Chapter 10
The kid was crying.
Like, full-on hiccupping sobs with snot running down his nose and Spider-Man was trying so hard not to let the sound shake him.
“Behind me,” Miles said, planting himself in front of the boy and his older sister, who stood trembling in her uniform jacket. They’d gotten cornered by some desperate creep trying to snatch their bags in the alley behind their apartment building.
And now said creep had a stun baton and very questionable taste in tattoos.
“You don’t wanna do this,” Miles warned.
The guy laughed. “Cute. You bleeding under that mask yet?”
Miles didn’t answer—just moved.
The first dodge was clean. The next two—graceful. He swung from a fire escape, ricocheted off the wall, and webbed the baton right out of the guy’s hands. It clattered to the pavement. The kids gasped behind him.
But just as Miles landed—wham. A metal trash can lid came out of nowhere and slammed into his ribs. Pain exploded across his side.
He dropped to one knee.
Stupid. Got cocky.
Still, he pushed through the pain, rolled out of the way, and threw a webline. The guy didn’t stand a chance after that.
A minute later, the perp was stuck to a dumpster with a web cocoon that would take S.H.I.E.L.D. themselves to cut through. The alley was safe. The kids were safe.
But Miles?
Miles was dizzy.
“Y-You’re bleeding,” the sister said softly, staring at his side.
He looked down. The suit had torn, and a bruise was already forming in shades of angry purple.
“Just a scratch,” he lied. “Get home safe, okay?”
She nodded quickly, eyes wide. The boy clung to her hand, whispering “Spider-Man” like a prayer.
Miles managed a wink before swinging up—way too fast—and landing on a nearby rooftop out of sight.
He doubled over with a wince.
“Great,” he muttered. “Definitely not just a scratch.”
And across the street, unnoticed behind a curtain of neon window lights, someone snapped a blurry photo of Spider-Man slumped over. Caption: "Spidey hurt? Is our hero okay??"
The second Miles got back to campus, he regretted it.
Every step up the dorm stairs was an exercise in willpower. His ribs felt like they were screaming. His hoodie stuck uncomfortably to the dried blood crusting on his side. He couldn’t even laugh at the terrible meme Ganke had taped to their door.
He eased the door open.
Ganke glanced up from his laptop, headphones half-on. “Yo—wait, why are you walking like a grandpa?”
Miles didn’t answer. Just dropped his bag and slowly peeled off the hoodie like it was glued to his skin.
“…Oh,” Ganke said, voice suddenly serious. He shut the laptop. “Dude.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Miles said automatically.
“Which part?” Ganke stepped closer, squinting. “The part where your suit is ripped, or the part where you’re bleeding through it?”
Miles hissed as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m fine. I took care of it.”
“You always say that and then spend the night wheezing like someone’s abuelo.”
“Disrespectful,” Miles muttered, trying to laugh—and then clutching his side as pain punched through his lungs. “Okay… maybe it’s a little bad.”
Ganke sighed and rummaged through his drawer. “Let me guess, you’re not gonna let me take you to the nurse because that would raise questions.”
“Nope.”
“You’re not gonna call your mom because she’ll literally ground you from being Spider-Man.”
“Correct.”
“And you’re gonna pretend everything’s fine when Gwen asks why you’re walking like you got in a fight with a vending machine.”
“Right again.”
Ganke tossed him a first-aid kit. “You’re exhausting.”
“I’m adorable.”
“You’re a mess.” Ganke sat back down, opening his laptop again. “Also… you’re trending. Kinda.”
Miles paused mid-bandage. “What?”
“Some blurry photo’s making rounds. Says Spider-Man got hurt. People are freaking out. Gwen’s blog hasn’t posted about it yet, but give it a minute.”
Miles blinked. “She really got a whole blog about me, huh?”
“You just figuring that out?”
“No, I just—” He exhaled, wincing again. “She’s cool. I dunno. I like her.”
Ganke smirked without looking up. “Yeah. No kidding.”
Gwen lay on her stomach across the bed, the glow of her laptop illuminating her face in the dim dorm light. Her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, her earphones in, jazz humming softly. Amaya was passed out on the other side of the room, arms flung over the blankets like she’d fought them and lost.
But Gwen couldn’t sleep.
Because there it was.
BLURRY SPIDERMAN PHOTO — MIDTOWN INCIDENT?
She’d been tagged three times already on her blog’s linked socials. The image wasn’t great—Spider-Man mid-swing, one hand gripping his side, the motion blur masking the pain in his body. But Gwen saw it. The curve of his spine. The way his arm pressed in like he was holding himself together.
She stared.
Worried.
“Don’t panic,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t. Spiral.”
She clicked the image. Zoomed. Brightness up. Contrast adjusted.
Her stomach dropped.
There was blood.
She closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten, just like her ballet instructor taught her before a performance. Then she opened her blog dashboard.
Draft Title: "What Happens When the Hero Gets Hurt?"
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Tonight, I saw something I never wanted to see. A blurry snapshot. Spider-Man—mid-swing, probably mid-fight. And it looked like he was hurt. Not ‘tired’ hurt. Real hurt.
And I know, I know. He’s a hero. He’s tough. He’s probably fine. But... what if he’s not?
No one checks on the one who checks on everyone else.
Maybe this is dramatic. But I can't shake the feeling in my chest. The kind that makes you pause in the middle of your ballet routine, or lose a beat behind the snare.
So if you’re reading this, Spider-Man—
Please take care of yourself.
The city needs you.
I need you.
She hovered over “publish.” Bit her bottom lip. Then tapped it.
Post up.
Seconds later, the notifications started rolling in.
Comments Section:
brooklynfangirl94
ok i literally saw him near 6th ave earlier and he was limping?? should we start a gofundme??
swingingtoseattle
you’re so right bestie he protects everyone who protects him??
spideytruth101
maybe it’s a fake photo to stir up panic. y’all ever think of that??
gwenfan4real
the way u write makes me cry every time i stg. i hope he’s okay too
lemonteaboy321
i think he’ll be okay. guy like that? he probably reads this blog and smiles. just sayin.
Miles didn’t sleep.
His ribs ached like hell, and even though he’d patched himself up and used every trick he knew from online first aid videos and Spidey healing hacks, he still moved like an old man in a hoodie. A hoodie he’d pulled low over his face. Because if one more person looked at him funny for wincing, he was gonna flip.
Not, like, backflip. That hurt.
Just... emotionally.
He limped into school trying to act normal. Walk normal. Breathe normal. It wasn’t working.
“You look like you lost a fight with a supervillain,” Ganke said, catching pace beside him, iced coffee in hand, eyebrows already raised.
Miles shot him a tired glare. “I won the fight. Just... not the aftershocks.”
“Uh-huh,” Ganke said. “And Spider-Man didn’t almost break a rib saving a cat stuck in a construction site last night?”
Miles didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Ganke knew already.
They stopped at Miles’ locker.
Ganke took a sip of his coffee. “So... you seen the blog post yet?”
Miles froze.
“What blog post.”
“Don’t play dumb. You know the blog. The one run by that blonde girl in your physics class you pretend not to stare at.”
Miles groaned. “Ganke—”
“She posted about you.”
“Spider-Man,” Miles corrected, voice low.
“Same difference. She’s worried. Said she saw a blurry pic of you mid-swing and called out the blood. You’re trending in the comments again. She said... and I quote—‘Please take care of yourself. I need you.’”
Miles blinked.
“I—she said that?”
Ganke grinned like he just won the lottery. “Yup. I mean, she said it to Spider-Man, but, like, same thing.”
Miles shoved his textbook into his backpack with a little more energy than his ribs liked. “Dude, I’m not gonna read it.”
“You already did in your head.”
“I—!” He paused. “…Maybe.”
Ganke laughed. “You're smiling, dude.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“I’m not!”
But he was.
Right until he turned the corner and saw Gwen walking toward them.
She looked tired too. Not in a bad way. Just… like she’d stayed up all night thinking about someone.
Their eyes met.
And Miles couldn’t help but wince just a little when his foot hit the floor weird.
Gwen’s gaze flicked down to the limp.
She blinked. Tilted her head. Like something clicked.
Then she smiled gently and waved.
“Hey, Miles.”
Miles smiled back. “Hey.”
His ribs throbbed—but he didn’t feel it.