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Lwky Injured
Gosh, it's been a rough week. My body aches as I crash onto the roof of some tall-ass building, my eyes closing to block out the distant chatter of the city and the moon illuminating the sky.
I have absolutely no idea where Miguel is. But man, the guy has been angry recently. Yesterday he smashed some spideys coffee mug into a wall… something to do with a canon event.
And don't even get me started on Hobie–! He was meant to be supervising me for this mission, but the guy hates being told what to do. I'd at least hope he'd tolerate me enough to make sure I don't die on one of your first major gigs– but no. He's off, disappeared.
“Gah..” a grunt. A smooth British grunt. (What the hell even is a British grunt??)
I sit up instantly, eyes darting around the flat roof… when I suddenly see it.
“Hobie? What are you–?” He was hunched up in some corner. His lanky body tense with pain and… blood. A lot of blood–
“ay– no needa’worry ‘bout me, luv–” he quickly insists, shaking his head as he fumbles with his suit to assess the damage of his wound. It looks like a stab. Right on the side of his stomach… Hopefully it misses any vital organs. It's not too deep, but… deep enough to make it look like it hurts.
His shoulders hunched up and tense as his fingers attempt to put pressure on the area.
“Can I help?” before I can think, my legs are standing up to walk over to him, even though he's shaking his head. “Nah, nah.. I've got it–”
“You don't look like you've got it,” my eyebrows furrow as I kneel down to assist, even though I have no clue on how to…
“I don't think I can carry you back to the spider-society HQ,” I mumble as I assess the damage. The amount of blood was… worrying. A bright crimson red, trickling all down his suit and flooding our fingers as we both try to slow the bleeding.
“Ngh– no. Ya don’t– ya don't needa help, I already said–” his face was all scrunched up and insistent. He had always seemed like the kind of guy that could easily hide pain, so.. this must be bad.
“No… you need help–” I insist, twisting round to scavenge in your bag to find some bandages of sorts.. or any cloth… ah! A hoodie–! I tug it out, and use it to try and smother the painful, bloody spot on the side of his belly. I try to multi-tasking and use my chin to call for backup on my dimensional travel watch, (or web-watch as Hobie loves to call them.)
He snorted. Maybe in amusement, maybe in pain… I can’t really tell.
“Fine,” he huffs.
At last. “Cool, yeah–” your watch calls Miguel's, and he answers within a few short beepy-ring-things.
“What?” Migues gruff voice grunts through the microphone. A little hologram popping out from your wrist.
“Hobies been… hurt, I dunno–” I utter out as quickly as I can. I can’t afford to waste any time with the rate that he’s bleeding. “I can't carry him back alone. Can you send back-up?” Miguel jerks his head in a nod, and the hologram disappears.
“This is why you couldn't… babysit me?” I ask, still gripping the hoodie and using it to soak up the blood. Thankfully, the fast rate of red liquid spilling seemed to be slowing.
“...yeah,” he scoffs out. His body wriggles to try and get comfier. The hard cement isn't exactly luxury seating. It’s cold, hard and wet beneath our asses.
“How did this happen…?” My voice lowers to a bit of a whisper, gaze meeting his. Hobie's eyes were hazy. Tired, blurred. He didn't look… alright. He'd definitely need sleep when he got back, and he'd definitely refuse.I’d never actually had a direct interaction with him before, but everyone knew what he was like. Stubborn, cocky, and British. But apparently a good friend… I only trust that judgement due to having a close mutual friend– Gwen Stacy. She's more like a sister than a bestie, but if she loves Hobie... then he can't be that bad.
He refused to explain anything about the wound, though. His lips stay sealed as his body relaxes a bit. Possibly able to tolerate the pain a bit better.
“Ya Gwendy's friend, nah?” He diverts, eyes meeting mine in the sparkly moonlight.
I nod, gaze flickering down to the hoodie.
"And… you are too?” I mumble with a slightly amused scoff. He nods.
“I ain't sure what she sees in ya, to be honest.”
My eyes immediately widen and dart back up to meet his, brows furrowing together in offense.
“Pardon?”
“Ya just seem a bit… annoying. Naggy, ya'know?” There was a glint in his eyes now.. and a smirk on his lips– he was teasing you. Lightening the situation.
“No, I do not know…” I huff, wriggling to adjust your seating to be cross-legged rather than kneeling. “Honestly, I could say the exact same about you–”
He snorts, raising his eyebrows and titling his head to one side. “How so, luv?” He hums in a very British way
“You're… stubborn, and always having to draw all of the attention to you all of the time…”
“Oh, so ya'd like some attention on you, eh?” He teases, wincing as he twists his torso slightly to face his body towards you more.. but his smirk remains.
“No, that's not what I mean–”
“Well, I'm sure it can be arranged."
What?
Before I could question any more, a bunch of spidey-men (and women) swung over to rescue his Highness from bleeding out.