#threat

you'd been hyper aware of everything since you were young whether it was a glass about to fall, a gunshot seconds before it went off, or the exact spot the first raindrop in a storm would land.

no one ever knew why, but they knew you were special, so you were thrust into a dozen "gifted" programs when all you could really do was see a few seconds into the future. not a big deal.

okay—maybe it is a big deal, but you don't want it to be. you're trying to be normal. you're just the girl who works at the barnes & nobles on campus, helps her brother with homework, and visits her family on the weekends. really.

tonight, it's december first, eight pm. you're walking home from your night shift, the streets of seattle dreary and empty. the only sounds are your footsteps echoing on the pavement and ocassional puddle—and then someone else's.

"hey! wha—" you start, just before you're shoved to the ground and everything gets white and heavy and hurting. whoever it is, they're on top of you, pinning you down and trying to drag you somewhere.

your eyes flutter open long enough to see a blur of brown hair and red fabric streak past.

"that's no way to treat a lady," someone jokes, and just like that, the weight lifts off of your chest. you scramble back until your spine hits the side of a van, your hands scraping the concrete as you do so. you're shaking, panting, watching.

spiderman–yes, the real one, fighting for you.

just as relief and excitement start to kick in, someone else grabs you and pulls you up by the arm.

"spiderman!" you shout, thrashing. In what looks like a single motion, both men are webbed to the sidewalk along with the van tires, their limbs stuck and squirming.

"damn," spiderman mutters, a slight texan tinge to their voice, before brushing hair out of their face. "oh, hey. sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm spiderman, y'know, if you couldn't tell by the suit." they say before dialing the police.

"yeah, I can see that," you say, breathless.

"oh, fuck off," they laugh, nudging your shoulder with theirs. "I was trynna be nice."

oh.

oh.

your bodies touch—and suddenly, your head goes quiet for the first time in your entire life.

"wait," you whisper, reaching out and gently hanging up the phone in their hand.

"wha–hey! that's my phone, what the hell? are you okay?" they ask, trying to grab it and failing.

"no–but I think I will be if you don't leave."

they laugh before snatching it back with a web. "okay, no time for jokes, short stuff. I mean, I know I'm cool and all, but I can't be that cool and I really gotta drop these guys off. uh, maybe I'll see you around?"

you try to speak—but before you can they're gone. the webs, the blur of red and brown, and the relaxed voice.

and just like that, the visions are back.

the next week, you searched everywhere for them.

you put up flyers with your number. scoured local seattle forums. talked to their biggest fans. you even read the newspapers–printed, crinkly ones still being made in 2025, and you still had no luck.

your last hope was that road. yeah, that road—the same place you'd almost gotten kidnapped. let's just say you don't have the best survival instincts. the same stretch of pavement where everything had gone quiet in your head.

maybe it was stupid or foolish or desperate, whatever it could be called–but you had to find her. you needed to.

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It's thursday when it happens.

you're walking that same road—coffee in one hand, other shoved deep in your hoodie pocket, hood up, head down. the winter air stings your cheeks, and you're honestly not expecting anything after three days of radio silence. just walking, just thinking, and just trying not to think too loud.

and then someone nearly knocks into you, shoulder clipping yours so hard you stumble.

"shit—sorry," she says.

you freeze.

that voice.

you know it. sharp, sarcastic, always like whoever it belongs to is trying not to sound nervous.

you look up, and she's already turning like she's going to keep walking. a gray hoodie's clinging loosely to her body, her hair looks tussled, and there's a grocery bag in her left hand like she's any other college student.

but then she sees your face.

"… oh. fuck," she mumbles.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you blink. twice.

"you."

"me," she says flatly, eyes darting around.

"spiderman?"

"spiderman."

you step forward. "It's you."

"I didn't think you'd—uh—hi," she says awkwardly, looking around. "please don't scream."

you furrow your brows. "why would I scream?"

"you did last time."

"you were saving me from being kidnapped."

"fair," she pauses, "okay, but—why are you here again? like, here specifically? most people don't like almost being kidnapped."

you sighed, eyes not leaving her face. "I was looking for you."

a moment passes.

her eyes widen.

"dude."

"what?"

"you—you said that. the okay thing—oh my god," she runs a hand down her face. "I literally thought I hallucinated that part."

"yeah, no, I'm real, and you touched me, and you touched me, so the world really did stop screaming in my head, and then you left. so now I'm kind of going crazy."

she winces. "that's… my bad."

"'your bad?'" you laugh, mostly in disbelief.

"I didn't really know! I was saving you and you distracted me while I was trying to call the police, I wasn't trying to, like, break your brain or whatever."

"well you didn't 'break' it, you fixed it. just for a few seconds."

that shuts her up. she looks at you, quiet, and something in her expression softens like she’s trying really hard not to let herself care and failing a little anyway.

"no," she pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, "I can't talk to you. my mentor, uh, joel–fuck, I'm saying too much–said to never get attached to civillians. but you're cool. but should I?"

"too late, I already know what you look like, and oh, that's smart," you laugh, "your backpack has your name on it."

"oh," she looked over her shoulder, "c'mon! that's totally not fair. you wouldn't."

"I would."

"fine… not like I was really gonna stop talking anyway. you wanna... go somewhere?" she asks, wincing like it'll hurt if you say no. "like, to get a coffee?"

"I already have a coffee."

she sighs. "fine. I'll get a coffee and you can watch me drink it like a weirdo. or get another one."

you grin. "deal."

she looks at you like she doesn't get why you're smiling, but part of her likes it anyway.

so the two of you walk together, side by side, shoes hitting the pavement in rhythm. and for the first time in days, your head isn't so loud because she's right there.

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the shop is comforting in an almost artificial way. Its overhead lights are a little too warm, its name "aroom" on the menu in big letters, and its music a little too good. you claim the small booth in the corner while she orders, her hood still up, and there she is at the counter. bouncing on her heels like it’s taking every ounce of strength not to turn invisible.

you watch her. you can't help it. there's something so strangely familiar about the way she moves. something endearing and elusive at once. like she's been carrying the weight of a city and still doesn't know how to hold a conversation, or thinks she loves the city but also thinks her job's like picking glass out of her teeth.

she slides into the booth across from you and sets down a coffee with a flourish.

"for your viewing pleasure," she says, sipping dramatically.

"nice, I can't wait to watch you hydrate, williams."

she chuckles. "so, what's your name again? I'm bad with 'em, sorry."

"you never asked me the first time."

"well I'm asking now."

"why? so you can forget it?"

"okay," she glares in mock-offense, the wolfish smile pulling at her lips contradicting her. "I was mid-fight and also, I'm really, really forgetful. you can't expect perfect manners during an attempted kidnapping and definitely not good memory from me."

"I can expect some things after, though. like your name."

she grins, rests her chin on her fist. "you already know that. It's ellie. ellie williams."

you blink. "no, the real one."

she blinks. "what?"

"I don't know, I figured maybe the name on your backpack was fake. you know, a coverup? no seriously, what's your real name? wait, no, let me guess."

"..."

"..."

"sarah?"

"sarah?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose. "God, no. I don't look like a 'sarah.' that's my sister's name."

"wow. ellie. I like it but, I feel like your parents could've done better."

"wow, you're rude, and confident... or dumb enough to be rude to," she looks around and gets quieter, "the spiderman."

"well you're avoidant, I would know after looking for you for, like, forever, and being spiderman doesn't mean you're invincible," you say, smiling into your cup.

she leans back, laughing a little at you. "I haven't talked to someone like this in a long time. 's kinda, nice? being a superhero doesn't come with many friends."

"yeah, me either. It is."

there's a silence that settles between you. not really awkward, just a strange quiet that lingers beneath the surface of your chest. you take another sip, and she picks at the sleeve of her hoodie.

"you really meant it, huh?" she finally says, voice a little lower. "the stuff about your head."

"yeah. It's like constant flashes or trying to talk with ten tvs playing inside your brain. It's always there, even when I sleep, and then you touched me and it all just... went away."

ellie's face falters for a second. just a blink. like your words hit something she didn't know was sore.

"shit," she mutters. "that sounds—awful."

you shrug again. "It's my normal."

"and I interrupted that normal," she says like it's her fault.

"you didn’t interrupt it. you gave me a break from it."

"… and then I bailed."

"you didn't know."

"I should've stayed."

you look at her, and you can tell she means that.

"It's okay," you say. "you're here now."

ellie looks away, biting back a smile. "damn, you're kinda nice when you're not being a smartass."

"and you're kinda charming when you're not running off rooftops."

"I don't 'run,' I swing."

"right. my bad."

she chuckles, eyes crinkling. "this is weird."

you nod. "yeah."

"I should go."

"already?"

"If I hang out too long, someone's gonna figure it out. me. spider stuff."

you nod again, trying not to let the disappointment show. "right, of course."

she stands, lingers awkwardly by the table, then slides a napkin across to you.

her number scrawled messily, like she was nervous.

"call me," she says. "If you wanna. or if the tv thing gets loud."

you pick it up carefully.

ellie starts to walk off, then stops and turns around. she looks like she’s about to say something dramatic. instead:

"also, don't put up any more flyers. that was embarrassing."

you blink. "wait—you saw th—"

"bye!" she grins, already halfway out the door.

and you just sit there, heart too loud, head finally quiet, staring down at the ink on the napkin like it might burn through your hand.

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you don't call her right away. you try, more than once, even. thumb hovering over her number, pulse tapping in your throat. but what do you even say? "hey, come turn off my brain again?"

but it doesn't matter because she beats you to it.

three nights later, your bedroom window creaks open.

you jolt upright in bed, heart in your throat, grabbing for anything remotely weapon-shaped—only to freeze when a familiar voice whispers "relax, crazy. It's me." she's crouched on the sill, hoodie up, mask shoved halfway in her jacket pocket, cheeks flushed from the cold. and she's smiling.

"what the hell?" you asked. "how do you know where I live?"

she shrugs. "spider senses. and a little stalking."

you stare.

"I made sure you got home safe the other night," she explains, hands and eyebrows raised in mock surrender. "you went into the apartment building on 6th. I narrowed it down, then I followed your scent."

"you wha—"

"I'm kidding," she grins. "mostly."

"you're insane."

"you didn't call," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I figured you might be dead."

"I'm in pajamas."

"thankfully you're alive in pajamas."

you stare at her.

she smiles.

"I brought snacks?"

you sigh. "get in."

she hangs around that night but doesn't say much. she sits on your floor cross-legged, absolutely destroying all the food. at one point, she reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist like she's trying to see if it'll work again.

and it does.

the silence crashes down like waves. gentle, warm.

you feel your body relax for the first time all day.

ellie raises a brow. "still happening?"

"still gone," you say, voice soft.

she lets go—and the static comes back immediately, like a switch flicking on.

"Jesus," she mutters. "okay, that's kind of freaky. and kind of cool."

"tell me about it."

"guess I'm your like, off switch or something."

you give her a look. "don't flatter yourself."

her mouth twitches. "too late."

after that, it becomes a thing. she shows up more. sometimes at your window and sometimes in weird disguises around campus.

"that hoodie does not make you less suspicious."

"shhh, I'm blending in."

"If it's opposite day then I guess you're right. get it? right?"

"shut up."

you test it together—her walking away down the street, the buzzing returning. her stepping close again, and everything going still.

It's a strange kind of trust. a closeness neither of you talk about but both of you feel.

and, slowly, without meaning to, you start to count on her being there.

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david was the kind of nice that got under your skin without you noticing.

you met him in your work-study program. he was friendly, soft-spoken, and the kind of guy that was always offering to carry extra boxes or cover someone's shift. there were signs, like when he'd stare too long at highschool girls just looking for books, but he was nice. enough. when you had your first dizzy spell in the library—visions slamming into your skull like a migraine from hell—he was the one who walked you home and waited with you on your steps until your hands stopped shaking.

he never asked questions. just smiled.

"don't worry," he'd said, tone gentle. "I've got you."

and you believed him.

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It's a week later when you see him again. you're just trying to get groceries before your shift. rain drizzling, your head buzzing faintly in the background. then—

"hey," a voice calls, and you turn.

david. smile crooked, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

"I found your favorite creamer," he says, holding up a bag. "figured I'd drop it off."

your shoulders loosened maybe for the first time all day.

"thanks. you didn't have to," you say, almost shy.

"c'mon," he grins, stepping closer. "you look like you haven't slept since freshman year. let me walk you."

you make it two blocks before everything goes wrong.

you're not sure what shifts first—your breath catching, the creeping nausea, or the dull ache turning sharp behind your eyes.

It hits you like a wave: too many futures. too many paths. his hands on your arms, his voice splintering into echoes. but not in protection.

In force.

"sorry," he murmurs as you start to panic. "I really didn't want to do this again, but you're not safe out here. not with what you can do. It's okay, I'll be all you're seeing in a few days."

you stepped back instantly, hand on the knife ellie, no, spiderman gave you for safety.

"what—what are you talking about?"

he steps forward. you recognize the change in his expression now. not kind. not even cruel. just clinical and focused.

"we were supposed to bring you in on the first," he says. "I didn’t know she'd show up. I didn't know spiderman would be there."

your stomach drops.

no. no no no no no. not him. not him.

"you helped set that up?" you whisper, eyes wide, backing into the wall behind you.

he sighs, almost apologetic. "you're not just a student. you're an anomaly. everyone's looking for you. I thought... maybe I could keep you from being hurt."

you go to stab him, just deep enough so you can get away, but then your vision shatters—

literally. image split and spiral in your mind, versions of him hitting you, drugging you, dragging you into a van, chaining you down. every second fracturing. you can't think. you can't breathe.

then—

"hey!"

a red blur drops from above like fire, slamming into him and sending him crashing across the rooftop by the clocktower you somehow didn't realize you'd ended up on. concrete cracks, debris flies.

ellie.

It felt good to see her, but not in the situation you were in. she's panting, crouched low, hair wind-tossed and wild beneath her half-up mask. she doesn't even look at you yet. her eyes are locked on him.

"I've been looking for you for weeks," she yelled out. "I didn't realize you were with the assholes who tried to get her."

david staggers up, pulling a gun from his jacket.

ellie doesn't hesitate.

the fight is brutal. fast. loud is what you register the most, really. her movements aren't elegant—just rough and raw. you can barely track them through the splits in your vision and static in your head. while you're clutching your head and biting your lip to try and deal with the pain, he grabs you, using you as a shield with a knife to your throat.

ellie has his gun.

david has her girl.

then david screams as a bullet tears through his shoulder.

he falls–

and lets go of you as he does.

you scream and there's a moment, barely a second, where you see gears and metal and how far you are from the roof and think, this is it. this is how I die.

and then you're so close to the ground, you're close and close and close and–

close, but thankfully not close enough.

a web meets your stomach, arms wrap around you, and the wind howls in your ears as you're yanked toward something or someone in a blur of motion. It's a body, you can tell now, and it wraps around yours as you both swing down and back up—

and fall hard, but with your lives.

ellie's breathing is ragged, her lungs shaky and arms still around you.

"gotcha," she breathes, voice shaking. "I got you."

your eyes are still squeezed shut and your head is ringing so hard you can't hear, but for the first time in what feels like hours, the visions stop.

"hey, hey."

ellie says frantically, letting go of you and hovering atop you. "please? hey, hey," she says, and it's the first time you've ever heard her really, genuinely scared. she's running her calloused hands all over you as if her touch could bring you right back from wherever you'd gone, and then,

"ellie."

"oh my god."

and before you know it she's squeezing you so, so hard, like if she doesn't you still might hit the ground, like she still might not catch you.

but she did.

you stare at her after she pulls away, laughing a little. "wow," you say shakily, swallowing thickly, "I don't, I don't know what to say. thank you–I'd be dead without you."

ellie just looks at you.

"me too," she says quietly.

and then she kisses you.

not some soft, withheld kiss.

bruising in the way you've wanted for ages and ellie and feeling the way you always thought it did.

and you're stuck in the feeling, but you kiss her back.

"so, fast food tonight?"

"shut up," she laughs, gravelly and rough from the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, "of course."