nexus_crossings | 'Cause they will run you down, down til you fall

This was not the Spiderman that everyone knew. He was shorter, scrawnier (somehow this was possible) and his costume was black and red. A couple people had met him so far, but one didn't need to know him to realize that the rips to his clothing wasn't normal. Nor was the smell hazing him, smoke, fire, char. Blood.

Even without how he was trying not to limp he was clearly twitchy, practically shaking with adrenaline still as he found a more out of the way bench to sink down onto with a hiss of discomfort. He could feel the pain of his leg starting to punch through the fight or flight his life had been for the last hour or so, knew it would be followed by other injuries as he started to recover. But for now his ears were still ringing with the lingering echoes of the roar of infernos and gunfire, hyper-aware of his surroundings as he turned his attention to picking open the rip in the thigh of his suit again to get a look at the gash there. The bandage had gotten lost somewhere in the chaos, and it was a mess again, and he thinks it might be a bit worse-looking than it had started as.

At least he had his mask, so no one would see the lingering panic, or the exhaustion. And even without his spider sense he'd know someone was coming closer, speaking up in a voice that would be almost have a joking tone if not for the thready edge that hinted how close to the end of his tether this kid was.

"So... you wouldn't by chance know how to tell if something needs stitches, would you?" If not he had the web-shooters, could just web the injury over. He doubted that'd be good for the long run but it'd stop the bleeding at least while he hunted down a clinic.

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"A little bit yeah." Understatement of the lifetime, Miles tucking a bit more securely into the blankets he was nested in.

"I... I have a place. I mean, I stay at school during the week anyways, and my friend's mom is letting me stay with them on the weekends." And the empty apartment he lurked in daily in the vain hope his father would come home.

"I... yeah I can get it off. Got shorts under it." It would make repairing the suit later easier if they weren't ripping bigger holes in it, and beside he was starting to feel the extent of his aches and pains, like the burns hidden under the suit still. A bigger project than Steve might have guessed at first more than likely.

Even if he wasn't budging yet, wrapped tight in that shawl and the blankets as he was.

"Can you take off the mask? I want you to drink some water." Watching the kid sit up, even if he's huddling and shell-shocked, makes Steve feel a little less panicked. He has some bottles stacked on the bottom shelf and retrieves one now, opening it for him. "Slowly, though."

He shakes his head. "I'm not trying to judge your living situation at home, Miles. I'm just trying to give you an alternative. Even just a temporary one. I'd really prefer if you stay here until you're healed up, at least. I'm not going to make you, because that's not my place, but--you've got me worried for you."

Knowing that someone else would be coming around at any time, Miles was reluctant to take the mask off all the way. But he could at least tug it up above his nose, accepting the bottle to take slow, ginger sips. Which of course meant that the tail end of a burn was visible ending just above the collar of his suit, as well as the bottom of a nasty-looking bruise blossoming on the side of his face.

"I..." God but it was so nice. That kindness, the concern. It had more tears welling, whether Miles realized it or not just yet. "Yeah. No that... it's a good idea."

If something happened to Ganke and his mom because they were nice enough to take him in if god forbid Osborn wasn't stopped Miles would never forgive himself.

That sounds like acquiescence, and it makes Steve feel much better. He reaches out and rubs the top of the kid's head gently. "Good. We'll talk more about it after we've got you stabilized. Do conventional painkillers work for you? I've got aspirin, tylenol, and naproxen."

He also has harder stuff, but it's on lockdown and he feels like literally everything he's done and suggested so far tonight would be deeply creepy under other circumstances. He's not going to offer him an opioid without some kind of actual medical professional suggesting it. He also doesn't want him to be more uncomfortable than he needs to be. "Wait here a second, okay? Or change out of the suit. I'm going to get some clothes and a few cleans towels for you. You've got burns."

He's not shocked by that, given the scent of his clothes.

"Okay." That worked for him. He felt better about not having to make any real choices just yet, shrugging lightly at the mention of painkillers.

"Maybe? Could just be placebo effect though. Never really tested it." He assumed they worked at least somewhat. His metabolism seemed about the same, at least from what he could tell so he shouldn't be burning through medicine at a faster rate than normal.

"I can do that." Instructions helped. He was still shaky, tone still wobbly like he could tip right back into that downward spiral of panic he'd been in, but instructions were a focus he'd grab at for the moment. And while he was reluctant to move from the blankets, he'd do so now, setting the shawl aside carefully to start shrugging out of the uniform. He had bike shorts underneath so wasn't too bothered, even if the bruises and burns littering him likely weren't gonna make Steve any happier to see.

Steve leaves the room for a moment, returning with not only a plain grey sweatsuit and a pair of cheap slippers, but also a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of naproxen. "Do you think you usually heal fa--" he begins, then pauses in his tracks when he sees the additional bruises and burns. Once again, his heart breaks a little, but he only takes second to steady himself.

"--faster than a baseline human? Whoever that woman brings to help will need to know that." Unless she turns out to be some sort of post-apocalyptic shaman or something. He hopes not.

He lays the sweatsuit across the foot of the bed, puts the juice and painkillers within reach, and goes to the medical supply shelf. "I have some medi-honey. We can use that for the shallower burns. Did you get hit in the head?"

"I'm pretty sure I heal faster." He replied, trying not to focus on the pause he heard, instead fiddling with the suit he was folding up to set aside. "I mean at least it seems to me i heal faster than I used to. Not as fast as some but-" A faint shrug as his gaze skipped towards the pills and juice. Alright. Mask half-up. He knew Steve was aware of his identity but the other woman would be back with another stranger so better to act as if they could wander in at any time.

"Probably?" After pills were swallowed and a few sips of juice taken. "I mean yeah. Kinda happens but kind of a given with how much I ramble that someone might think punching might solve it."

Steve grimaces. "You mean in a regular fight, right? If people are punching you outside of combat situations, I'm going to have to go back to your world and have a Serious Talk with them. Not that it's great if you're getting punched in the head in a fight, either, but that's normal. For...for this kind of occupation."

He can't hide how much he hates that phraseology. He wouldn't call what they do a job, or a calling, or a career. Maybe a compulsion.

"Okay, if you're not comfortable with the mask off around strangers, I get that, but let me take a look? I want to make sure you don't have a concussion."

The idea that the fight was 'regular' earned a short, almost shrill sort of laugh from the kid, hunkering a bit into the blankets a bit further. He'd have to move, he knew, but as off kilter as he felt, the blankets were comforting.

"Normal. Yeah."

Miles couldn't help the hesitation, glancing towards the door as if to check that the stranger wasn't there and the coast was clear before pulling his mask off. Keeping it in hand just in case, but if it was just Steve and him it was... okay.

Or it would be if there wasn't that nasty-looking bruise blooming up the side of his face, or the red-rimmed eyes. He hadn't been crying. His face was damp for totally different reasons.

"It's okay. I'm not going to let anyone give you away. I understand it's important." Steve speaks quietly, as soothing as he knows how to be, and sits on the edge of the cot to get a better look at Miles' face.

Okay, the crying is heartbreaking but not entirely a surprise. It's pretty normal to tear up when you get hit in the face. Steve did, until after the serum. "Okay, let's see."

He curls his hand under the kid's chin and holds him still gently to study the bruising. "That's gonna take a while to heal, even with your advantage. Is it going to be overwhelming if I shine a light in your eyes to get a look at the pupils? I don't want to make your head hurt worse, but it ain't like I have an MRI in here, you know?"

'Cause they will run you down, down til you fall

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