Black Webs

To Wish Impossible Things

There's a ghost upon the moor tonight,
now it's in our house,
but when you walked into the room just then,
it's like the sun came out.
- Start of Time, Gabrielle Aplin

xxxxx

t w o:

S t i l e s

It was all playing out in his head again.

There stood a man in a daunting mask, his hands were like magic. With a lift of a palm he could create unimaginable blasts of air. His webs had contained the monstrosity of a man temporarily, but the man had escaped.

He'd managed to catch his fellow assistant, though. His dad told him that the fugitive wasn't talking. He might've been useless. And the masked man? He was still at large.

So were these other supernatural weirdoes like the man on fire and the ice lady. It was like a bad Fantastic Four movie come to life and he didn't like it.

How would he beat genetic mutations that were somehow able to control the elements? He'd gotten bit by a spider. He hadn't walked through fire.

Then, of course, there were the better thoughts that wouldn't leave his mind.

Her green eyes were wide as windows. He'd never seen Lydia Martin, the Lydia Martin he knew, so helpless, so vulnerable, so afraid. Her ambusher's bullet missed. Her forehead was bleeding, the gash looked deep.

Stiles had so badly wanted nothing more than to take her to the hospital right then, his heart had almost beat out of his chest when he'd caught sight of her.

He usually avoided her as Spiderman, because wherever there was Spiderman, there was danger. He didn't want to put her in danger. He so wanted nothing more than to crush his lips to hers as he sneaked an arm around her waist and swung her right out the window and away from the bad guys, away from any more harm.

The wind whipped her strawberry blonde locks back, in the stark blue of night they looked like fiery tendrils lightening her delicate features. She looked beautiful, even in that state she did. There was raw beauty to her features, one which he couldn't really explain.

He'd almost died when she'd buried her face into his chest, her nose pressed against his heart. When he'd left her to safety, he hadn't wanted to walk away. He wanted to ask her if she was okay. He really wanted to. He couldn't, though. He was just doing a vigilante's job. He was a stranger to her. Nothing more.

Stiles flinched as he pushed himself out of his self-destructive thoughts and peeled his suit off to examine the damage. He groaned as he glanced in the bathroom mirror at the long, purple and black bruise that ran up his side. At least it was a bruise that could be obscured.

On most days, that was Stiles' biggest concern: the discernible damage caused to his features. There was a bruise under his eye too, from when a shard of glass had wedged itself in his skin.

Stiles touched it lightly with his forefinger, and grimaced at the stinging sensation. How was he going to explain this one to his father? Stiles yanked open a cabinet and began to apply some ointment on his bruises. Once he was done, he popped a pain killer just to get rid of the body ache.

Some days were worse than others, this day had been particularly rough. He'd spent the better part of his day in that suit. Speaking of which... He examined the damn thing, he'd ought to make at least a couple more.

This one was already beginning to smell like sweat and dust. Stiles tossed the suit in his private washing machine and examined the back of his mask.