Web of Lies.
Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.
Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Word Count - 3750
Age Rating - 18+
Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.
Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3
Masterlist. Requests.
Series Masterlist.
You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.
That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.
In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.
But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.
It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's Monday.
Spencer Reid has a black eye.
It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?
He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.
"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.
His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.
"Are you okay?"
He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.
"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"
It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.
"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"
You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.
"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.
It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.
You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's Tuesday.
Spencer Reid is a bad liar.
You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.
"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.
A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.
"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."
"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."
You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.
"Are you jealous?"
He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.
You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.
"Maybe a little."
Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.
"Wait... you are?"
"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."
You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.
You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.
It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.
"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.
"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."
He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.
"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"
"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."
And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.
You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.
You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's Wednesday.
Spencer Reid isn't at work.
Spencer Reid is always at work.
Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.
Which is why his absence is making you worried.
The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.
You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.
"Come in."
You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.
"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.
"Where's Spencer?"
"What?"
"Emily. Where's Spencer?"
She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.
"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."
Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.
"Did he sound sick?"
"Huh?"
"Did he sound sick, when he called?"
"I don't know, really. I guess so."
"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.
"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."
"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."
You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.
"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."
"You think?"
"I don't think, I know."
It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.
"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."
Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.
"I'm always here for you. Both of you."
"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."
Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.
You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's Thursday.
Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.
He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.
You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.
"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"
His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.
"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine," he snaps.
He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.
"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."
"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.
Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.
"You know what? Fine. Message received."
You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.
"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."
You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.
✵
You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.
Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.
"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.
"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."
JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.
"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.
"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."
Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.
"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."
"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.
"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."
"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.
When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.
"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"
Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.
"Well... kinda?"
You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.
"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."
"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.
"Reid, are there red spiders?"
All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.
"Hmm?"
"I said, are there red spiders?"
"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.
Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.
"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."
"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.
"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."
Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.
"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.
"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.
You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's Friday.
Spencer Reid is in trouble.
He's in too deep.
He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.
His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.
His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.
Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.
Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.
"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.
You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.
You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.
You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.
"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."
You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.
"Is everything okay with you two?"
You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.
"I don't know."
"Oh, honey."
Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.
"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.
"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."
"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.
"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."
You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.
✵
After work, you try to relax.
You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.
Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.
Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.
You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.
A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.
The welcome mat.
You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.
You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.
✵
You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.
You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.
"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.
He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.
"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."
"I couldn't sleep either."
"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"
He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.
"Slipped in the shower."
You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.
"Stop fucking lying!"
Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.
"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.
"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"
He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.
"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"
"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."
"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.
Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convicted he can hear it shatter.
He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.
"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."
You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.
"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."
You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.
He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.
Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.
"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."
"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.
"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."
"What if we can't this time?"
"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."
He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.
"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."
He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.
"Promise?"
You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.
"I promise."
He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.
"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."
"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."
Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.
"I'm Spiderman."
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Secrets
Part One:
@reidcoffeemoon
You had known Spencer Reid for years now, back when he was a young, fresh-faced agent who struggled to speak to people his age and couldn’t beat Gideon in a chess match. He was thirty now, you’d both changed, unspoken feelings simmered beneath the surface, and you knew for a fact that Spencer was hiding something.
Your suspicions began a year ago.
Spencer was never late, and the few times he had been, it was always due to something strange. Years ago, it was his Dilaudid addiction that caused him to arrive late to work, other times it was migraines or nightmares. It was never for an innocuous, innocent reason.
A year ago, he showed up late to work with a black eye.
“What the hell happened to you?” You’d asked, eyes scanning over him for any other injuries. You wouldn’t have been able to find any with his purple cardigan and black slacks obscuring your view, but it didn’t make you worry less.
“I, er, accidentally punched myself last night when getting changed.” He visibly grimaced at his own poor attempt at a lie, suppressing a wince as he sat down, his muscles aching, every individual joint in his body collectively screaming from last night’s events.
Your brow raise told him you clearly didn’t believe him, although Morgan snickered loudly from his desk, having bought the boy wonders story. He was quite clumsy after all.
You were a profiler, you thought you’d be able to figure out what was happening quite easily. At first, you worried he’d relapsed, but ruled that out fairly quickly. Then you wondered if something was going on with his mother, but it wasn’t that either. It was frustrating, because you knew that something wasn’t right, but you had nothing.
The last thing you expected was for him to actually tell you what was going on, because if there was anything to know about Spencer Reid, was that he could keep a secret, and keep one very well.
Until he couldn’t.
It was one in the morning when he called, waking you up from the warm, cozy haven of your comforter as your phone buzzed loudly on your nightstand. With a tired groan, you reached over, a fumbling hand grabbing the phone and squinting at the harsh sting of the light in your eyes, fully expecting Hotch or Garcia to be calling you in for work.
You didn’t expect to see Spencer’s name on your screen, and you felt anxiety shoot through your veins as you sat bolt upright in bed, answering the phone.
“Spencer?”
“Hi,” his voice was a pained rasp, one you recognized as your heart sank. “I’m…I’m really sorry to be calling so late, but, can you come over? I need, uh, I need some help.”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence before you were scrambling out of bed, briefly getting tangled in the sheets and nearly face-planting on your floor before you managed to orient yourself.
“What happened? Are you okay?” You didn’t bother to change out of your pyjamas as you sped through your apartment, looking for your keys as simultaneously tried to put your shoes on.
“It’s hard to explain. It will make more sense when you get here, just…try not to freak out too much?”
“You can’t say that and expect me not to freak out, Spencer!” Your voice came out more of a shriek than intended as you all but burst out of your front door, making quick strides towards your vehicle as the cold night air rose goosebumps across your skin.
“I know,” he sounded exhausted, which didn’t help your growing concern. “I’m sorry.”
You would’ve told him not to be sorry, that he didn’t need to be while simultaneously chewing him out for worrying you but he hung up the phone before you could get a word in.
You definitely broke some traffic laws on your way to Spencer’s apartment building, and you were grateful suddenly that the roads were unusually quiet tonight or there was a good chance you’d have hit someone. But right now that was the least of your worries as you burst into the building.
For a moment, you considered taking the elevator, but you remembered how Spencer had made an offhand comment on his buildings elevator being slow.
Screw it. You’d take the stairs.
You hated the stairs, you soon learned, sprinting up several flights to get to his door. You weren’t sure where you’d gotten that burst of speed or endurance, but your lungs burned and your legs hurt like a bitch. But you made it.
Not bothering to knock, you tried the door, fully expecting to find it locked due to Spencer’s vigilance. Strangely, it slowly drifted open under your hand. He must’ve left the door unlocked for you.
“Spencer?” You called out into the apartment, shutting the door behind you as you entered. It was dark, the night and the deep green walls casting the space in darkness.
You didn’t get any sort of response back, but as you walked further into the apartment, you saw a light peeking out form under the bathroom door. Your stomachs twisted anxiously at the thought of what you might find as you slowly opened the door.
Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t that.
Spencer was slumped over on the floor, barely holding himself upright against the base of the counter. The bizarre blue and red suit he was wearing was torn in several places and cuts littered the exposed skin. He was covered in blood—his own, presumably.
“Oh my god,” you crouched down in front of him, not even sure where to start, your hands hovering aimlessly. “Spencer, can you hear me?”
He seemed to be straddling the line of consciousness, his eyes heavily lidded as he managed to lift his head slightly before it dropped back down. You reached out, supporting his head in your hands.
“Holy shit, Spencer. We need to get you to a hospital.” The words were barely out of your mouth before Spencer was firmly gripping your wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but to get your attention.
“No,” the word came out a broken plea, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go. “No hospital.”
You remembered the last time he’d been in the hospital, it had been due to anthrax exposure a few years ago, and it had been an incredibly traumatic experience for him despite the rather fortunate outcome. You supposed you couldn’t blame him for not wanting to go.
“Spencer, you’re hurt. You need some kind of medical attention, you can’t just stay like this.” Your eyes flitted over his bizarre outfit. It looked sort of like a Spider-Man costume. You’d seen that vigilante around a few times. But you couldn’t help but notice how detailed it was for a costume, a little too high quality.
“Just…just help me up, please?” He managed to look up at you, his tired eyes pleading and soft, and any further arguments died in your throat as you cursed to yourself.
“Damn it. Alright, put your arm around my shoulder.” He did as asked, his arm draping around your shoulders as his fingers lightly gripped your bicep for support, leaning against you as you wrapped an arm around his waist and began to help him to his feet. You heard him wince, biting down on his lip as he struggled to stand with your help.
“Breathe through it, in through your nose, out through your mouth.” You instructed him, briefly pausing to let him catch his breath. He nodded shakily, hair hanging in front of his eyes before he tried to stand again. It took a fair bit of effort but he was finally to his feet, leaning against you for support.
“We’ll take it nice and slow,” you assured him, beginning the slow shuffle out of the bathroom. Your mind swam. What the hell happened to him? You’d ask later, you figured he didn’t want to talk about it right now, but you were going to get answers eventually even if you had to shake them out of him.
You were halfway down the hallway when he passed out. His feet had begun to drag until he slumped against you with a heavy breath, sending you both to the floor.
“No, no no no!” You barely manage to catch him as you sink to the ground, keeping him from smacking his head off the floor, your hands hooked under his arms and his head in your lap.
“Don’t you dare do this to me, you ass!” You felt your eyes burn with tears that you refused to let fall. “If you die I’m gonna kill you so much!”
He groaned incoherently, his breaths strained, but he didn’t wake. His brow was furrowed, face twisted in discomfort.
“Okay…okay.” You stand up, picking him up and adjusting him in your arms until you’re carrying him bridal style, surprised at just how light he is. You knew he’d be light, but even when he was dead weight he was relatively easy to carry as you rush to his bedroom.
Setting him down on the bed, you anxiously wring your hands as you try to get your thoughts in order. In the dim lamplight his face is contorted in pain, his skin paler than it should be.
You rush back to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel from the cupboard under the sink and running it under the cold tap, grabbing the first aid kit on your way out.
He was right where you’d left him, but he was mumbling incomprehensibly now, his words garbled and incoherent. You place the cool, damp rag on his forehead to regulate his temperature and begin looking for some kind of zipper on his costume.
“How in the fuck do you get in and out of this thing?!” You huff, knowing you’re not going to get an answer. There’s no zipper in sight, and you want to yell in frustration. You were about to go look for a pair of scissors when your hand brushes the raised spider emblem over his chest, and the suit suddenly loosens enough to be taken off.
“What in the–“
Oh.
It wasn’t a costume.
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