Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 26: Hungry

[Third person POV] 


As Richard finished patching him up, Damon reached to his side and pulled out what remained of his shredded suit. He held it up between two fingers like it was some dead animal.


“Unless I plan to fight crime in a G-string, I’m not wearing this. The mask can stay, though—that one’s fine… for the most part.”


Richard groaned and dragged a palm down his face. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Well, the good news is that you—” he jabbed a finger at Damon, “—made some decent money at the Bugle. With that, we can actually get you stronger material for your suit. The bad news? It’s going to take a while to make.”


“Agreed. Not to mention I’ll have to take a short break to recover.” Damon flexed his hands, slowly opening and squeezing them, wincing at the stiffness in his fingers. “With the way I am now, my limbs aren’t fully responding. I’d be more of a nuisance than a help. Probably going to need two or three days before I can go out again.”


“Good,” Richard said, smirking. “Because if you were planning on going out so soon, I’d have no choice but to beat some sense into you.”


“Oh, please,” Damon said, smirking back. “If this was before, I might’ve been worried. But now? You wouldn’t stand a chance.”


The two traded barbs for another minute or two before Richard checked his phone and grimaced. “Crap—I already missed my curfew just being here. I need to go before my mom chews my head off for being any later.”


“Alright. Thanks for the patch-up,” Damon said as they clasped hands and pulled each other into a quick half-hug before breaking apart.


Richard soon left, leaving Damon alone in his room. He let out a long sigh and collapsed face-first into his bed, sprawled out like he’d been dropped from the ceiling. Hugging his pillow, he tried to will himself to sleep—his whole body aching from the night’s events—but the dull throbbing pain kept him wide awake.


Then his stomach growled. Loudly.


Right… he hadn’t eaten since that morning.


Groaning into his pillow, he debated just lying there and starving, but he knew better. If he wanted his body to heal, he needed fuel. And lots of it.


With the grace of a zombie, he dragged himself upright, pulled a shirt over his head, and shuffled toward the kitchen. As he entered, Daphne was just stepping out after cleaning her dishes. She stopped dead, watching him with wide eyes as he unsteadily made his way to the fridge.


“What?” Damon asked, raising a brow.


“N–Nothing,” Daphne stammered, suddenly looking flustered as she brushed past him and left.


He stared after her, head tilting in confusion. “…Weirdo,” he muttered, opening the fridge.


In the hallway, Daphne pressed a hand to her cheek, her thoughts running in a very different direction. ‘I didn’t take Damon for a bottom…’



---


The next morning, Damon was at the dining table, absolutely demolishing breakfast. Eggs, toast, bacon—he tore into it all like a man possessed, his breathing heavy between bites.


The rest of the family sat in silence, watching him as if he were some rare animal at the zoo.


He finally noticed and glanced up mid-chew, his cheeks puffed out with food. “What?” he asked, voice muffled.


“The food isn’t going anywhere, Damon. You can slow down,” Dylan, his father, said with a wry smile.


“Sorry… just really hungry…” Damon muttered, swallowing and grabbing his glass of juice.


But as he lifted it, his grip gave out. The glass slipped, tilting toward the floor—only for his other hand to dart out and snatch it mid-air before it hit the ground.


“Whoa! Nice reflexes!” Danielle exclaimed, grinning.


Damon only gave a small nod, took a sip of juice like nothing had happened, and resumed eating—this time, at a slightly more civilized pace.


…


Later that evening, Damon leapt from the edge of a high-rise, the wind rushing past as he shot a webline toward the next building. The pure white hoodie he wore flared behind him, hood snapping in the wind, the black cargo pants adding a sharp contrast. His mask’s lenses reflected the fading light of a clear blue sky.


Both hands gripped the webline as he swung in a wide arc, momentum carrying him forward. Another web, another swing—he glided through the city with an ease that still made him feel like a kid playing on the world’s biggest jungle gym.


Before long, the sleek glass facade of the Hardy Foundation came into view. Damon landed on the side of the building and began sprinting upward, his feet and hands slapping against the smooth surface with rhythmic precision.


Beneath his mask, his eyes glowed faintly—X-ray and telescopic vision engaged. He scanned through floors until he found her.


Bingo.


He crawled the rest of the way to the top, circling around until he reached the massive windows of the CEO’s office.


Inside, Anastasia Hardy was mid-conversation on the phone, her voice calm but businesslike. “I’m fine going to work, sweetie. I doubt there’s going to be another attack—”


She stopped, blinking at the sudden tap-tap-tap on her window. Turning, she found Damon crouched outside like a very suspicious gargoyle.


“I’ll have to call you back, Felicia. Something just came up.” Anastasia hung up and stepped closer.


That’s when Damon felt it—his grip slipping.


“Gosh darn it!” he muttered, scrambling to stick again, but his hands kept sliding off the glass.


Anastasia hurried to open the window, but before she could, Damon had already slipped completely, vanishing from view.


“Ahhhhhh!!!” His muffled scream was barely audible through the glass.


Leaning out in alarm, she saw him dangling a few stories below, hanging sideways from a web like some urban mountain climber.


“How’s it hanging!” Damon called up, holding the webline with one hand and waving with the other. “Get it? Hanging? Because I’m—y’know—hanging for dear life right now!”


Anastasia exhaled through her nose and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re unbelievable.”


“Mind if I come in?” Damon asked, half-pleading.


“Come in,” she said, stepping back from the window.


“Sweet.” Damon reeled himself in and vaulted through the opening with a flashy flip, landing with an exaggerated ta-da. “Phew!” He made a big show of wiping imaginary sweat from his brow.


Arms crossed, Anastasia arched an eyebrow. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”


“To see my favorite entrepreneur of course!” Damon clasped his hands together dramatically and spun in a half-circle for emphasis.


Damon—unable to help himself—switched to X-ray vision. ‘Googily moogily… chocolate nips.’


Her lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Somehow, I seriously doubt this is a social call.”


As she turned to walk back toward her desk, she ended up giving him a perfect view of her backside, he almost collapsed.


‘What the hell was I thinking almost giving this up?! I love being Spider-Man.’


“Come on, sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.


Damon flipped right over her desk and dropped into the seat.


“That,” Anastasia said flatly, “was unnecessary.” She shook her head. “I wish I could entertain you longer, but I’ve been swamped since yesterday’s ordeal. This will have to be quick.”


Damon leaned back, fingers steepled, about to speak—when she cut him off.


“I’m guessing you’re here about Max.”


Her tone lost its earlier lightness. She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Truth is, I’m wondering the same thing. I’ve gotten almost no information. I’m being kept out of the loop. As far as I know, they’re keeping him sedated until they can find a containment cell strong enough to hold him.”