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Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 24: Long Walk Home (End of Volume 1)
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 07:49:41 +0000 UTC[Damon Pov]
It hurts.
Every part of my body hurts—burns, aches, stings. I have to consciously remind myself to unclench my jaw, otherwise it would stay locked tight from the pain coursing through my muscles and nerves like an electric current. It’s unbearable, like I’ve been trampled by a train and then struck by lightning for good measure.
The only saving grace, the only comfort I have at the moment, is the fact that I’m leaning against a beautiful woman. Her presence is calming. She smells like warm vanilla and fresh rain. God, even in a moment like this, I’m noticing how good she smells.
Focus. Now’s not the time to be distracted.
I need to get home. I have to move before what little strength I have left runs out completely. If I collapse here, on the side of the street, it’s game over—and that’s not how I want this night to end.
With a reluctant groan, I peel myself away from her. Every movement sends a sharp jolt of agony up my spine. She turns toward me instantly, eyes wide with concern.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her brow raised, voice laced with suspicion.
“Going home… for the most part,” I manage to mutter through clenched teeth.
“Like hell you are.” Anastasia scoffs, crossing her arms with a disapproving huff. “You seriously need a doctor. It’s a miracle you’re even still standing.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, trying to put on a brave face. “I heal fast.”
I limp away, one dragging foot at a time. But I can feel it now—those electric blasts must’ve done more damage than I thought. My hands and feet are going numb. I can’t control them the way I want to. My body isn’t responding properly. Every movement feels like I’m trying to operate a machine that’s falling apart from the inside out.
Before she can argue further, I turn back and shoot her a reassuring thumbs up. “All I really need is a good night’s rest. I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”
I pause, the corner of my mouth twitching in an exhausted attempt at humor. “Although…” I add, my voice taking a teasing tone despite the weakness weighing down every inch of me, “my sleep would be about a hundred times better if I had a beautiful woman sleeping in my arms. You can’t tell under the mask, but I just shot you a winked”
Anastasia scoffs again but sighs, clearly torn between frustration and amusement. “Alright, fine. If you’ve got enough energy to flirt, I guess you’re not completely dying.”
I give her a final nod, trying to reassure her—and maybe myself—before lifting my arm and shooting a web toward a nearby building. “I’ll get going then. Call me~” I say, mimicking a phone with my fingers, placing it to my ear as I yank myself into the air with what little strength remains.
As I swing away, I hear her voice echo faintly behind me, “And how exactly would I do that?!”
I got too far to answer.
I smile, but it’s short-lived. God, this hurts. Swinging through the city isn’t nearly as fun when your muscles feel like they're being stabbed from the inside out. Even the simple act of shooting a web sends shocks of pain through my limbs. The recoil makes my joints scream.
As I reach the peak of my swing and go to shoot another line, I realize too late—my hand won’t close. It’s gone completely numb. Panic grips me for a second, but I act on instinct. I twist my wrist and wrap my arm around the webline, sticking to it with my forearm and swinging myself—clumsily—to the nearest rooftop.
I don’t have time to calculate the angle or speed. I hit the ledge hard, rolling across rough concrete. My injured back scrapes violently against the surface, tearing at already sensitive skin.
I land flat on my back with a sickening thud, the breath knocked out of me. My eyes sting from the pain, tears sliding down the sides of my face as I stare up at the half-moon hanging in the sky like it was judging me.
What was I thinking… I can’t do this.
I’m way in over my head. Is this a preview of what my life’s going to be from now on? This constant pain, the weight of the mask, the pressure to keep going no matter what?
I groan, soft and pained, finally managing to push myself up from the ground. My arms tremble under my weight. I stay still, breathing heavily, letting my thoughts wander.
Is it worth it? Putting myself in danger, risking my life, walking this thin line between heroism and death?
And for what? An ego boost? A sense of purpose? Bragging rights?
I let out a long, heavy breath and limp toward the edge of the building. I glance down toward the street below, cars and people going about their night, unaware of the fight I’m having just to stay upright. Then I turn and look across to the next rooftop.
Still so far to go.
Backing up to the opposite side of the roof, I brace myself. One painful breath in. Then I run. Or at least, I try to. It’s more of a limping sprint, each step accompanied by a grimace. I grit my teeth, ignoring the fire in my legs, and hurl myself off the ledge.
The landing is anything but graceful. I roll across the rooftop, absorbing the impact with a pained cry, and lie still for a moment.
“This is seriously going to be a long way home…” I mutter to no one, dreading the endless distance ahead of me.
…
It took me a while. I had to make absolutely sure I wasn’t being followed—checking every rooftop, every shadow, every echo behind me. After a long and painful process of dodging attention, enduring agony, and dragging myself across the city, I finally made it home.
Crawling along the side of my home, I made my way to my bedroom window. My movements were sluggish, every joint creaking in protest. When I reached the glass, I placed my fingertips carefully against it and pushed it up and open, thankful for my adhesive abilities that made the task easier—barely.
I stumbled through the opening and dropped onto the floor with a dull thud. A sharp cry escaped my lips as I hit the ground. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up and limped back to the window, pulling it down shut behind me.
I didn’t care about anything else in that moment. Not the mess. Not my ruined suit. Not the pain. I needed a shower—fast.
Luckily, my room has its own bathroom. That meant I could avoid crossing paths with my family. If they saw me like this… God, I wouldn’t even know how to begin explaining it. That would've been a nightmare.
With shaking fingers, I reached up and pulled off my mask, finally letting myself breathe freely. The cool air against my sweat-soaked face felt like heaven. I started to limp toward the bathroom, but stopped halfway. My reflection caught me in the full-length mirror near my closet.
And what I saw…
I looked horrendous.
Cuts and bruises were scattered across my face like paint splattered on a ruined canvas. My eyes were sunken, dull with exhaustion. My once-white hair now clung to my skin, stained and matted with grime, soot, and sweat. My suit was ripped almost beyond recognition—torn in too many places, barely holding together. If the authorities didn’t get me for vigilantism, I’d probably be arrested for indecent exposure at this point.
I let out a humorless chuckle, shaking my head at the pitiful sight before me. I stepped into the bathroom and started peeling the suit off my battered body. The fabric clung to dried blood and sweat, and every tug made me wince. What was I even going to do with this thing? It was practically a corpse at this point—unusable.
I glanced into the smaller bathroom mirror and studied the wounds on my body more closely. More specifically the one on my back…
My face twisted into a grimace.
It was horrible. Flesh peeled back, the raw muscle underneath darkened with soot and streaked with dried blood. Blisters had already formed, some swelling, some broken. The injury wasn’t isolated—it covered nearly my entire back. I looked like I had been branded by hellfire.
I reached toward the bathroom faucet and turned on the shower, letting the water warm up. I hesitated, but stepped in.
The moment the water touched my skin, I screamed.
The pain was instant and unbearable. My back arched violently as the scalding water made contact with the raw flesh. It felt like my nerves were being lit on fire all over again.
Gasping, I braced myself with both hands against the tile wall, my arms trembling as the steam filled the room. I took slow, shaky breaths—each inhale a war, each exhale a surrender.
I stared down at the shower floor.
Blood. Soot. Grime. Dirt.
All of it swirling around the drain, being carried away like I could just wash the night off and forget. But I couldn’t. It was seared into me now—into my body, into my mind.
My hair, now soaked, clung to my face. I let it hang there as I closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander.
I hate this.
I wasn’t thinking. I seriously wasn’t thinking when I first put on the mask. What kind of idiot gets bitten by a spider, gains powers, and thinks, “Hey, I’ll go jump off buildings and fight crime.”
Me.
I thought I could make a difference. I thought I could be someone. And for a while… I was someone. After the bite, something inside me changed. I could feel it, and so could the others around me.
I became more confident, more vocal. I wasn’t the quiet kid who faded into the background anymore—I had purpose.
I truly believed I was reborn for something greater. That I had finally found where I belonged in the world after feeling so lost for so long.
For the first time in what felt like forever… I was happy.
I lowered my head, pressing my forehead against the cold tile. Water ran down my back, a burning reminder of the cost of being who I was. My memories flashed through my mind—moments where I soared through the sky, stopped a mugging, pulled someone from a fire, caught a child who was about to fall from a building.
That was when I was happiest.
Not when I was swinging around showing off. Not when I was chasing down bad guys with flair. But when I was helping people. When I was making a difference in someone’s life, no matter how small.
That… that brought me joy.
That gave me purpose.
And I was wrong to doubt it.
I have made a difference.
I made a difference to those people I saved.
To the lives I protected.
To the ones who looked up at me and saw hope.
I cannot stop. I won’t stop.
It’s too late now. This isn’t just something I do.
It’s who I am.
A part of me that will never fade, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how heavy the burden becomes.
I am Spider-Man.
And Spider-Man… is me.
[End of Volume 1]
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A/N: You all know what time it is, I don't need to say much, just write down your favorite moment of the series so far in the comment.
Comments
Rokyes_Lt
no one moment per se but I very much enjoyed spidermans quips
Yazeed dx
My favorite moment is Hardy's rescue, the fight, and the monologue that came after the fight.
