#the end...?

6:30 AM

“Help-...someone help!!!” 

Leehan sits perched on the summit of the tallest tower in the city, sharp eyes scanning for potential danger. Through the cacophony of the rush hour, he picks out the woman’s voice, his feet moving at record speed as a string of web shoots from his wrist—body lithely blurring past shiny skyscrapers and office buildings, landing on the concrete road with the grace of an acrobat. 

“Let go of the purse, and maybe I’ll let you off the hook.” Leehan’s smirk can be heard despite the mask he wears. He motions to the old woman to take cover behind him. 

The robber jabs his knife into the air, threatening to stab, but Leehan just sighs in exaggerated boredom and takes a couple steps forward, stretching his arms behind his shoulders to pop a joint. 

“Don’t take another step!” Beads of sweat roll down the man’s forehead as he unconsciously backs away, voice shaky. “I’m not afraid to hurt you, Spider-Man!”

“Yeah?” Leehan grins, the lens of his mask narrowing into amused slits. “Go ahead then.”

You roll your eyes behind the comms. 

Over the course of his time as the city’s sweetheart of a superhero, Leehan has developed quite the double personality—his confidence skyrocketing once the mask went over his face, and his normally shy stuttering laid aside for when it came off—typically in your presence. 

Other times, he’d get all suave—almost cocky—in the way he turned every criminal encounter into a hobby for banter, trying out experimental catchphrases and flashy new moves just to look cool and earn some new fans along the way.

“Stop getting distracted.” You scold him into the mic of your headset, wanting to avoid yet another injury. 

“Yes ma’am.” The response is immediate—frightened and obedient, reaching you through the recording device you’d seamlessly stitched into the inside of his mask. You shake your head fondly—what a nerd.

What follows is a pretty quick tussle: Leehan kicks the knife out of the man’s hold; a jab here, a hook there; he ends up with both his hands tied behind his back, trying to thrash as Leehan keeps him immobile with a bundle of webs. 

The police arrives soon after, escorting the robber into their car and driving off after giving Spider-Man his obligatory thanks. Leehan signs off with a cheeky salute, handing the purse back to the little old lady and letting her leave after she thanks him with a kiss to his cheek, one which he has to bend for.

“Good job, Partner.” You crack your knuckles, shutting off the video feed on your laptop and pulling out your council books to return to your life as the student president. “Could’ve been faster if you didn’t waste your time flirting with the enemy.”

He stammers defiantly, “Flir-I wasn’t-” You hide the smile in your voice as he attempts to clear his name, like someone who just got wrongly accused of cheating. “I wasn’t flirting, Y/N, just…I don’t know, I thought it would intimidate him…?”

It’s a little funny actually, this thing between the two of you—a gentle push and pull you couldn’t say you disliked. You certainly did like to make him flustered. 

“Get back here before the bell rings.” You grin.

The reply is quick as a blink—“Yes ma’am.”

7:15 AM

Leehan sprints through the hallway, his flannel top flying widely in the air, glasses slipping off his nose and hair bouncing up and down. He’s further ahead of his schedule than usual, but the stride of his steps imply otherwise. 

At the same time, you exit the council room, having forced your fellow members to arrive earlier (even if they had complained about it) so that you could leave in time to meet a certain someone at your locker. 

You wave, with a sudden skip in your step. “Hannie!” 

“Y/N!” He heaves as he skids to a stop in front of you.

The routine is intimately familiar now: syncing up your schedule so your extracurriculars don’t clash with your duties as his ‘guy in the chair’ (or you suppose, girl in the chair), the regular meet-ups before classes, briefing his morning missions before you start to tease him just to see how red you could get his ears to turn, and him complying without any objections.    

Today carries an extra sweetness—it’s the last day before summer break, before the final semester ahead of graduation. 

Your eyes twinkle as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “You don’t have to keep wearing those, you know,” You say, alluding to the keener senses his powers granted him. 

Leehan smiles sheepishly. “I feel weird if I don’t. It’s like an extra limb.”

What a strange, strange boy. You want to reach in and pinch his cheeks, but you hold back on account of public decorum.

“Soooo,…made any plans for summer yet?” You teeter on the heels of your boots, clutching your book behind your back while playfully looking up at him. He blushes under your attention.

“Uhm-I..” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m volunteering at the Aquarium, that’s all.”

You hum in thought, leaning in closer to make him redder. “That means you’ll be busy, huh?” Letting out a quiet sigh, you pout.

“Wait!” He jumps, voice higher than he wants it to be. 

Hook, line, and sinker; you could have predicted his next words verbatim—

“I can make myself free,...if you’d like.”

‘I’d like,” You nod with a silly grin. “Very much so.” 

He agrees to meet up with you after school at the local amusement park, to kick off the holidays with  celebratory ice-cream and rides. Leehan is blushing profusely at the thought of the unsaid promise of it being a date, when he sees you glance down at your watch.

7:50 AM

Huh,...you hadn’t even realised the passing of time.

You bite down on your lower lip, too reluctant to part ways with him—and you aren’t surprised to see the same expression mirrored on his face. 

“The bell's about to ring.” You say, stating the obvious. 

“Yeah, we should-” 

“Yep.” 

When the two of you lock eyes, the quiet counting down of a clock echoes in your mind, knowing that this was something more than just a friendship. Students flurry past your bodies, off to their own classes as you hesitate to budge.  

Ringggggggg

The school-bell goes off and you’re forced to spring apart to leave in opposite ways, but only after glancing back at each other several times to bid goodbye.

When you sit down for your final Physics class of the semester, you realise you already miss Leehan’s company,...which is strange because you’ll be seeing him in less than nine hours. 

Little do you know, somewhere in the other wing of the school, a fish-nerd in flannel accidentally doodles your name onto his Chemistry notebook, thinking the exact same thing about you.

“Mom, I want to go on the rocket ride!” A kid about five apples tall with a Spider-Man mask over his eyes bounces up and down on his toes. 

His mother chides him, trying to drag him away. “You’re too small for it, shush.”

The boy continues to whine until she sighs wearily, “Wait for your dad, he’ll be back from the restroom soon.” 

The amusement park is busy and bright under the moonlight—queues of people lined up for behemoth rides, a loudspeaker blasting carnival music, the scent of popcorn wafting over from the vendors’, filling your senses pleasantly; Leehan’s fingers are warm where they brush against yours, as though testing whether he should interlink them. 

“This is nice.” You beam, tilting your head sideways to bump it against his shoulder, catlike. “I haven’t been here in ages, the last time was when I was like ten.”

He smiles down at you, cheeks a soft pink. “Me too. My mom used to make my older sister take me with her and her friends, but I haven’t since she went off to college.”

You nod, then remember something from earlier, “Oh, did the suit modification work? I tried my best to make it into a two-piece so you can…, you know-” A slightly awkward cough leaves your lips, painting your cheeks ruddy. “-take it off easier.”

Leehan’s eyes widen as big as saucers. 

“For when you’re injured!” You jump to explain, but the damage is already done when it leaves both of you slipping into silence with burning cheeks. 

The cool air of the night is a welcome bite on your heated face, but you’re still dressed in a thin shirt and skirt meant for the summer sun. Leehan sees the tiny shiver you can’t hold back, and he’s already removing his jacket to place around your shoulder without a second thought.

You blink up at him, but he’s not looking anymore, having gone back to poking at the centre of his glasses like he hadn’t just sprouted a family of butterflies in your stomach. 

And he doesn’t even know how attractive he is like this—an accidental gentleman.

You’ve seen him in action countless times: saving civilians, holding together broken train-carts, squaring off against villains twice his size. None of it is as mesmerising as he is now, quiet and caring, and a little clueless. 

“Carousel.” His voice breaks you out of your dreamy thoughts. 

You look ahead to see what he’s pointing at—a merry-go-round with yellow lights bathing the plastic white horses underneath, humming a children’s rhyme as it spins in circles. Leehan has stars in his eyes, and the sight alone makes your heart thump louder. 

You try to level your voice, attempting a casual tone. “Wanna go?” 

He hesitates in his answer, but on seeing your warm expression, nods. 

He’s so cute, you might combust on spot.

You discard the paper wrapper in your hand, ready to pull him forward with you to the line of people waiting for the carousel, most of them presumably lovers, all giddy smiles and interlaced hands. It’s a thrilling thought—doing something so clearly romantic with Leehan. 

But you’re barely two steps closer when a crash explodes from behind you. 

Smoke erupts all around, the happy music smothered by people’s screams of panic. Rubble tumbles down. When you look up, the ferris wheel has stopped moving, stuck as something jams into its controller.

“It’s the Green Goblin!” Yells a man in the crowd, pointing upwards, and you see it—the bottle-green armour and steel glider that vaults mid-air, and a sneering, insect-like face to match. 

Leehan turns to you. You don’t need him to speak before you reach into his jacket’s pocket and discreetly shove his Spidey mask into his arms. 

“Go get 'em, bug boy.” 

He nods in understanding before taking off, swerving into a secluded corner to take off his outer clothes, leaving just the suit underneath. 

The green figure above laughs menacingly, taunting the crowd with his vicious grenades. “Puny vermin, think you can just run away, HAHA-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a red haze spins over the metal rails of a nearby rollercoaster, using its framework as leverage for his web. In record time, the glider is kicked over in one swift motion, knocking the goblin off onto the debris.

“Spider-Man!!” Cheers erupt in relief as Leehan lands smoothly next to his collapsed enemy. 

The Green Goblin huffs behind his mask, trying to get back up, but Spider-Man is already a step too quick for him, wrangling his body into the floor before he can reach for another one of his explosives. 

“Nice outfit, Mr. Goblin—a little too early for Halloween though.” Leehan quips with a grin. “Or were you trying to cosplay the Grinch instead?”

“You fool, you stupid bug, you think you can just-”

“Oh, save it for the police.” Leehan sighs, ready to call it a day. But-

“MY BABY! MY SON, HE’S STILL UP THERE!” A woman wails suddenly, clutching her chest as others try to hold her back. When Leehan looks up, he sees a small body dangling off a half-broken piece of the rollercoaster, too out of reach for his terrified father to reach even when he tries to.

Leehan looks back down, then up. He has to choose one—either save the kid, or let the crook go. There’s not enough time to subdue the Goblin with his webs; every second counts.

The choice comes easy as breathing.

There is no regret in his bones even when he reluctantly unhands the bastard, not waiting to see him flee for his life, and shoots another stream of his webs to keep the boy aloft before making his way to him. 

Leehan approaches carefully, wary of any more civilians falling if he gets too close, using one arm to keep himself up, and the other to reach out to the petrified child. With the gentle voice he usually reserves for small animals, he says, “Hey there buddy.” 

The boy doesn’t respond immediately. 

Kid gloves, Leehan repeats in his mind before trying again. “I’m Spider-Man, you know me? I’m the guy on your mask.”

He nods in reply, gulping as another fearful shiver runs down his little body when he peeks down from the height. Leehan carries on smoothly, “Great! So you know I help people right?”

Another tiny nod.

“All you do now is hold my hand, ‘kay? Like this-” He reaches out his fingers, stretching as far as he can. 

The boy, although scared at first, looks at Spider-Man’s face with a whimper, then does as he’s told. 

Another wave of cheers erupt as Leehan successfully hugs the boy in one arm, swings down, and hands him back to his sobbing mother. Phone-cameras flash around him as he brushes it off with feigned modesty. 

But when the mom bows to thank him, Leehan feels a genuine rush of warmth in his heart, melting it when the boy then hugs his knees with a sniffle, and he can’t hold back ruffling his hair in return. 

But between the blinding lights and voices, he picks your face out—you're standing akimbo with a proud expression. 

His heart soars.

After many pleasantries and a not-at-all-casual “Your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man is here to stay!”, he sets off into the moonlight, drinking in the hurrahs that echo behind him. 

You’re already waiting at your spot near the park when he jogs over, back in the previously discarded clothes he had stashed somewhere safe. 

“Good job, Partner.” You say, like always. He grins bashfully.

“Did you see?” Leehan asks, falling into step with you.

“Duh.” You tap at your phone screen, letting him know that you had your comms turned on. It’s obvious that you’re always watching—out of both admiration, and worry.

“So much for a date, huh?” The words slip past your tongue, too late in the night for any restraints; when you glance sideways, Leehan has gentle creases around his eyes, and an apology hidden beneath them. 

He leads you to the front door of your apartment building, looking up at you as he stands on the stairs below. 

“I still liked it, by the way. Carousel or not.” You smile, eyes soft under the spill of stars in front of you. 

Leehan’s shoulders relax at your words. When you begin to shrug off his jacket, he reaches out to stop you.

“Keep it.” 

You bite down a grin. “...Okay.” 

A kiss awaits the moment, but both of you are exhausted after the events of a long day—so you head back up into your home after a wave, watching Leehan wait until you’re inside before he leaves. 

When you get into your bed for the night, you’re still holding onto his jacket, hiding your fond smile behind the scent of his soap and something close to baby powder. 

A kiss could have sealed it, this thing you’ve got—the playful teetering between ‘almosts’ and ‘not enoughs’. 

But hey, it's summer. And you’ve got all the time in the world. It can wait.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ──── //

The next time it happens, you’re at the local Science Museum—a place where you’ve always been drawn back to on your bad days when you felt too slumped, to walk around the innovation zone where you felt the most creative and inspired. Every time you come back here, your brain buzzes with new ideas for another one of your inventions. 

What surprises you is that Leehan also happened to do the same—except, for him, it was the natural history exhibits. It's a wonder that the two of you hadn’t crossed paths earlier than you did, given how intertwined your childhoods seemed to feel. 

“This one's huge” Your eyes are wide as they look up at the twenty-something-feet tall skeleton. 

Leehan giggles at your reaction. “It’s an Apatosaurus,...means deceptive lizard" 

You tilt your head curiously, making him blush even deeper.

“Deceptive because when it was first discovered, they confused it with the fossils of a marine reptile.” 

His eyes sparkle each time he launches into another dinosaur fact, with the same fervour he had explained the courtship rituals of turtles weeks back (fluttering claws, apparently), and you file each one of them away in the crevice of your brain like a secret—a memory only you’re allowed to have of him: his eager voice, the glint behind his glasses, the tiny bounce in his steps. 

Leehan doesn’t notice—he’s mid-spiel about ancient fish lizards and prehistoric turtles when your attention is shattered by a flurry of sand that sweeps past your feet and right into your eye.

“What the fu-”

“Spider-Man.” The low timbre reverberates through the mostly empty museum room, bringing another swirl of sand flying onto you. “I know you’re here.”

A stocky hulk of a man stands at the entrance, looking around as though hunting for a bug to squash under his foot. The Sandman—an old enemy Leehan couldn’t shake off his back no matter how hard he tried. 

You want to groan; Curse your terrible fortune…

Leehan shares a glance with you, telepathically communicating, and you catch on quickly. You slip away quietly, dragging him with you, and into a dusty janitor’s cupboard in the corner. 

“Our timing sucks, huh?” You sigh as you help him take off his glasses and unbutton his shirt, tying it around your waist as he pulls on the mask.

“Sorry,” is all he can reply with.

You smile weakly, patting him on the shoulder. “Good luck out there.” And for good measure, you lean up to press a kiss against his cheek, over the rubbery red material.

Leehan finds himself lucky that you can’t see the flush of his face. 

When he dashes out the door after changing, he looks back at you a little sadly, wanting to stay with you longer, but knowing his responsibility to protect civilians couldn’t be abandoned just because he felt too selfish. 

The fight lasts all of two hours, leaving him gasping for air and without much breath for his normally snarky wisecracks. But your good-luck kiss must have done its job, because after several months of frenzied chasing, he finally manages to seize the Sandman, tangling him against the unfortunate fossil of a Stegasaurus, and then trudging away with a salute and a fit of ungraceful coughs.

You find him slumped against the back of the museum building, legs drawn up against his chest.

“Hannie.” You inch closer, leaning down to help him tear off his sweaty mask. “Are you okay?”

He nods, forcing a faint smile for you. You don’t buy it. 

But instead of pushing, all you do is press your knees against his, grounding him like you’ve learnt to do over time, letting him know you’re here and he’s not alone in this. 

When he drops you off for the day, you don’t talk about it. There is no mention of regret or exhaustion, just the deep-seated feeling of quiet understanding. It was supposed to be a nice day—to relax and wander and maybe, just maybe, finally hold his hand. But your sweet moments with him ended up being thrown aside because of some disturbed criminal with anger issues and no sense of timing.

But you guess that’s what it means to care about the city’s saviour.

Still, you would be lying if you said you didn’t silently wish things could be different.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ──── //

Patience is a virtue, and you’re a resilient woman—in your own opinion, at least. 

But the universe seemed to be hell-bent on testing you these days.

As if the Green Goblin and the Sandman weren't enough already, every single one of your outings gets disrupted by one monstrosity or the other: a perfectly planned picnic is squashed by a humanoid lizard who you were unfortunately well-acquainted with, then a man that shoots electricity out of his body sabotages the exact day you picked out to go to a boardgame cafe with Leehan. 

Then there are eerie semi-fluids that turn into annoying jerks, antiheroes that piss you off with their long monologues and stupid interruptions; every almost-kiss and near-confession ending with a hurried apology and dejected eyes—your composure starts to chip away, block by block.

Kim Leehan is your cute, awkward marine biology nerd who just also happens to be everyone else’s Spider-Man. And you’re just waiting for him to finally ask you out...but why the hell do all your potential date-not-dates keep getting ruined by mutant monsters or movie villains!? What kind of crimes might you have done in your past life to deserve such misfortune!?

“Kill me now.” You mumble while knocking your head gently and repeatedly against the edge of your study desk, hand angrily gripping a screwdriver as you remember the memory of your sandwich getting crushed under the feet of the ugly reptilian mutant. 

“Y/N?” A clear voice breaks you out of your miserable thoughts. When you look sideways, Leehan is sitting on your window ledge, suit on, mask off, backpack slinging from a shoulder, a single leg slung over into your room—kind of like Peter Pan at Wendy's window.

Your face immediately lights up, a switch that just looking at him seems to bring about these days. “Hannie!”

He takes it as permission to enter. “Is this a bad time?” His voice is shy, tentative. 

You shake your head, motioning for him to sit down on your mattress, but he drops down onto your carpeted floor instead, not wanting to dirty your sheets. 

“I was just working on some modifications for your web-shooter actually,” You grin, earning another blush from him—you knew that he liked it when you talked all science-y. “By the way, why do you still come in through my window? My mom already knows you and the front door is always an option.”

He just rubs the back of his head, like that thought hadn’t occurred to him. You giggle under your breath; the soft spot you have for him as obvious as pi is irrational. 

“So,...you here to let me test out my gadgets on you again?” You wiggle your brows comically, like some mad scientist ready to torture a lab rat.

Leehan swallows a nervous gulp, and you think it’s from your teasing until he opens his mouth to speak. “Would you…”

Another awkward draw of breath, his fingers fidgeting over the mask in his hands, face red but not from physical exertion. His eyes find a spot on the floor to stare at. And then, “Would you want to go out with me,...on a date?”

...

You forget to exhale, air caught in your chest. 

He…said it. The words you’ve been wishing to hear. He just says it while he’s on your bedroom floor in his sweaty suit and mussed up hair and that nervous expression that drove you insane on the regular. You pinch your forearm to check if you were dreaming, and when nothing in front of you changes, a bright smile takes over your face.

“YES!” You hear yourself say, a little louder than you meant for it to sound. 

Leehan looks up slowly, as though he doesn’t believe your words. “Yes?”

“Yes.” You’re nodding excitedly. “Yes, of course.”

He sighs out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, pushing his hair back in relief. “Oh,... wow.” 

And then he’s zipping open his bag, pulling out something from its messy depths. 

“Aquarium tickets.” Leehan waves the two glossy blue strips in his hand, anticipating your reaction. 

Part of you wants to say, “Anywhere is fine, as long as I’m with you,” while another part wants to tease him with a “You want to introduce me to fish?”. 

But the first one is overeager for your pride, and the second is a moot sentence, given he’d already introduced you to the tens of fishes he kept in his bedroom. 

So you settle for a third, intermediate sentence—”Kim Leehan, an aquarium date is perfect.”

It earns you that blush you like so much; it lingers on his cheeks even when he’s bidding you a goodbye, his profile golden under the setting sun.

That night, you don’t think of ruined dates or supervillains; instead, your fantasies are full of Neverland and fish facts and turtles in love.

Leehan looks beautiful in blue, is your first thought.

The lights from the floor-to-ceiling glass tank cascades over his skin, dancing in cerulean ripples. His eyes remain transfixed on the candy floss-coloured jellyfish that float around lazily inside, and your eyes remain fixed on him.

“—are called the pink meanies, they’re ‘jellivorous’.” Leehan is rambling, poking a finger at the glass. “See those, the long thingies, those are their oral arms. That’s what they use to capture prey.”

You nod, listening through one ear, and tuning into the quirks in his voice with the other.

“And those,” He says at another display, “are moon jellies, these are turtle food. Oh, and those! Blue blubbers—we can eat them!”

Leehan’s excitement is infectious; soon you find yourself waiting for more facts on oceanic creatures​​—on small, spindly seahorses that slug about with their curly tails, stingrays that play hide and seek inside their tunneled enclosures, starfish you can touch with the pad of your fingers, tracing over their cold ridges, and a giant whale shark that floats by without sparing you a glance. 

The last attraction is the penguins. Leehan does not stop talking, giddier than any of the kids who press their sticky hands against the glass exhibit to ogle at the waddling array of tuxedos. 

“Some penguins mate for life,” He says fervently, “And, they propose with pebbles!”

“Pebbles?” You ask with a smile.

“Mm-hmm.” He nods with a force that almost knocks his glasses off his face. “The male gifts it to the female, and if she accepts, they build a nest together!”

“Woah! That’s adorable.” You grin. “What else?"

He thinks for a second, pressing his pointer finger to his lips, a habit you’ve grown familiar with. “...They...can recognise their partner’s call among thousands of other penguins.” His tone is quieter now, cheeks reddening with each word. “It’s called the cocktail party effect.”

“Oh.” 

Picking out a single voice even in a crowd of thousands screaming, an automatic reaction of the senses. The phenomenon is not a stranger to you.

You wonder if it’s the same for him.

When he clears his throat and looks away, switching the topic to baby penguins and moulting periods, you bite down your smile and let him pretend he’s successful at looking smooth. After a whole hour or two of meandering through the building, you end up in the aquarium’s gift shop.

There are rows of stuffed animals and merchandise stacked on shelves—cute seals in tiny jackets, huggable clownfish, the fuzziest beluga plushie you’ve ever seen. You and Leehan take several selfies holding matching items in your hands, smiling wide for the camera, not caring about the judgmental stares you receive from a class of twelve year olds. 

“This is so you.” You pick out a pair of bright blue novelty glasses from the display; it has a plastic shark on either side, biting the rims. 

He doesn’t push away or complain when you replace his own glasses with the party ones. 

You grin, switching to a sultry voice. “This is a hundred percent your look, Hannie baby.” 

Leehan almost short-circuits at the way you wink, catching onto the reference easily after you’d forced him to binge the TV show with you. He looks silly with the glasses on, but your smitten brain can only process it as absolutely adorable. 

“Cute.” You throw another compliment at him, not waiting for his mind to catch up before dragging him away to another rack.

There are magnets and keychains dangling from it—some with cheesy puns like ‘You’re jelly-fishtastic!’, or just simple, cute penguin-themed ones like ‘two birds of a feather’. Your hand absently outlines the latter, not seeing how Leehan’s eyes notice.

“We should get a pair to match.” He declares awkwardly, looking away, pretending to be preoccupied with his glasses.

“Huh?”

“We should-” He tries again, slowly meeting your eyes, making you remember that this was a date. “-get matching keychains, for our bags or something. I-I don’t have enough.”

You know that's a lie—he has several.

“-And you don’t have any, so…”

The employee greets Leehan as he pays for the two items, knowing him on a first name basis from his volunteering at the Aquarium. You press the keychain against your heart as he loops a finger through the ring of his.

“Y/N,” Leehan lets out softly, before either of you can step out through the exit, reaching out his hand. “There’s something I have to say.”

He’s going to do it.

He’s going to make it official and real and serious and your heart does a jump.

But if your fortune recently had proved anything, it was that everything good can be shattered by the sound of an annoying, unstopping, BEEEEEEEP!!!

The stupid alarm had gone off.

“Attention all visitors, this is an emergency—please evacuate through the nearest exit.” A robotised voice announces through the intercoms, doing nothing for the crowd that begins to panic and run. 

Leehan knows it without needing to be told, and you’re not dull either—it has to be a villain ambush, you can feel it in your gut that it is. 

“Stay here, okay?” He says and begins to take off, in the opposite direction from the exit you were ordered to leave through. No one bats an eye at the strange behaviour while they’re running for their own safety. 

You know you should follow the crowd, keep yourself away from harm and watch him through your comms instead. But the anxiety that bubbles up in your belly is alien, not the same as the pricks of fear you feel when he takes a dangerous tumble or comes home with a deeper gash than he’s supposed to.

Your feet moves before your mind does.

Two long shadows creep over the blue-lit flooring when you circle around a wall, the whale shark from before lurking languidly behind them.

“Awww…the incy wincy spidey’s come to play,” drawls out the short but frightening man in green, with mechanical tentacles like that of an octopus extending from his spine and holding him up mid-air, and black, oval glasses framing his hidden eyes. 

“Doc Ock.” Leehan mutters from behind his mask, annoyance apparent. “Why are you here?”

The man simply laughs in amusement. “Where else would an octopus be but the aquarium? You’re quite slow behind that mask of yours aren’t you?”

Leehan grits his teeth, the taunt needling at him. But he brushes it off after a second thought. “Stop wasting my time, let’s just get this over with.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He leers.

Before either says another word, a throng of metal arms come clawing at Leehan, aiming for his throat and another for his legs. But he’s too quick for the enemy, vaulting over the tentacles and bending his torso to avoid its touch. 

Instead of bashing into his body, the arms clang against the glass of the tank. Leehan winces.

“Oh?” Doc Ock’s brows raise curiously, striking it again to earn a second reaction. “You don’t like it when I do that, huh.” Not a question, just an observation.

Leehan’s temper rises as he continues to get provoked, almost getting distracted from dodging the next swipe of arms. The Doc only guffaws at Spider-Man’s surprising weakness.

You see it too—the delay in his reaction time, his movements more frantic and unplanned. It’s a danger to himself. 

Pulling out your phone, you turn on the speaker for the comms and whisper into it. “Don’t panic.”

Leehan’s change in demeanour is immediate. Your voice is his lighthouse—the rope that guides his motion back to safety and sanity. 

Every order you give him, he follows without doubt. From where you squat, your vision is limited, and the shadowed room is of no help through your phone camera, but you close your eyes and try to recollect the floor plan of the level, mentally mapping out the math required to pilot him through the maze of tanks and fish, directing what kind of kick or jab would get him through with minimal injury. 

It’s terrifying to know that his life is in your hands,…but he’s relying on you, and that’s all that matters. 

Unfortunately, the Doc is quick to catch onto your tactics, scarily perceptive. “Who’s in your ear? This isn’t a one man party is it…”

Leehan winces again, and his opponent knows he’s just found a bigger weakness—perhaps even Spider-Man’s Achilles’ heel. 

He sneers at the discovery. “Bingo!” Doc Ock’s arms smash into the glass behind Leehan, leaving a giant crack that splurts water out through it. Before Leehan can react, he backtracks away, not fearfully, just…towards where you are. 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE-” Leehan is yelling now, frantic with every step the man takes in your direction. “-THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND YOU. NO ONE ELSE."

“Hmm, apparently not.” The Doc grins eerily, trudging away.

Leehan can’t think straight, but then there’s a voice in his ears, calm and pragmatic as always. 

“Mend the glass with your web.” You say. 

He exhales once, and does as told. The stream of webs shoots out through his wrist and pastes itself like a thick blanket over the cracks, holding it together for the time being. 

By the time he sprints over, the man is hovering over you while you slink backwards against the wall, a fiercely unafraid look in your eyes.

Leehan knows it’s a bluff; he knows your pride—knows you. 

“So this is your little girlfriend, huh?” Doc slurs, creeping his robotic arms closer to you. “This should be interes-”

His sentence blows into a pained huff as Leehan lands a tight kick to his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

Forgoing banter and moves for show, Leehan simply punches to hurt now, a fist flying into any part of the man he can get a hand on—his jaw, the curve of his skull, even an elbow digging into his ribs without mercy. You’ve never seen him like this—angry. 

“I told you-” Leehan enunciates each word with a punch. “-That this was between you and I, you jerk.”

By the time he’s done, the man is a jumble of webs, metal arms, and bloody wounds. Sirens blare outside, footsteps approaching soon after, police radio going off somewhere distant as you begin to get escorted away. 

“Wait-” You reach for Leehan, needing to know if he’s alright.

Instead of welcoming you into his arms, he turns away, voice taut when he says to a nearby officer, “Take her to safety. She’s still a student.”

Your heart stops at his chilly tone. 

“Bu-” The protests die in your mouth when you feel yourself being tugged away by a woman in uniform, one last look of Leehan’s torn back burning into your wet eyes. 

In some sick, twisted way of the universe granting you your wish—everything changes overnight.

It’s bright outside, but it’s raining—a sunshower. Your mom calls it a fox rain, and you've always pictured two foxes in love getting wed to each other in a dewy meadow every time it happened. But today, all you feel is gloom.

You’ve tried calling Leehan several times, but each time it goes straight to his voicemail—a jingle from some television ad he used to watch as a child. His mom tells you he isn’t feeling well, holed up in his room from a fever, but you know that’s a lie when Spider-Man still shows up on the news—both under articles that praise him for his deeds, as well as those that criticise him for his shortcomings.

“Spider-Man lets go of two wanted criminals this month—is heroism truly worth it?” —The titles are brutal, no acknowledgement of the lives he has saved.

When you try to access the comms, you find that he's shut the feed off from his side, nothing but static in your ear. He’s gone complete radio silence on you.

You want to be there for him, see if he’s okay—but at the same time, your pride is sharp and unforgiving.

Your frustration only gets worse when you fumble around everywhere to find your penguin keychain and come up short. 

“He’s so mean.” You mumble into his jacket that he had left with you, laying squished up against your pillows, letting a sniffle out as a tear drops onto it. Your chest hollows at the realisation that his scent has begun to leave the material, and you might never have it back again. “Mean and stupid…stupid, stupid, Leehan.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Comes a voice, quiet. 

Your head whips over like it has many times before, and like all the other times, Leehan sits perched on the sills of your half-open window.

Leehan, not Spider-Man—no suit to be seen, hair and shirt drenched, glasses askew, jeans soaked with dark splotches, and that wrecked look on his gentle face. 

“Leehan?”

“Y/N.” He gulps, not crossing over the boundary.

You find yourself getting up, inching closer, but you stop two feet away from him, wary of his comfort around you now.

“You’re mad at me.” You say, wiping at your wet cheeks. 

He shakes his head. “I could never be.”

You see him dig into his jeans pocket, fishing out a metallic trinket—the penguin keychain—yours. He tosses it to you and you catch it in one hand. 

“You dropped it inside the gift shop.”

He'd gone back for it. But a ‘thanks’ struggle to make it past your lips.

The air is stiff around you and it’s hard to breathe when he looks at you like that, eyes rimmed with fatigue, something fragile behind it you’re too scared to test.

Finally, after searching your face for what feels like an eternity, he whispers, “You shouldn’t have come back inside there,...I told you to stay.” 

Your fist tightens. “You needed me.” It’s factual, no space for argument. “You would have died if I hadn’t-”

“AND YOU WOULD HAVE DIED IF I WAS A SECOND TOO LATE.”

You freeze.

Leehan is huffing wildly, eyes blown wide in exasperation and his teeth gritted. Once the first few words spill out, the rest follow like a freight train, “He could have hurt you, he almost did! I told you-”

“YOU DON’T GET TO!” Now you’re matching his volume, anger and sadness bubbling up. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t answer to you, Spider-Man.”

His jaw tenses at the way you address him—distant, cruel—like a suckerpunch to his innards, worse than any hit he's taken.

“And what about me—Leehan?” He asks.

Your voice is tense. “What about you?”

“...Do I mean nothing to you?”

His voice cracks around the edges, making your fingers twitch to reach out and smoothen the furrow on his forehead. You dig the keychain into your palm to stop yourself.

Then you say, “If you meant nothing, why would I have run back inside to look for you,...why do I always look for you?”

“You-” He shakes his head. “It’s not safe.”

“You should take your own advice.” You bite back, furious. “Did I not say it before, did I not make you promise to keep my friend safe? And you’re still jumping into danger like some cocky hero with a savior complex and no survival instinct.”

“I didn’t-”

“Yes. Yes, you did. You were turning into less of Leehan and more of Spider-Man and I was there to see all of it.”

“I just-” He sighs. “I just wanted you to like me.”

“Yeah?” You scoff. “And now?”

“...Now...I don’t know if we should…”

And that does it. If you were heated before, your anger slowly stiffens into something harsher, his words seeping in like excuses than worry.

“If you don’t want me anymore just say so, I don’t like wasting my time or yours,” you say, beginning to turn away. 

That should be it; he should leave, never come back, and put an end to this ugly in-between stage that your friendship balanced on—always running, always a good-bye and never an admission of feelings. It should end there, but-

“Don’t you get it, Y/N?” Leehan sounds broken. “I wish I could be selfish...I wish I was allowed to want you.” 

Raindrops rattle against the glass panes of your window. The world is in limbo, and your mind is a suspended mess of thoughts.

“Why can’t you just…want me?” You don’t turn around yet, but your voice is desperate beneath the exhaustion, shoulders slumping as the weight of his words come crushing down onto your chest. “Why do you have to ask…why can’t it just be you and me, both Y/N and Leehan, and Y/N and Spider-Man?

“I was your friend first, and then your partner. You don’t get to push me away as either.”

You twist to see Leehan’s eyes soften, to hear him say, “I’m scared to lose you.”

It’s not an I love you, but from him, it might as well be the same. 

“You won’t.” You stand your ground, taking one step forward. “I won’t let you.”

A wistful laugh escapes him, quiet. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Y/N.”

Another step forward, and you whisper, meeting his eyes with a weak smile, “Yeah, but those are the best kind.”

Neither of you know when it happens—when the tension finally snaps. 

A shuffle of feet, Leehan’s other leg moving across the ledge and into your room, the sound of water dripping off his clothes and onto the carpet. He’s ripping his glasses off with one hand to abandon it somewhere on the floor, the other coming to curl around your waist, your feet leaving the floor as he lifts you up. Your hand finds the line of his jaw, cool under your touch, and the keychain slips out of your hold.

Kissing him is like being starved of oxygen and having the first taste of it all at once. It’s frantic, messy, heated; his hair is sopping cold under the tangle of your fingers, lips warm against yours. He kisses the same way he rambles about fish—a string of frenzied excitement, afraid that he'll lose foothold if he were to stop once he starts. And you really did miss his rambles.

Your mouth moves before your brain does. “Eager, aren’t you, bug boy?” You smirk against him, but he’s dipping back down without granting you a response.

You don’t protest—not when he leans down deeper, pulling out a soft gasp from you. Not when the back of your knee bumps against the bed frame, and definitely not when you end up tangled over the blanket, grinning into the smaller, less languid kisses that follow. 

“I like being the only one who gets to see you like this,” he admits as he nuzzles into your neck, “messy and not the perfect school prez everyone knows.”

Your eyes narrow, tone dipping in warning. “Are you saying I’m not perfect?”

He freezes against your shoulder, blinking like a deer in headlights. “I-” He coughs. “That’s not what I-”

Just like you thought—it’s still fun as ever to tease the poor boy,...or you suppose, to tease your ‘boyfriend’ now.

“Have I told you you’re cute when you’re scared of me?” You grin, poking at his cheek as he sulks.

Leehan doesn’t complain though, despite what his puffed out cheeks might imply, not when he finally gets to have you. 

He doesn’t leave for the night. You fall asleep in his arms, not a care in the world that your clothes are soaked to the core, sticking to skin uncomfortably. 

When you wake up, the sun is still shining, glinting against the keychain and glasses on the floor, and Leehan is still snug against you, and his jacket finally smells like him again.

Being Spider-Man might just be one of the best jobs in the world. 

6:30 AM

It’s routine now, not in need of a narration. He perches, he listens, there’s a fight, yada yada yada…

His moves are snappier now, no wasteful energy lest you scold his ears off for it—banter not completely abandoned, but only because he enjoys hearing you chide him through the comms when he throws out another pun at a fray criminal that has both you and the poor guy groaning in exasperation.

7:15 AM

With more time during summer mornings, he spends them either chasing after robbers, or protecting civilians on the road in the more accident-prone spots. Your voice echoes in his ear, your smile in his mind, and it keeps him going. 

7:50 AM

Shiny buildings flash past him as he swings above the city, the crowd below looking like ants in his vision. He’s always been speeding—chasing after things, running away from feelings, scared, awkward, too timid to try. But for once, he really looks. 

The city is really beautiful from up here, he thinks.

8:00 AM

In between his daily missions, he always finds time to drop by your window as you multitask working on your inventions while also keeping his comms active. He’s hanging upside down, more like a bat than a spider, eager for you to come greet him.

“Hey there, bug boy.” You grin, reaching over to pull his mask down, letting the long strands of his brown hair flop downwards. He’s pouting, so you correct yourself with a roll of your eyes. “Hey there, babe.”

This earns you a sweet smile. 

You lean in, placing a gentle peck over his upside down lips, drawing out one of his signature blushes. 

Some mornings, he’ll tell you to go sleep in even when you protest. On others, he convinces you to join him, pretending like you’re on some grand escapade as he swings with you in his arms, careful as ever to not let you go.

He admits it—being Spider-Man is one of the best jobs in the world. Even if it comes with public scrutiny and pressure, he knows he can do it as long as he gets to return home to your proud expression and safe arms. 

He loves the way you say, “Go get 'em, bug boy” and how he gets to respond with a cool “Will do, babe”, even if he’s grinning like a fool behind his mask.

There are several perks to being Spider-Man—there’re the awesome super-powers of course, the celebrity status, the admiration he receives from civilians and villains alike…they’re all great.

But Leehan has to admit—nothing really beats being your boyfriend.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ──ORIGINAL | SEQUEL | FINALE [½] | [2/2]

SERIES MASTERLIST

ᯓᡣ𐭩 this is in honour of 21 turning 21 today—happy birthday to the man spiderhan of my dreams aka the projection of all my nerdy fanatasies! may all your fishes wishes come true ᯓᡣ𐭩

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ──── love(bug) asks!

❦tl: @pupillary @ilysungho @lovehakie @leehanaholic @ivxae @ramizluv @moesthinking @gentiliana @athenaisonlinee @wnouzi @amarecerasus @defnotsanni @cl4ir0l0v3r @knrejj  @fayepz @nemoihan @ruuroom @woonbabie @qeeun-didi @i-am-not-dal @sssarahh @kazukazukiiii @chocorenchin @srpntskrt @yoonzns @stanhimbos @jusskla @mixxie2203 @momnjam @jusskla @username-111222333444555 @mwotgata @tenshi-sama

𓆝 ⋆. thank you for the support, ily ♡⸝⸝

❦ networks: @k-records ❦ div creds: @saradika-graphics

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 ──── inbox always open!

my masterlist , upcoming works

The voice only laughed harder in response, and he rolled his eyes, shoving the stupid dog away. Immediately the voice’s owner was at his side, helping him upright, and he finally gave into a grin as his daughter looked up at him with her one-toothed smile.

Quite a bit different from the one-toothed smile he remembered from when she was a baby, but he was more than okay with that.

“I remember this perro,” Coco said, and she put that same emphasis on the word that she did every time she said it. (She’d had memory problems late in life, he’d been told, and it only made his heart swell more that she’d held onto his memory, even through that.) “Miguel called him Dante and tried to keep him a secret. But I don’t remember him being these colors…”

“Ah, well.” Héctor reached down, scratching Dante behind the ears as the dog chewed on his own arm. “He’s an alebrije—a spirit guide. Miguel’s, to be exact!” He went to ruffle the stray hairs on the dog’s head, but the alebrije bolted away, running in circles as he chased his own tail. “They come to people who need guidance, and… he led Miguel to me.”

“Oh? I think someone needs more treats, then.”

The dog’s head shot up, and he bolted up to Coco, barking and wagging his tail.

“Oh no, no, Rosita spoils him enough,” Héctor said, shaking his head.

“I see.” Coco bent down to pet the dog, who whined before turning around to inspect something else in the courtyard. “So he’s like Pepita, then?”

“Sí. I think Pepita’s a bit smarter, though.” He watched as Dante seemed to take notice of his wings before trying to bite them, snapping his mouth on thin air and running in dizzying circles with the attempt. Héctor winced. “A bit.”

“…She is mamá’s spirit guide,” Coco said slowly. “But I didn’t get one.”

“Not everyone gets one, mija,” he said gently. “But believe me, those two are enough to handle.”

Coco turned to look up at him, her brow furrowed. “You don’t have one, papá?”

Héctor faltered, the words a sudden jab to his ribcage. “Er… n-no.” He looked away, gripping his wrist and knowing what his daughter was thinking. No one had told her the full story yet, but she knew that he and Imelda had only been back for a short while before she’d arrived—barely a month. And even then, they were not fully reconciled. Héctor occupied a small bedroom in the house, once a guest room, rather than sharing his wife’s bedroom.

A quiet scoff broke him out of his thoughts. “Dante led Miguelito to you… You should have had a spirit guide to lead you back to mamá.”

Héctor choked out a laugh to hide the tightness in his throat. “Well! Things, um…” He looked over at Dante, who was now sitting still, watching him with a tilted head and what almost appeared to be a concerned look.

His mind provided him with a similar image of a different alebrije--one who would also give him concerned looks whenever he did things that, ultimately, never helped him. He then recalled the saddened appearance she sometimes had, her ear-wings drooping and her wings draped around his face, whenever they grieved together... and the delighted expression that would figuratively light up her face and literally light up the markings on her wings as she fluttered and swooped over his head, creating strands of color that weaved through the air in time to his music.

And he remembered the frantic, wild, terrified look on her face when, after all she did for him, he ultimately chased her away.

Clearing his throat, he turned aside, and pretended to adjust his hat as he wiped under his eye sockets. “Things don’t always work out like that.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Dante gave a quiet whimper. But Héctor shook himself, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Ah, but I have you again, mija, and that’s all that matters. Now c’mon, let’s see how your mamá’s doing in the workshop!”

With that, he led her toward the separate building, where the rest of the Riveras were happily continuing the business they had started in life. But as they walked, he glanced over his shoulder, looking up toward the clouds.

.

Distractions

Chapter 5

“You're on!”  Chris flashed his brother a confident grin.  “There's no way you're going to find more zebra-tailed lizards than I am.  I've got a full analysis of their habits right here – it'll lead me straight to them!”

He waved his Creature Pod tantalizingly in front of his brother's face – a move he instantly regretted when Martin deftly plucked the communicator from his hand and, holding it just slightly above Chris's head, began to scroll through its contents.  A teasing grin and a removal of the Creature Pod to a level even farther out of his reach were all Chris got for his efforts to snatch the device out of his brother's grasp, but eventually, the older Kratt relented.  

“Pretty impressive, bro,” he acknowledged, handing it back, and Chris felt a small glow of pride overtake his mild feelings of annoyance.  “You know...”

He trailed off unexpectedly, and Chris, glancing up in surprise, was puzzled to see his smile fading, a tiny crease appearing between his brows.  The younger brother wasn't quite sure what to make of the uncharacteristic expression, but he did know that he didn't like it one bit, so he decided to try a little gentle teasing of his own.  “What's the matter?  Afraid I'm going to win?”

Martin shook his head quickly, the frown vanishing as Chris had hoped.  “No way.  I’ve just got to think like a zebra-tail.  Besides–”  Shifting his gaze a little to the left, he matched his brother's earlier grin with one of his own.  “I’ve got something you don’t have.”

“What's that?”

The grin widened.  “A head start.”

Chris whirled around.  Squinting in the bright sunlight, he could just make out a trim little reptile, almost perfectly camouflaged against the desert soil save for the distinctive black-and-white tail curled over its back.  Pushing itself up on its slender legs, the lizard eyed the brothers warily, its tail now waving from side to side like a tiny flag.  Then, without warning, it turned and bolted, skittering away across the sandy plain in a surprising burst of speed.  Martin gave a whoop and sprinted after it.

Chris stared after him for a moment, then shook his head, chuckling to himself.  “You'll never catch him,” he called to his brother's retreating back, but of course Martin knew that.  He was running for the sheer joy of it – and perhaps, Chris realized belatedly, a touch of competitive spirit.  “Guess I'd better get a move on,” the younger Kratt mused, although he wasn't really worried.  Martin could more than hold his own when it came to creature knowledge, and his methods, though occasionally rather unorthodox, were generally very effective, but Chris was confident that his more analytical approach would put him over the top.  Pausing to consult his Creature Pod once more, he headed off in a slightly different direction than the one his brother had taken, the one that – statistically speaking – should possess the highest concentration of zebra-tails.   The race was on.

.

.

Chris paused at the mouth of a small, wooded canyon.  He'd had quite a bit of success on the surrounding slopes, but the more abundant vegetation and the small stream running through the ravine made it unlikely that he'd spot many lizards down here.  Still, the shade was inviting, a good place to cool off with a long drink of water after chasing around in the hot desert sun.  Wiping his brow, Chris settled himself against the trunk of a large cottonwood tree and uncorked his canteen.  His eyes roamed over the surrounding rocks and trees as he drank, always on the watch for any creatures that might be nearby, but everything seemed to be quiet.  

Perhaps too quiet.  The younger Kratt frowned.  It wasn't uncommon for desert-dwelling animals to retreat to their burrows and dens during the midday heat, but this stillness had an unnatural quality, one that sent a faint prickle up the back of his neck.  Replacing the cap on his water bottle, he stood up abruptly and began to move farther into the wash.   

He was almost on top of them before he realized what he was seeing: a pair of cougar kittens, not more than two or three months old, their spotted coats blending in with the leaf litter in the dappled shade.  They appeared to be engaged in a bout of playful wrestling, their oversized paws wrapped around each other, one set of tiny teeth nipping at a wayward tail.  Chris drew in his breath with a hiss, understanding all at once both what was wrong with the scene and why it was that he hadn't noticed them earlier.  The cubs were not moving.  

Chris's lips tightened.  Glancing farther up the ravine, he saw his suspicions confirmed by the familiar pink jet parked near the water's edge, and a small sigh escaped him.  He'd known it was only a matter of time before they ran into Donita again, but he had hoped for his brother's sake that they might be able to put it off a little longer.  But abandoning the young cougars was out of the question – and besides, he had to admit that there was definitely something to be said for simply getting this first meeting out of the way.  Withholding another sigh, he pulled out his Creature Pod and hailed his brother.  

“Looks like we’ve got a creature rescue on our hands,” he reported, fingers flying as he keyed in his coordinates.  “Two cougar cubs in suspended animation.  Donita’s got her jet parked down here by the stream, but I don't see her or Dabio.”

He thought he saw his brother flinch, just slightly, but it could have been a flicker in the transmission.  In any case, all Martin said was, “I'll be right there.”

.

. 

Martin quickened his pace as he neared his brother's location, his heart thudding unpleasantly in his chest for reasons that had very little to do with the effort of navigating the rocky terrain.  Truth be told, he’d had a bad feeling about this adventure from the start, but he couldn’t tell whether there was actually anything unusual amiss or whether it stemmed from what he considered an extremely cowardly desire to avoid seeing Donita again.  He’d vowed not to allow what had happened between them to interfere with doing his job, and he intended to keep that promise, but there was no denying that it had been a lot easier to focus when the possibility of coming face-to-face with her wasn’t lurking in the back of his mind.  It doesn't change anything, he told himself sternly.  And those cubs need your help.

Cresting the ridge that bordered the wash on that side, he felt his stomach give a nervous twist in spite of all his resolve as he caught sight of the pink jet perched on the gravelly bank, but it was the scene closer to the mouth of the ravine that stopped him dead in his tracks, almost paralyzed with horror.  Chris was bending over the cubs with his Creature Pod in hand, absorbed in conducting some kind of bio-scan and completely unaware of the fully-grown female emerging from a clump of bushes behind him.  From her narrowed eyes and the way she was lashing her tail, two things were very evident: she was the cubs’ mother, and she was not happy.

Martin snatched his own Creature Pod from his pocket – nearly dropping it in his haste – and hurriedly rang his brother's device.  “Hey, bro!” came the cheerful greeting.  “I–”

“Shh!” Martin hissed sharply.  Chris broke off, giving him a puzzled glance.  “Don’t make any sudden movements,” the older brother warned, his voice barely above a whisper, but crystal-clear in its intensity. “Mama cougar at 6 o’clock.  Repeat, mama cougar at 6 o’clock.”  

Chris’s eyes widened, the smile wiped from his face, and Martin felt his own eyes being drawn skyward in the fleeting, desperate hope of spotting a peregrine falcon whose creature powers he might borrow to swoop down and get his brother out of there.  But the vast expanse of blue above him remained clear and empty, unbroken by any shadow of wings, and he reluctantly turned his gaze back toward the ground.  

“I’m on my way down,” he assured his brother, starting down what seemed to be the most direct path to the bottom of the slope.  “Just turn around very slowly and–”

“–try to back away from the cubs,” Chris finished, nodding.  The terrible, frozen look was gone, and Martin could almost see him scrolling through the myriad creature facts stored in his encyclopedic memory, pulling out the ones he could use to formulate a strategy.  The younger brother nodded again, giving his sibling a small smile.  “Got it.  See you soon.”  Cutting the call, he took a deep breath and began rising slowly to his feet.

Making his way down the incline as quickly as he dared, Martin felt his stomach twist once again as he watched his brother turn to face the angry female.  He was sure that Chris's plan was a solid one – the two of them were no strangers to dealing with agitated creatures, after all – but the cougar is one of the most fiercely protective mothers in the animal world, and the younger Kratt was walking a very fine line, needing to retreat without provoking her chase instinct, while simultaneously making himself appear both too insignificant to be a threat to the cubs and too intimidating to be prey.

He seemed to be managing it, however.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he spread his arms and legs wide and held his ground for a moment, then lowered his hands, assuming a slightly more submissive posture, and began to edge away from the cubs.  The mother allowed him to retreat a short distance as she glided swiftly toward her offspring, but on giving them a nudge and finding them unresponsive, she let out a distressed whine, then growled low in her throat and began to pursue him.  

Martin had been approaching cautiously, trying not to alarm her further, but it was manifestly too late for that now.  Breaking into a run, he charged down the embankment, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his voice in a frantic attempt to draw her attention away from his brother.

For a moment, it appeared to have worked.  Flattening her ears, the mother turned and moved a few steps in his direction, her teeth bared in a snarl.  “Come on, come on,” Martin urged her under his breath.  Another step, and Chris, seeing his opportunity, made a dash for a nearby tree, grabbing hold of a low-hanging branch and swinging himself up onto it.  

But whatever relief Martin might have felt was extinguished almost immediately as the mother, apparently unwilling to relinquish her original quarry, turned back toward the younger Kratt with a menacing growl.  One quick leap, and she was beneath the tree, swinging her powerful forepaw toward the human she believed to have endangered her cubs.  Chris let out a cry of pain as her claws raked across the back of his leg.

“No!”  Martin's anguished, answering cry echoed off the surrounding rocks.  Chris was scrambling up the trunk, trying to get himself out of reach, but his injured leg buckled under his weight, and he slipped, barely managing to catch hold of the lowest branch to avoid plummeting to the ground.  Clinging tightly with both hands, he tried desperately to hoist the rest of his body up onto it while the cougar paced below him.  

Lungs burning, muscles screaming, Martin raced toward the pair, faster than he had ever run in his life.  He had to get to Chris, had to help him somehow, but the distance between them didn't seem to be getting any smaller, and suddenly he knew, with a cold certainty that almost brought him to his knees, that he would never make it in time.  

But he still had one move remaining, one surefire way to distract her.  It was crazy, possibly bordering on suicidal, but what else could he do?  Letting out another yell, he pivoted and changed course, heading straight for the cubs.  

He thought he heard, as though from a long way off, the sound of Chris's voice screaming out his name, but he couldn't think about that now.  Every ounce of his attention was riveted on the mother as she started toward him with another terrible snarl, every movement a reaction to hers.  If he drew back too soon, she would lose interest in him and turn back to Chris as she'd done before.  Too late, and... well, he preferred not to dwell on that.  

Five more steps, Martin told himself, praying that he'd bought his brother enough time to make it to safety.  Three more... two...

He hit the brakes, sending up a shower of pebbles as he skidded to a stop a scant few yards from the cubs.  Fighting the overpowering urge to simply turn and bolt, he held his position for a few seemingly interminable seconds before beginning to back away, retreating slowly and deliberately in the opposite direction from the tree.  

The mother paused in her advance, eying him suspiciously.  Martin met her gaze as steadily as he could – a last-ditch display of a strength he was far from feeling – but he could see the powerful muscles under her tawny coat, coiled and ready to spring, and he felt his own muscles tighten in response, equally prepared to dodge the attack.

All at once, the ground between them seemed to come alive in a wriggling mass of spotted fur.  The startled female jumped, not forward, but back, wide-eyed, as the cubs came hurtling toward her; the next moment, she had launched herself at them with a volley of ecstatic purrs, licking and pawing them all over as though to assure herself that they were all right, while they snuggled into her comforting warmth.

The undeniable tenderness of the scene brought a soft smile to Martin's face as he watched, even though he knew that he and perhaps Chris were still in very real danger.  The little family seemed so absorbed in one another, however, that he thought it just might be possible to slip away and rejoin his brother without being noticed.  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began shifting his weight to his back foot, but before he'd taken even a single step, the mother glanced up sharply, her golden eyes flashing.  Martin froze, hardly daring to breathe, as she directed a long, penetrating look at him, then back at Chris.  At last, she turned and, giving her cubs a final nuzzle, led them away into the underbrush.

Martin stood gazing after them, held fast by wonder and amazement, until the tip of the last tail had disappeared from view.  Then, letting out a long breath, he turned and began hurrying toward the tree, where Chris, who had been cautiously making his way down from the higher branches, now dropped to the ground, his trademark skilled landing deteriorating into an awkward semi-collapse as his wounded leg gave way beneath him.  

“Chris!”  Martin put on a final burst of speed, almost falling to his knees at his brother's side. His normally bright brown eyes wore a slightly glazed expression, and Martin bit his lip, hoping desperately that he wasn't going into shock.  “Chris?” he called again, more softly, as he reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.  “Bro?”

The younger Kratt jumped.  “Martin... I... you–”  Chris shuddered convulsively, burying his face in his brother's shoulder.

“It's okay,” Martin whispered, although he too was shaking.  “It's okay.”  He hardly even knew what he was saying, pure older-brother instinct taking over as he struggled to absorb the full impact of what had just taken place, and it was only the knowledge that Chris was still bleeding that induced him to loosen his hold on his brother.  He drew in a deep, slightly ragged breath, then another, fighting to hold back the tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both.  “Let's– let's take a look at that leg of yours, huh?”

Chris nodded and sat back, extending the injured limb with a wince while Martin dug the first-aid kit out of his pocket and set about cleaning and examining the wounds.  He worked in silence for a few minutes, both brothers lost in their own thoughts once more, but the familiar – perhaps too familiar – motions carried with them a sense of normalcy that was oddly soothing, and he soon felt his hands growing steadier, the specter of what could have been receding for the moment in the face of practical necessity.

“Well, it could’ve been a lot worse,” he reported at last, sitting back on his heels with a relieved-sounding exhale as he reached back into his kit for a roll of bandages.  “You're probably going to need a few stitches once we get back to the Tortuga, but it doesn't look like there's any major damage.  He gave his brother a crooked smile.  “But no more tree-climbing for a couple of days, at least.”

Chris nodded absently, and Martin noted with affectionate amusement the intent expression that meant that he was puzzling over some question or other.  Injury or no, the younger Kratt was never one to leave a mystery unsolved for very long.  Sure enough, as Martin began wrapping a final layer of gauze around his brother’s leg, Chris's head abruptly snapped up.  “How did the cubs get free?” he demanded.

Martin blinked, a bit taken aback.  Honestly, the question hadn’t even crossed his mind until now.  He’d been stunned to see the cubs suddenly come to life, and almost dizzy with relief when their mother had decided to put an end to the confrontation, but once she and her babies had vanished into the underbrush, he’d had no time for analysis, no thought to spare for anything but Chris.   “I… don’t know,” he started to say, but even as he spoke, he found his gaze being drawn back upstream with the dawning realization of what must have happened.  

Donita was standing beside the jet with the controller in her hand, watching the two brothers with an odd expression on her face.  When her eyes met Martin's, she smiled, ever so slightly.  Slowly, almost unconsciously, he got to his feet, the roll of gauze trailing forgotten from his hand, and for a long moment neither of them moved or spoke.  

“All ready, Donita!”  Dabio's cheerful voice shattered the silence.  

Donita gave a start.  She looked down at Martin for another moment, then turned slowly, deliberately, back toward the jet, sauntering up the ramp in her high-heeled boots.  When she reached the top, she paused, throwing another smile over her shoulder – a smile much more like the confident, slightly flirtatious one she usually wore – and fluttered her fingers in a tiny wave. Then the doors closed behind her and she was gone.

Chris let out a long breath as the aircraft streaked off across the sky, growing smaller and smaller in the distance until it was lost from sight.  “Why'd she do it?” he wondered aloud.  “Did she want us to feel like we owe her one?”  He cast a sidelong glance at his brother, the teasing note of weeks past now conspicuously absent from his voice.  “Or do you think she really...?”