Savior Complex

    He wakes up to the smell of smoke. His cheek is pressing into the concrete, a sharp stinging sensation from pebbles digging into the broken skin, and his eyes crack open to see blurs of color and black smoke, the upside down car, the front of it crushed and engulfed in flame, and a still body an arms length away from him. He knows she is dead, he doesn’t need to check, and there are people pushing past the gathering crowd on the bridge, sirens sounding faintly beneath the ringing still clanging loud as a bell in his ears.

   There is someone trying to help him up, a man he doesn’t recognize, mouth moving soundlessly. James shrugs him off, getting to his feet unsteadily as he glances around at the mess he finds himself in. He tries not to look at her body, there is no heartbeat thumping in his ears, there is no one left to save. 

    James’ button up is ripped at the sleeve, blood and grey black smudges staining it. Someone else steps forward, speaking to him, urging him to wait for an ambulance, but he needs to leave. He’ll heal quickly, unlike those poor souls in the wreck, five still, empty bodies, five people he failed. Spider-Man might’ve been able to save them, Spider-Man can do almost anything, but James— James wasn’t wearing his suit, he was just a kid in his school uniform, freshly seventeen and applying for university, on a walk to grab lunch when he witnessed the crash. 

     He ignores the passerbys that try to question him or stop him, weaving around the crowd gathering for a glimpse of what death has taken, drawn to the sickening spectacle of it all. He limps home, keeping his head down in hopes he doesn’t pass by anyone he knows, feeling underwater with shock and numbness. 

    Spider-Man’s never failed to save anyone before, he’s never seen a problem he couldn't fight or face, but James has. James failed to save his dad, Monty, killed for being a good samaritan, which is just like a Potter to do so. He bled out beneath his son’s hands, a serene smile on his face even with blood on his lips and underneath him, a crimson puddle and one last brave face for his son.

    He kept that smile on his face for as long as he could, before the blood started to choke him, filling his throat and drowning him. In his very last moments, when Monty could not manage the facade of peace in death, a new expression took over his face, and suddenly he looked so young to James, the youngest he's ever seen his dad look. Brown eyes wide and searching for comfort, teary and child like, utterly heartbreaking and human. In his very last moments, James stroked his father's hair like Monty always had, shushing him through sobs, because James couldn't save him, but he could help him be less alone and afraid.

    James loves being Spider-Man more than anything because he's never felt helpless as Spider-Man. Maybe that’s why Spider-Man is the only part of James that he likes about himself. Spider-Man never loses, but James? He does, he has and probably will continue to, because without the suit, he is just human. 

    Instead of going for the front door of his house, he cuts around to the back, checking for witnesses before he climbs up the brick, fingers finding impossibly small notches without looking, until he reaches his bedroom window. He slides it open quietly, squeezing through with a wince before collapsing on the old wood of his bedroom floor. He remains there for awhile, knowing he needs to hurry up and clean himself up before his mum sees him, but lacking any urgency to move. He lies on the floor and stares at the popcorn ceiling, feeling like an entire planet’s worth of weight is grinding him into a fine dust. 

    He promised to save them. The words had just fallen out of his mouth, even as he watched excess amounts of blood flow from the woman’s broken body, and the man in the drivers seat’s heartbeat slowed more and more as the seconds passed. She’d looked so afraid, so desperate for something to cling to, so alike his father and James only wanted to reassure her; he wanted to delay death, he wanted to believe that he could. She died with wide green eyes fixated on him, and James wonders if she believed him at all, and if it’s worse whether she did or not.

     He drags himself into the bathroom after a while, sighing at his bedraggled appearance and the giant tear in his shirt. He’ll have to wear his winter uniform for school tomorrow, since there’s no recovering what’s left of his button up. He balls up his shirt and stuffs it in the bottom of the trash, stripping and stepping into the shower quickly, not bothering to take care of any of the bloody scrapes and bruises he earned earlier.

    Regulus will kill him if he finds out, but it’s all superficial wounds anyway, except for the jagged slash covering half his forearm, that one actually might need stitches, but James is too tired to care. His advanced healing will take care of most of the superficial stuff by morning, the bruising on his cheek and temple is already lightening. He showers quickly, slaps a bandage over the seeping cut on his arm and limps to his bed, collapsing into it and pleading for sleep to take him. 

    He doesn’t show up to school the next day, feigning illness to his mother wasn’t too hard because he looks as awful as he feels. He doesn’t check his phone either, though he’s positive Sirius is blowing it up inquiring where he is, since they usually meet up at the corner store between their houses and walk to school together.

    He doesn’t sleep much, his body aches even as his accelerated healing works to erase the damage of yesterday. James replays the accident in his head without wanting to, his mind adrift with terrified green eyes searing into his memory. He spends the day drifting between sleep and the muddled consciousness of traumatic memories, so when he hears the tapping of stones at his window, he ignores that too. 

    James manages to get up the next day, though he doesn’t feel much better than the day before. He pulls on the thick sweater of his winter uniform and rolls up the sleeves just enough to keep the wound on his arm covered, grateful summer hasn’t yet set in so he won’t suffer heatstroke during the day. He combs through his hair and practices a convincing smile in the mirror, though it never seems to reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries. His bed calls to him, but he’s had enough detentions from missing class that it can affect his graduation, so he drags himself to the corner store to meet Sirius and Regulus. 

     “He’s alive!” Sirius crows as James approaches, clapping a hand on his shoulder that makes James wince, “Where the hell have you been, mate? Is your phone broken or something?” 

     James forces a laugh, hoping it sounds natural, “Nah, just wasn’t feeling well is all, slept most of the day.” 

     “That’s not like you,” Regulus adds, frowning. James shrugs in response, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes, which makes Regulus frown harder. 

     “You made me look like a real Romeo last night, throwing rocks at your window and waiting for a glimpse of my Juliet. Can’t believe you stood me up like that.” Sirius jokes, kicking pebbles on the pavement as they walk. 

      “Must’ve been dead to the world,” James responds, “Sorry, Romeo, but your Juliet is here now.” He makes kissy faces at Sirius, smacking one on his temple as Sirius pretends to swoon. 

      “Ugh, get a room already,” Regulus mutters, rolling his eyes.

      “Poor Reggie,” Sirius says, ruffling his brother’s hair and deftly dodging his punch in response, “Always jealous of our deep love.” 

      Regulus huffs, but possessively snags James’ hand as they walk, which makes James’ smile more genuine and fond, though he pretends he doesn’t notice Regulus shooting suspicious glances at him every few minutes, keeping his gaze stubbornly on the road ahead when Regulus narrows his eyes at him, "Are you wearing your winter uniform?"

      "Oh, yeah, my summer shirt hasn't been washed, dropped some burger sauce on it yesterday."

      "Cool it with the third degree, Reggie, the man is allowed to have a sick day," Sirius says.

      “So," Regulus begins, clearing his throat, "Did you see the news the other day? There was a massive car accident on tower bridge, an explosion that killed a few people.” 

       James stiffens, his stomach dropping to his feet and fighting to maintain his casual smile under the scrutiny of both Black brothers, who turn to see his reaction in unison, far too interested in his answer. 

      “Yeah,” He mutters, adjusting his backpack strap on his shoulder, “Reckon I heard mum mention something like that, why?” 

      Sirius and Regulus make eye contact, some invisible communication passing between them before Regulus says, “Seems like the kind of thing Spider-Man would be there for, doesn’t it?” 

      “Well, he had a sick day, so you can stop your prodding,” James snaps, pulling his hand out of his boyfriend’s and stalking ahead of them to shove the doors to the school open. 

      He ignores the furious whispering at his back and dives into the hallway, teeming with activity and crowds of students rushing from place to place. He knows he's not pulling off the lie as well as he wanted to, but he can't summon the energy to feel anything other than peeved and devastated at his failure. There's plenty of things James has failed at in life; nearly every maths class he's ever had, stitching his own wounds, accepting criticism, and generally staying humble (his ego is nearly as big as his hair, but so is his heart, okay?!), but James has NEVER failed to save someone as Spider-Man. 

    He doesn't know how to handle it, what he's meant to do with the storm of emotion swirling in his chest, and he doesn't know how to reconcile the fact that regardless of how he feels; the people involved in the accident will never feel anything again. They're dead, and they will remain that way always; their ruined bodies will be lowered into a grave, worms and bugs will take pieces of them until there is only gleaming white bone left, and their families will mourn forever, will see that same bridge and feel a deep pit of loss in their stomach. They're dead, and it's his fault. 

    "James!" 

     James ignores Regulus' call, fumbling with the lock on his locker, temporarily blanking on the code as he spins the knob, eyes burning. 

    "James! What the hell is going on?" Regulus is at his shoulder, brows drawn in and his arms crossed. When James only stares at the lock, trying to push past the storm of his thoughts to recall his combination, Regulus makes a frustrated sound, moving to stand in front of his locker and cupping the side of his boyfriend's neck, trying to meet his eyes, "Talk to me, baby, what's going on with you?" 

    "I have chemistry now," James says, his facade is crumbling under his boyfriend's piercing gaze, so he keeps his eyes fixed on Regulus' mouth, dipping in quickly to kiss him as a distraction, "I'll see you later, yeah? Don't fuss, I'm fine, love." 

    He leaves his boyfriend standing in front of his locker at a loss, Regulus shrugging in response to Sirius' inquisitive stare, worry steadily mounting with every passing minute. James spends most classes dodging the balled up notes Sirius lobs at him, inquiring why he's being so weird and upsetting his brother, near his limit and ready to throw Sirius on his arse for bothering him so much.

    It wouldn't be the first time, they often wrestled growing up, for fun or to keep the other from turning their angst on themselves. Sirius didn't always know how to talk about emotions, but he knew how to help James get it out anyway, by wrestling, or punching a bag, or screaming at the top of their lungs from a parking garage. 

    "Oi, James, alright?" Remus asks in PE, which is just about his last straw. Basketballs fly everywhere as students flurry around the hoops, the squeak of sneakers echoing off of the wooden panels of the floor.

    "Brilliant! Since everyone is so desperate to know, I'm just BRILLIANT!" He snaps, louder than he should, uncaring of who looks at him.

    Someone runs into him, cursing him for standing in the middle of the game, which makes him huff and shuffle his feet halfheartedly. They're technically all supposed to participate, and James usually does enthusiastically, but today he's taking a page from Remus' book and pretending to be involved by doing the bare minimum.

    Remus opens his mouth, then closes it. Opens it again, "Er, yeah mate, sure. I was just asking cause you were out yesterday." He tosses the basketball to the nearest person when it's passed to him, hardly knowing what to do with it. Another student shouts at him for tossing to the wrong team and Remus shrugs, he doesn't do sports.

    "Oh," James deflates a bit, circling around the perimeter of the game, "Sorry, yeah, I'm alright, wasn't feeling well is all. I'm— I'm a bit on edge today." 

    "Just a bit?" Remus teases lightly, shaking his head and dodging the ball as it flies by his head, "S'alright mate, though you might want to lay off shouting about how brilliant you are to everyone, it's not very convincing." 

    James cringes, "I— Oh!" 

    Another student collides into his back sharply, knocking him off his feet, a pointy elbow jabbing at his ribs. He falls with a groan, the other student tripping over his body and stepping on his hand. James howls in pain as the student curses at him, stumbling a few feet away.

    "Bugger that, mate, you can't stand idle in a game!" 

    James, full of pent up rage at himself and the world around him, shoots up without thinking and shoves the student, who happens to be Barty Crouch, hard, barely remembering not to use his full strength. Barty, who's always rearing for a fight, grins with immense pleasure at this unexpected slight, shoving him back even harder. It doesn't take long for them to start wrestling, shoving and kicking at each other, and it's Barty who throws the first punch with a wild gleam in his eye as he cackles.

   James could dodge it, he senses it coming, but he lets the fist connect with his jaw, and lets the starburst of pain fuel his rage even more as he fights back. It's not long before there's other voices shouting, students halting their games to gather around them, teachers trying to break through the circle to get to them.

    They each get a fair amount of hits in, Barty's teeth are bloodied when he grins widely, and James is ready to throw another punch when arms band around his torso and yank him back hard. He fights against them, his blood is singing with the need to hit something, to feel something other than this encapsulating dread and failure. But then, another pair of arms wrap around him and he's being dragged away from Barty as a teacher breaks into the crowd. 

    "Get off me! Let go!" James shoves Sirius and Remus off of him, blood trailing down his lip and jaw burning where bruises are already forming. 

    He stalks toward the locker rooms, not giving them any time to question or stop him. Sirius follows him, because there isn't any place he wouldn't follow James, or any mood that would keep him away, no matter how uncalled for they may be. James digs his backpack out of the locker, noticing his sleeve is speckled with blood from reopening the wound on his arm, probably from the fall. 

    "Out with it, Jamsie," Sirius says, grabbing his stuff from his locker as he speaks, "You're being a right moody git to everyone today, and that's usually my job. There can't be two of us, Reggie is just as moody as me, and if we're all moody gits, then there's no one to be our sunshine," Sirius follows him outside, still chattering, strategically annoying him into letting it out, "And if we don't have our sunshine, our world would be terribly black, it would. So you see, if you want to save us from that terrible fate, then whatever's bothering you needs to come out now."

    "Sod off, I don't want to talk to you."

    There's still two classes left of the day, but James doesn't care, he needs to be done with this day. He needs to crawl back under his covers and hibernate until these feelings go away. The fight didn't seem to help much, it did at first, but now, his skin is crawling and prickling with anxiety, he feels restless and out of control. He isn't sure he's ever felt this way before, and he doesn't know what to do with any of it. Sirius follows him right out of school, unconcerned with skipping classes, or his best friend's prickly mood. 

    "Oh, but I want to talk to you, Jamsie, so badly. You're freaking me out a little, and you'll give Reggie a right heart attack when he sees you, too. You can't escape us, so you might as well fess up to whatever's going on in that messy head of yours, sunshine." 

    James is tempted to hit him, but he won't. He doesn't need anything else to feel sorry about later, crushed as he is by guilt already. So, he balls his hands in fists and continues to walk home briskly, tuning out Sirius' constant chattering. His mum will be pissed when she gets the call from school, but he can't bring himself to care about anything else but getting home and being alone, if only he could lose Sirius. He lets himself into his house, not needing to glance behind him to see Sirius is still following, and somehow, still talking. 

    "Really, imagine if my parents didn't go with the whole star theme, and we were named after something even more mental, like fruits, me and Reggie could've been named clementine and aubergine," Sirius shudders, "You remember that girl in primary named Clementine? I reckon that's worse than poncy star names, ours have cool stories at least, I'm not just a fruit." He stops, a smile growing on his face, "Well, I am a fruit—"

    "SIRIUS." James shouts, the split in his lip throbbing as he does, "I am this close to throwing you through that wall, so please, for the love of everything, SHUT UP." He pants, nails digging into his palms, closing his eyes to try to calm himself, "I'm going to shower." 

    Sirius grimaces as his best friend stomps away, uneasy with the events of the day. Normally, he was great at bringing a laugh out of James, even when he's pretty down, or at least, helping him work out some of his frustration. James never pushes him away like this, he never flat out refuses to speak to Sirius about what's on in his head, or has outbursts of anger like this. He texts Regulus to come straight to James' house after school, hoping he gets there quickly, needing backup. 

    James is holding a pack of frozen carrots to his swollen eye, thick hair hanging heavy and damp on his forehead. Lucky for him, Sirius seems to have given up his prying for the time, and they both sit on the couch, absently watching a day show in silence. His face is a patchwork of bruises from his jaw to his temple, spurts of sickening color and spots of blood from broken blood vessels. Barty Crouch has a nasty right hook.

    James knows they're waiting for Regulus to get there, and he's aware he can't do much outside of physically pushing Sirius out of his house and slamming the door in his face to stop it. He's intimately familiar with how stubborn both brothers are, so he doesn't spend long trying to find a way out of it, tiredly resigned to his fate. 

    The door swings open so fast, the doorknob bangs against the wall loudly, "You fought Barty?! You idiot!" Regulus storms into the house, various emotions battling for the upper hand and flickering behind grey eyes. He comes to stop in front of James, jaw working as he drags his gaze over his body, taking in every nick and scrape and bruise. 

    James sighs, "He started it." 

    "Not really," Regulus shoots back angrily, quickly grabbing the mini first aid kit in his backpack, "You shoved him first, and he escalated it because he's clinically insane," He bends down in front of James to lift the frozen bag and peer at the black eye, "Why are you fighting in P.E? What the hell is wrong with you today?"

    A muscle jumps in James' jaw, "Nothing. He wanted a fight and so did I, that's all." 

    "Does this have something to do with the tower bridge accident? Because I checked everywhere and I didn't see any mention of Spider-Man being there, but you've been avoiding us since it was brought up this morning, and you've been acting mental all day." Regulus presses, too smart for his own good. He moves James' face closer to the lamplight next to the couch so he can see the damage on better. 

    James turns his face out of Regulus' grasp, dropping his gaze, "I don't want to talk about the accident." 

    "Too bad, we're talking about it. While I was digging, I found some photos," Regulus says stubbornly, moving on to look at James' hands, cradling them in his hands, frowning at the multiple split and purpled knuckles. James inhales sharply, he hadn't thought about the possibility of him being in any photos on the news articles, he hadn't checked. "A student from our school was involved, they were wearing our uniform. You can only see their back from the pictures, but you've always had sort of notable hair, Jamie." 

    Sirius gasps, finally catching up to speed, "You were in one of the cars?! What the hell, James?”

    James shakes his head, hands beginning to tremble in his lap, a scream trapped in his throat. Unseeing green eyes looking up at him, the dripping sound of blood hitting the cement, broken bodies in destroyed cars. If he'd been wearing his Spider-Man suit, he would've been able to use his enhanced strength to rip off the doors and get them out quicker, before the cars exploded. If he had his web shooters, he might've been able to slow the woman's bleeding by webbing up the wound. He could've gotten help quicker. A tear drips down James' face, quickly followed by another, and another, the floodgates opened. 

    "I was just walking by," He chokes, gripping Regulus' hands like a lifeline, "I— I wanted to help, but I didn't have the suit, I couldn't— I couldn't help them. I tried to get them out, there were only two heartbeats, and one of them— God, there was so much blood, and she was terrified," The words are thick in his throat, they hurt to speak. "She was bleeding out fast, but she was alive, and I promised her I'd get her out, I thought I could."

    "Oh, James," Sirius whispers. 

    James makes a mournful sound, the kind of sound that deserves its privacy, it's not meant to be witnessed, this sort of raw pain. "She trusted me, and then she died, they all— all of them died. I heard their heartbeats stop, and I just knew I could've— could've saved them if I was Spider-Man, but I was just me. Useless fucking James." 

     Regulus squeezes his hands, his poor boy always held the weight of the world on his shoulders, so this is not entirely surprising, even if it hurts to hear his pain. "You couldn't have known it was going to happen, and you can't know that the outcome would've been any different if you did. You did what you could for them, Jamie." 

    "Yeah, and they're all dead, so, doesn't really matter," James says bitterly, sounding so defeated, so unlike him and drenched in despair. 

    "You're not useless," Sirius murmurs, frowning sympathetically. "Not even Spider-Man can win all the time. You can't save everyone." 

    James makes a garbled sound between a laugh and a sob, he works his mouth open several times to speak, but he's taken over by sorrow, breathless with it, like he's taken another one of Barty's punches to the stomach. He curls up until his head is resting on his knees, wrapping his arms around himself, stuttering the words that have been rattling around in his head all day, "She looked like my d—dad in the end. She died like him, in my arms. I don't even know her name." 

    The words come out wobbly and muffled, overrun by the guttural sobs escaping him. Regulus and Sirius stare at each other over James' body, trying to work out how to hold their person together, the person that normally holds them together so effortlessly. James, who always knows the right thing to say or do to comfort someone, is falling apart right in front of them. Their sunshine has lost his guiding light. 

    Sirius slides closer to rub his back, "I'm sorry, Jamsie. I'm so sorry, that's awful." 

    There's not much else they can say or do, there's nothing that can undo what happened, what he witnessed. Regulus crouches in front of him, threading gentle fingers through his hair, "Let it out, we've got you, we can take it," He whispers in James' ear, "Let it out, baby, let us hold it for a while, you're so tired." 

    They let him cry as long as he needs, whispering reassurances, though it seems insignificant in the face of so much pain. When James cries himself out, sobs reduced to the occasional sniffle, Regulus nudges him to sit up again, "Let's get you cleaned up, are you hurt anywhere from the accident? Did you take care of your wounds?" 

    "Not really," James rasps, sitting back up with water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, "Most of it healed itself, except for my arm." 

    Regulus nods, rolling up the sleeve he points out to reveal the badly wrapped wound, fresh blood spotting the clean bandage. Regulus frowns, "You should've come to me sooner, did you clean this at least?" When James shakes his head, Regulus sighs, "If this gets infected, you could get sepsis, which can be deadly. You can't just ignore wounds like this and hope your healing takes care of all of it." 

    "Sorry," James mumbles blandly, and he looks so worn down that Regulus takes pity on him, deciding to lay off until he's feeling better. 

    "I just want you to be safe, Jamie, that's all," Regulus says gently, tossing a few alcohol pads at Sirius, "Make yourself useful and wipe his hands, I think I might need to stitch this." 

    "I'm telling mother you've forgotten your manners," Sirius grumbles, but dutifully tears one open, taking James' hand in his and cleaning the crusted blood around his raw knuckles. 

    James is silent throughout most of the cleaning and bandaging, the occasional tear still slipping down his cheeks, each one caught and wiped away by Sirius; who holds his hand even when he's done cleaning them, telling stories from primary school to distract him while Regulus stitches his arm. The anger has leaked right out of James, but the grief is still there, because it is part of him always, the grief that is losing his father has changed his shape, and now the innocent lives lost on the bridge, have done the same.

    The sorrow is heavy in the room, but somehow it's easier to breathe with Regulus humming under his breath as he stitches, and Sirius playing with his fingers while he reminds James of better days, younger versions of themselves that still exist in them, before they were changed, even if they feel unreachable sometimes. 

    Regulus bandages his arm carefully when he finishes his stitching, then he squeezes some bruise cream onto his finger and gently rubs it onto the slow healing bruises. His fingertips just grazing the top of his cheekbone to his jaw and the corner of his mouth, "Is that everywhere you're hurt?" He asks.

    "Yeah, that's it," James says hoarsely, and tries for a grateful smile, though he can barely summon a convincing one. 

    "Swear?" Regulus presses, holding his boyfriend's gaze searchingly, as if looking for the lie.

    "Swear." 

    Regulus smiles, leaning forward to kiss his forehead swiftly, "Come on, let's get you comfy in bed."

    Sirius makes a light gagging sound, because he never can let them get away with it easily, but he smiles at them fondly anyway. It's his duty to find it gross and humiliate them about it, but they are family, and they are his favorite people.

    The brothers end up on either side of James while he sleeps, James' head hidden in Regulus' chest, and his legs tangled with Sirius', taking comfort in each other's presence as they always have. They can't fix what's been broken, or bring back what's lost, but they're here to make sure the sun can shine another day, because without their sun, their world would be utterly black.