Chapter Text
The end of the alley is as far as he gets before the webbing is too filled with blood for it to hold. He props himself on the wall, holding the wound closed, and stares at the sky for a good long minute. Well, what he can see of the sky anyway. The lenses were cracked (how? Ock must have hit them with his tentacles when he was slumped over the wrecked building) and he’s seeing double. He tries to pick at the gash in his side, but with the mask on he can’t see enough to know whether he’s peeling away at the webbing or the suit. Wonderful.
So, mask on, and die through blood loss, or mask off, and risk being spotted? He freezes with his hand hovering over the mask, knowing he’ll regret his decision either way.
Peter takes the mask off, because, what could possibly go wrong? The alley is dark, it’s midnight, and nobody in their right mind would be here after a Venom attack.
Something clatters against the ground further in front of him, a good ten feet away. It’s Stark tech, or maybe a Baxter prototype, he’s too out of it to tell. Somebody’s standing there. Peter manages to look up into their face.
Well. Nobody in their right mind would be here after a Venom attack except the Human Torch. Of course.
“Oh,” Peter manages. Then more quietly, “Shit.”
Johnny Storm stares back at him, looking more and more confused by the second. Peter wishes the ground could swallow him whole. So much regret. He can’t even slide his mask back on, the pain is so bad.
“You’re…Spider-Man.”
There’s no point in hiding it now, so Peter nods. “The one and only.”
“And that was Venom?”
Peter tries to stop a shudder at the name. “Yeah. The one and only.”
Johnny leans down slowly and lights his hand on fire. Suddenly, the alley is awash with light. Peter can see the full extent of the damage. Johnny can too, which is probably why he scrunches his eyebrows and whistles low. Then, without another word he starts carefully peeling away the suit and prodding at the gash. Peter can’t hide the wince.
“This doesn’t look so hot.”
Peter snorts. “You think?”
Johnny glares at him but doesn’t otherwise respond to the barb. “You need medical.”
“I think we all need a little medical.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“I hit…something. Lots of things. Possibly my head.”
“That’s so helpful.”
“That’s me. Your friendly neighborhood Spider-man. Very helpful. I’m pretty sure I’ve got five stars on Yelp.”
Johnny sighs. “Look, this conversation has been…illuminating—no, I didn’t mean that as a pun, stop it—but I’d rather have it when you aren’t bleeding out on the ground.”
Peter finger guns and manages a “Whatever you say, Torch.” Then he tries to get himself off the ground. Which is a lot harder then it seems, especially when his vision starts to go wonky around the edges and he can’t quite remember which way is up anymore. Torch watches him struggle for a few seconds before sighing for the hundredth time and grabbing him by the arm and pulling it around his shoulders so that Peter is being half-carried.
“I don’t suppose we could pretend this never happened.”
“Sorry man, this is blackmail.”
Peter groans, and Johnny laughs.
“This isn’t so bad, for a first meeting.”
Johnny nods. “I imagined it with a lot less bleeding though. More action. It would definitely end in me saving your sorry behind.”
“Keep dreaming.”
They keep moving.
They manage to somehow get to the Baxter building, and then Johnny slips Peter’s mask back on his face. He swipes a card of some sort on the keypad near the door and they’re inside.
“They’re, uh, going to notice you in the building no matter what, so I figured we might as well go through the front entrance.”
They do manage to get into the personal quarters section of the building before anyone notices them though. Unfortunately, Peter’s brain decides that the hallway is the perfect place to check out. He starts blacking out.
“Spider-man, I swear, I don’t even know your name, what am I supposed to do if you die—”
Johnny’s voice cuts out abruptly when he finally loses consciousness.
Johnny does not appreciate vigilante heroes who pass out in his arms. He might a little, actually. He can feel Spider-man’s biceps. He’s just about to see if the abs are just as solid (and check on, you know, the bleeding) when Sue walks into the hallway.
She screams, and Johnny takes a moment to realize that he is, a, covered in a vigilante’s blood, and b, still holding said vigilante. Of course, her scream brings Ben and Reed, who each do a double take when they take in the scene.
“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear, I didn’t murder him—”
“Murder? Johnny, what are you—”
“Is he alive? Isn’t that Spider-Man? You murdered Spider-Man?”
“Oh my god no, Ben, I didn’t murder Spider-Man, I saved him, why would you think that—”
“I can’t believe I thought my brother murdered Spider-Man—”
“You were the one who brought up murder, Johnny, it’s a perfectly logical assumption—”
“STOP TALKING,” Reed yells, and everyone falls silent. “Johnny, would you care to explain?”
He’s doing the whole raised eyebrow stern face that he picked up from Sue. Its adorable. And terrifying.
He gives them a quick rundown of what had happened while he pulls out bandages and scissors. He can’t see Spidey’s face, but when he’d seen it in the alleyway it had been pale and bruised. He knows that he’s not in good condition. Sue starts helping him patch up Spider-man as he talks. It’s not a long story, and soon they’re left with a semi-comatose but bandaged Spider-man and comfortable silence.
“Did you get to see what was under the mask?”
He hesitates before nodding.
Ben waits for a moment, clearly expecting more of an explanation. When Johnny doesn’t start talking again, he asks, “Still got that crush?”
Immediately Johnny goes red in the face. “What crush? In your dreams, Ben. It’s not like he has the face of an angel or anything like that.”
Sue cocks her head.
Johnny buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Reed sighs. Reed has probably where Johnny has picked up the habit of sighing from now that he thinks about it. He hasn’t met anybody who sighs as much as Reed does. Then again, he does have to deal with Johnny and Ben on a daily basis.
Spider-Man groans from the bed they’ve got him on. Sue puts her hand on his forehead, before remembering the mask is still on his face. She’s got a strange look on her face. Contemplative. Or more like a mother hen. Like she’s planning on adopting Spider-Man into her already strange enough family.
“Do you trust him, Johnny?” she says softly. “There are people who think he’s killed. That he’s a murderer. That he was involved in Norman Osborn’s murder.”
Johnny thinks about the pale, bleeding twenty-something he’d found at the end of a dark New York alley.
“I think I do.”