The city sounds always felt different from up here, a living, breathing hum below the concrete canyons. Tonight, clinging to the side of the Empire State Building, the hum felt… heavy. Like a sigh. It had been like that for weeks, ever since Bobby went down. Patrolling felt less like protecting people and more like hunting a ghost, the one responsible, the one who'd put Iceman in a medically induced coma. We didn't know who they were, just that they were fast, brutal, and somehow bypassed Bobby's powers long enough to do serious damage. The uncertainty ate at you, a constant, low-grade anxiety humming beneath the thwip of webs and the rush of air.
My phone buzzed in my suit's utility belt.
I answered on the third ring, my voice tighter than I liked. "Spidey."
"Peter." Called Shadow. Joy in her voice I haven't heard in a while. "They called. From the hospital."
My blood ran cold, then hot. "Is he...?" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"He's awake, Peter. Bobby's awake."
The city hum faded. The wind ceased to matter. The weight I'd been carrying for weeks didn't just lessen, it evaporated in an instant. Relief, so pure and potent it almost made me lightheaded, washed over me. Bobby. Bobby was awake. He was okay.
"Oh my god," I breathed, the mask feeling suddenly too tight. "I'm on my way. Which hospital?"
She told me. It was the same one he'd been in since day one. I hung up, my heart hammering a ridiculously happy rhythm against my ribs. Forget patrol. Forget the phantom threat. My friend, my weird, wonderful, frosty pal was back.
I shot a web, launching myself into the night, pushing my body harder than I should, the adrenaline of pure, unadulterated joy fueling every swing. I ignored the usual routes, taking the most direct path, a frantic, web-slinging missile aimed straight for the place that held one of my best friends.
Landing on the roof was messy. I didn't care. I peeled off my mask the second I was out of sight, stuffing it into a bag, my street clothes underneath feeling suddenly appropriate. I ran down the emergency stairwell, my boots drumming a staccato beat of impatience. My ears were ringing with the blood rushing through them, my mind replaying Shadow's words. He's awake, Peter.
I burst through the door onto the appropriate floor, slowing only slightly as I spotted the two black-suited agents near the nurses' station, a clear sign someone... official... was here.
Taking a deep breath, trying to rein in my frantic energy and adopt something resembling normal human behaviour, I approached the door. Peeking through the small window, I saw them.
Bobby. He was sitting up in bed, looking tired, pale, but awake. His eyes were open, bright. And he was smiling.
Shadow was there, sitting beside him, holding his hand. The smile on her face mirrored his, relief and tenderness in her eyes. They were talking quietly, a bubble of normalcy and comfort in the clinical room.
And there, standing a little apart, near the window, was Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable as ever, but she wasn't talking, wasn't actively doing anything. Just... present. Which, for her, usually meant observing, analysing, waiting. Or maybe she was just giving them space. I haven't talked to her in months, she's usually roaming the Earth doing James Bons shit.
My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the doorknob. Seeing him like this, after weeks of him being still, silent, tubes and wires everywhere… it was overwhelming.
I pushed the door open gently.
Three heads turned my way.
"Peter!" Bobby's voice was weak, raspy, but it was unmistakably him. The smile widened.
"Peter," Shadow echoed, her voice softer, laced with relief at my arrival.
Even Natasha gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement.
I couldn't help it. A goofy, probably-too-big grin split my face. "Bobby! Oh man, you're awake!"
I practically tumbled into the room, careful not to bump anything medical. I went straight to the bed, reaching out awkwardly, not sure if I should hug him or just clap him on the shoulder. He solved the problem by weakly extending an arm. I clasped it, squeezing gently.
"Yeah, web-head. Missed me, huh?" he managed, the familiar wry humour already making a comeback.
"Missed you? Bobby, I've been climbing the walls! We all have." My voice was thick with emotion. "It's so good to see you, man. Like, really good."
"Good to be back," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Apparently, sleeping for weeks isn't as restful as they make it sound."
Shadow chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. "He's already back to the bad jokes," she told me, though her tone was fond.
I pulled up a chair, sitting opposite Shadow, facing Bobby. Natasha remained by the window, a silent, watchful presence.
"Shadow called me," I explained. "Said you were up. I dropped everything. Literally. Probably left my mask clinging to the Empire State Building."
"Classic Pete," Bobby grinned. "Always leaving your laundry in weird places."
We talked for a little while longer, comfortable in the shared space, the relief palpable. I asked how he felt, if the doctors had said anything, if he remembered anything. He mostly shrugged off the questions about the attack, focusing on the mundane-but-miraculous fact of being awake. He was weak, tired, his voice barely a whisper at times, but the spark was there. The Bobby Drake I knew was back.
After about ten minutes, maybe fifteen, Natasha cleared her throat softly. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the comfortable chatter like a scalpel. The atmosphere in the room changed instantly, the air growing taut with unspoken purpose.
"Bobby," she said, stepping away from the window, her posture shifting into something more professional, more... interrogative. "I know you're tired, and I don't want to push you. But we need to know what happened. Anything you can remember, no matter how small."
Bobby's smile faded slightly, replaced by a furrow in his brow. He looked away, staring at the ceiling. "I... I don't really remember much, Natasha. It's like a fog."
"Try," she urged, her voice firm but not unkind. "Even fragments. Where were you before? What were you doing?"
He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. Shadow squeezed his hand supportively. I leaned forward, my earlier joy tempered by the grim reality of why he was here.
"Uh... I was just hanging around Midtown, I think? Nothing special. Just... being Iceman, you know?" He paused, searching his memory. "Then... someone called out to me?"
"Who was it?" Natasha asked instantly.
"I don't know," he frowned. "I just heard a voice. Someone... shouted. Said... said someone was being crazy. In Forest Park. Like, running wild, causing trouble."
Forest Park wasn't Midtown. It was a good distance away. "You went all the way out there?" I asked, surprised he'd go that far on a random call.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "Sounded urgent. Like someone needed help. Figured... figured I'd check it out. Maybe someone was having a breakdown, or something. Didn't sound like a supervillain thing, just... weird."
"And when you got there?" Natasha prompted.
"Nothing," Bobby said, frustration creeping into his voice. "It was... quiet. Empty. I didn't see anyone. Walked around for a bit. Figured it was a prank call, or they'd already left. I was about to leave myself..." His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of memory stirring.
"Then?" Natasha was leaning forward now, her gaze locked on him.
"Then... I was ambushed," he whispered. "From behind? Or... the side? My powers... they just... fizzled? Couldn't react. It was so fast. Like... like a blur."
He trailed off, his face pale. The effort of remembering seemed to drain him. Shadow put a hand on his arm.
"Take your time, Bobby," she said softly.