The Ultimate Spider and Phantom

You Will Be Found

Danny couldn't shake the panic attack from earlier that week. Seeing his old school visiting New York had felt like a nightmare come alive. The faces of his old classmates—kids who once mocked him, whispered about him, or looked away when he needed help—were suddenly there again, smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened. His chest had tightened, vision blurred, and even hours later, the panic hadn't faded.

Since then, he had withdrawn completely. At school, he spoke to no one. At home, he locked himself in his room. Even Peter's friendly voice behind the Spider-Man mask couldn't coax him out for patrol. He stopped answering Vlad's questions, stopped eating with them, stopped everything.

Vlad and Loki noticed. More than noticed—they worried. Vlad, with his usual sharp practicality, suggested therapy. The word itself was enough to make Danny vanish into invisibility until Vlad stopped pressing the matter.

Loki, however, was different. Where Vlad tried to fix, Loki simply stayed.

One late afternoon, Jazz came to visit. She'd meant it as a surprise, but when Danny opened the door and saw her, his face drained of all color. His breath hitched. His body froze.

"Danny?" Jazz said, smiling nervously. "It's just me—"

But her voice only deepened his panic. His throat worked soundlessly. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his hands shaking at his sides.

Loki appeared immediately. "Enough." He placed a firm but gentle hand on Danny's shoulder. "Come, child." His green eyes flicked toward Vlad. "Deal with the girl."

Vlad frowned but nodded, turning to usher Jazz elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Loki guided Danny back to his room with a steady hand on his back, speaking softly the whole way. "Breathe. Just breathe. She cannot harm you. You are safe with me."

Inside, Loki set him down on the bed, conjuring a cup of steaming tea that smelled faintly of herbs and honey. He pressed it into Danny's trembling hands. "Sip," Loki urged. "Slowly. Let it warm you."

Danny obeyed, though his voice cracked as he admitted, "I wasn't ready to see her. I thought... I thought I'd escaped that part of my life."

Loki brushed back a strand of Danny's black hair with a tenderness that didn't quite match the reputation of the trickster god. "Trauma does not respect time, my boy. Healing takes as long as it must. And you—" he tapped Danny's chest lightly, "—are worth the wait."

But the nights only grew harder. Danny stayed out on patrol long past reason, wandering rooftops until dawn, not because he wanted to fight crime but because sleep meant nightmares. Every morning he returned with deeper shadows beneath his eyes.

One night, he staggered through the door after another sleepless patrol and collapsed onto his bed. Loki, waiting as always, appeared at his side with a new cup of tea.

Danny didn't question it, too tired to resist. Within minutes, the added sleep powder worked, and Danny slumped against Loki's lap.

Loki exhaled softly, brushing a cool hand over Danny's forehead. He tucked a blanket around him, tucking the edges with careful precision as though sealing him in safety. And then, without really thinking, Loki began to hum.

The melody was old, older than Midgard, an Asgardian lullaby whispered long ago to frightened princes in gilded halls. His voice—low, smooth, and steady—carried words Danny couldn't understand, but the meaning was clear: You are safe. You are loved. You are found.

Danny's breathing steadied, his small frame finally relaxing against Loki's lap. For the first time in weeks, he slept soundly.

But the peace didn't last.