Peter Parker had not expected to die by being run over by a whirlwind of brown fur and drool.
He was crouched behind the police tape, camera in hand, trying to frame the perfect shot of the car wrapped around a streetlamp, when something brushed the back of his neck.
His spider-sense screamed.
“What the—?!” He twisted halfway around, ready to dodge a punch, a bullet, a flying brick…
What he saw instead was a pink tongue the size of his dignity coming straight for his face at supersonic speed.
The impact knocked him flat on his back.
“Ugh!” Peter wheezed, the air leaving his lungs in one sad little puff. “Okay, definitely not a brick…”
Planted on top of his chest like he owned Queens, a massive German shepherd stared down at him with bright brown eyes, tail wagging like someone had hooked it up to a boat motor.
The dog let out a short, happy bark that sounded dangerously like, I have chosen you, human.
And then came the kisses.
“Hey, hey, wait, buddy!” Peter tried to sit up, but the dog simply adjusted his weight to pin him more efficiently and dragged one enormous lick across Peter’s cheek, including his ear. “Ugh—ahahaha, stop, that tickles!”
The laughter bubbled up his throat almost against his will. The kisses were relentless, clumsy, noisy, deeply undignified, and absolutely impossible to resist. He smelled like clean dog, expensive police shampoo, and the faintest hint of biscuit.
“Rex, down!” the officer’s voice arrived one second late to the party.
Peter blinked up at him, glasses crooked, hair a disaster, T-shirt stamped with two perfect paw prints.
The dog—Rex—froze just long enough to glance sideways at his human… and then gave Peter one more loud kiss on the chin, as if to say, Fine, but this one’s the last.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Peter said, raising both hands while still trapped under the furry tank. “We’re… good. I think. I’m only losing my dignity, no vital organs.”
Rex gave a low, playful rumble and rested his head on Peter’s chest like it was a freshly fluffed pillow.
The officer hurried over, looking mortified.
“I’m so sorry, sir. He never usually… launches himself like that. He’s trained to take down suspects, not reporters.”
“Technically, I’m an intern,” Peter muttered. “I don’t think there’s a protocol for taking down clumsy interns.”
The officer reached for the dog’s collar, where the name tag read: Rex.
“Rex,” Peter repeated, smiling a little as he tested the name. “Let me guess: you’re the real cop here, right?”
Rex lifted his head slightly, as if he understood, and nudged Peter’s chin with his snout. His nose was cold and wet, and for some reason, Peter’s brain decided that was the most honest touch he’d had in weeks.
The world around them was still controlled chaos: police cars, blue lights flashing, people filming on their phones, someone arguing with an officer over a ticket, sirens wailing somewhere in the distance… But lying there on the warm asphalt with a giant German shepherd pressed against his chest, Peter felt… strangely peaceful.
Which was, at the very least, ironic.
“I really am sorry,” the officer insisted, gently tugging at Rex’s collar, though Rex showed zero interest in moving. “He must have smelled something on you. Sometimes he picks up on good people.”
“Sure. Or he smelled the chocolate chip cookies I ate half an hour ago. I’m basically a snack with legs.”
Rex let out a small woof, as if confirming the statement.
“See?” Peter lifted a hand and ran it through the fur around Rex’s neck.
It was warm and dense, the perfect mix of strength and softness. His fingers sank slightly into the coat, and Rex’s eyes half-closed in bliss. He leaned in closer, pressing all his weight against Peter. The dog’s heartbeat vibrated steadily against his chest.
Without warning, the memory of the last time someone had curled up against him like that crossed his mind.
It hadn’t been a dog. Or a cop.
It had been someone with an easy laugh and the smell of coffee.
The memory tightened his throat a little, because that person wasn’t here anymore.
Rex let out a heavy sigh, the kind only dogs can manage, one that sounded exactly like, Don’t spiral, human.
Peter felt the warm huff of breath against his sternum and had to bite his lip to keep from saying out loud how stupidly, painfully sweet it was.
“So I guess this counts as emotional support therapy, right?” he joked. “Does insurance cover it?”
The officer laughed, finally relaxing.
“If he lets you take pictures with him, maybe. The press loves Rex. He’s had more articles written about him than I have.”
“Makes sense. Better hair.” Peter ruffled the dog’s fur, and Rex accepted the affection with absolute dignity.
With one last effort, Peter managed to push himself partly upright, settling into a half-sitting position. Rex took full advantage of the new arrangement by staying halfway on him: half in Peter’s lap, half on the ground.
Classic I’m not leaving, deal with it posture.
Peter held Rex’s head gently in both hands and looked into his eyes.
Brown. Deep. Completely clear.
No doubts. No judgment. Just a dog who had decided, for reasons known only to the universe, that Peter was his favorite human of the day.
“Don’t look at me like that or I’ll fall in love,” Peter whispered, dramatically.
The officer shook his head, smiling.
“He has that effect on people.”
Peter felt the faint tingle of his spider-sense again, soft and low, almost affectionate. Usually, it meant danger. This time, it felt… different.
Instead of screaming run, it seemed to whisper, stay.
Rex leaned forward until his forehead rested gently against Peter’s. Peter closed his eyes for one second. The smell, the warmth, the weight, the absurdity of sitting in the middle of a traffic accident surrounded by cops, sharing a tiny oasis of dog-shaped affection…
It was so ridiculously perfect that it almost made him laugh.
“Okay, buddy,” he said slowly. “Deal. You keep giving me cuddles, and I’ll try not to get into too much trouble in your jurisdiction. Sound good?”
The dog bumped his head against him in approval.
The officer crouched beside them.
“If you want, I can send you the picture. Rex doesn’t adopt someone every day.”
“A picture… of me covered in drool and lying on the ground?”
“It’s your best angle, I promise.”
Peter looked at Rex, who gazed back with the ancient patience of a dog who had seen everything and judged none of it.
“Yeah… Send it.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it quickly. “I’m Peter.”
They exchanged numbers. The officer stood, but Rex lingered a little longer, like he was on guard duty, like he was saying, I’m not done with you yet.
Peter took the opportunity to scratch behind his ear.
“You know,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “the city could use more heroes like you.”
Rex answered with another lick, right on the tip of Peter’s nose.
Peter blinked, going cross-eyed.
“Okay, okay, I take it back. It also needs more wet wipes.”
“Rex, come on. Let the reporter breathe.”
Rex hesitated for a second, looked at Peter, and then did something that broke his heart in the nicest possible way: he pressed one paw gently against Peter’s chest, like a little see you around.
One of those soft smiles almost nobody ever saw, because they only slipped out when he thought he was alone.
“See you around, officer,” he said, raising a hand.
Rex trotted back to his human, tail high, body steady and sure. Every few steps, he glanced back, as if checking that his new friend was still there.
Peter climbed to his feet, dusted off his jeans, and pushed his glasses back into place. He looked down at the photos he’d taken of the crash, then, without thinking too hard about it, turned his camera toward the German shepherd’s retreating back.
The viewfinder caught Rex in the middle of the red-and-blue chaos of police lights, walking forward with purpose, like a small furry hero inside the giant mess that was the city.
Peter lowered the camera, still wearing a smile he couldn’t quite get rid of.
Being a superhero was fine.
But sometimes, the best part of the day was a police dog adopting you for five minutes and reminding you that underneath the suit, you were still just a boy who needed affection.
And for one brief moment, New York felt a little less broken.
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