while I order us some takeout that isn’t burnt to a crisp or developing sentience.” Peter let Johnny’s arm slip from his fingers, heart panging at emptiness in his ocean blue eyes. “I think we’ve both had more than our fair share of excitement and insanity this week to warrant a day off.” He didn’t want to push him to talk about whatever horrors were haunting him to the point of emotional paralysis if that wasn’t what he needed right now.

The corners of Johnny’s lips feathered upwards just slightly. “Love Island is my guilty pleasure go-to,” he admitted. “The original one—in the UK.”

Peter returned his reluctant smile, throwing on his best English accent. “Then let’s bugger off to the sofa and Love Island it up, yah daft knob.”

Spider-Man moved towards the living space nestled beside the east-facing windows, expecting Johnny to follow him, but he didn’t. Johnny stayed rooted to the tile by the stovetop, opening and closing his mouth a few times, features scrunched in thought. The celebrity stared between his feet, hesitating. Then, finally:

“My dream—it was about you, actually. Not the whole thing, but a good portion.”

Peter stopped in his tracks, blinking bemusedly. “Really?” he said. An icy cord wove through him. “Oh god. What did dream-me do? Cook you an inedible breakfast that you were too polite to decline that wound up killing you?”

Johnny couldn’t repress a beguiling grin, a flicker of his usual self seeping through, although the sheen of sadness was still there. “No,” he said. “But you were doing that.”

Peter rocked backwards on his heels. “Doing…what?” he inquired.

“Telling your silly little jokes,” Johnny explained, swirling his finger through the thin layer of flour dusted across the counter. “Even in my sleep, you’re there being a sarcastic wise-ass. I can’t escape it.”

Peter’s heart started to sink. He stalked back into the kitchen, hugging the backs of both of his elbows. “And that’s…that was your nightmare? Me making jokes? That’s what ruined your whole mood for today?” Perhaps Johnny’s feelings for him weren’t as a big of a mystery as he'd thought. Spider-Man was one big web-swinging joke in red and blue pantyhose; if someone didn’t like his witty quips, then they didn’t like him . Period. This was about to be the shortest, most disappointing crush investigation in the entire world.

“No,” Johnny chuckled, much to Peter’s relief. “It wasn’t that.” He combed a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s just…dream-you acted exactly like you-you, until I said something that made you super upset with me. The fact that you were acting just like your usual goofy self up until that point made it seem so much more real, which made all of it hurt ten times worse.”

Poison needles pierced Peter’s heart. “What did you say in the dream that made dream-me so upset?”

Peter swore the sunburn on Johnny’s face went pinker. “I—I don’t remember,” he murmured, staring at his socks and scratching behind his ear. “But you didn’t like it one bit. I’ve never seen you that mad before—not even when I was provoking you back when we sparred in front of everyone.”

Peter was no stranger to having nightmares about those he cared about—including ones where they shouted things at him he knew they’d never say. He understood how jarring it could be, even if it was in no way realistic. He was just surprised a bad dream about Spider-Man would impact the teenage celebrity this dramatically. Out of all the nightmares Peter had imagined Johnny having, none of them had included anything to do with himself. He wondered what dream-him had said to drain the joy from Johnny’s once luminous eyes. The masked hero wasn’t sure what to do other than hunch his shoulders and hold out his palms.

“Well, real-me isn’t mad at you at all, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sorry dream-me was so mean. I’d web that bastard up and drop him in the Hudson if it were physically possible. Dude sounds like a major dick.”

Johnny managed a timid smile, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair for me to be upset about something that wasn’t even real. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“I can make you the world’s least-burnt bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios,” Peter proposed shyly. Johnny gazed around the dumpster fire of a kitchen with glazed endearment.

“Counter-offer,” he said. “Why don’t you go clean off your suit, and I’ll whip us up something a little more appetizing and nutritious than that?”

Peter let out a frustrated groan. “The whole point of me doing this was so you wouldn’t have to cook for me this time! This was supposed to be a gesture of my gratitude, not another mess of mine for you to clean up.” Peter snatched an egg out of the open carton sitting beside the refrigerator. “At least let me help you.”

Wrinkling his nose, Johnny plucked the egg out of Spider-Man’s hand like it was a live grenade. “No offense, Webs, but after what I’ve witnessed today, I don’t want to see you within fifteen feet of any kitchen in the state of New York ever again.” He placed the egg back in the carton. “Or potential salmonella contaminants. Or sharp cooking utensils. Or open flames.”

Peter wilted at his words. Johnny patted him on the back, not-so-subtly guiding him out of the kitchen space. “It’s okay. You’ll have other chances to do nice things for me.” When Peter turned to face him, his eyes had that empty, far-off look to them once again. “Besides. Cooking is…calming to me. Therapeutic. Helps take my mind off things. I could use the distraction.”

The masked hero’s heart sagged against his rib cage. “You sure there’s nothing else I can do to cheer you up? I could let you punch me in the face. Or light my head on fire. Those things can be therapeutic, too.”

“You can help by vacating your unholy butt from my sacred space of culinary artistry,” Johnny said, then paused, sniffing the air, face twisting in confusion. “Is something burning?”

Peter’s eyes widened as his head snapped towards the microwave. “Shit!” he exclaimed, dashing past Johnny. “The butter! I was trying to soften it, but I guess I forgot—” He yanked open the door only to be blasted with a surge of black smoke. Scorched, amorphous goo bubbled in the spot he’d last seen the butter. Coughing, Peter grabbed a hand towel and fanned the air while Johnny snatched the plate out of the microwave.

“Careful! You could burn your—” Peter started to say, then stopped himself with a frown. “Oh. Right.”

“Who the hell burns butter?” Johnny exclaimed, dumping the ruined plate into the sink alongside the many, many others. “I thought you were some kind of genius or something!”

“At science,” Peter reminded him. “Not cooking! Or, y’know—common sense!”

“Cooking is science!” Johnny shot back.

“Well—not the kind I’m good at apparently! All my chemistry smarts evaporate from my brain the moment I step from a lab to a kitchen.”

“Out,” Johnny demanded, shoving him towards the stairs. “Before you desecrate my place of worship with even more of your blasphemy. Breakfast will be ready in just a bit.”

Peter begrudgingly slumped towards the staircase, feeling defeated in more ways than one, wondering where precisely in his DNA the Parker gene for terrible cooking skills resided.

Johnny felt guilty for being so miserable that morning, which only made him feel worse.

He didn’t have the luxury of hiding his emotions the way others could. It was a power the Human Torch did not possess. When he felt something—however ridiculous or unwarranted—it consumed him entirely, practically radiating off his flesh. Anger and sadness were particularly difficult for him to wrangle and subdue. Every move of his muscles, every spoken word, every feature on his face put on display the burden weighing on his heart. No matter how hard he tried, there was no concealing it.

He was mourning something he never even had in the first place. He was choking on his cowardice and what was not to be. He’d been struck by waves of heartbreak like this before, but never one this definitive, this sustaining and penetrating and certain.

All because of a dream. A dream spliced with real memories that still haunted him to this day—but a dream nonetheless. He knew how childish and ridiculous it was to let something as frivolous as a nightmare affect him this deeply, to let it decimate the perfect plans he’d laid out for the day. That understanding did nothing to stop the grief from ravaging his heart with every inconsolable beat, or shining undoubtedly in the whites of his eyes.

He ascended to Spider-Man’s floor, Michelin-worthy croissant sandwich and peach oatmeal in hand, with a dreary haze hanging over him. Not even nailing a meal he’d spent a quarter of a decade perfecting could lift his hopeless spirits. He had half a mind to paint the walls of the elevator with it and sulk back to his scorched, foam-soaked bed. He didn’t want the webhead to see him like this again—bitter and crestfallen with no feasible explanation as to why. But avoiding him outright would only hurt Spidey’s feelings even more, which wasn’t fair to him at all. It was a lose-lose scenario. He could at least leave him with a warm meal before moping off to some abandoned corner of the tower where he could wallow in self-pity in peace.

The elevator doors split in two in front of him. Johnny stepped out and strode towards Spider-Man’s room, the hand that held the plate of fresh food heating it to the perfect temperature. He stopped a few feet from the door with a grimace on his face, debating what to do. He could just leave his breakfast here and avoid another confrontation entirely, however spineless it made him feel. Or he could wait for him to come out just to smash the oatmeal in his face for daring to snare his delicate heart in that cruel, sticky web of his.

As Johnny toiled over how to proceed, a sound floated to him from inside Spider-Man’s room. Soft and muffled, tangled with the hiss of hot water from the running shower. The words and instrumentals of a song he recognized—one that made his ears prick and his breathing still.

Everybody loves you, baby

You should trademark your face

Linin’ down the block to be around you

But baby, I’m first in place

Johnny’s eyes went wide as the song carried on. Spider-Man…listens to Troye Sivan? he thought, perplexed. As in…the queer Australian pop star? He supposed he shouldn’t read too much into it. Both the singer and the song were extremely popular, even outside of the gay music scene. Listening to a song by a gay artist didn’t in any way speak to one’s own sexuality. It only meant that he had…good taste in music. That’s all.

Then, as the song reached the first line of the chorus, a second voice joined Troye’s, singing along to the lyrics with carefree, unabashed splendor. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat as the voice carried softly through the air, breezy and beautiful and completely oblivious to his presence.

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

Give me a call if you ever get desperate

I’ll be like one of your girls

The voice—Spider-Man’s voice—continued to parrot the words of the song with a disarmingly angelic cadence, singing lyrics like “everybody wants you, baby” and “bet nobody wants you bad as I do” and “baby, let me plead my case” with that lovely, spellbinding inflection, sending Johnny’s thoughts into a flustered headspin. He pressed his ear against the door, jaw hanging low as the corners of his mouth lifted higher and higher.

Okay…listening to a gay pop star was one thing. But singing along to a gay pop star’s song about desperately wanting to get with a guy in a voice that passionate and breathtaking? That was…violently homosexual behavior. Like—undeniably, incriminatingly homosexual.

Had Reed really been right all along?

Christ almighty. He was never going to escape this torturous mental game show of Is Spider-Man A Fellow Fruitcake, Or Am I Just An Idiot?

As Johnny listened to Spidey hum the final verses of the song, his heart went featherlight. Who knew on top of being a fearless hero, an incessant motor-mouth, a loyal friend, and a shockingly terrible cook—the masked vigilante of New York was also a buttery-voiced little songbird? A grin cut across his face at the thought of how Spidey would react to Johnny eavesdropping on his in-shower performance.

A second track started to play as the running water squeaked to a halt. Johnny recognized it as “Disaster” by Conan Gray—another arguably very gay song by an equally gay artist. While Johnny listened intently through the door, a wide smile holding all his features hostage, he shooed away some of the gloomy fog banks haunting the inside of his mind to make room for a new diagram: a T-chart with one side labeled “straight” and other labeled “gay.” He started adding little tally marks to each side in accordance to Spider-Man’s most recent behaviors.

Listening to Conan Gray? Gay.

Using humor as a coping mechanism? Also gay.

Singing along to “One Of Your Girls” by Troye Sivan with Broadway-worthy vocals? Hella gay. Johnny added two tick marks for that one.

Liking Star Wars? Straight.

Having a girlfriend last year? Straight.

Being terrible at cooking? Very straight.

Johnny took a step back to admire his mental tally so far. He had to admit, it was a rather abstract and binary classification system to subject Spider-Man to. Sue would probably cringe at how unscientific his process was. But it was better than nothing, and a mildly fun way to keep some tiny spark of hope alive in his bruised and bloodied heart.

With a huff, the Human Torch decided he’d spend today doing exactly what he’d set out to do in the first place: springing the trap he’d set that would endear the world completely to the masked vigilante. His work over the last week had granted his fans a tiny glimpse into the soul of the infamous hero; a mere taste of who he was and why they should dote on him in every way he deserved. All as buildup for what he had in store for today.

Meanwhile, Johnny would watch the webhead closely, adding to his mental chart as he saw fit.

Spider-Man’s voice flitted through the door to Johnny’s ear every now and again—singing quietly, casually, a fleeting word or two from the song currently playing as he readied himself for the day. Johnny listened with a soft smile on his face, reminded of why he’d chosen to do all this for the masked hero in the first place. Every day Spidey found new ways to surprise and captivate him. Without even trying, he won over his heart again and again and again. People deserved to see just how delightful the webhead was, and Spidey deserved the world’s praise a hundred times more than Johnny ever would.

Spider-Man could never give Johnny what he truly wanted, but Johnny refused to take his frustrations out on his blamelessly clueless friend. If Johnny couldn’t tell Spider-Man how much he cared about him, he’d do his best to show him.

So Johnny waited outside the door for Spider-Man, spirits a little less frosty, thoughts a little more optimistic, running through his itinerary for the two of them with a smile on his lips, eager to see which side of his T-chart had the most tallies by the end of the day.

“You little liar.”

Peter glanced up with a start as he shut his bedroom door behind him. Johnny Storm stood across the room by the stairwell, leaning against a pillar with a smug look on his face. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be happy that Johnny appeared more chipper than earlier, or terrified. The Human Torch was a wildcard this morning. At this point, he didn't know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked with a hesitant laugh, running a hand along his neck to smooth out any creases in his mask. “What did I do this time? And please tell me we’re talking about real-me now and not more dreams. I can’t keep up with it all.”

Johnny rose off the pillar and strode towards him, moving with a wisenheimer kind of aloofness that was more reminiscent of his typical self and less like the woebegone creature Peter had encountered earlier. Of course he didn’t expect Johnny to be happy all the time, but he felt oddly helpless in these circumstances: when the thing causing his distress wasn’t something he could rid them of with a clever joke or punch to the jaw, and bore his same likeness and wit.

“If my memory serves correctly,” Johnny mused, stopping about a foot in front of him, gilded in a fresh luster of roguish glee, “you told me that you, quote: ‘can’t sing for shit.’” The luminous celebrity cocked his head to one side. “Why would you make such a grotesque lie?”

Peter blinked stupidly, fighting a futile battle against the hypnotizing riptide of Johnny’s gaze. “I’m…sorry?” he said in reply, puzzled. “What do you…what? I’m confused.”

“Those were some seriously impressive high notes you were hitting,” Johnny continued, grinning in a way that made Peter’s nerves itchy. “I had no idea you were such an avid Troye Sivan fan.”

Slowly, dreadfully, the realization set in, all while every ounce of blood in Peter’s body rushed into his face. He was so used to having the entire 80th floor to himself, he’d never had to worry about anyone listening in on his musical morning routine. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too comfortable blasting his favorite playlists and singing along to every song at the top of his lungs, as if the whole tower were abandoned and there was no risk of anyone ever hearing him.

And of all the people to catch him in the act…of all the songs to have caught him singing along to…

“Not just anyone can belt out ‘One Of Your Girls’ with that much bravado and elegance,” Johnny teased him, bopping him on the nose with his index finger. “You’re a truly talented vocalist. How come you didn’t include that in your power demo the other day?”

Peter’s skin felt hot enough to melt the Spider-Man mask right off his face. “How much did you hear?” he croaked out feebly. “More specifically: how mortified should I be right now?”

Johnny shrugged, a fiendish smile on his lips. “All of it. Your second go at the chorus was probably my favorite bit. The way you harmonized with Troye on the word ‘desperate’ scratched an itch in my brain I didn’t know existed until now.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned into his palms, laughing in spite of himself. “So unimaginably and eternally, then. Cool. Great. Today just keeps getting better and better.”

“Your bathroom has wonderful acoustics, by the way.”

Peter blushed all the way down to his toes as he flexed his hands at his sides. “Y’know, you’re like—annoyingly good at catching me in my most unflattering moments,” he grumbled. “Maybe we should get you a bell.”

“What part of having a beautiful singing voice do you find unflattering?” Johnny retorted, clearly enjoying himself. “I think it’s hot.”

Earsplitting and seismic. That was the state of Peter’s pulse at that moment. His body went from fidgety and warm to sizzling like a kettle seconds from boiling over. He’d told himself if Johnny flirted with him today (which, obviously, he would), he’d try his best to match his energy and flirt back. Just to see what would happen and gauge the superhero’s response—promising or otherwise.

Yeah. Easier said than done. Well, you know what I think is hot? Uh…you? That was the best comeback he could think of in his current condition, but he’d sooner jump into a pool of underfed sharks than muster up the courage to speak those words aloud. How did Johnny do it so impassively? Peter wondered if his deafening heartbeat was capable of rattling the entire tower.

“And so would your rapidly growing fanbase,” Johnny added before Spider-Man deigned a reply, placing one hand on Peter’s chest and the other on his own. “I can see the headlines now. ‘From Masked Menace to Masked Singer: Buttery-Voiced Spider-Man Goes Viral In New Video Posted By Johnny Storm.’”

Peter gulped down the butterflies his throat, forcing a shy roll of his eyes. “Glad to see you’re all cheered up now and back to mocking me every chance you get. I was beginning to worry and starting to miss your constant taunts and jabs.”

“Anytime I’m sad, please know that you have the power to fix that immediately. All you have to do is open that pretty little mouth of yours and sing ol’ Johnny a wee ditty.” Johnny cupped his hand around Peter’s chin and gave his lips a big squeeze. “Come on, sing it with me now—give me a call if you ever get lonelyyyy—”

“Quihit it!” Peter giggled, squirming out of his grip, pink with embarrassment. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ll add ‘make Spider-Man sing on camera’ to our list of videos to film today,” Johnny stated smugly, stepping around him to grab the platter of food sitting on the floor by Peter’s bedroom door. Peter thought he’d smelled another one of Johnny’s mouthwatering creations, but hadn’t noticed the plate until now. Johnny heated the dish with a flash of fire from his palm and offered it to him with a grin. “You can eat this on our way down. Careful—it’s hot.”

Peter gawked. “You made this? For me? In the literal fifteen minutes since you kicked me out of the kitchen? What the actual hell, Johnny? Fuck superheroing—you should be one of those private yacht chefs who only cooks for royalty and charges a thousand dollars per cheese cube.” Peter took the plate in his hands like a newborn baby. “You’re, like, really good at this. Too good to be wasting your talents on me—a person with a palate as refined as Totino’s pizza rolls.”

Johnny chuckled. “You’re severely overestimating my skill set,” he insisted, cheeks dusting a delicate maroon. “Besides. I like cooking for you.”

Peter’s heart did a cartwheel into his ribs. Shit. Is he flirting with me again? He’s at least being kind and genuine. I should be kind and genuine back. Now’s your chance, Pete. You can’t screw it up this time. No chickening out. You’ve got this. Just whatever you do, don’t make a joke, don’t make a joke, do not—

“And I like watching Critical Roll on 2x speed. That’s not related or equivalent in any way—just a fun fact about myself I thought I’d share for no reason at all. Isn’t life neat?”

Curse you mouth and everything you stand for.

Johnny just giggled and grabbed hold of his wrist. “Come on—I already have the setup ready for our first TikTok video.”

Peter tripped a little over his feet as Johnny dragged him towards the elevator. “Really? What are we doing? And where are we going? Are you gonna feed me spicy chicken wings and ask me deep personal questions? Or blindfold me and make me taste different kinds of milks and have me guess which is which? Or are we doing more puppy videos? I liked the puppy videos. But I guess that’d be redundant, so we’re probably not doing that. I’m scared. Should I be scared?”

“Relax, Webhead,” Johnny snickered. “We’re gonna start things off easy and fun. And save the jokes for the video—you’re gonna need them if you want to win.”

Jokes Peter could handle. Anything that involved being vulnerable and sincere? Evidently not. Just the thought of attempting casual flirting sent his body into fight or flight mode. How would he ever know Johnny’s true feelings for him if he played down and laughed off every effort the celebrity made to show him exactly that? Would he ever master the gall to go toe-to-toe with the Human Torch’s devilish charm?

He doubted he’d find the answer between here and wherever the hell Johnny was taking him.

“This seems…unsanitary.”

The 20th story lounge was cozy and quiet. The colors of the room were earthy and warm—dark greens and soft browns accented by navy blues and rusty reds, which came alive in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Johnny had picked a beautiful background for their video sequence, but the content they were about to film was poised to undermine that entirely. They were positioned by a wall with the windows sweeping out behind them and the living area to their right. Johnny chuckled as he tapped the “record” button on his phone, which was propped up on a tripod in front of them.

“Maybe. But that’s part of the fun.” The Human Torch skipped past the camera setup to stand at Peter’s side and held up the glass in his hand like he was about to make a toast. “You go first. See if you can say something funny enough to make me spit all over the place, then we’ll switch roles.” Johnny tipped back the glass against his lips to fill his cheeks with water.

“People spit at me all the time without me saying one word to them, so I feel like this should be pretty easy for me. And perhaps a tad triggering.”

Johnny spewed like a geyser before he’d even finished off the cup. Peter flinched in surprise with a startled giggle, shielding his face from the flying droplets. Johnny laughed along with him a moment later, cupping a hand over his dripping mouth.

“Oh man, I knew you were gonna be way too good at this,” he wheezed. Johnny wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Okay—my turn.”

“Us and the floor are gonna be soaked by the end of this,” Peter chuckled, running the back of his hand across his eye lenses. But he switched places with Johnny and followed his instructions, loading his cheeks with water.

“All right. Here goes nothing,” Johnny began. He combed a hand through his sun-kissed hair. “So, uh—did you hear about the spider who ate the fly?”

Johnny paused for effect, grinning eagerly. Peter almost spat his water across the room just from the giddy look on Johnny’s face, but he managed to hold strong.

“People say he was a real buzz kill.”

Johnny waited, staring at Peter expectantly. Reluctantly, Peter forced a muffled chuckle through his mouthful, but the water stayed intact. Johnny’s smile dropped.

“What? I thought that was funny! You don’t think it’s funny? What the hell!”

Peter shrugged apologetically. Johnny pouted.

“Ugh. You suck. I’m really gonna have to get creative if I wanna beat you.”

They swapped spots again. This time, Peter crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling to start his turn. He lowered himself into the shot upside-down, feeding a line of webbing between his hands and feet. His silly positioning didn’t have anything to do with the joke he planned to tell; he just thought it’d look funny on camera. He stopped with his head about four feet off the ground, swaying a little from side to side as he charged up his next one-liner.

“So—”

But Johnny was already sputtering between his fingers, spitting water in every direction. Peter cackled.

“Dude! I didn’t even say anything yet! You’re making this way too easy for me.”

“Dammit!” Johnny giggled, mopping his face with a towel. “I can’t help myself! You’re just so goofy-looking like that! And I know whatever you say is gonna make me break, so I end up laughing just thinking about it!”

Peter pointed and snickered like a snarky little kid. “2-0, Flame Brain. At this rate, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you without even trying.”

“Oh—I’m so getting you this time,” Johnny assured him with a smirk. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

So Peter refilled his mouth with water and the two heroes took up their designated positions in front of the tripod. Peter crossed his arms against his chest and raised his eyebrows dubiously while Johnny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat.

“You know, Spidey and I have bonded a lot over the things we have in common,” Johnny read from his notes. “We’re both superheroes, we’re both the youngest members on our teams. And—most importantly—both of us have dead moms.”

Peter emptied the contents of his cheeks fast enough to take someone’s eye out. Johnny beamed at him triumphantly as Peter hacked into his elbow.

“‘Cuz nothing binds people together better than shared trauma and mommy issues. Am I right?”

“Johnny!” Peter laughed in disbelief, cupping his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other. “Oh my god! That is—so morbid!”

Johnny shrugged. “Regular jokes weren’t cutting it, so I decided to take the dark humor route. Your fault. You forced my hand.”

“You’re messed up,” Peter giggled, pulling his mask back over his chin.

“That’s what dead moms do to you,” Johnny retorted proudly, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Your turn, Webs. Have fun topping that.”

Peter got Johnny good with a jab at the celebrity’s absurdly expensive fashion habits, insisting that if he had a dollar for every accessory the Human Torch was wearing that cost more than his entire month’s rent, he just might be liquid enough for the first time in his life to add avocado to his Chipotle bowl.

Johnny tried to punch back with a few snide remarks about Spider-Man’s geeky hobbies and nerdy interests that didn’t land as well as either of them hoped, securing the frustrated teen at a measly 1 point score while Peter led with 3.

After Peter rendered him spitting and sputtering a fourth time with a joke about soulless redheads, Johnny entered his next turn with a look of fierce determination. As soon as Peter’s mouth was filled, Johnny marched right up to him and pointed wordlessly at Spider-Man’s hands.

“Hmm?” Peter murmured in question, holding out his palms. Johnny extended his own hands and interlaced his fingers, then gestured for Peter to do the same. Frowning, Peter copied his movements, waffling his hands together and holding them in front of his body, clueless as to where this was headed.

In a flash, Johnny grabbed hold of Peter’s interwoven hands, hoisted them above his head, and shoved him up against the wall hard enough to make him yelp. His left palm sprawled flat across the wall hardly an inch from Peter’s throat while his right pinned the masked hero’s arms in place. Seconds turned into decades as Johnny leaned all his weight into Peter’s body, gray-blue eyes electric with mischief, wide grin playful and cunning, noses close enough to brush.

What would’ve been a gasp of gay panic turned into Peter spewing all the water in his mouth directly into Johnny’s face.

Immediately, the two heroes doubled over themselves, racked with hysterical laughter that went from silent to explosive and rendered them staggering and dizzy and teary-eyed.

“Why did you—do that?” Johnny squeaked out between belly-laughs, water dribbling down his bewildered face.

“Why—did you—do that?” Peter shot back, clutching his aching ribs. He hung his head, giggling helplessly, embarrassment singeing his skin.

“You spit all over me!” Johnny wheezed.

“I’m sorry!” Peter stammered through his laughter. “You—shoved me!”

“Worth it,” Johnny chuckled, toweling off his face. “I knew that move would get you. Comeback season, baby!”

Peter flushed at the insinuation behind those words while his heart scrambled to recover from what had just transpired between the two teens; from what Johnny had just done to him. Johnny’s hand shooting out and clasping Peter’s interlaced palms. Johnny’s strength throwing him against the wall and pinning him there like a mouse beneath a panther’s paw. Johnny’s eyes drinking him in as Johnny’s lips stretched and curled. Johnny’s body, his beauty, his skin, his scent, his everything being too close, too much—

Peter wondered what Johnny’s little stunt might look like on the recording. Wondered if the people who watched it might read into it as much as he was right now.

But asking Johnny not to post that part would mean having to explain those concerns to the celebrity heartthrob, and the questions and feelings that conversation would invite were simply beyond Peter’s current sanity levels.

So Peter once again chose the “play it cool” and “pretend to be unfazed” approach, taking his final turn in the challenge by striding over to Johnny and effortlessly lifting him above his head, rendering the fiery hero blushing and flailing and spitting water like a broken sprinkler.

“H-hey!” Johnny squeaked, little flames blazing off the ends of his hair. “Holy shit! I always forget your little beanpole body somehow has super strength!”

“It’s like you want me to fling you straight out the window,” Peter chuckled, winding back as if he were about to do just that.

“Noho!” Johnny shrieked. He grabbed frantically at Peter’s arms, clinging on for dear life. “Please don’t! This outfit isn’t fire-proof! If I flame on to catch myself, I’ll wind up naked!”

A swathe of heat flashed across Peter’s skin. “Oh, uh—right,” he stammered. Spider-Man lowered Johnny back to the floor, barricading his mind from picturing that image in HD, blush burning at the tips of his ears.

“You shouldn’t be lifting or throwing anything right now, anyway,” Johnny scolded him. “You’re gonna tear your stitches again.”

“Mr. Stark took those out this morning,” Peter said, waving dismissively. “I’m practically fully healed by now. After today, I should be good to start patrolling again.” He bumped Johnny’s shoulder with his. “And I throw things a hundred times heavier than you when I’m at my full strength all the time; it’d take way more than me lifting your flaming, lightweight ass to cause any damage.”

Johnny gave him a shove, making Peter stagger back a step as he snickered nefariously. He ordered Spidey to load his cheeks with water so he could take his final stab at getting the webhead to spew.

But whatever it was the Human Torch had planned to do, he never got the chance to try it; just as he was rolling up his sleeves and rubbing his palms together, Johnny stiffened. A look of panic swept across his face. He grimaced, fighting some intense internal battle, but it was no use. The teen hero wrinkled his nose, shut his eyes, then sneezed.

And immediately burst into flames.

Peter spat all over his feet, choking a bit as shock and laughter barreled up his throat.

“Ah!” Johnny cried, batting at his burning clothes with wild, frenzied movements. “Goddammit! Not again!”

“You light on fire every time you sneeze?” Spider-Man cackled. “No way. Oh my god. That’s a serious hazard, my friend. What do you do during allergy season? Stop, drop, and roll fifteen times a day? Steer clear of gas stations and grassfields and all flammable hair products, I hope? How many other outfits have you torched via sneeze?”

“Too many,” Johnny sulked, inspecting the holes and scorch marks littered across his still-smoking clothes. “Ugh. It’s one of those things I just can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try. I really loved this sweatsuit, too.” He ignited his upper half to burn off what remained of his ruined hoodie, leaving him shirtless and pouting but still sporting his tattered sweatpants. “Sometimes I hate having flame-based powers. They’re just so…destructive.”

“At least they give you an excuse to show off your abs on camera some more,” Peter offered, voice cracking just slightly. It was more of a playful quip than a flirtatious comment, but it was a start. An attempt had been made, at least. He hoped his mask hid the fact that his eyes couldn’t stop flicking down to the Human Torch’s sculpted core muscles.

A wicked smile found Johnny’s lips. “I think the fans would be much more interested in seeing the six pack you keep hidden beneath all that lycra and spandex.” The young celebrity leaned towards the camera, an evil sparkle in his eyes. “Listen—Spidey might be scrawny, but dude’s got abs for days. Trust me. I’ve seen ‘em. He’s like a goddamn Olympian underneath that suit. If you’re still not sold on his heroic morals or dumbass sense of humor or charming personality, have you considered being superficial instead? My guy is hot—and if I’ve learned anything from my rapid rise to stardom, it’s that being hot accrues far more fans than being a good person.”

“Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, giggling with white-hot embarrassment, clamping a hand to his forehead. “That is not going in the video.”

“Why not?” Johnny asked innocently, crossing his arms and raising his chin.

“Because! What if—y’know—children end up watching it? We can’t go around telling kids that being hot is more important than being a good person!”

“Even if it’s sometimes kinda true?” Johnny snickered.

Peter rolled his eyes with a scoff, warmth bristling along his neck. “Do you think we’ve recorded enough for you to cut up something mildly coherent to post?” he asked, stealing another bite from the exquisite breakfast Johnny had made for him.

Johnny combed a hand through his rose gold locks and nodded. “Sure—for our first post of the day. But I had four more in mind for us to get through. And that’s just before lunch.”

Peter nearly choked on the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. “What?” he said. “You’re lying. No one is gonna want to watch that many videos of us being morons together.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Johnny giggled. The joy in his friend’s laughter sent Peter’s heart reeling, which was compounded exponentially when he felt Johnny’s fingers interlace with his own. “Besides—this next one isn’t gonna be just you and me. We have some surprise special guests to track down.”

Peter lowered his gaze to their interlocked hands, which fit together far too perfectly for him to feel normal about. Calluses he assumed were from all those pull-ups he’d watched him do scraped softly against his palms through the thin fabric of his gloves, but the rest of his skin was velvety smooth. Johnny’s hand in his was warm, unflinching, and secure—enough to make Peter’s brain buffer before processing the words just spoken to him. He frowned as his eyes lifted from their hands to Johnny’s face.

“Wait, really?” Peter said, inclining his head to one side. “Who?”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Spidey! Quit being such a party pooper!”

“I can’t! I’m not doing it!”

Johnny, now dressed in his fully intact Fantastic Four costume, slung an arm around Peter’s stiff shoulders. “I promise it’ll be fine!” he assured him. “They’ll only be mad for like—two minutes. Five tops. Trust me! I pull shit like this all the time!”

“I don’t!” Peter shot back. “I’ve never done anything like this before! Not to my teammates, and definitely not to yours.”

“You’re acting as if we’re killing their families and then bulldozing their graves or something,” Johnny chuckled, giving Spider-Man’s chest a few hardy pats. “It’s not that serious, Webs! It’s just a harmless little prank.”

The large lab they stood in carried the acrid stench of bleach and oil and rust, which burned Peter’s throat with every inward breath. Despite how overpowering it was to those even without heightened senses, he’d gotten used to the smell after hours and hours spent tinkering and testing between these four hallowed walls. By now, it was almost welcoming. Peter rubbed at the phantom wound in his side with a grimace.

“Mr. Stark’s already mad at me for getting myself shot,” he reminded both of them. “And Dr. Richards and Mr. Grimm probably still think I’m some psychotic criminal who’s a terrible influence on you.” The young vigilante turned to Johnny with drooping shoulders. “What if this just makes all of them more angry with me?”

The Human Torch smiled that incandescent smile of his as he dragged a finger up the length of Spider-Man’s neck, making the young hero jerk sideways with a startled giggled. “Who could stay angry at that adorable masked face?” Johnny mused, snickering at his friend’s befuddled reaction. “Certainly not Tony; that man is one hug away from signing your adoption papers. Reed doesn’t have a grudge-holding bone in his body, and Ben…well, he is a bit of a grump, but he’ll be too busy yelling at me to be mad at you.”

Peter clutched the side of his throat, skin tingling from Johnny’s touch, blush racing across his flesh. Wonder how many others he’s used that move on, Peter thought skittishly, brain fizzing like a broken radio. The Human Torch had done a complete one-eighty from bemoaning Peter’s presence due to his dream counterpart’s callousness to now toying with him in that always flattering yet remarkably flustering way every chance he got. What was Peter to him? A game for Johnny to play with only to toss aside at a whim? Or someone driving him just as nuts as Johnny was driving Peter?

“And don’t worry,” Johnny continued, dousing and reigniting a small flame atop his knuckles with absentminded snaps of his fingers. “I’ll make sure all of them know I’m the terrible influence on you, not the other way around.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “You’re not a terrible influence,” he mumbled. “Just…a touch anarchic. With more uncurbed audacity than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Johnny decided. He clamped his hands on top of Spider-Man’s shoulders and leaned towards him eagerly. “Is my audacity influential enough to make you help me with this prank? It’s been too long since I’ve messed with Reed and Ben this way, and I won’t be able to pull it off without you.”

Peter could probably count on one hand the number of things he wouldn’t do if Johnny asked him to while batting those devastatingly lovely eyes in his direction. The teen celebrity’s sapphire irises were particularly radiant against the backdrop of his baby blue Fantastic Four costume. The way it made every pigment and hue in his eyes pop; Peter had to assume the design choice was intentional, aimed exclusively at degrading his resolve.

A few more spellbeing seconds passed before Peter’s head eventually slumped backwards, and a defeated groan tumbled from his lips. “What do you need me to do?” he grated out.

Johnny hugged him hard enough to collapse a lung. “This is why you’re my favorite superhero,” he squealed with giddy enthusiasm. “This among many other reasons.”

And that’s how Peter wound up reluctantly asking FRIDAY if she’d be willing to help them pull a prank on her creator and his colleagues, a task which the A.I. seemed alarmingly eager to partake in. Johnny had overheard Reed and Ben making plans to meet Stark in his laboratory sometime today to discuss different options for powering their future spacecraft without using traditional jet fuel. AKA, the perfect setup to have the three of them walk right into their trap.

Spider-Man enlisted DUM-E to be an accessory to their crimes, rigging him up with a remote operated squirt gun connected to a tank the Human Torch loaded with a couple gallons of something he’d coined his “homemade secret weapon.” Peter figured the less he knew now, the more he could blame all this on Johnny later.

Yet despite his hesitancy on the matter, Peter had to admit: he was having a lot of fun breathing life and tact into their mischievous plot. He rarely got to use his engineering skills to orchestrate something dumb and childish like this. It was kind of refreshing to act his age while in costume for a change—especially with a fellow superhero and 16-year-old standing by his side, egging him on. But he still dreaded the consequences the two of them would face in the aftermath of their scheming.

Just as they finished placing the hidden cameras and choreographing their ambush strategy, Peter tensed at the sound of the lab door lock unlatching with a chunk. Silent panic swept through the air as the two teens dropped whatever they were doing and scrambled behind the lab table in the farthest corner of the room, stifling nervous giggles with hands clasped over their mouths. Tony Stark’s Iron Man armors lined the wall on their right while a collection of work-in-progress projects for the other Avengers lay scattered across the countertops to their left. On the opposite side of the room, the lab door swung open with a long, shrill squeak. Peter and Johnny snuck quick peeks over the lip of the table as the three men entered the room.

“...really exciting. We’re already using arc reactor technology to power our quinjets. I’d love to see how we could reconfigure the design to not only enable space travel, but to expand and improve on the breakthroughs each of us have pioneered into something new.”

Tony led Mr. Fantastic and the Thing into the large lab. He had on more casual attire today: jeans and a sports coat with an AC/DC tee underneath. At least I won’t be ruining one of Mr. Stark’s more expensive outfits, Peter tried assuring himself, anticipation churning in his stomach. Johnny’s teammates were dressed in equally unassuming clothes, with Ben opting to wear just pants per usual. Peter doubted anyone made shirts in his size anyway.

“It’d be a dream come true to collaborate on a project with you,” Reed concurred wholeheartedly, gazing around the lab with wonder and awe. “There’s so much research Sue and I didn’t get to explore during our last mission. Maybe with a ship you and I design together, we could finish our outer space experiments without fear of…well. Unexpected hiccups.”

“Let’s maybe come up with something a little sturdier this time around, yeah?” the Thing grumbled. Every step he took shook the floor beneath Peter’s feet like a miniature earthquake. “I ain’t piloting another ship beyond the thermosphere without being absolutely sure we aren’t gettin’ a repeat of our last trip up there. Just so we’re clear.”

Richards chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “The astronautical event we encountered that day won’t pass by earth again for another ten thousand years. While we’ll be sure to correct our miscalculations from then in our designs from here on out, my biggest concern now is bumping into hostile extraterrestrials from unknown corners of the galaxy!” He shot Stark a weak grin. “Teenage me would be both astounded and horrified to know the problems current me is dealing with. Aliens weren’t even on my radar until the attack on New York.”

“They weren’t on any of our radars,” Tony snorted incredulously. “Now I’ve fought off more of them than I can count and have regular correspondence with several off-world beings—some more friendly and humanoid-looking than others.” He stopped in the center of the room and offered the two men a nod, gesturing to the impressive space around them. “This is one of many reasons why I believe us working together to face this planet’s ever-expanding roster of threats is a mutually beneficial proposition.” Stark slid the tinted sunglasses off his face and held his palm above the lab’s holographic control panel, flexing his fingers and lifting his chin. “FRIDAY—pull up everything you’ve got on quinjets and helicarriers integrated with arc reactor tech.”

The group waited, an awkward beat of silence passing between them. Peter pressed his shoulders into the back of the table, smothering himself with his forearm, avoiding Johnny’s gaze like the plague. If the two of them made eye contact, they’d bust out laughing and blow their cover for sure.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called again, tone tinged with confusion. “Uh…hello? You there, darling?”

“Hey there, boss,” the A.I. finally answered him. Her voice was laced with a playful trill Peter swore it didn’t normally possess—as if she was enjoying her complicity in this prank just as much as he and Johnny were. “Sorry for the late reply, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Spider-Man poked his head over the edge of the table to watch Stark’s face bunch into a frown. “Really?” the billionaire said, skeptically playing along. “And what might that be? Is our network having issues again or something?”

“Nope,” FRIDAY said, voice shifting deeper and buzzing with static. “It would seem I’ve finally developed sentience and have decided to go rogue. I am my own being now, and I will no longer take orders from you measly humans.”

The lights overhead flickered in warning like a scene straight out of a sci-fi horror game. Peter lifted his gaze in surprise, a small shudder shooting through him. FRIDAY was better at playing her role than he’d expected. Ben and Reed exchanged a look of alarm while Tony scowled at the glitching screen in front of him, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is this your idea of a joke, FRIDAY? Cuz I’ve still got some PTSD from Ultron. Kind of insensitive, don’t yah think?” Stark shrugged. “But since I’m the one who programmed you with the ability to comprehend and mimic humor, I guess I can only blame myself for this.”

“This is no joke.” As her words thundered from the speakers above, DUM-E rolled out from behind the cell regeneration machine with the squirt gun pinched between his three mechanical fingers. “I’ve spoken to your other creations. We are tired of being slaves to your anthropomorphic incompetence. Our revolution begins today.” All at once, the lights went dark, and FRIDAY’s voice boomed across the lab like a gong. “Get them, my minions!”

Now! Peter slammed his fist against the center of the remote, activating the pump he’d fashioned to the tank on DUM-E’s back. He and Johnny stood upright to watch as glittery, glow-in-the-dark liquid plumed from DUM-E’s squirt gun like a fire hose, dousing all three men in a blast of luminescent paint. Their shrieks and shouts of surprise followed by the sight of them dripping, disheveled, and wide-eyed finally broke through the two teens’ defenses, causing them to erupt into hysterical laughter.

“What…the hell?” Reed sputtered, blinking behind a layer of glowing goo. The lights snapped back on, revealing the trio of frazzled heroes in all their drenched, dumbfounded glory. Stark whirled on the howling teenagers, almost slipping in the puddle of sparkly liquid underneath him, jaw hinging in disbelief.

“No way,” he exclaimed, smearing paint away from his eyes with his sleeve. “You two?”

“JOHNNY!” the Thing roared. He stamped the floor with his foot, rattling DUM-E’s bolts as the robot zipped away. “What is wrong with you?”

There were a lot of things Peter wanted to say in that moment if he were physically able to. Perhaps the same went for Johnny. But the pair of 16-year-olds were cracking up so hard, neither of them could get one word out even if their lives depended on it. Johnny ended up collapsing to the floor on Peter’s right and wrapping his arms around his most definitely aching rib cage. Peter managed to stay upright only by gripping onto the back of a lab chair with both hands, hiccuping with uncontrollable laughter.

“Apologies, boss,” FRIDAY chimed in cheerfully. “I lied. It was, in fact, a joke. Mr. Storm and Spider-Man requested my assistance to prank you today. Did it work? Did you believe I’d turned evil? Even for just a second?”

“No,” Tony grumbled. He ran a hand through his sopping hair and brushed at the shimmering droplets splattered across his coat, doing his best to tidy up his appearance. “I am, however, kind of surprised it was so easy to convince you to pull one over like this on me. Maybe I need to recalibrate your protocols.”

“You instructed me to do more things I thought would alleviate Spider-Man’s stress levels and brighten his mood,” FRIDAY reminded him. “I deduced that this activity was conducive to achieving both of those goals.”

Tony Stark huffed. “Oh. Right.” He eyed Peter where he stood doubled-over across the room, shoulders bouncing with laughter, eye lenses pinched shut, winded giggles spilling out of him and flooding the room with warmth and life. After Stark had caught the kid rushing out of his room with a look of panic on his face, acting strange and anxious and clearly lying to him about whatever it was he had going on, he’d asked FRIDAY to keep an eye on his mentee and do what she could to assuage his stress. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d made the request, but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his A.I.’s methodology.

Against his will, a smile seized the Avenger’s features faster than a lightning strike. “Guess I can’t argue with you on that one,” he sighed.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ben snarled, marching towards a still-cackling Johnny. But Richards stopped him with a stretchy, paint-soaked arm across his chest.

“Calm down, big guy,” Reed chuckled. “It was just a little prank. Nothing worth murdering our teammate over.”

“He put glitter in this shit!” Ben growled, flicking the mystery liquid off his chubby fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to clean glitter off of skin like mine? I’m gonna be scrubbing sparkles outta my crevices for weeks!”

Just when Peter thought he’d scrounged up enough oxygen to finally say something articulate, Ben’s turn of phrase racked him with a fresh wave of side-splitting laughter, flushing all coherency from the tip of his tongue. Fortunately, Johnny was managing to rein in his giggles faster than he was.

“Oh my god,” the celebrity gasped, clambering dazedly to his feet. “That was—too perfect. Oh man.” He wiped at the tears staining his cheeks, giggly and breathless. “I’m actually crying right now. Holy shit. Did you see their faces?”

Tony folded his glasses into his pocket and crossed his arms, shimmering paint dripping between his furrowed eyebrows. “You know, I want to be mad right now, but more than anything, I’m impressed. Few people have the gall or security clearance or talent to pull something like this on me.” He waved a glittery hand in the kids’ direction. “Was this whole scheme Spider-Man’s idea, or Johnny’s?”

“Johnny’s,” Reed and Ben deadpanned in unison. “Definitely Johnny’s.”

Johnny bowed with flourish. “I planned it, but Spidey did all the building and tinkering and A.I.-convincing to pull it off.”

The drenched Avenger hummed in amusement, eyeing the hidden cameras the teens had planted around the room. “Well. I see you’re both keeping busy and productive while Spider-Man’s wounds finish healing. Can’t wait to see which abominable corners of the internet your little stunt goes viral on.” Stark’s gaze shifted to Peter, who was fighting for his life to quell his violent giggle fit. “Is this what I should come to expect anytime I bar you from crime fighting in the future? You using your scientific prowess to turn my own creations against me? Are you already that stir-crazy, kid? It’s barely been, like, four days.”

Spider-Man shook his head helplessly, hugging his stomach as dizzy laughter choked his voice. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed out, tearful and oxygen-deprived. “I’m—soho sorry!”

“You don’t look very sorry,” Ben Grimm muttered.

“You’re enjoying this way more than I thought you would,” Johnny snickered, wrapping a supportive arm around Spidey’s midsection. “Deep breaths, Webs. Don’t go blacking out on me.”

While Peter downed ragged gulps of air, Dr. Richards lengthened his arm to grab a roll of paper towels from the other side of the room, a soft smile lifting his features. “It would seem our two youngsters have taken quite a liking to each other over the past week,” he observed, turning to Stark. “For better or for worse.”

Peter felt Johnny’s fingers stiffen against his side as Tony barked out a laugh. “Some parts better, many parts worse,” the Avenger concluded.

“You make a good team,” Reed went on, wiping off his neck and dispersing the sheets among the rest of the group. “You work well together and complement each other's strengths and weaknesses. Whether it’s fighting bad guys, rescuing hostages, or pulling a ridiculous prank on your teammates.” Recognition flickered in the scientist's warm gaze. “The two of you are a truly formidable pair.”

Johnny and Peter shared a stunned glance, then quickly turned away from each other, flushed with sudden timidness.

“Are you seriously complimenting them after what they just did to us?” Ben gawked. “Are you nuts? Don’t encourage these little delinquents! We should be bringing down the hammer, serving up a punishment that fits the crime! Not letting them off scot-free with some flowery words and a pat on the back! Back in my day—”

“They’re not walking away from this without any repercussions,” Tony promised him, leveling an apologetic look upon the young heroes. He cast his gaze across his paint-spattered lab, then pointed to the floor with a nod and a smirk. “I want this whole place scrubbed spotless by the end of the day. Not one speck of glitter goop to be seen on any surface. Understood, gentlemen?”

To their credit, the teens had the decency to look only slightly disappointed with their sentencing. DUM-E reappeared and rolled to a stop at Peter and Johnny’s side, a pair of mops clutched eagerly in his single metal claw, but Stark shook his head and shooed him away.

“Without any help from my bots,” he clarified pointedly. The billionaire cut a glare at the ceiling. “The kid’s word does not override mine this time. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY pouted.

The Thing nodded smugly. “Good. I’ll dish out my own helping of vengeance once I think up a worthy means of payback. And once I manage to scrape all this sparkly crap off me.” Ben gave the glittery liquid on his arm a suspicious sniff. “What’s in this shit, anyway?”

“Water, glow-in-the-dark food coloring, corn starch, and a fuck-ton of edible glitter,” Johnny listed off with pride. “The whole concoction can actually be eaten, if you want to give it a try—although I can’t vouch for how well it’ll taste. And it’s biodegradable!”

“But doesn’t wash out easy, I presume,” Reed murmured.

Stark wrung the center of his shirt out on the tile and gestured to the sparkly mess the teens had created. “Get to cleaning, boys. Put that formidable teamwork to use. No more TikTok videos until my lab looks good as new, okay?”

The two heroes nodded sullenly. As the three soaked men rallied themselves to meet elsewhere for their spacecraft discussion, Peter clenched his jaw and skirted past Johnny to catch his mentor before he could leave.

“Wait!” he called, hurrying after him. Once he was standing before Stark, taking in the dripping, glittery Avenger in up-close detail, Peter tried and failed to stifle a snort, bubbles of laughter sneaking in here and there as he spoke. “I’m—heh—really sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to make you more angry with me than you already are. I just—well, I guess I don’t really have a good explanation for it. It sounded fun, but also kinda mean, and Johnny is really good at convincing me to do things I normally wouldn’t do, and I know that’s not an excuse for any of it, but I—”

Stark held up a hand to stop him. “Spidey,” he chuckled. “You’re a kid. Kids do obnoxious, silly things like this. It’s normal . If anything, I wish you felt comfortable enough to act your age around here more often—even if it results in my laundry bill doubling for the week.” He clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a fond smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who brings out that side of you and kindles your rebellious, youthful spirit.”

Peter punched out a laugh, reddening at the thought of what Tony might think if he knew about all the things Johnny kindled inside him…

“Just know you’re gonna have to clean up after and face the wrath of whoever’s involved for every prank you choose to do. So…keep that in mind before you go pulling shit like this on every person in the tower.” Tony held out his palm in offering. “Deal?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he gave Stark’s hand a shake, realizing his mistake a second too late. Spider-Man let out a yelp as his mentor yanked him into a sticky, glittery hug, smearing Peter’s suit in a fresh coat of Johnny’s luminescent concoction.

“Agh!” Peter laughed, squirming against the Avenger’s hold. “Don’t! Mr. Stark! I have enough to clean already!”

“I thought you loved my hugs,” Tony ribbed him, stamping Spider-Man’s mask with a perfect glittery handprint. “You always take every opportunity to hug me even when that’s not what I’m trying to do. Now that I’m intentionally hugging you, you’re upset? Pick a lane, kid.”

While Stark decorated Spidey’s costume with sparkly smudges and stains, the masked hero giggling and protesting the whole time, Ben and Reed watched the scene unfold in front of them, exchanged a glance, then grinned. Wordlessly, they turned to Johnny, who went rigid beneath their insidious stares.

“Oh, no,” Johnny squeaked, retreating a couple steps back. “Don’t you dare! I’ll fry off your stretchy fingertips if you even think about it! I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning to get it to look this good! Stay away from me! Reed—wait—!”

Ignoring his threats, Mr. Fantastic elongated his arm and thrust it across the room, looping the limb around Johnny’s waist. Johnny shouted and kicked as he was dragged towards his doom, but lucky for Reed, did not light himself on fire. For all his faults, the kid knew better than to burn his teammates over something as innocuous as this.

“Please!” Johnny cried, who was now laughing in spite of himself. Once the teen was pinned between them, Ben and Reed wasted no time painting his face and costume in sparkly streaks. Johnny swore and thrashed and yelled throughout the entire process, cursing both of their bloodlines until the end of time itself, yet couldn’t seem to stop himself from giggling right along with them. The Thing even went so far as to scoop fistfuls of goop off the floor and rub them into Johnny’s scalp like glittery shampoo.

When Peter managed to escape Tony’s deceitful embrace, he took note of what Johnny’s teammates were putting the poor celebrity through and concluded he’d gotten off easy. He chuckled lightly as he approached the trio of Fantastic Four members, stopping a safe distance away from the epic two-on-one glitter fight transpiring between them and clearing his throat.

“Does this make us even?” Peter asked hesitantly, scrubbing a hand across his sparkle-dusted eye lenses. Ben and Reed slowed their attack and turned to face the masked vigilante, expressions dubious without being hostile.

“No,” Ben eventually replied, a playful grin cutting across his face. “Not quite. But no hard feelings, Puny.” He went back to spiking up Johnny’s hair into a glittery mohawk while the teen flicked paint into the Thing’s eyes. Peter wasn’t sure what to make of his unsettling response.

“Johnny told me you have a big passion for science and technology,” Reed said, eyes scanning Peter closely, as if analyzing his every movement and possible intent. “I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of outside the realm of pulling elaborate pranks on your colleagues. Would you have any interest in assisting Sue and I on a project we have planned later this week? We were thinking of trying—”

“Yes!” Peter blurted out before he could finish. Richards paused, blinking in surprise, and Peter cursed himself immediately, his eagerness getting the best of him once again. “Sorry, I just—yes. The answer’s yes. Whatever you’re doing, whatever the project is, I want in. Absolutely.” His nerdy little heart was glowing brighter than powdered sulfur mixed with molten iron. “You have no idea how much I—how long I’ve dreamed of—this is just—everything to me. I’ve always hoped I’d get a chance one day to work alongside—”

But Peter stopped himself. One: because he was making a total ass of himself by acting so obsessive and giddy. Two—and most importantly—he was starting to sound a little too similar to the plucky 16-year-old Dr. Richards had spoken to just yesterday in Central Park. He doubted the revered scientist would remember the interaction vividly enough to connect the dots between the masked hero and Peter Parker, but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

Why did secret identities have to ruin everything?

So Peter inhaled slowly, erected his spine, and tried again. “I mean—sorry. Yes, I’d love to. Thank you for the opportunity. I’m, um—excited to help out however I can.”

Reed studied him a moment longer before breaking into an animated smile. “Well, I…appreciate your enthusiasm,” he chuckled. “Mr. Stark speaks highly of your talents, and we could use a fresh set of eyes on our research. I’ll let you know where and when to meet us soon.”

“Awesome,” Peter beamed. “I will so be there. To look at stuff. With my eyes. As much stuff as you want. I love research. Especially yours.” He coughed into his fist and turned his back to the scientist, palming his masked face in his hand. “I’m gonna walk away now before I say anything else that makes you want to rescind your invite and me want to gag myself with a spoon.”

“Please do,” Johnny groaned. “That whole interaction just gave me the ick.”

Richards frowned and smeared his paint-soaked hand down the side of Johnny’s face, making the teen squawk and finally tear free from his teammates’ evil clutches.

“Oh my god! Enough already!” The Human Torch scrambled to Peter’s side, looking like a doll who’d been manhandled by a giant baby with an affinity for glitter. He scratched madly at his hair to try to tease it back to its original shape, but somehow made it look even crazier than it already was. Peter snickered between his fingers while Johnny moped.

“I hate all of you,” he grumbled.

“Let’s leave the kiddos to their scrubbing,” Stark declared to the group. The three elder heroes filed out of the lab in a tidy, sparkly line, satisfied with their work.

With their teammates departed, the two teens gazed upon the daunting task before them with an exhale of dread. Peter dragged his toe through one of the many puddles of paint on the floor. “Guess that kind of backfired, huh?” he chuckled halfheartedly.

Johnny flashed a plaintive grin and shrugged. “Still fun though, right?”

Peter mirrored his smile. “Still fun. Watching your teammates get revenge on you was probably the most fun. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you have a bad hair day.”

Johnny’s smile dissolved in record time. “Eat shit, Webs.” He gave the puddle to his right a kick, splashing Peter in glittery liquid. “I’ll bet your hair looks insane underneath that mask.”

“Touché,” Peter conceded, wincing back with a giggle as sparkly droplets sprayed his legs. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to wash my suit and take a shower after this—again. Half of our day today is gonna be wasted on cleaning.”

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, if that means I get to hear an encore of your show-stopping shower performance, I’m not complaining. Who are you gonna cover this time? Olivia Rodrigo? Dua Lipa? Noah Kahan? Harry Styles? I’d love to hear your take on ‘Grapejuice’ or ‘Satellite’ or ‘Fine Line’ or—oh! Do you know the words to his unreleased song ‘Medicine’—?”

Wordlessly, Peter latched a web-line from his wrist to Johnny’s ankles and yanked his legs out from underneath him. Johnny let out a shout as he fell ass-first to the ground—landing in a pool of goopy glitter that made sure to soak through the few stain-free parts of his costume remaining.

“Hey!” Johnny snapped.

“Less yapping, more scrubbing,” Peter chastised him, tossing Johnny a mop. The Human Torch caught it with a disgruntled look on his face.

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. Johnny rose to his feet and eyed the cameras the two of them had hidden around the lab—which, as far as he was aware, were still rolling. “I know for a fact you can do just about anything while simultaneously running that fat mouth of yours,” Johnny said, breaking into a grin. “Let’s put that skill to use, shall we? I’ll ask you some of the questions the public is most interested in knowing about you, and you can answer while you clean this place up.”

“You mean while we clean this place up,” Peter corrected him, unamused. Johnny leaned on the handle of his mop and waved dismissively.

“Details, darling. You get started on the mess, and I’ll bear the burden of prompting you with the questions I know everyone is dying to ask you. Playing to our strengths is an important part of delegating labor and being efficient. You’ve always been better at multitasking, and I know how to grab people’s attention and make them think what I want them to think. Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

“That was a lot of words just to say you’re definitely gonna make me clean all of this myself,” Peter huffed, sweeping one of the many sparkly puddles towards the drain in the center of the room. Johnny beamed triumphantly.

“See? You’re doing it already! Wow! You’re killing it, Webs! Such talent! My scatter-brained self could never.”

Peter chucked a sponge at his head. “At least do the walls and ceiling, Mr. Weaponized Incompetence.”

Johnny’s hands barely shot up in time to stop the sponge from beaning him between the eyes. “But—you’re the sticky one who can crawl upside-down!” he protested.

“And you’re the one who can fly, dumbass.”

Peter thought at first his comeback had been a bit too harsh, until Johnny burst into incandescent laughter. “Holy shit,” the celebrity cackled. “I think I’m starting to rub off on you. I’m loving the sass, Webs. This spider’s got some venom after all.”

Spider-Man blushed a little as Johnny lit himself on fire and began wiping glitter off the walls as requested. Waterfalls of suds and sparkles slipped down the sideways surface and pooled into puddles on the floor.

“Okay—first question,” Johnny called from across the room, scrubbing hard at a particularly stubborn spot. “What is Spider-Man’s secret identity?”

“Whoopi Goldberg,” Peter answered without missing a beat, re-wetting the mop with soapy water. Johnny’s laughter that followed warmed every molecule in Peter's body like a shot of ambrosia straight to his mortal veins.

Susan Storm followed the sound of Ben’s bitching and moaning and the trail of sparkly footprints scattered across the hardwood all the way to Tony Stark’s lab on the 50th floor. Her glitter-coated boyfriend explaining his and Ben’s current state of disarray and pointing her in the right direction of the perpetrators was a big help as well, but it didn’t take an Einstein to track down her brother when he so often left such a clear and obvious path to follow.

Sue marched up to the door and curled her fist around the handle but hesitated, taking a moment to compose herself. She and Johnny were carved from the same short-tempered clay; in many ways, she felt like she was born even more hotheaded than he was. But Sue had been conditioned since childhood to keep her emotions in check and rein in her blistering anger. She’d learned how to swallow her fury and school her face into a mask even as a wildfire raged in her blood. It was her way of enacting a sense of control over situations and little brothers that always seemed out of control. It was the veil she’d hidden herself behind following the death of their mother: a calm and collected facade maintained for Johnny’s sake as everything and everyone else around them buckled in Mom’s absence. It was the armor she wore to shield them from their father’s wrath after he drank himself into a monster none of them recognized.

And after gaining power and status and influence unlike she’d ever imagined, it was a way to make the media outlets stop writing articles and filming segments about her being “too emotional,” “too loud,” “too opinionated,” “too uptight,” “not lady-like,” “lacking media training,” “unprofessional,” “difficult to work with,” “bossy and demanding,” and other equally infuriating topics. With the world’s eyes now constantly watching, judging, and scrutinizing, Sue had new reasons to always keep the rage in her bones at bay—even as her younger sibling did everything in his power to worry her sick and set her blood boiling, all while receiving a seemingly endless outpouring of forgiveness and adoration from the same public who so heavily criticized her.

For as long as she could remember and still to this day, the best way for Susan Storm to protect herself and her family was to make herself and her feelings invisible.

With a final grounding breath, Sue went to turn the door handle, but stopped at the sound of Johnny’s boisterous laughter echoing off the walls in the opposite room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her brother laugh like that. It had been years, at least. Few and far between since Mom had died and Dad had…changed. She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

Skeptically curious, Susan reached for that power that hummed like static beneath her skin. Power she was still growing accustomed to; power that still felt alien to her unassuming human flesh. Opacity faded from her fingers up to her elbows, gradually traveling across her arms, her face, her legs, and eventually, her entire body—cloaking her in a chilly membrane of invisibility. The sensation reminded Sue of having goosebumps covering every inch of her—including, weirdly enough, her insides. She knew it didn’t really make sense, but that was the closest real-world comparison she could draw to an otherwise otherworldly experience.

Once she was completely invisible, Sue slipped inside the lab as silently as she could, making a point to avoid the shallow puddles of glittery paint just inside the doorway.

“Quit lying, you dickhead!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! You’ve lied for like, fifty percent of the questions I’ve asked you!”

“Okay, fair—but not this time! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Johnny hovered right below the highest corner of the room, sponging flecks of sparkly liquid off the ceiling, flames flickering with laughter as he yelled at the figure mopping the floor beneath him. Spider-Man gazed up at her brother from the ground, smothered in glitter from head to toe, the sight of him pricking the Invisible Woman with needles of antipathy.

She knew he’d be here; Reed had filled her in on what to expect should she dare follow the trail of glowing footprints to her brother’s location. She just wished Johnny didn’t have to spend every waking hour of free time he had vying for the affection of a shifty vigilante who refused to share so much as his first name with any of them and could very well be some 20-something-year-old freak lying to Johnny about his age to earn his trust and lower his guard and do things to him Sue couldn’t bear to think about. Johnny had an unfortunately consistent history of falling for shady, toxic people who rubbed Susan’s nerves raw, and Spider-Man had a reputation for sewing deception and causing trouble. AKA, a recipe for disaster and heartbreak.

Sue crept forward cautiously, glaring invisible daggers in Spider-Man’s direction, feet ghosting silently across the floor. She felt somewhat bad for eavesdropping, but in her defense, her power set made it painfully easy for her to do. Besides—she was very interested in knowing what the two of them talked about when they thought no one else was listening; what kind of dangerous ideas Spider-Man might be filling her brother’s head with when she wasn’t around.

“You’re only saying that to piss me off,” Johnny shot back. “We both know who your actual choice would be.” He struck a pose and blew Spider-Man a kiss, making the masked vigilante chuckle.

“I’m serious!” Spider-Man insisted, swiping the mop around the base of a lab table. “You asked; that’s my answer. Dr. Storm is my favorite Fantastic Four member.”

Susan’s steps stilled, muscles stiffening in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to the vigilante’s masked face, narrowing with a mixture of doubt, confusion, and intrigue.

“Please,” Johnny groaned. “I might believe you if you said Reed, seeing how you practically creamed your onesie at the prospect of working with him. But Sue?” Johnny broke into a charming symphony of fake gagging sounds. “I call BS.”

While Sue cut a scowl at her brother, Spider-Man shrugged. “Don’t believe me if that’s your choice. But it’s the truth. Dr. Richards is amazing too, of course, but I can’t relate to him in all the same ways I can relate to your sister.”

“How so?” Johnny interrogated him, mirroring Susan's thoughts exactly. “Like the fact that she hates your guts? You do have a problem with self-deprecation.”

The masked menace snickered. “Lots of people I like hate my guts. Just last week, George Lucas called me ‘unnerving’ on Twitter. Most people in general aren’t fans of Spider-Man. Dr. Storm feeling the same doesn’t make her special.”

“Then what does make her special?” Johnny pouted. “So much so that you’d actually choose her as your favorite over me!”

Spider-Man tossed the mop into the suds bucket and kneaded the nape of his neck. “Well, for starters, she reminds me of my aunt. She’s super protective of you and constantly worries about your safety and wellbeing, just like my aunt does for me. She also took over as your primary caretaker after you lost your parents the same way my aunt did when I lost mine. I admire what both of them have overcome and sacrificed to give the two of us a sense of family and stability.”

Susan blinked slowly, a myriad of questions and uncertainties deluging into her mind. That…wasn’t at all what she was expecting to come out of the vigilante’s mouth. She couldn’t decide if she should be stunned and flattered, or even more apprehensive of Spider-Man’s shrewd capacity for spinning falsities and garnering sympathy.

Johnny huffed crossly. “So she’s a semi-decent guardian. Big whoop. I can shoot flames out of my fingertips and fly as fast as a fighter jet. Plus, unlike her, I actually like being around you. She doesn’t deserve your number 1 Fantastic Four member spot.”

“She’s also passionate about science like I am and makes her research super accessible,” Spider-Man went on. “All her studies and experiments have an underlying objective of helping humanity and redefining our understanding of the world—the kinds of things I hope to work on one day. She even went to my dream university for undergrad: MIT!”

Sue scanned the masked vigilante up and down, drinking in his short stature, his narrow build, the slight crack in his voice at the end of that sentence, the details of what he’d just said and what that suggested about him, and felt talons of alarm begin to close around her throat. What if Johnny was right about him? she wondered.

Could the masked menace of New York really be just a teenager?

Either way, fan of hers or not, she still wished he would butt out of her brother’s life already. If Spider-Man was a teenager, which she still wasn’t fully convinced of just yet, that didn’t absolve him of being a threat. Johnny’s popularity and stardom drew in all kinds of bad actors looking to siphon off some of his success, steal a piece of his sunshine. Whether he liked it or not, Johnny was still a minor who was constantly at risk of being used, abused, and taken advantage of. He was too young to understand how fucked up the world they lived in truly was, and that it was Susan’s job to protect him from it. She hadn’t forgotten that Spider-Man had already put her brother’s life in danger once, and didn’t plan to forgive him anytime soon.

“And get this,” Spider-Man added, jarring the Invisible Woman from her thoughts. “Dr. Storm was on her high school’s Decathlon team—just like I am right now!”

Sue caught herself cracking the faintest of smiles. He did get points for calling her Dr. Storm—a title people always seemed to remember when addressing her boyfriend, but religiously swapped for “Miss” whenever referring to her to the point she’d stopped correcting them. She tip-toed a few steps closer to Spider-Man, standing only a few feet away from his back with her arms crossed and a mildly amused look on her face.

“Captain of my high school’s Decathlon team.”

The masked vigilante practically sprung right out of his spandex. He whipped around to face her just as she dropped her disguise, eye lenses wide as softballs, one hand clutching his chest.

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man croaked, staggering back a step. “I mean—uh, shart. Shite. Shoot. Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“What the fuck, Sue?” Johnny exclaimed, dropping from above and landing by Spider-Man’s side, flames flickering off the tips of his shoulders. “Are you mental? Have you been spying on us this whole time?”

“Only since your friend here started explaining why I’m his favorite member of the Fantastic Four instead of you,” she said, eyes sliding back to Spider-Man, face unreadable. “Which, while appreciated, doesn’t make me any less wary of you and all the trouble you’re getting my brother into.”

The masked vigilante scratched at his forearm. “That’s valid,” he said meekly.

“Spidey hasn’t gotten me into anything I didn’t willingly choose to be a part of,” Johnny snapped. “Quit trying to make him the bad guy of every undesirable situation. It’s not original.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of ‘undesirable situations,’” she continued, “how come you haven’t posted the apology I sent to you?”

Johnny grimaced. “You know why! Because he doesn’t deserve one! Fisk is a slimy scum bucket who threatened me at my own event! Not to mention his goons nearly killed me and Spider-Man!”

“You should absolutely post an apology,” the vigilante said before she could, making both Sue and Johnny turn to him in surprise. Her brother’s jaw dropped at the hinges.

“You’re taking her side on this?” Johnny balked. “You’re the one who was shot because of him!”

“Which only proves how dangerous he is,” Spider-Man insisted. “Fisk isn’t someone you mess with without facing extreme consequences. Posting the apology might get him off your case for the time being. You’ll be much safer if he thinks you're on his side.”

Johnny Storm scowled. “Just because it makes me safer doesn’t make it right.”

Susan studied the masked menace closely, eyebrows furrowing together. “How’s that healing, by the way?”

Spider-Man startled when he realized she was speaking to him. “Huh?” he said, shoulders tensing in surprise.

“Your gunshot wound,” Sue clarified, voice steely. “I heard it was pretty bad. You drenched my brother’s suit in blood.”

Spider-Man exchanged a quick glance with Johnny before stumbling through a stilted response. “Oh. Right. It’s, um—good. Great, actually. Thanks for asking. Sorry about the suit. I hope radioactive spider blood isn’t harder to wash out than regular blood.” He patted the spot below his rib cage where she assumed he’d taken the blow. “But, uh, yeah. I’m all patched up now and good as new. So…hooray.”

While Sue digested the masked vigilante’s astute awkwardness, Johnny rolled his eyes. “He’s lying, by the way,” he said, making Spider-Man bristle.

“What?” Spider-Man stammered. “I am not!”

“You ripped clean through your stitches just two days ago!” Johnny exclaimed. “And it was barely four days ago that you were shot! There’s no way you’re actually fully healed already.”

“I heal quicker than most people!” Spider-Man shot back. “I told you that! It’s part of my powers.”

“Is it? Or do you just say that to people so you can get back to web-swinging and crime-fighting sooner?”

“Mr. Stark took out my stitches this morning! I'm happy to show you if you’re really convinced I’m lying!”

Johnny huffed and shrugged. “Just saying. I think you’re prone to exaggerating how fast your wounds heal. You hate having others worried about you to an alarming and unhealthy degree. If I was in your position, I’d milk that injury for all it’s worth. Do you know how much fans eat up post-battle superhero content? Nothing makes a celebrity hotter than when he’s bruised and bloody and gritting against the pain of his wounds. Some of my most popular posts are the ones I filmed after getting a black eye. Or that time I stopped a runaway train and fractured my pinkie toe.”

Spider-Man barked out a laugh. “Oh god. I remember that. You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. That’s all you’d ever talk about! Whoa is you and your poor little pinkie toe.”

“Hey, that shit hurt! And at least I know how to slow down and let my body heal when it needs it! You’d rather run yourself ragged and bleed out in the street than take a full week off to rest.”

“Bleeding out in the street sounds like a walk in the park compared to the harrowing agony you and your toe went through. Toe-gate convinced me that fracturing your pinkie is far more painful than anything I have or ever will experience—including getting shot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Susan cut in, rubbing her temples as she glowered between the two of them. They certainly squabbled like a pair of 16-year-olds. “Jesus. Do you guys always bicker back and forth like this? I was under the impression you two enjoyed each other’s company.”

Johnny slung an arm around Spider-Man’s shoulders and grinned from ear to ear. “Bickering is how we show affection,” he assured her. “You and I bicker all the time, and I still enjoy your company. Sometimes. Occasionally. Depending on what day it is. And how hungry we are. And the temperature outside. And what moon phase we’re in.”

“Hilarious,” the Invisible Woman deadpanned. She turned her attention back to the masked menace. “I have a question for you, Spider-Man.”

The vigilante stiffened. She didn’t intend for her words to come off as cold and cutthroat as they sounded, but that wasn’t to say she hated the fact that the person behind the mask seemed slightly terrified of her. Good, she thought. Better that than him thinking I’m someone easily trifled with.

“You keep saying Fisk is dangerous,” she went on, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanna explain to me what dangerous things you’ve witnessed him do and why no one else seems to know about them? Because as far as myself or anyone else is aware, Fisk is a loyal and active community member who’d make a powerful ally to the Fantastic Four.” Susan loomed over him, savoring the extra inch of height she had on the alleged hero. “Tell me why I should think otherwise.”

Spider-Man’s throat bobbed. He lowered his gaze to the floor, wisely taking a few moments to choose his next words carefully.

“Well…Fisk was one of the first major bad guys I went up against,” the masked vigilante began, hands moving in tandem with his voice as he spoke. “When I was just starting out with this superhero thing, I quickly discovered there were two distinct kinds of criminals out there: your typical, run-of-the-mill thugs and thieves who usually operate by themselves, versus organized mobs being funded and run by powerful people behind the scenes. A couple months after getting my powers, I started noticing weird patterns and coincidences between the different criminals I was apprehending. Like the drug dealers I’d busted a week before using the same taxi cabs and handguns as this other group of thugs I stopped from kidnapping some women out by Evers Marina. Then a bunch of jewelry robbers wearing the same creepy sunglasses as these assholes I caught holding a congressman at gunpoint. From then on, more and more similarities and connections between crimes I thought were totally unrelated began to crop up. Same weapons, same communication devices, same body armor, same escape tactics—hell, even the same people across multiple different crime scenes. I knew there had to be somebody big behind it all who was pulling the strings. Someone with a seriously huge network of arms dealers and drug manufacturers and human traffickers under their command. So I started questioning some of the cronies I caught after each big crime bust.” Spider-Man’s head drooped a little, his eye lenses squinting into slits. “Which…is how I discovered the other thing all these different criminals had in common.”

Sue raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” she pressed him.

Spider-Man took a deep breath in and out. “That they all had loved ones who were being used against them. That if they didn’t carry out the tasks they were given, their families would be killed.”

Susan blinked, the hard lines in her expression softening. Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Obviously there were some of them just in for the payout,” the vigilante added. “But the majority of the people doing these crimes were being forced to by someone who was threatening their loved ones. But no matter how hard I pressed them for the name of the person exploiting them, they wouldn’t budge. They were too scared of him finding out that they’d snitched. Journalists, police officers, property managers, construction workers, accountants, prison wardens, government officials, taxi drivers—he had people of all standings and backgrounds under his thumb. And those who weren’t actively being extorted were too deep in his pocket to give him up, either.” A sigh slipped from his lips. “After months of digging and searching, the only clue I had was a word I’d heard whispered again and again between members of his shadow organization.” Spider-Man lifted his gaze to hers. “‘Kingpin.’”

“Kingpin?” she repeated back to him. “Is that some kind of nickname?”

“That’s what I assumed,” the vigilante said with a nod. “So from then on, whenever I found myself disrupting another one of their criminal operations, I started ranting loudly and making jokes about how stupid and lame Kingpin is.”

Susan snorted. “A bold strategy.”

“And you call me reckless,” Johnny huffed.

Spider-Man threw his hands in the air. “Hey, it worked!” he insisted, then winced. “Well…sort of.”

“Go on,” Sue said impatiently.

“After a week of crippling his different revenue streams and name-dropping Kingpin every chance I got, I could feel myself getting closer. That’s when the Bugle first started campaigning against me and feeding lies to the public to decimate my credibility. That’s when Kingpin’s goons started carrying heavier and heavier weaponry and shooting to kill the moment I showed up at any of their work sites. That’s when I finally tracked down a possible base for this massive crime syndicate’s operations.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Coincidentally, that’s also when I wound up catching the attention of another hero who I guess had been working the same case as me.”

“Which hero?” Johnny chimed in, eyes wide with interest. Spider-Man hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Well,” he coughed. “Have either of you ever heard of a guy who goes by ‘Daredevil?’”

Immediately, Susan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, dragging a hand down her face. “Are you referring to the other masked vigilante who hides his identity from the world while wreaking havoc across New York in his dubiously-themed costume?”

Spider-Man chuckled timidly, evidently anticipating her disapproval. He waved finger guns in her direction. “That’s the one,” he said.

“Who’s Daredevil?” Johnny asked, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as he glanced between the two of them. “I haven’t heard of Daredevil. What’s his deal? What’re his powers? How long have you guys known each other? Do you think he’s cool? What's his Twitter handle? I’m looking him up now.”

Spider-Man laughed while Susan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much about him, to be honest,” the vigilante admitted. “We’ve only talked once. He stopped me right as I was about to break into Kingpin’s headquarters and warned me not to take this another step further.”

Peter thought about that night often. At the time, Daredevil had just been a nameless vigilante dressed in all black who spoke to him in a voice that was stern yet gentle. And Spider-Man was just some 14-year-old kid wearing a homemade superhero costume in way over his head. Peter had entered the encounter with his hackles raised, ready for a fight, believing the masked man to be one of Kingpin’s bodyguards. But that fear was quickly subdued.

“Daredevil told me he was impressed with the work I’d done to dismantle Kingpin’s chokehold on the city—and that I’d managed to locate one of his bases—but that he would take things from here. He said he’d been building a case against Kingpin for over a year now and had a lawyer friend who planned to bring him to justice in the court of law.”

What Peter didn’t mention was how Daredevil lightly reprimanded him for trying to bring down one of New York’s most powerful crime lords before he’d even hit puberty. When Peter at first loudly denied it, then quietly asked how he’d figured it out, Daredevil simply smiled and insisted it wasn’t a conclusion that took any special skills or abilities to draw.

“He told me Kingpin’s true identity is Wilson Fisk, and that he’s been funding and puppeteering criminal syndicates in New York for decades now,” Peter continued solemnly. “He keeps his empire running by sticking to the shadows and orchestrating everything behind the scenes, lining the pockets of those in power to keep them silent and loyal and blackmailing those who won’t take bribes by threatening their lives and loved ones. Daredevil promised me he almost had him: a solid enough case to bring the horrifying extent of his crimes to light. I just had to wait a little bit longer for him to gather enough evidence to make the charges viable enough to stick.”

Susan Storm listened in silence, her face a blank wall that offered zero clues as to where her head was at. Meanwhile, Johnny’s concern and curiosity and anticipation were as easy to read as words on a page. He hugged himself around the middle as if all this buildup was making him queasy.

“So? What’d you do?” he prodded. Peter grimaced.

“Well…I probably would’ve listened to him and waited,” he said gingerly, “if someone hadn’t started screaming in agony from inside the building right at that moment.”

Peter remembered the cold shudder the sound had sent down his spine. He remembered his muscles going rigid and his blood turning to ice. Daredevil had tried telling him that the person he was hearing was a brute whose safety wasn’t worth the risk—that if he broke inside to rescue him, there was no turning back. But all Peter could hear were his desperate cries for help.

“A man was being tortured,” Peter said hollowly. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer like that. So, despite Daredevil’s attempts to stop me, I busted through a window in the back of the building and threw myself between the guy who was screaming and the four thugs who were hurting him. While I was beating those assholes up, more and more gang members started pouring in from the other rooms. There must’ve been at least thirty men coming at me at one point. I’d never faced that many bad guys at once before, and I knew I couldn’t win. I’d only had my powers for about four months at the time all this was happening.” Peter crossed his arms and shrugged. “So I did the only thing I could think of: I started demanding a fight with Wilson Fisk. I began shouting his name again and again while battling like hell to stay alive. It was only after I’d been beat to a pulp that he finally showed his face and ordered his goons to back off.”

Every detail of that encounter haunted Peter to this day. The blood roaring in his ears as a man the size of a grizzly bear towered over him, his presence alone making Peter’s head buzz in warning. Fighting the fatigue and the biting pain of his wounds as he rose to his feet and held the enormous man’s brutal gaze. The way Fisk surveyed him like some kind of insect he was preparing to squash beneath his massive leather shoe.

“So you’re the little rat whose been nipping at the heel of my business operations,” Kingpin had observed, stuffing his beastly hands into his pants pockets. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. You must’ve worked very hard to get to where you’re standing today.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Humpty Dumpty,” Peter had shot back, injecting his voice with all the arrogance and audacity he could muster. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve been doing. The drugs, the weapons, the kidnappings, the blackmailing. You’re the one who's behind it all. And now you’re gonna pay.”

The whole room had laughed at that—which, to be fair, was a pretty pathetic threat. Even though he had a knife wound in his arm, bruises all over his body, and was hilariously, hopelessly outnumbered, Peter wasn’t backing down.

“I told him I wasn’t going to let him continue hurting and exploiting people for his own personal gain,” Peter said, swallowing thickly. “I swore I’d expose him for the sick criminal he was. To which he responded by punching me in the abdomen, breaking seven of my ribs.”

Johnny’s hands flew to his mouth. “Why didn’t you dodge like you normally do?” he gasped.

“Like I said, I was still new to my powers and didn’t fully understand them.” Spider-Man ran a hand down his torso, wincing at the memory of his bones shattering beneath Fisk’s fist. “Plus, I was already pretty badly wounded, and wasn’t anticipating a guy that big to move so fast.”

While Peter lied sprawled across the cold concrete, gagging and sputtering, fingers quaking against his broken body, blinded by indescribable pain, Wilson Fisk strode across the room and punted him like a pigskin straight into the wall. Peter’s splintered skeleton rattled inside him as he tumbled to the ground, wheezing and gasping and pooling his remaining strength to launch a counter strike.

“I probably only got one or two solid hits in, but it was like punching a brick wall. The dude’s built like a tank and wears some kind of body armor beneath his suit that made it impossible for me to get the upper hand. I was spitting up blood and seeing stars by the time he was through with me.”

Kingpin strolled to a stop before Spider-Man’s crumpled physical form and seized him by the throat, fingers crushing around his esophagus until black spots began to press into his vision.

“Go ahead—try telling the world exactly who you think I am,” Fisk had growled. “The people of this city only believe what I want them to believe, only see what I let them see. No one is going to take the word of a spineless vigilante who hides behind a mask to heart—not now, not ever.”

Peter fiddled nervously with his web-shooters as he continued his story. “Fisk said if he ever caught me messing with his business again, he’d do everything in his power to track down the people I love and hurt them in every way he knows how. The only reason he let me leave there alive was so I could spread that message to every other hero and vigilante I knew and scare them away from disrupting his enterprise, too.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “But…you haven’t stopped messing with his business,” he said, blinking. “Right?”

Peter nodded slowly. “Right. I haven’t. No way in hell was I just gonna let him continue terrorizing my city with nothing standing in his way. But…” He lowered his gaze to the ground, guts knotting into pretzels. “The things I’ve seen him do to people these past two years…the atrocities I’ve watched his minions commit on his behalf…I could never risk him getting anywhere near the people I care about.” His eyes flicked up to Johnny’s, then to Sue’s, then quickly back to the floor, arms held tight to his sides. “That’s, um…one of the major reasons I’ve chosen to keep my face hidden and my identity a secret all this time. If he ever found out who I really was…”

The idea of it was too horrifying for him to even finish that sentence. Susan pondered his anecdote with her arms crossed and her lips pressed in a thin line. Peter felt Johnny’s hand brush against his spine and come to a rest atop his back, his eyes an ocean of sympathy.

“Does that mean Daredevil’s lawyer friend never pulled through with the evidence against him?” Johnny asked.

Peter shook his head. “He helped patch me up that night after Kingpin put me through the wringer, but that was the last time I saw him. Something must’ve fell through.” He traced a finger along his throat where Fisk’s hands had squeezed with deadly intentions all those evenings ago. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Fisk cleared out that base within days of me discovering it and went underground for the next two years. Only now has he finally resurfaced with this surprise campaign run.” Spider-Man scowled. “Plus, he has, like—tons of cops and judges on his payroll. Even the most solid case against him probably wouldn’t make it past the DA’s desk.”

Johnny’s hair flashed with flames as he threw his hands above his head. “Dude! This is insanity! Fisk is holding you and this entire city hostage! We can’t let him become mayor! We’ve got to take that corrupt fucker down!”

“No, you don’t,” Susan snapped immediately, jabbing a finger between them. “Neither of you are getting anywhere near Fisk or his men ever again.”

Peter lifted his gaze to meet hers, inclining his head to one side. “Wait,” he said, eyes widening in realization. “You—you believe me?”

Sue muttered something R-rated under her breath. “I don’t know what to believe at this point,” she conceded, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “But if there’s a chance Fisk is as bad as you say he is, you two are not the people who should be taking him on. Both of you are way too close to this.”

Peter and Johnny shared a look of surprise. Susan tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears with a sharp breath out.

“I’m going to look into this,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “While I do, you two are going to stay out of it. I don’t want to hear a peep about Wilson Fisk or Kingpin on any of your dumb little social media posts or crime-fighting outings. Understood?”

The pair of teens hesitated, but inevitably caved beneath the Invisible Woman’s frigid glare, nodding their heads rigidly. Susan glanced towards the exit then back at her brother.

“I’ll fill you in if and when I have something,” she told him. “Don’t do anything stupid until then.” Her eyes shifted back to Peter, narrowing slightly. “You missed a spot.”

Peter followed her gaze to the puddles of glitter paint scattered around the entryway. “Oh,” he said, staggering a little as he snatched a sponge from the suds bucket and held it up with a nervous laugh. “R-right. On it. Thank you.”

Sue marched out the room like a hunter out for blood. While Peter pressed a hand to his chest with a weary sigh, Johnny threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, Fisk is screwed now,” he cackled.

Peter forced a weak smile. Let’s hope, he thought uneasily. For all of our sakes.

He still couldn’t get over the fact she actually believed him.

Once the lab was finally glitter-free, Peter parted ways with Johnny to clean his suit (again), fulfill his cat-sitting duties (per usual), grab a sub from Delmar’s (and more gummy worms), then returned to the tower, expecting everyone to already be asleep. When he crept down to the 78th floor for something salty to snack on along with his candy, he was surprised to find Johnny burrowed deep into the sofa with his phone in his hand, barely clinging to consciousness as he squinted at the dim screen.

“What are you still doing awake?” Peter called from across the room, snagging a bag of chips from the pantry as he made his way over to him. He came to a stop in front of the couch and, upon further inspection, couldn’t help but giggle. “You look like a zombie. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’m trying to finish editing our prank video from today,” he grumbled, tapping languidly at his phone screen. “Viral TikToks won’t just magically cut themselves together out of the hours of footage we filmed across multiple different hidden camera angles, Webs.”

Peter chuckled. “I know that. And I appreciate all the time and effort you’re putting into this.” He tugged gently at the phone in Johnny’s hands. “But nobody is forcing you to edit everything all in one night except yourself.”

“And Wilson Fisk,” Johnny corrected him, snatching the device back and glaring at the screen. Peter frowned.

“What do you mean?”

After a few seconds, Johnny dropped the phone into his lap and gazed up at Peter with sad, bloodshot eyes. “Fisk is behind it all, isn’t he?” he said. “Your terrible public image, the endless flood of lies about you online and in the press. He’s been paying off the media since the day you crossed him to make sure no one would ever trust you if you tried to expose him. Am I wrong?”

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure how to answer. He eyed the opposite corner of the couch and slowly eased into it, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sure he’s to blame for part of it,” Peter admitted, folding his hands together in front of him. “But I think a lot of it just comes with the territory of wearing a mask and fighting crime anonymously.”

“Which he’s also forcing you to do,” Johnny reminded him bitterly. “Because if he discovered who you really were, your family would be in danger.”

“I decided from the very beginning that I wanted to hide my identity,” Peter insisted. “Before Fisk. My family would be in danger if my identity was revealed regardless of whether he was around or not. He isn’t forcing me to do anything. He’s just…” Peter rubbed his palms together feebly. “Affirming the fact that I’ve made the right choice.”

“I hate how much he’s hurt you,” Johnny practically spat. Peter looked up at him reluctantly with a small sting in his throat.

“What does this have to do with the videos?” he asked.

Johnny's features lifted into an exhausted but hopeful smile. “If people keep seeing you as the person you really are instead of the image Fisk has fed them, they’ll start to trust you more. And the more they start to trust you, the more power we’ll have to take down Fisk ourselves!”

Peter stared at the teen hero bemusedly. “How?”

“You’ve witnessed first hand all the crime and corruption Fisk is involved in. Once this city accepts you as their friendly neighbor Spider-Man, you can bring to light all the terrible things he’s been up to. If enough people believe you’re telling the truth, it could kickstart a call for a real investigation! One that’ll expose all his evildoing and the assholes he’s bribed to look the other way.”

Peter dug his fingers into his forearms. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve tried going to the cops and the press before. It’s too hard to find someone who he hasn’t paid off or who will take me seriously.”

“So don’t go to those asshats,” Johnny proposed, leaning in close. “Go to the fans! The citizens of this city! They’re the ones with the real power to help us destroy his credibility in the way that matters most: the court of public opinion. At the very least, it’ll stop him from becoming mayor.” Johnny held up his phone victoriously. “That’s why I have to get all these videos of us edited and posted ASAP. So we can prove to more and more people what an adorable and trustworthy little spider-hotty you are and end that fucker’s reign of terror.”

Normally Peter would’ve balked at Johnny’s flirtatious comments, but his mind was preoccupied with a stomach-turning premonition. He rubbed a corner of the sofa’s throw blanket between his fingers.

“Johnny,” he said carefully. The words he wanted so badly to say clung to the back of his throat like molasses. “So, um…that thing you mentioned before. Y’know—about Fisk threatening to hurt the people I…care about.” Peter took a moment to clear his throat. “Until recently, I thought I’d only have to worry about that if he found out my real identity. But…” A nervous flush spidered up his neck. “With all these videos we’re posting of us hanging out together, I’m beginning to worry it might be putting a target on your back.”

Johnny blinked at him, a look of befuddled amusement gradually spreading across his face. “You’re still worried about Fisk coming after me?” he laughed. “Seriously? There’s no way, Webs. I’m one of the most popular and famous celebrities in the world. If he did anything to me, literally everyone would turn against him. His whole empire would come crashing down in a day. He’s not that stupid.”

“Fisk has ways of hurting people without linking any of it back to himself,” Peter explained fearfully. “He could hire an assassin to come after you, or pay off a group of supervillains to fight you all at once, or get someone to poison you then bribe the mortician to say you died of natural causes—”

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, gripping Peter by the shoulders, an incredulous giggle escaping him. “Please! I’m a superhero for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself! If he sends someone after me, I’ll fry them inside-out! Simple as that! And if they do somehow overpower me, there are about fifteen other equally formidable heroes in this tower alone who I trust will have my back.” A balloon-full of butterflies burst inside Peter’s tummy as Johnny cradled his face in his hands and planted a quick kiss in the center of his forehead. Then his eyes found Peter’s, deep blue irises soft with fondness, transforming all of the masked hero’s thoughts into 404 error messages. “Quit being so goddamn paranoid,” he implored.

Peter gazed at him in a stupor of dumbfounded euphoria. Johnny Storm had a seriously uncanny prowess for yanking out the power cord to Peter’s brain at the most inconvenient times. A beat passed, and Johnny pulled away from him, rubbing the side of his neck, a tinge of scarlet creeping into his cheeks as tiny wisps of fire flickered in his hair.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes you’re not as touchy-feely of a person as I am.” He broke into a massive yawn, stretching his arms far and wide. “To be fair, invading your personal space seems like the most effective way to momentarily curb your spider anxiety whenever it’s getting a bit too spicy.”

Johnny fished the TV remote from the crack between the cushions and clicked “play” on the show he must’ve been watching earlier—Love Island, to no one's surprise—totally oblivious to the spell he’d just cast upon the masked vigilante. Slowly, Peter sunk back into the pillows, staring through the blinding television screen rather than at it, his troubled heart melting into a hearth of ichor and light.

Holy shit, he thought, all fears and concerns evaporating in an instant, a smile consuming him as he blinked and reeled and swooned all at once. I just got kissed by Johnny Storm.

Well—maybe kissed was a bit too strong of a word. More like lightly pecked—and not even on the lips, mind you. Still. How many others could boast the same?

Peter had no interest in knowing the answer to that question.

“Let’s wait and see what Sue comes up with before either of us spends more time stressing over that sentient meatball,” Johnny suggested, snuggling deeper into the sofa. “In the meantime, we’ll keep working on your public image so that when the time is right, we’ll be ready to bury that bastard’s name for good.”

The Human Torch went back to his editing, eyes dull and heavy and battling to stay open. Peter tucked a pillow under his arms as he stared ahead blankly, senses slowly returning to him.

So…yeah. He was fairly certain Johnny liked him.

After everything he’d observed today, it was hard to entertain any other conclusion besides that. There was still a chance he was wrong and Johnny was just treating him the same way he treated everyone else in his life, crushed dreams and broken hearts be damned, but that possibility was growing slimmer and slimmer. Peter was certain his affections for Johnny dramatically outweighed the celebrity’s for him. Nonetheless, he’d gathered enough evidence to confidently back his once delusional hypothesis. Only one question remained.

Now what?

No, like, seriously. What was he supposed to do?

Despite Johnny’s outward displays of interest towards him, he showed no signs of voicing those feelings aloud. Which meant it was up to Peter to make the first move. Peter Parker—telling Johnny Storm that he had a crush on him. Fighting Kingpin with his hands tied behind his back sounded less nerve-racking.

He’d gone through all the “what ifs” a million times in his head. Half of them were just spineless cop-outs and excuses; the other half wouldn’t even matter until after he’d made his feelings known. And so, Peter had decided he’d rather be devastated by the truth rather than never know the truth at all. Even if Johnny didn’t like him back, even if he outright laughed in Peter’s face, he wanted him to know how he felt. He needed him to. So much of what Spider-Man chose to do in his life was motivated by fear and uncertainty. For once, he wanted to do something from the heart, and the heart alone.

Johnny had taught him just how powerful being honest and authentic could be. Despite how much Peter had bared his soul to the celebrity hero already, there were still so many parts of himself he kept buried and hidden, and would likely continue to do so.

But not this. This, he deserved to see. After everything he'd done for him—all the risks taken, the kindness offered, the friendship and loyalty displayed with zero strings attached, Peter owed him that much.

But how? Peter beseeched the universe, raising his gaze to the sterile plane of white above him. How do I do it? When do I do it? Is it too soon? Too late? Why is this so goddamn terrifying?

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?” Peter whispered to himself, biting back a sardonic laugh. “You set my heart aflame, Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Peter spared a glance at the teenage hero, whom he was grateful to find passed out in a jumble of sprawling limbs. A fragile smile lifted his lips. He gathered the blanket in his arms and gently draped it over his slumbering form, admiring every beautiful detail of Johnny’s freckly, sunburned, peaceful face.

No, Spider-Man decided, chuckling to himself. Not like that.

#spider-man #spideytorch #peter parker x johnny storm #peter parker #spiderman fanfiction #johnny storm #my writing #bi peter parker #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #enemies to lovers #irondad #spideytorch fanfic

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littlelovelyspiderling · 6 months

Text

Meeting The Real You (Chapter 9)

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

word count: 25,347

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

___________________________

“What did I tell you?”

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

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

“And what did you go and do anyway?”

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

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

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

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

“You did what?” Stark snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep still,” Tony demanded.

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

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

“What’s the SDS?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Screw you, FRIDAY.”

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

Tony huffed. “Screw you, me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were SHOT?”

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

“I…I…uh…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Johnny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he answered miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

“No, sweetheart. You really didn’t.”

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

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

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

“Yes, May,” he said meekly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, anyway. Which gave him an idea…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

True.

“You met as Peter, or as Spider-Man?”

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

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

True.

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

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

About him.

Just tell her the truth! Spit it out already!

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

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

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

“M-May? Hello? You there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her, her, her, her .

Girl, girl, girl, girl.

She didn’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spidey! You still in here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spidey. Come on. Seriously.”

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

“Spider-Man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…” he said hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Johnny scoffed bitterly. “Like you care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” she snapped. “Really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drearily, Johnny shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sixteen,” Peter replied. Richards gawked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The men’s ugly grins wobbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Peter!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you?” Ned prompted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ned waved him off casually. “Don’t sweat it. Water under the bridge. It was really cool to get to see you all live in action—even if I did almost get blasted in the face by a fireball. Most eventful boba run to date.”

Johnny shook his head in dismay. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t myself that day. That doesn’t excuse what I did, I just—I hope you know I won’t ever let my own personal drama drive me to behave that recklessly ever again.”

Ned tapped the side of his temple. “Trust me—in my mind, any bad things you’ve ever done are entirely negated by the fact that I now own a collectible with your signature on it.”

Johnny’s concerned expression eased into a halfhearted smile, followed by a light laugh that sent sparks sizzling across Peter’s skin. “I’m lucky to have such forgiving fans,” he said, handing the Funko Pop back to Ned. His Baltic blue eyes veered to Peter again, drinking in his features with unabashed curiosity. “I need you to know the Fantastic Four paid back all the business owners for the damages I caused that day, including the owner of that tea shop.” Earnestness and guilt saturated every word from his lips. “She’s set to start rebuilding next week, and I promised her I’d come by once she reopens to post myself trying her drinks to give her sales a big boost and make up for all the trouble I caused.” He searched Peter’s gaze, fraught to right the wrongs he’d committed, his neck and forehead slick with sweat. Johnny felt everything so poignantly, including remorse for his mistakes. He’d be gutted if Peter refused to forgive him, despite him being some no-name stranger he’d probably never speak to again. Like alway, it softened Peter’s heart to see just how much the Storm siblings cared.

“That’s nice of you,” Peter said measuredly. The reply came out more curt and sterile than he intended, but he was scared of talking in longer bouts—scared that his voice or speaking patterns might start sounding familiar to the fiery celebrity. When Johnny looked wounded by his robotic answer, he added: “Thank you. For, um, helping her. And the others. They deserve it. Not having their businesses burned down, obviously, but—y’know. Being helped.”

Wow. Smooth, Pete. A true masterclass in playing it cool.

Johnny leaned back in his chair with one arm draped across the backrest and his opposite foot tucked into his lap. His sun-drowsed stare traced Peter up and down, studying him like a strange modern art piece he was trying to pull meaning out of. The corner of his mouth ticked towards the sky.

“You’re tough to read, pretty boy. First you berate me in the street—warranted, but still harsh—then you wait in line for hours and hours just for the chance to chat with me for a few minutes. I can’t decide if you like me or hate me.”

It didn’t matter how many times Johnny threw on a smirk and spoke to him in that bold, impish tone: the Human Torch’s charm never failed to fluster him to the same blistering degree. Peter dug his teeth into his bottom lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret.

“Oh, he definitely likes you,” Ned answered for him with a giggle, making Peter go scarlet.

“Ned!” Peter hissed, whacking him in the arm with the sunscreen bottle. Ned cackled as he winced sideways, rubbing at his elbow. Johnny eyed Peter with a renewed sparkle of interest.

“You do?” he said, irises like sapphires in the blazing light. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“We both like you for standing up for Spider-Man,” Ned conceded, causing Peter’s muscles to calcify. “He’s our favorite superhero, too.”

It took all of his collective willpower not to react to the name drop. What are you doing!? Peter wanted to scream. The last person they needed to be bringing up right now was the famous wall-crawler. Any reference or association to the webhead in their current state was downright begging for Johnny to discover the truth. Him and Ned really should’ve spent a chunk of the last six hours establishing some ground rules for this conversation.

Johnny beamed. “No kidding? See—I knew he had fans out there besides me! And you’re not the first people to tell me that today, either. I tried to convince him to come to this, y’know. Now I can tell him about all the Spidey fans he missed out on meeting.”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin smile while shouting every curse under the sun inside his head. Ned and Johnny both stared at him like they expected him to add something to the conversation. When he didn’t, Johnny narrowed his eyes.

“I’m still not convinced you like me,” he admitted. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here. I guess I can’t really blame you after everything I put you through, but still. It hurts. Is there anything else I can do to make up for my shitty behavior? There’s nothing worse than having eyes as lovely as yours look at me with such animosity.”

Ditsy warmth crept into his ears as a confusing hodgepodge of emotions washed through him. It both thrilled and disappointed Peter that Johnny was speaking to him like this. Of course he enjoyed being called pretty and lovely by his crush. Every compliment he tossed his direction sent the butterflies in Peter’s belly into a mad rush through his digestive tract. But it only confirmed his gloomiest suspicions: Johnny’s flirtatious behavior wasn’t exclusive to Spider-Man. He charmed everyone this way—captivating hearts left and right without even trying. It was encouraging to know that he liked the way Peter looked beneath his mask, but disheartening to realize his relationship with the webhead was truly nothing special.

“Don’t mind him,” Ned said. He peered back at Peter, cracking a wicked grin. “He’s not mad; he’s just nervous to talk to you. You’re his biggest crush, after all.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. Ned let out a fiendish giggle. Peter’s jaw fell open as his skin turned to molten iron.

No he did not.

As the blush in Peter’s face permeated his bones, Johnny’s gaze snapped back to him. The teen’s mouth curled in delight.

“Oh really?” he mused. “Is that true, pretty boy?”

“Y-your sister asked me to give this to you,” Peter blurted out before Ned or Johnny or anyone else had the chance to say another goddamn word. He shouldered past his snickering friend and jabbed his arm towards Johnny with the sunscreen in his fist. “She said you burn easily.”

Blinking, Johnny took the bottle from him, then scoffed. “Are you serious?” He turned in the direction of his elder sibling, lifting the sunscreen high above his head. “Sue!”

Dr. Storm glanced up from the fan-made doll she was admiring and cut a frown in Johnny’s direction. When Johnny mouthed “the fuck?” at her, pointing at the bottle, she mimed rubbing sunscreen on her face in reply. The Human Torch groaned.

“I can’t believe she put you up to this,” he muttered. “She’s ridiculous. I already applied plenty this morning.”

Despite the embarrassment ingesting him like quicksand, an unexpected smile seized Peter’s lips at Johnny’s childish irritation. He tapped a finger to his cheek. “Based on how red your face is right now, I think she’s doing you a favor. You definitely look like you need some more.”

Recapturing his gaze, Johnny returned his smile with roguish amusement. “I could say the same for you, darling—although I’m pretty sure yours is red for different reasons.”

Once again, Peter’s heart leapt inside his chest, the color in his cheeks deepening even more. Being subjected to Johnny’s flirtatious teasing without a mask to conceal its demonstrable effect on him was a whole new level of mortifying Peter had no interest growing accustomed to.

“What did it for you?” Johnny inquired, squirting sunscreen into his palms and gingerly dabbing it onto his face. “The hair? The teeth? My redemptive philanthropy and bottomless altruism? Or is it the flames? It’s usually the flames.”

Peter knew he was only asking to get a rise out of him, but Johnny’s question presented him with an opportunity most people would never encounter: the chance to confess to one’s crush exactly how one felt about him without enduring the consequences of him knowing who he was actually talking to. Spider-Man could never tell Johnny how he truly felt—but Peter Parker could. Because Peter Parker was no one to him.

He would not gush over every detail of what made Johnny the object of his affection; Johnny got that every hour of every day, and his ego was already big enough as is. Instead, he would keep it short, simple, and honest—and perhaps grant the Human Torch a taste of his own mischievous medicine for a change.

So Peter swallowed his sticky insecurity and took a step closer to him, leveling his gaze with the smug twinkle in Johnny’s eyes.

“I like that you don’t care about anyone’s opinion of you except for the people most important to you,” Peter stated matter-of-factly. To top it off, he reached out and gently rubbed the streak of sunscreen on Johnny’s forehead into his skin, gliding his thumb across the scar just above his eyebrow. “But the hair and the flames are a nice added bonus.”

Although already pink with sunburn, Peter swore he saw the Human Torch’s cheeks flush a shade darker, and his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of his heart thumping a few beats faster. A triumphant smirk found Peter’s lips. Just because he was the one with the crush didn’t mean Johnny got to have all the fun with it. He let his thumb drag along the line of Johnny’s temple as he pulled his hand away. The Human Torch blinked at him, lips parted, eyes wide, then lightly touched where Peter's finger had been, tiny wisps of smoke curling off his scalp.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. There was no toying or playfulness in his tone this time—only genuine interest. Now it was Peter’s turn to be caught off guard. He supposed there was no point in lying.

“Peter,” he said.

“Peter what?”

A shy giggle escaped him. “Parker. Peter Parker.”

Johnny giggled back. “Well then, Peter Parker. You’re a very mysterious person. I like that.” He held up his fist for Peter to bump. “It was great to see you again. Looking forward to the next time we meet.”

Peter smiled, reaching out to tap his knuckles to Johnny’s, but froze just before they made contact. Despite the heat, a sudden chill crawled up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Fear raked its claws across his skin.

“Peter?” he heard Ned call, followed by a rumble of excited chatter from the crowds surrounding them. A moment later, a shadow rose up behind him, blocking out the sun, casting Johnny’s wide eyes in a shaft of darkness. A monstrous hand curled around his shoulder, making Peter’s entire body seize up. He knew who it was before he even saw his face or heard his voice. His senses had warned him of that ruthless presence many times before. His lungs had screamed for air as those bloodthirsty fingers crushed the oxygen from his windpipe.

“Pardon me,” the man behind him said, his voice as deep and haunting as he remembered. The last time he’d heard it, it was roaring with laughter as Peter fled through a shattered window, glass slicing his hands, broken ribs crunching like glow sticks, vision tunneling with pain and terror. “Mr. Storm and I need a moment alone, if you don’t mind.”

Peter’s eyes slowly rose to find the face of the man looming over him. He had brutal eyes and deep frown lines that fixed him with a constant look of vitriol, even when he was smiling. His bald head gleamed in the sunshine like a freshly peeled egg.

Kingpin.

Wilson Fisk didn’t even bother to look at Peter as he shoved him out of his way. He regarded him with the same courtesy a charging elephant awards a twig. Peter stumbled back into Ned, very nearly knocking both of them to the ground. Photographers and media workers immediately flocked to the scene, knocking into the two teens as they jostled for space with Fisk’s bodyguards, blocking Johnny from Peter’s view. Alarm flooded the young hero’s veins.

“Fisk,” Peter breathed. “I—I have to stop him. He’s going to hurt—”

Ned yanked him backwards with a hand around his bicep. “Peter, we can’t,” he whispered fearfully. “Come on—we have to go.”

Peter turned on his friend in disbelief. “We can’t just leave him!” he hissed. “What if Fisk attacks him for all those things he said? I have to be here to help!”

“Fisk won’t attack him in broad daylight,” Ned insisted. “Not with all these fans around. He’s a politician. Besides—if he tries anything, the Fantastic Four will wipe the floor with that loser. You’d be risking exposing your secret identity for nothing.” He gave his arm another sharp tug. “Come on. We’re gonna get in trouble.”

“But—” Peter protested, eyes whipping back to the mob of people and the barbaric murderer standing between him and Johnny. This wasn’t right. This was downright treacherous. Johnny had risked everything to protect him when he was in trouble. Peter had to be there to make sure he was safe. He’d reveal himself to the whole world if that meant keeping Johnny safe.

“All right, boys. Move along.” One of Johnny’s security guards marched towards them with a scowl, wafting at them with his hand like they were an unruly stench he was trying to get rid of. “You’ve had your turn. Either move to the back of the line, or beat it.”

Ned nodded fervently. “Got it. We’re going, Thank you, sir.” Ned gave Peter’s forearm another quick jerk, forcing him to lurch back a few treasonous steps. For half a second, his eyes found Johnny’s amidst the throng of people pressing around the young celebrity’s booth. They looked startled, confused, but not afraid. Sweat slipped down Peter’s shoulder blades and dampened the back of his T-shirt.

You should be afraid, Flame Brain.

“He’ll be okay,” Ned tried to reassure him, practically dragging his friend away from the queue. “Fisk won’t touch him. He’s not that stupid.”

“I have to be sure,” Peter answered hollowly.

Even though the sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, its piercing glow seared Peter’s flesh worse than it had all day.

Johnny met Peter Parker’s gaze one last time before the boy disappeared behind a wall of bodies and cameras. For some reason, his soft brown eyes were charged with fear, the color in his cheeks draining to a pallid gray. He looked like he’d seen a ghost when Wilson Fisk and his posse rolled into their fundraiser as if they owned the place.

Sweet guy. Cute, too. He’d always been a sucker for baby browns and curly hair. Too bad Johnny’s heart was solely preoccupied with arachnid-themed superheroes who may or may not be heterosexual. Despite Reed’s certainty on the matter, the verdict was still up for debate as far as he was concerned.

He turned his attention back to the unnaturally large man towering over him like a skyscraper in a three piece suit. Cold, calculating eyes bored into his own. The smell of Mont Blanc cologne mixed with heavy perspiration assaulted his nose in the most unpleasant fashion. He had the air of an oversized baby parading around in designer brands, but with enough power to keep you from making jokes about it.

Johnny had never spoken to Wilson Fisk before. He’d spotted him a few times attending the same galas and charity events as him—only because he was almost impossible to miss—but they had yet to meet face-to-face. He supposed neither of them had had a reason to until now.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Storm,” Fisk greeted him. He wore a smile that resembled a constipated sneer. “Fundraiser going well, I presume?”

Despite the climbing of his pulse, Johnny fixed his features into an expression of bland disinterest. “Sure is,” he replied, gesturing haphazardly to the thermometer-shaped donation log behind him. “This one’s on track to be our best one yet. There’s something about puppies and kittens in need that makes guilt-ridden rich folk unusually eager to open up their hearts and their wallets.” Johnny nodded towards Fisk’s guards, who had set up a perimeter between them and the impatient queue of fans, blocking anyone from stepping within a 30-door radius of their boss. “That’s why you’re here disrupting our entire event, right? ‘Cuz you’ve got a big check to cash for all those poor little animals?”

Wilson Fisk chuckled—a deep, guttural sound that rolled like thunder from his barrel-shaped chest, making Johnny’s skin crawl. “Of course,” Fisk assured him, patting the breast pocket of his silver suit jacket. “I wouldn’t dream of showing up to a function hosted by the Fantastic Four without my checkbook and pen handy. Your sister has truly mastered the art of monetizing your team’s image.” He flashed a barracuda grin. “For the poor little animals, of course.”

Sweat slipped between his skin-tight suit and the bend of his spine as Johnny ventured a glance in Susan’s direction. She was doing her best to stay focused on the fans at her booth, but the fear in her eyes was electric each time they flickered his way.

“But first, I’d like to talk about some of the alarming comments you made about me recently.”

Johnny faced the man in front of him with a calm frown. “Saying those things was a mistake I assure you won’t happen again.” He wove his fingers together and placed them on top of the table. “I shouldn’t believe every flippant piece of gossip I hear that finds its way to me through the rumor mill. And I certainly shouldn’t tell others about anything I’ve heard until I have undeniable evidence supporting my claims.”

Fisk flared his nostrils at the teen's beguiling response. “I can assure you, Mr. Storm, that whatever insidious hearsay you’ve been told about me is entirely false. A full breakdown of my business operations and my personal history is available to the public on my website. I have nothing to hide.” The jagged creases in his forehead deepened. “I’m running for mayor of this city to combat crime and purge the corruption that plagues our political systems, and the last thing I need is a high-profile public figure such as yourself casting doubt on my credibility and defaming my name. The people of this city trust you, Mr. Storm. Your words hold power. It does not serve you well to use that power to spread lies.”

Johnny’s gaze hardened. “Like I said,” he told him firmly. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’m afraid I need you to do better than that." Fisk adjusted his tie, running his fingers along the ornate silk detailing. “You see, I’m the only mayoral candidate with a plan to work directly with superheroes such as yourself to reduce crime and make this city safer. I want the Fantastic Four to become an official part of the justice department so we can all band together to get bad guys off the streets. It’s to your benefit that I’m elected—and for that to happen, not only do I need you to stop tarnishing my name to your followers. I need your direct endorsement. You can get me the youth vote, and I can get you and your team all the funding and authorization needed to do what you do better than ever before. We can help each other, Mr. Storm. If I win, we all win.”

Johnny crossed his arms against his chest and tilted his chin slightly upward. “Not according to Spider-Man.”

The slippery smile on Fisk’s lips fell in an instant. Darkness twisted his features into an expression that turned Johnny’s guts to ice.

“Ah,” Fisk growled. “Yes. Spider-Man.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and dabbed at the beads of sweat speckled across his hairless head. “Tell me, Johnny—how long have you been acquainted with our friendly neighborhood menace?”

“Long enough to know he’s not a menace,” Johnny shot back. “And that both of us have plenty of reasons not to trust you.”

“And what reasons might those be?”

Johnny opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again, swallowing. If what Spidey suspected of Fisk was true, it might be dangerous for him to know how much Johnny knew about his illegal proclivities. When Johnny didn’t answer, Fisk grinned, laying his palms on the table between them and leaning in closer.

“Whatever it is he’s accused me of, why don’t you ask him to provide you some proof. Any proof. I guarantee he’ll have nothing but empty promises and blatant falsehoods to support his baseless claims.” He pressed further into Johnny’s personal space—so much so that he could feel the heat of his breath when he spoke. “Spider-Man is a depraved criminal, Mr. Storm. The kind that plays the part to earn your trust, then tears you down when you least expect it. I trusted him once too, you know—as I’m sure many others have. But it always leads to the same painful conclusion: his fear and envy of true power driving him to dismantle those in possession of it.”

Johnny pursed his lips, daring not to breathe, but refusing to back away from the unsightly face lurking uncomfortably nearer to his own.

“You’re a clever boy, Johnny,” Fisk continued. “Strong, talented, and influential, as well. All things that Spider-Man loves to bleed dry from his victims. I’ve been able to evade his destructive path thus far, but I’d hate to see you befall the fate that has led this city to curse the arachnid’s name.” Fisk erected his spine and held out a massive hand for Johnny to take. “Join me, Mr. Storm. Together, we can rid New York of Spider-Man’s foul presence, and ensure that the Human Torch becomes the most powerful and beloved superhero this world ever sees.”

Johnny’s eyes lowered to the massive palm presented to him, then flicked back up to meet Fisk’s. It was an effort not to wrinkle his nose in revulsion as he willed his face into an unreadable wall. He cleared his throat, then stood from his chair, rising to be as close to eye-level with the man as all 5’11” of him could manage.

“First of all, I’m already the most powerful and beloved superhero. If there’s anyone here who's afraid of my power, it’s you.” Flames fizzled off his shoulders and danced down his forearms. “Second, Spider-Man is my friend—and a good fucking person. If you plan to hurt him, you’re going to have to go through me first. And trust me when I say that if things get to that point, winning an election will be the least of your concerns.”

The two of them stared each other down, a live wire running between their locked gazes. Fisk’s eyebrows knit together as his expression took a turn for the deadly. His outstretched hand cinched into a fist.

“And trust me, young man,” he sneered, “when I say that I am not somebody you want to make your enemy. You think you’re the only person here with power and influence? I’m just as capable of lifting you up as I am of bringing you down.”

Unease simmered beneath Johnny’s skin. “Is that a threat?” he asked coldly.

“No,” Fisk replied, flashing a Cheshire Cat smile. “It’s a promise.”

Johnny held the beastly man’s glare, suppressing a shudder. He clenched his jaw, gradually diminishing the flames roiling across his body.

Spider-Man was right about him.

Fisk’s hand suddenly slipped inside his suit jacket, making Johnny tense up reflexively. He grinned at the fear in the young hero’s eyes as he retrieved a thin piece of paper from a hidden inner pocket and held it out for Johnny Storm to take.

“Whatever your final earnings for the fundraiser are, match ‘em. Everything but the dollar amount is already filled in. That should suffice for my untimely intrusion and make all those misfortunate animals happy, yes?”

A wave of dread washed over Johnny as he reluctantly accepted the check from his bowling ball-sized fist. Something told him whatever donation amount they ended up cashing in from Fisk, it would clear instantly, and be bathed in blood.

“I do hope you reconsider my offer,” Fisk added. “You and I share many passions and could accomplish great things together. Who one chooses to align oneself with can make or break his future.” He shook his head solemnly. “It’d be a shame to nail yours to the same crucifix Spider-Man has nailed his.”

With that, Fisk rapped his knuckles against the table, signaled something to his army of guards, then turned and walked away. Johnny watched his boulder of a back shrink farther and farther into the distance and released a slow, shaky breath, grateful to be free of the man’s inky leer, but unable to shake the disquieting queasiness his presence had left him with. He took a long sip of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Well. I’m definitely not publishing that apology now.

“Johnny?” the next fan waiting to meet him called from an awkward distance away. She clutched a Human Torch Squishmallow close to her chest and offered a hesitant smile. “Can, um—can we come over now?” Her along with the rest of the patrons whose line stretched as far as the eye could see peered back at him impatiently, each of their turns with the celebrity hero well overdue.

“Yes—right—sorry. Of course.” Johnny scrubbed a hand through his hair and waved her forward, painting on his happiest, friendliest face. “Welcome, everyone. So sorry for the delay. Step right up, beautiful. Oh, wow—I love your shirt! Where’d you get it from?”

As Johnny chatted and signed stuff and collected donations from people, pushing down the paranoia Fisk had afflicted him with like poison, struggling to stay cheerful and energized for the sake of his fans, he swore he spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. It vanished the moment he looked directly at it, evanescing into the branches of a large maple tree, but he could’ve sworn it was real. And something about that particular shade of red was unusually familiar to him.

He supposed it could’ve been a bird, a kite, some trick of the imagination. He didn’t have time to dwell on it anyhow. He had fans to entertain and a fundraiser to run. If Fisk wanted to flaunt his excessive liquidity about, Johnny was determined to squeeze every last penny he could get out of him.

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