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For all his reflexes and uncanny intuition so graciously imparted from that stupid supernatural spider, even he was susceptible to a coward’s plight.
“Ah, fuck!” His strangled cry rings out in the cold night as the bullet tears through the right side of his torso. Dennis stumbles to his knee, vision blurring as he struggles to keep his body upright. “Oh, fuck, fuck-“
The perpetrator makes it all of three steps before Dennis, with herculean effort, hurls a web in his direction. His left arm is thrown out with a force greater than necessary and the impact of the sticky substance slams the criminal up against the grimy wall of a nearby building, the brick cracks loudly in tandem with the man’s ribs and the gun he had fired goes skittering across the concrete. Certain the man wasn’t going anywhere, Dennis doubles over, groaning as he presses a hand to his injury.
“Fuck you man.” Dennis grits. The flesh beneath was hot and throbbing, blood pouring from the wound. The fabric of his suit was just that, weak cotton, practically tissue paper against a bullet. He takes in a shuddering breath, forcing himself to his feet. He walks in an unsteady gait towards the subdued man, bracing himself against the wall once he’s close enough. He tears a small gap in his own webbing where the man’s bag was, rifling through until he finds what he’s looking for, a zip-loc bag with an envelope and wallet in it.
“Stealing from old ladies, not cool dude.” He mumbles. The man groans when he hears Dennis’ voice.
“I-I think-my ribs-“ He stammers out. “You broke-“
“Yeah, yeah.” Dennis waves, “You’ll live. Try not to move though, wouldn’t want a rib to puncture your lung.”
With a swift flick of his wrist, Dennis adds another layer of webbing, securing the man further to the wall. He leans up against the wall, letting out a pained breath. He could feel his fucking heartbeat where he got shot.
“Man, I should just leave you here.” He complains as he tucks the zip-loc bag into his back pocket, then pulls out his burner phone in its place. “You literally shot me.”
The man just makes a pained sound as a response.
“Hello? Yeah…there’s a man on 21st and 40th, by the Wendy’s in LIC, he stole some lady’s stuff and got jumped…yeah…yeah, he’s not going anywhere…okay, thank you, bye.” Dennis blows a raspberry as he hangs up. He turns with a pointed finger, “You’re lucky it was me on duty tonight. If it were…well, let’s just say be glad only your ribs are broken.”
With that, he tucks the phone back, and slings a web upward, the tail end of it catching on a nearby roof. He grips on tight and launches himself into the air, letting out a string of expletives when he does. His entire right side lights up in pain, he could feel his skin, which had just started to knit itself back together, tear again.
“Fuck me-fuck-fuck this shit-“ He gasps. He only makes it a few buildings before it was too much, he lets his grip go slack and he tumbles onto a roof, rolling a few feet when he does. His instinct was to curl in onto himself, cradling the gushing puncture, but the cramping would only make it worse later on. With a whine, he forces himself to straighten, his back flush against the concrete. It was excruciating.
His vision goes in and out, the stars just barely visible through the mesh that rests where his eyes are. He would count them to keep focus if he didn’t feel like throwing up every time his chest moved. He breathes hard through his nose, the heat of his exhales creating condensation in his mask. The droplets gather uncomfortably at his upper lip, threatening to slip into his airway with every inhale.
“Great, now I’m gonna drown too.” He grumbles to no one.
He mentally steels himself for what he has to do. Unfortunately, superhuman powers also mean superhuman healing, which is great in most scenarios except this one. Another downside to his superpowers, his sensitivity means he could feel the bullet still inside him, resting somewhere between his organs. From what he knows of his abilities, it wouldn’t be long before the top layer of skin was healed and then he’d have to cut it open again to dig the bullet out, or worse, ask Trinity do it. And he’d rather die before letting her near him with a knife ever again. He could also leave it, and at some point his body will slowly expel it, but who knows how long or how torturous that will be.
He makes a valiant attempt to sit up, the air leaving his lungs with a strangled huff when his vision swarms with black dots. He flops back down, knife-like pain shooting through his body.
“Okay-okay-“ He wheezes to himself, “Okay-so no go on that-ah-fuck-“
If only his mother could hear his language now, he thinks to himself, willing the hurt to subside. He lets out a laugh at the absurdity of the thought, then winces.
“Did you finally go crazy?” A low voice suddenly cuts through his pain addled mind. He surges to his side, throwing a web blindly in the direction of the voice, he knows before it falls that he missed. “Woah there-“
His eyes adjust to the dark, though still tinged with black at the edges. A tall familiar figure looms a few feet from him, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Dennis’ entire body sags in relief when he realizes who it is. His head flops hard onto the ground, making a thudding noise that if it were anyone else, would be concerning.
“Hey Doc.” Dennis tries saying casually. “It’s been a while. What brings you here on this fine evening?”
“Heard your whining from halfway across Manhattan.”
“Concerned?”
“Something like that.” The older man steps closer, kneeling beside Dennis’ prone body. From inside his coat, he takes out a small kit and there’s the squeaky sound of latex gloves being pulled on.
“Don’t get all sweet with me now.” Dennis hisses as the fabric congealed to the open wound is peeled away and cut. “Makes a man dream.” His chirp goes ignored.
“Pinprick and a burn.” The low voice warns, and Dennis bites down hard on his lip. God, he hates this. He squeezes his eyes shut the moment those cold palms press onto him, there’s a feeling like someone shoved a four inch syringe directly into the bullet hole then his whole body goes taut like a rubber band as white hot pain floods his torso.
“Fuck-!”
It takes a second but sweet numbness follows. He sighs happily at the lack of sensation.
“Alright?”
“Yeah-“ He breathes out, “And not to sound ungrateful about your healing powers but it sure fucking hurts before it starts working.” The man lets out a chuckle at that, the sound sending a tingle down Dennis’ spine.
“Can’t have everything kid.” He responds. “Now relax.”
Dennis obliges, settling more comfortably, or as comfortable as anyone could be on literal concrete, and peers up at the man, whose face is obscured behind a mask. His eyes rake over the broad shoulders and sturdy arms, the thick ripple of muscle beneath the loose fabric as he moves.
Dennis doesn’t know too much about him, just that he had healing hands and was retired from crime fighting. The folks in the league called him the Doctor, which was a pretty cool name if not a little generic. Dennis frowns to himself, well, it was better than Spiderman anyway. Or Spiderboy, as Trinity liked to call him.
“How’d you get shot anyway?” Dennis blinks at the question, then shrugs with one shoulder.
“Guy had a gun.” Doc snorts.
“No shit.”
“He just caught me off guard.”
“Hmm.” Doc hums, and there’s a building pressure on his side, “That’s not like you.”
“Yeah, well, we all have off nights.” They lapse into silence, the only sounds being the nauseating squish of flesh as Doc digs through his body for the bullet. Dennis distracts himself by staring at the older man some more.
There’s a hint of a beard there, where his jaw meets his ear, just peeking from behind the mask. With his enhanced sight, Dennis could even make out the sparse bits of white mixed with brown. Dennis hopes for his own sake that he never sees Doc without his disguise, he was already weak to an authoritative voice and a salt and pepper beard, Lord knows what Dennis would do if the man had a handsome face.
Not to mention his hands.
Dennis wants to smack himself. He avoids looking down, he didn’t need to see what the inside of his body looked like, thank you very much. But he’d worked with and had been worked on by Doc enough times to know what his hands look like in concerning detail, even if most of the time they’re crammed into the blue latex gloves that Doc seemed to have a never ending supply of. Large, sturdy, thick. Dennis isn’t above admitting he’d gotten himself off to the thought of those fingers inside him more than once.
“What’s my diagnosis, Doc? Am I gonna make it?” He jokes, trying to banish his more unsavory thoughts from his mind.
“Unfortunately, yes.” The man deadpans. There’s another sick squelch from below and despite being numb, Dennis feels the moment the bullet leaves his body. It feels incredible.
“Oh that’s good.” The words slip out before he can help it. There’s a breathy quality to it that sounds obscene. Doc doesn’t acknowledge it but Dennis coughs a little anyway to clear the air. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Doc says perfunctorily. He quickly bags the bullet, along with his bloodied gloves and tools. “Do you need anything else for it?” A grin spreads on Dennis’ face. He’s made it this far.
“A kiss to make me feel better?” He can’t see Doc’s expression but he imagines it’s long suffering. There’s a warning gesture to the bullet he just removed.
“I can put it back in just as well-“
“No, no. All good. Don’t need anything else.” Dennis shakes his head, hurrying to sit up. “I’ll be good in like, ten minutes, I just-“
His sentence dies in his throat. Doc hadn’t moved from where he was knelt next to him, so now that Dennis was upright, their faces were incredibly close. He freezes, eyes caught in the older man’s.
They were brown, Dennis’ brain supplies stupidly.
“You just?” Doc’s voice is amused. His own mouth is dry.
He had crow’s feet, which Dennis could see now that the mirth was directed at him. Fuck that was hot. He quickly looks away.
“I just need to give this to the old lady.” He fumbles and takes the zip-loc bag from his pocket, shoving it in Doc’s face as if it were proof of some kind.
“Ookay?”
“So, thank you, for uh, digging through my body? But I gotta go-“ Against his better judgment, he stands up, which was incredibly brainless considering half his fucking body was essentially paralyzed. It doesn’t hit him until his world view starts tilting the moment he fully straightens up, and then he’s going down. “Oh fuck me-“
He resigns to his fate of slamming into the cold floor, body bracing for the impact. Except it never comes. He tumbles instead into a sturdy but not unyielding surface, warm arms coming around to steady him.
“Careful.” He could feel the deep rumble of Doc’s chest as he spoke. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt again.”
Dennis wants to die.
This entire night has been humiliating and mortifying. He’s about to twist away when a smell makes him freeze. His nose twitches. Fuck him, Doc smelled good; like warmed leather and sanitizer. A weird combination but fuck if it didn’t work for Dennis. Involuntarily, his hands come up to grip at the older man’s coat. The fabric was smooth, expensive feeling, beneath his sweaty palms.
“This is so embarrassing.” He mumbles. Doc laughs, once again the vibrations jostling where Dennis was held close. His body shivers, a heat growing between his legs. He shifts a little.
“Here, why don’t I take this.” Doc releases an arm from his waist and takes the zip-loc bag where it was bunched between Dennis’ fist and his coat. He helps Dennis hobble to the nearby wall where the entrance to the roof was, slowly guiding him so that his back was leaned up against it. He unwinds his arm as Dennis sinks to the floor, his hand patting the younger man’s shoulder as he settles.
“I’ll bring it to the old lady,” He offers, “And you rest here until the numbness wears off.”
“How do I know you won’t run off with it?” Dennis quips.
“You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“Sounds exactly like something a thief would say.” But Dennis just leans his head against the wall, unperturbed as he gazes up. “Her ID should be in her wallet.”
“I figured as much.”
“Well, you can never be too sure.” They stay for a moment, staring at each other.
“How old are you?” Doc suddenly asks. Dennis cocks his head.
“Why? You tryna take me home?”
The older man shakes his head disapprovingly.
“Too young to be risking your life like this.” He says, turning around. “Get some rest. And don’t do anything stupid.”
“No promises.” Dennis calls after him. Doc just waves a hand then walks off the edge of the roof, no doubt disappearing to wherever the fuck. Dennis blows out a long breath. He could feel sensation starting to creep back into his torso, the ache of the gunshot is dulled, more bruise than anything. He looks down at it, seeing the stretched shiny pink scar and runs a finger across the delicate surface, shivering at its sensitivity. He wonders how it would feel if it were Doc touching him. If it were his sturdy fingers skimming across the new skin, would he press harder knowing how reactive Dennis would be? Or would he be gentle and caress him like something fragile?
After a few long minutes of trying not to think about Doc’s hands (and failing), Dennis makes himself stretch, testing the waters on his mobility, and finds there’s only a slight soreness in his muscles. He leaps to his feet, nearly cheering, now he can go home. He checks his watch out of habit-
Ah fuck.
Trinity was going to kill him.