Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Patroclus was bundled up on the sofa as he conducted his daily email check in, refreshing the page a numerous amount of times before letting out a number of disappointed sighs.

Nothing.

All he needed was for his professor to grade his final report that would make or break his college career.

It had been three months.. and still.. nothing .

No grade imputed, no anything.

Supposedly, his Professor was conducting a personal experiment, causing him to be on hiatus for a couple of months.

Patroclus tried to remain patient, understanding, but one could only withstand so much anticipation in their life. He wouldn’t be able to move on to any other med classes until this grade was complete and frankly he could not wait any long-

The front door began to unlock, as the brunette lifted his head, completely forgetting what he was annoyed at in the first place as a familiar blonde walked into the house.

Patroclus was about to smile before he noticed all the ash and soot that covered Achilles from head to toe, “What happened?” He urged, as he quickly left the couch to examine the other.

“Nothing really— small fire, I handled it.” Achilles smirked, pressing a small kiss against the shorter’s cheek as Patroclus let out a small huff.

“A fire isn’t nothing-“

“It is when you’re me philtatos, i’ve dealt with much worst.”

“Is that suppose to make me feel better?” Patroclus groaned yet he knew Achilles had a point.

Achilles was unstoppable at his heroism— there wasn’t a single person that didn’t known the name of Aristos Achaion.

The crime rate had gone increasingly low since he had began fighting for justice, villains cowering at the thought of getting humbled by the Achilles.

The blonde was swift at his moves, strong too, no one managing to even leave as much as a scratch onto his complexion during battle.

Still, Patroclus couldn’t help but worry.

Patroclus had known Achilles before all the fame, before the whole world recognized his power, before every other hero looked at Achilles with nothing but envy wondering how he managed to get to the top so young.

Maybe that’s why it was so important for Patroclus to get going in his medical career.

Achilles had already done so much with his life at 22 years old.. and Patroclus was merely the boy he was aquatinted with.

Not only that, but gods forbid Achilles returning home beaten and bloody.

Though it hasn’t happened yet, it could. And at least with medical experience Patroclus would be able to save him.

And this way Patroclus could save so many other people too.. Maybe not in glorified superhuman way.. but he would still be able to do his part in society.

He would get the chance to be just a little bit more than the guy in the shadows, more than just Aristos Achaion’s “buddy”.

“Earth to Pat-“ A hand waved in front of his curls as he blinked away from his trail of thoughts.

“Whoops?” He gave Achilles a sheepish grin as the taller had his eyebrows furrowed in slight concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just lost myself in thought.”

“That’s never good,” Achilles hummed, ruffling his hair as he glanced over to the laptop placed on the couch. “Still haven’t heard anything back?”

“Sadly,” Patroclus shrugged, as Achilles rolled his eyes.

“You know where his other job is, don’t you? If I were you i’d just-“

“-you’d just go to Oscorp and confront the guy. Yeah, I know.”

Achilles grinned, “So.. what’s the issue then?”

“The issue is, i’m not you. Whatever he’s working on must be crazy important. I’m not just gonna-“

“And you getting your grade back isn’t?”

“What?” Patroclus blinked, confused.

“Your score is just as important as whatever he’s working on. What he’s doing is jeopardizing you and your classmates careers, so are you going to stand around and wait forever or actually do something about it?”

Patroclus stared at Achilles, slightly amused.

Ever since becoming a hero the guy has been nothing but ted talks, motivational speeches, and whatnot. The whole justice thing was really getting to his boyfriend.

“I.. You’re right.” Patroclus nodded, “But I am the guy that just stands around, and you know that.” It wasn’t something to be proud of, but it was the truth.

Achilles frowned, as if he was personally affected by what Pat said, “You can’t just let everyone walk all over yo-“

A knock interrupted the two of them, before Briseis walked into their house as if it were her home too.

“He still hasn’t given us back our grade!” She practically yelled, as she slammed the wooden door shut.

Achilles raised his eyebrows, looking at Patroclus expectedly.

“What?”

The thing was.. Patroclus was use to life not going his way for as long as he could remember. He’s accepted the fact that the universe had disliked him for whatever reason and realized he had to tolerate it.

Not everyone was given opportunities like Achilles was.

“Make him grade your guys’s reports or I will.”

“You will?” Briseis laughed, before closing her mouth. “Oh, you’re serious? No offense, but for most people life isn’t that easy.”

Patroclus widened his eyes in shock, typical Briseis, as he tried not to laugh at the scowl Achilles face now wore.

“But it can be—“ The hero said, as Briseis let out a hum.

“Oh you poor privileged white boy, i’d hate to see your face when you realize life isn’t all cupcakes and rainbows.”

“What? You know I’m out there constantly working my ass off against injustice meanwhile you’re just laying on your-“

“That’s enough.” Patroclus interrupted, as Achilles scrunched up his nose in annoyance. “Briseis, let’s not, yeah?”

“You’re not going to tell him anything?”

“There’s nothing for him to tell me-“

“Stop!” Patroclus groaned, hating the way the two most important people in his life didn’t seem too fond of eachother. “Achilles, you’re not innocent either.”

“What?!” “Told ya so-“

“No more, you guys are going to give me a migraine.”

The two instantly softened, even if it was just slightly. Still, they argued with each-other through glares.

Briseis cleared her throat, breaking said glare. “Before I say anything, I don’t want blondey here getting any wrong ideas that I got this from him.”

“Go on,” Achilles smirked, and Briseis crossed her arms not wanting to give Achilles the satisfaction.

“Maybe we should go and talk to Mr—“

“Ha!”

“Achilles,” Patroclus scolded, watching as his lovers cocky smile turned into a pout.

“As I was saying,” Briseis rolled her eyes, “I got word that Mr. Brown is at his other job, right now, I sorta bribed the office assistant to give me his schedule. Maybe, we could go and politely talk to him and see what he can do.”

“Like, today?” Patroclus fidgeted with his fingers, talking to elders never did come naturally to him. Even if he was an adult now, it didn’t always feel like it.

“That’s um, actually a good idea, going today.” Achilles shifted, seeming uncomfortable. “My Mom’s coming over soon and well..”

Briseis nodded, taking this as her cue to leave. “I’ll be waiting in the car Pat, no rush.”

“Oh,” Patroclus frowned, before he nodded too. “Yeah, i’d better head out then—“

“No! I mean, I don’t want you to think you have to. This is your house too and my mom doesn’t get to-“

“The house she mainly pays for,” Patroclus piped in, smiling softly. “It’s okay, I’m use to her not liking me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be.”

Patroclus grabbed his sweater, zipping it up. “Seriously, it’s fine.” Still, he was slightly confused.

Usually, Achilles would tell him weeks in advance before his Mother would come over. This was sudden, so whatever they were going to talk about must be significant. “Is everything alright?”

“What?” Achilles tilted his head in confusion for a moment, before widening his eyes. “Ohh, yeah ‘course. Thought I told you about this already— just hero stuff.”

Patroclus bit his cheek, “ just hero stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t think you did, but it’s cool, Briseis is waiting.” Patroclus attempted to smile again, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Wait—“ Achilles realized he was screwing up, usually they told each-other everything, and right away too. “It’s just my thoughts on who the hero rat is. Didn’t think you’d be too interested.. y’know how you always see the good in people.”

“Huh?”

“Hector, I think he’s the rat.”

A honk was heard from outside, Briseis clearing getting impatient. “Hector? You really think he’s the rat?”

“See! I knew you wouldn’t get it..” Achilles sighed, and Patroclus felt a little bad.

“Hey- no, I’m on your side, always. It’s just.. it doesn’t really fit Hector to be the type of guy also playing for the villains.”

“Exactly! It’s completely out of character for him so no one would suspect it—“

“You sure this isn’t because he won the award for best saves last week?” Pat raised his eyebrows.

“No, of course not. That’s… ridiculous, who even cares about that? And just so we’re clear, that was two weeks ago. I won the most saves last week.”

“Uh huh,” Patroclus grinned, Briseis honked again but somehow it sounded angrier. “Gotta head out, just don’t start accusing anyone out of spite, yeah?”

“I’m not!”

“Love you!”

“Love ya more!”

• - -

Oscorp was huge, to put it lightly.

Suddenly, it seemed stupid to think Mr. Brown needed two jobs when he worked inside of this giant laboratory; no wonder he was on temporary leave, their college had nothing on this.

“Wow.”

“Wow is right,” Briseis stared at the building in awe too. “Alright, we just gotta act natural, like we belong.”

“Wha-?” Patroclus opened his mouth in confusion, before Briseis dragged him inside.

“Welcome, you must be some of the interns.” A nice ginger woman smiled from her desk, not making eye contact as she typed away. “Name tags are on your right.”

“Great!” Briseis beamed, grabbing two random tags.

Patroclus widened his eyes, “You didn’t book an appointment—“ Briseis shushed him, as they began to walk farther inside the lab.

“Today you’re now known as…“ She attached the name tag to his beige shirt. “William, alright Will?”

“Alright, Susie .” He let out a small laugh as Briseis attached her name tag on too.

“Susie is a great name—“

“It’s an old person’s name is what it is.“

“Found it! Here lays Francis Brown’s office.” Briseis cheered, reaching to open the door before Patroclus cut in.

“You really think he’s going to be happy we just stole two random interns positions and are just barging in here unannounced and-“

“You’re overthinking things, Will .”

“Am I? I just don’t think this is a good—“

It was too late, as the girl opened the door, ignoring him.

Briseis furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, Brown’s office was ginormous, more like a little lab itself, but that wasn’t the confusing part.

… Said office was currently filled with dozens of people scrambling around frantically as if they were searching for something, something important.

“Have you found it?” One yelled, as several others shouted no.

“Found what?” Briseis asked, as Patroclus yanked her arm.

“Told you this wasn’t a good idea, we obviously came at a really bad time.”

Briseis sighed in defeat, “Guess you’re right. Let’s just go— oh my god.” She froze, staring at Patroclus with giant eyes.

“What?”

“There’s a.. a.. oh my god.” She pointed to his wrist, where a giant spider stood.

Patroclus didn’t have time to react, as the thing bit him. He flung his arm, throwing the arachnid on the floor as a woman gasped, “I found the Araneus Oscorpeus! It’s.. it’s dead!”

The room collectively gasped, but Patroclus couldn’t really focus, everything began to blur.

Distantly, he could hear Briseis talking..

Everything was so

so

off.

Chapter Text

 Patroclus didn’t have any clear memory of leaving Oscorp. He hardly recalled Briseis half-dragging him out of the building and into her car.

She was yelling at someone, maybe herself, maybe him, maybe the dead spider, or some incompetent car as they drove off.

All he could really focus on was the burning.

His veins felt like they were on fire. His skin prickled like static, crawling underneath his clothes. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, like it was trying to outrun something he hadn’t caught up to yet.

Everything was loud. Too loud.

And everything was too bright. 

He shut his eyes away from the beaming headlights of the vehicles driving beside them. 

He barely even registered when they arrived to his house.

He stumbled onto the porch, leaning heavily against the girl who he’d always rely on as his bestfriend.

He fumbled with his keys. His fingers didn’t feel like his own. The door was heavy. His head was heavier.

Briseis had luckily snatched the keys out of the brunette’s hands and unlocked the door herself. 

Then—

Voices.

His vision blurred again. He blinked.

Briseis said something, sharp and quick, like a warning.

It was too late.

As the door creaked open, Patroclus stumbled forward and someone else stepped into the entryway.

“Patroclus?” A woman’s voice spoke.

No, not just a woman.

Thetis.

That must’ve been Briseis warning. 

She stood with her arms crossed, her heels sharp against the floor, every inch of her posture disapproving.

He groaned.

He didn’t have time for his pain in the ass future mother-in-law right now. 

He scrunched up his nose in annoyance at the elder women. 

Something he would never do if he was in the right state of mind.

“Is he—drunk?” she added, voice like a knife dipped in silk.

“Not now, Thetis,” Briseis muttered, guiding him deeper inside the house. “He’s sick or something, I don’t know. He just—he needs to lie down.” Her voice was panicked. 

“Philtatos?”

Achilles’ voice was close, softer, urgent.

He was there, in front of him. Hands on his shoulders. Searching his face.

Patroclus blinked slowly, fighting to focus. “It’s hot,” he muttered, breathless. “So hot.”

“What happened?!” Achilles urged, but Patroclus barely heard him.

Everything still was fuzzy, he felt like he was in a one big cloud of daze as voices talked in the background.

He let go of Briseis, clumsily pulling his sweatshirt off over his head. It stuck for a second. He got tangled. Briseis tried to help, but he swatted her off with a grunt. His body was drenched in sweat. The air felt thick.

Patroclus briefly picked up on his lovers panicked look.

“—he was with you for 20 minutes and he comes back looking hardly alive! We need to take him to a hospital-“ Aristos Achaion, the hero who feared nothing, spoke with a voice full of it.

“No!” Patroclus cut in, louder than he meant to. His voice cracked. “No, I just… need ice. It’s.. hot.”

He moved past them, stumbling toward the kitchen. His legs buckled once, but he caught himself on the wall, his palm sticking strangely to the plaster before it slipped free.

He furrowed his eyebrows in deep confusion. Everything was confusing.

None of the others noticed that part. He hoped.

He yanked open the freezer and pulled out the ice tray with shaking hands. His body was burning. Everything was wrong.

He needed this, his body was reacting for his mind.

He pressed the tray to his chest, breathing shallowly. His vision tunneled.

The ice felt amazing on his hot skin.

Achilles stepped forward again. “Hey, look at me, you’re not ok-“

“I’m fine,” Patroclus rasped, even though he could barely stand. “I just, I’m gonna go lie down.”

The blonde let out a frustrated huff, “You’re clearly not fine, please just-“

He didn’t wait for Achilles to finish talking, nor his permission to leave as he clutched the tray to his stomach and stumbled down the hall to their shared room. The last thing he saw before the darkness hit was the confused, worried expression on his lovers face.

Then,

darkness.

__ • .

He didn’t know how long he was out.

The room was quiet when he woke. His head throbbed. His shirt was soaked with sweat. The ice tray was half-melted, discarded somewhere near the floor.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, squinting at the clock that glistened in the dark.

1:43 a.m.

His mouth was dry. His whole body ached, but in a way that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like getting the flu. It wasn’t even like getting a fever.

It was like something had changed.

He pushed himself up. Slowly. Cautiously.

No one was in the room, but the faint glow from the kitchen light down the hall told him someone was still awake.

Achilles. 

His absence in the bed was noticeable. 

Yet, the young brunette did not want to deal with that. Not yet.

He sat at the edge of the bed and looked down at his hands.

They were… the same.

Weren’t they?

He flexed his fingers. Curled them into fists. Let them fall open again.

Nothing.

He briefly recalled on them sticking to something earlier, but then again he really was out of it.

He exhaled. Maybe he imagined it all. Maybe the bite wasn’t anything special.

Maybe it was a normal spider and he’d just had a panic attack and made everything worse by—

Thump.

A bird had flew into the glass of the bedroom window

The noise scares Patroclus more than he’d like to admit, as he jumped. His body reacted faster than his brain, as he turned sharply and accidentally stuck to the bedframe. His hand stayed there, glued like tape, until he jerked it back with a yelp.

“What the—?”

His breath caught.

There, on his palm, was a thin shimmer of something silken and translucent.

Webbing.

He was sticking onto the bed frame.

”…this is impossible.” 

He whispered, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. He was dreaming, that had to be it.

He opened them, and he was still very much stuck to the frame.

With a shaky breath, he jerked his hand again. Harder this time.

It peeled off with a sickening snap, and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the half-melted ice tray.

“What the hell is going on,” he whispered to himself, gripping the edge of the dresser to steady his body.

His heart was racing again. His skin still buzzing.

The young adult needed light. Needed clarity. Needed to see what the hell was happening to him.

He pushed open the bathroom door and flicked on the light.

The brightness stung his eyes.

Still dazed, he dragged himself in front of the mirror and peeled off his damp sweaty shirt with a wince. It clung to his skin like a second layer, sticky and gross.

He tossed it on the floor and blinked at his reflection.

Then froze.

“…No.”

His stomach was tighter than it used to be.

Not in a crazy, Captain America way, but definitely different. He squinted, stepping closer.

There were abs apparent, though they were faint, they still were visible. Sharp. 

He pressed a hand to his torso, confused. He hadn’t worked out in over a month. Where the hell did these come from?

They definitely hadn’t been there this morning.

His breath came out shallow.

“Okay. Okay, maybe this is a dream. Like… a weird fever dream. Or I’m just hallucinating. That spider must’ve been venomous, right?”

He turned on the faucet to splash water on his face. Maybe it’d help him wake up.

But as he bent forward—

His palm latched onto the ceramic sink. Like a suction cup.

“…No, no, no—”

He yanked his hand back in a panic, and took half the faucet with it.

“Shit!”

Water sprayed upward like a fountain, dousing his face and chest. He scrambled to grab the hand towel, jamming it onto the broken pipe, slipping on the slick floor as he fought to keep the stream contained.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

He twisted one of the knobs with his free hand until the water finally stuttered and stopped, the last few droplets splattering uselessly against the porcelain.

The bathroom was soaked. His hair was dripping. His breath came fast and unsteady.

He stared at the broken faucet in his hand, then at the mirror.

This was really freaking him out.

He threw the piece into the sink, grabbed a random hoodie from the hook on the back of the door, and shoved it over his head.

His hands shook as he padded down the hall toward the kitchen, his body sore and still buzzing.

He was going to tell Achilles everything. He had to.

But when he stepped into the kitchen—

He stopped.

Achilles sat at the counter, hunched over his laptop, his blond hair a mess, his brows pulled tight together.

The screen glowed in the darkness, illuminating a search bar filled with frantic typing:

“feverish sweating no energy hallucinating rash confusion symptoms boyfriend help!!”

Patroclus’ breath caught.

Achilles hadn’t seen him yet. He was too busy clicking open forums, medical pages, Reddit threads. One hand was clenched into a fist, the other fidgeting with his silver ring, spinning it over and over again on his finger.

He looked wrecked.

He looked scared.

Patroclus’ heart twisted.

The words were right there- “I think something happened to me,” or “I got bitten by something weird.”

Something, anything.

But he couldn’t say it.

Not when Achilles already looked like he was unraveling.

Not when he was already panicking for him.

So Patroclus did what he always did.

He swallowed it.

He cleared his throat softly, just loud enough.

Achilles looked up, startled. His eyes widened, quickly scanning him up and down.

“You’re awake,” he said, relief washing over his face. “How do you feel?”

Patroclus hesitated. “Better,” he lied. “I just… needed sleep.”

Achilles exhaled and shut his laptop. “Thank the gods.”

Patroclus offered him a soft smile as he walked over and leaned against the counter, pretending everything was normal.

Even though nothing was.

Not anymore.

— . • 

The next morning came too fast.

Patroclus hadn’t slept much, obviously, then again, he never really did sleep much to begin with.

Achilles woke up and got out of bed around 4 a.m., muttering something about “hero business” and “don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

It felt like a lie. But Patroclus didn’t push.

Now, Achilles was gone.

And he had research to do. And a lot of it.

He was going to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was happening to him.

The campus library was dead silent when he arrived, headphones in, hoodie up, his eyes still half-shadowed by lack of sleep.

He typed in everything he could think of:

“radioactive spider symptoms”

“weird strength after spider bite”

“enhanced hearing/vision/speed overnight??”

“spider bite hallucinations OR mutation???”

Most of the results were dumb. Conspiracy blogs. Fiction. One Tumblr post from 2012 that seemed kind of on point, but was just a fan theory for a comic book.

No answers. Just more questions.

The screen blurred in front of him again.

He shut the laptop and left.

— . • :p 

He took the metro across town to a place Achilles once told him never to go: the junkyard car wreck zone past 6th and Marlowe.

It was a wasteland of rusted skeletons and shattered glass, an open grave of forgotten accidents and insurance claims. The air smelled like smoke and metal, and the wind whistled through the stacked towers of crumpled cars.

Perfect.

No cameras. No people. Just him, and whatever the hell was happening to him.

He walked slowly between two rust-stained minivans, eyes scanning the dented metal as if it might offer him answers. He reached out and placed his hand on the cool surface of a hood.

And it stuck.

He yelped.

Pulled back instinctively—but it didn’t come off right away. He had to yank.

It peeled free with a sound like velcro.

The brunette stared down at his palm, then back at the hood.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “So that wasn’t just in my head last night.”

He looked at his hand again. Then, hesitantly, pressed it to the hood again, this time more purposefully.

Stuck.

He tried the other hand. Same thing.

His breath quickened. Not fear, exactly. Just… disbelief. Awe.

He slowly dragged both palms upward, inch by inch, up the hood to the windshield, then the roof. His body tilted with the slope, but he didn’t fall.

He wasn’t even slipping.

He was climbing.

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t smooth—he definitely didn’t look cool—but it was real.

He made it to the top of the stacked car and crouched there, breathing heavily, staring down at the height he’d just scaled.

His hands were shaking.

“I shouldn’t be able to do this,” he whispered.

He crouched there for a moment, just letting the wind hit his face, heart pounding. The silence was only broken by the occasional creak of rusted metal.

Then, something strange tingled in his wrist. A tightness. A pressure.

He shook his hand out, and it released.

Thwip.

A single silver strand shot out of his wrist and latched to the bumper of a truck three yards away.

Patroclus screamed and flung his arm back like it had been burned.

The web stayed, stretched taut.

“What the—what the actual—?”

He stared at the webbing. It glistened in the sunlight. Thin, silken, almost translucent.

He reached out and touched it with two fingers.

Sticky. Stretchy. Real.

His body felt electric.

He tried again, shakily. Raised his arm, bent his wrist, focused.

Thwip.

Another web shot out.

This one hit a car door and stuck instantly.

Patroclus stumbled back in shock, nearly falling off the car roof. He caught himself, barely, and sat down hard.

“…Okay,” he breathed. “You can shoot webs now. You’re… a Spider-Man? Or Spider-Guy. Or… Spider-disaster..”

He flicked again.

Thwip.

Aimed higher.

Tried swinging.

The web pulled taut and he flew forward two feet before completely slamming into a windshield.

“Okay! Nope! Too soon!” he coughed, sliding off the side of the van.

He landed in a clumsy roll on the dirt below, groaning.

But even with the fall, his body didn’t hurt like it should’ve. He was sore, sure, but not bruised. Not broken.

He wiped sweat from his brow, panting.

He was a freak.

He was a miracle.

He was both.

And he had no idea what to do next.

- . •

  The sun had dipped lower by the time he left the wreckyard, hoodie back up, hair clinging damply to his forehead. He kept his hands buried deep in the front pocket, trying not to think about what they could do.

He wasn’t ready to go home yet.

He wasn’t ready to face Achilles with this.

He wasn’t ready to face anything.

So he just walked. Aimlessly. Through side streets and back roads, mind racing louder than the traffic around him.

And then—

Some weird feeling arrived.

It was right in his spine. Sharp, cold panic flashing through his entire body.

He turned just in time to see a sedan flying around the corner, horn blaring, heading straight for him.

His body moved before his mind did. He jumped, twisting midair, higher than he should’ve, cleaner than he should’ve, and landed in a crouch on the sidewalk.

The car skidded past him.

The driver yelled something he didn’t catch.

Patroclus just stood there, staring at his hands again.

That wasn’t adrenaline.

That was something else.

He shouldn’t have sensed that car coming.

He should’ve gotten hit. He would’ve gotten hit.

As he kept walking, confused by all the surprises he didn’t have time to process, he heard a child’s scream.

He spun around. Half a block away, a little girl stood frozen in front of an open sewer grate. Her ball had rolled inside. She was leaning down to get it.

But the grate was loose—tilting slowly.

A breath away from falling.

“No—wait—!” Patroclus yelled, feet already sprinting. He had no plan, just instinct.

He reached for the hood of his sweatshirt, yanked it over his head.

If anyone saw—whatever. He’d deal with that later.

He reached out, thwip.

A web launched from his wrist, hitting the pole beside the sidewalk. He pulled himself forward with the momentum, practically flying over the pavement.

He caught the girl around the waist and rolled, seconds before the grate collapsed behind them.

They landed in the grass. She clung to him, eyes wide and stunned.

“You okay?” he asked, panting.

She nodded slowly, still speechless.

From somewhere behind them, a woman’s voice shrieked, “Oh my god!”

Another: “Did you get that? I think I got that—I got that!!”

Phones.

Patroclus’ stomach dropped.

He stood up and ran.

Faster than he had ever ran before, another spider perk he assumed.

— . • . .•

  The apartment was dark when he got back.

He unlocked the door quietly, still catching his breath. Still unsure if he was going to throw up from panic or adrenaline or both.

He toed off his shoes and the sweater, and made his way to the living room.

Achilles was already there.

He was leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, hair still wet from a recent shower. His jaw was tight. His expression unreadable.

Patroclus froze.

“Hey,” he said carefully.

Achilles didn’t answer.

He turned the laptop on the counter toward him and hit the spacebar.

Patroclus’ stomach turned to ice.

Grainy footage. The girl. The sewer grate. The hoodie. Him.

“Mystery Hero Saves Child From Falling Into Drain in Miracle Rescue… #SpiderBoy trending in under 20 minutes—who is the web-slinging savior?”

Patroclus blinked at the screen, heart thudding so loud he could barely hear.

Achilles finally spoke.

“My mom is furious.” His voice was sharp. “She said some Oscorp experiment failed, something escaped. She won’t give me details. But apparently it’s connected to this guy.” He pointed at the video.

Patroclus said nothing.

Oscorp? What did Thetis have to do with the place Mr. Brown worked at—

Achilles studied him, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’ve been weird all day. Since yesterday, really.”

Patroclus tried to keep his expression blank. “I’m just tired.”

“Right,” Achilles muttered. “Tired.”

He picked up the remote and shut the laptop with a soft click.

A long silence stretched between them.

Patroclus didn’t know what to say.

So he said nothing.

He just prayed Achilles wouldn’t realize it was him in the video.

Chapter Text

Patroclus let out a long exhale, opening his mouth to break the silence between him and is lover, until the front door slammed open.

“Are you serious right now?!” barked an unmistakably angry voice.

Patroclus raised his eyebrows in confusion, briefly wondering if he should revoke Briseis’ key privileges before Achilles let out an annoyed huff at the unwelcome girl.

“There’s this thing—it’s called knocking!” he snapped.

Briseis stormed in and held up a hand in front of his face like a traffic stop sign.

“Out,” she ordered, waving toward the door. “Patroclus and I need to talk. Alone.”

Achilles crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“I live here.”

“I helped pick the couch. Out.”

Patroclus groaned softly. “Guys, maybe—”

“Nope.” Briseis cut him off. “This is a best friend situation now. And you—” she jabbed a finger at Achilles, “—need to leave.”

Achilles opened his mouth to argue more, but Patroclus gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve got patrol soon anyway, don’t you?”

“Go save the world, golden boy,” Briseis added with a dismissive wave.

Achilles glanced between them. His eyes lingered on Patroclus, like he was waiting for something more.

Patroclus offered a small shrug. “It’s probably just about school stuff.”

Achilles clearly didn’t buy it. But after a pause, he sighed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

The door shut.

Silence.

Briseis turned to Patroclus, slowly, dramatically.

Then, without a word, she shoved her phone into his face.

On the screen: a blurry freeze-frame from the trending video. A figure mid-swing. And a hoodie.

Her hoodie.

“This. Is. Mine,” she hissed. “The one I gave you last winter when you wouldn’t stop shivering on my couch during flu week.”

Patroclus froze.

Briseis dropped her hand and stared at him.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that isn’t you in the video.”

Patroclus didn’t answer.

Because what was he supposed to say?

Briseis didn’t give him a chance to fumble through a lie anyway. She stepped back, crossing her arms.

“I knew it,” she muttered. “Gods, I knew it. You’ve been acting weird since Oscorp. And then I see this glitchy-ass YouTube video of some mysterious ‘SpiderBoy’ saving a kid and I’m like, wow… that hoodie looks familiar. And now? You look guilty as hell.”

Patroclus rubbed the back of his neck. His throat was dry.

“Bris—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped, not mad. Hurt.

He sighed. “I didn’t even tell Achilles.”

She raised a sharp eyebrow. “I’m sorry…what? Don’t you guys tell eachother like everything?”

“Sorta? I just— look I’m not trying to hide things from you guys,” he said quickly. “It’s just… I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I didn’t ask for this. I’m supposed to be a med student. I’m not built for…heroics. Or… webs.”

He sighed, before continuing.

“That’s Achilles thing, he’s Aristos Achaion. The best of the best, and I’m just.. me?”

Briseis stared at him. “So what, you were just gonna keep pretending nothing happened?”

Patroclus groaned, “I don’t know, okay?! I don’t.. I don’t know.”

“Who says Achilles has to be the only hero? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind have extra help out there, I mean from you.”

He groaned again and sank down onto the arm of the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Have you met him? I love him, but he’s practically the definition of pride itself sometimes. He works alone. I tried offering help before, to even just be his guy on the chair. Didn’t work, plus he said it was too dangerous, he wanted me never involved in any villain business to keep me from harms way.”

Briseis rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you’re right. But look at you now, you’ve got powers! And.. he’s gonna figure it out eventually, I mean I did. It was pretty easy, I made that hoodie.”

“I know.”

“I literally stitched that neckline with a tiny bee charm,” she added. “Do you know how many bee charms I’ve stitched into things?”

“Too many.”

“Exactly. So you should’ve known I’d figure it out.”

Patroclus looked up, exhausted. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this. I don’t even know what ‘this’ is yet.”

“Well,” Briseis said, already grabbing her bag off the counter, “you’re gonna show me.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Spider-dude. We’re going somewhere. I want to see the extent to these new freak powers of yours.”

He blinked. “What? No, we’re not going anywhere. Where would you even want to go?”

“The junkyard,” she said, heading for the door. “Unless you’ve got a better place to practice whatever freaky spider crap you can do.”

Patroclus hesitated, then stood up slowly. “Briseis…”

She stopped. Turned to look at him.

She pushed open the door and disappeared into the hall, “You coming or what? Lover boy isn’t going to be patrolling all day.”

“I already went to the junkyard to test my powers!” He tried, as Briseis shrugged.

“That changes nothing. I still haven’t seen them.”

— . • 

Chapter Text

  The junkyard was quieter today. Still dusty, still reeking of oil and old rust, but quieter. The sun had dipped just enough to throw the stacked cars into long shadows, making the place feel even more like the graveyard of forgotten things.

Briseis wrinkled her nose as they stepped over a busted side mirror. “Charming.”

“You picked it,” Patroclus muttered.

“Yeah, whatever.”

She stopped in the center of an open patch between two piles of mangled sedans and crossed her arms.“Well?” she prompted. “Let’s see it.”

Patroclus hesitated, glancing around.

“I don’t know if I can do it on command,” he said, fidgeting with the cuff of her sweatshirt.

He groaned softly, then walked over to a half-crushed Civic. His palms hovered over the metal for a second, fingers twitching, like he was prepping for a game of hot lava.

Then, thwip.

A strand of webbing shot out and stuck to the car’s side mirror.

Briseis jumped slightly. “Holy crap.”

Patroclus looked back at her, then pulled the web tight and swung himself upward. It was clumsy, and his foot kicked a dented bumper on the way up, but he landed, barely, on the hood of a nearby van.

Briseis slowly walked up to the web and touched it. It stuck to her fingertip. “This is… real. You’re actually shooting web. Out of your body.”

“Gross, right?”

“A little. But also insane. Like, what the hell, Pat. You have literal superpowers. You’re a superhero now. That’s insane.”

Patroclus just stared at the van. “I’m not a superhero.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m not,” he said, sharper. “I’m not Achilles.”

“You keep saying that.” She frowned, as the brunette boy shrugged.

“It’s true, he’s been training his whole life to become the world’s greatest hero. I’m just some guy who happened to accidentally get bit.”

— . • flashback .

It happened the summer they were fourteen.

Patroclus had been staying at the villa that month, Thetis’ estate carved into the cliffs just above the sea, where the air always smelled like salt and power. He’d been invited, but not welcomed. Not really. Thetis called it “charity.” A place to stay for a quiet orphan boy who had nowhere else to go.

It would look better for the families public image, her words exactly.

He was careful not to touch the walls with dirty fingers. Careful not to speak too loudly. Careful not to be in the way.

But Achilles always found him anyway.

The bright blonde boy would always look at him with eyes full of wonder, eyes full of admiration that Patroclus knew he didn’t deserve.

That night, the air was thick and slow. Patroclus had been lying in the guest bed, sheets twisted around his legs, when Achilles slipped through the door without knocking.

“Come outside,” he whispered. “You can’t even see the moon from in here.”

Patroclus blinked. “Is your mom asleep?”

Achilles rolled his eyes. “Probably. And who cares?”

Still, they moved quietly, old habits. Down the marble hallway, past statues and awards and things with the Achaion name engraved in gold. Thetis’ voice still echoed in Patroclus’ head from earlier that evening.

“You waste time with him,” she’d told Achilles sharply. “You think heroes are forged in laughter and games? He’s soft. You need better than soft.”

Achilles hadn’t answered. He’d just looked away.

They stepped onto the dock. The sea below them shimmered black-blue under the stars, and the moonlight painted Achilles in silver. He looked like a myth.

“Wanna see something?” he asked.

Patroclus nodded, wordless.

Achilles took a breath and then—moved.

One second he was beside him. The next, he was crouched on the edge of the dock, ten feet away. Then back again. Too fast. Too fluid. Like wind through trees.

Patroclus flinched, eyes wide. “How did you—?”

Achilles grinned. “It’s from my dad. He was enhanced, like a super-soldier or something to help war efforts. I don’t know the whole story. He died before I was old enough to care.”

Patroclus said nothing. He watched the way Achilles flexed his hands, like something was still buzzing under his skin before he continued.

“My mom has always hated him….She wants me to be better than the guy. Stronger. Faster. More powerful. I only inherited some of his power, so that seems pretty impossible. She says I have to be the best, or it’s not enough.”

Patroclus stared out at the ocean.

“She’s been trying to find ways to… improve me. Make me more. She’s obsessed with it.” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “She says she’s doing it out of love.”

Patroclus’ voice was barely a breath. “Do you believe her?”

Achilles was quiet. Then: “I don’t know.”

Patroclus stepped closer. His shoulders were tense. He was never good at this part, the comforting part. But he tried anyway.

“I think you’re already enough,” he whispered.

Achilles glanced over at him. Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them looked away.

And then Achilles smiled, softer this time. Real.

He didn’t let go of Patroclus’ gaze for a long time.

. - _ . • Back to present 

Patroclus blinked, the memory still clinging to his skin like saltwater.

He stepped off the van and dropped to the ground with a quiet thud, dust rising at his feet. Briseis watched him carefully, but didn’t speak right away. She could tell something had shifted in him.

“You okay?” she asked, voice low.

He nodded once. “Just remembered something.”

She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.

Instead, she turned back toward the web still hanging between the cars. “So let me get this straight, you got bit by a radioactive spider at Oscorp when we were trying to just get Mr. Brown to grade our damn assignments and now you’re like… half boy, half spider?”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

Briseis smirked. “Half-man, half-arachnid.”

He groaned. “Why are you like this?”

“Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. “But seriously, Pat! Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. That spider, what if it wasn’t just some random test subject?”

Patroclus looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she hesitated. “What if it was made for someone? Not you, obviously, but someone else.”

His stomach turned slightly. “Made for who?”

Briseis gave him a look. “Achilles.”

Patroclus blinked. “No. That—no. That doesn’t make sense. Enough with your weirdo conspiracies.”

“It’s not a weirdo conspiracy!” she countered. “Think about it. The spider was just sitting there in a random lab. The same lab our professor works in and has been scrambling on this secret top tier project for months! And it’s the same company Thetis is connected to. Hasn’t she always cared about finding new ways to improve her son?”

He stared at her.

Thetis had always been working on new ways to enhance him. 

She went on. “What if the spider wasn’t meant to be a test? What if it was the enhancement? The next version of whatever serum his dad had? And you just happened to get in the way.”

The thought hit him hard.

Briseis continued, “And you think Thetis would stop at letting Achilles be average? No. She’s obsessed. Obsessed with making him more. You’ve said it before. So maybe the spider wasn’t random. Maybe you weren’t supposed to be the one to get bit.”

Patroclus exhaled slowly. “But I was.”

“Yeah. You were.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Only the creaking of old metal and the far-off caw of a bird filled the space between them.

Briseis crossed her arms. “You think she knows?”

“I don’t think anyone does,” he said. “Yet.”

“And what happens when she finds out?”

Patroclus hesitated. His voice was quiet. “I don’t know.”

Briseis kicked at a bottle cap on the ground, sending it clattering into an old rim. “Then we won’t let her or anyone else find out. Even Achilles. But I still don’t think that means you shouldn’t do something with it.”

Patroclus blinked. “With what?”

She gestured vaguely to him. “This. The powers. The webs. The strength. The fact that you can literally stick to walls. You can help people.”

He shook his head instantly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not me, Bris! And keeping this from Achilles, seriously?”

”He loves you Pat, I know that! But telling him might lead it back to Thetis, and if she finds out..”

”He would never let her hurt me.”

”I know, I just.. I don’t want to risk anything.” The girl let out a small breath. “So you want to tell Achilles then?”

”No! I mean, I don’t know! I just.. he already hates this spider-guy, he showed me the video. He was pissed.. I.. I wish this never happened.”

“Well it did. So what are you going to do about it? And don’t say I don’t know. I mean, you already saved someone.”

“That was an accident.”

“Well,” she said, “it worked.”

He sighed and sank down on a stack of cars.

Briseis came to stand in front of him, arms still crossed. Her eyes were serious now.

“Pat, you think Achilles became the best hero in the world overnight? No. He had training, yeah, but he also chose it. Every day. You have powers now too, and you get to choose what to do with them. And if you choose to do nothing—”

She stopped. Her voice dropped lower.

“Then what was the point?”

Patroclus didn’t answer.

She leaned in. “You were given a gift. Maybe by accident, maybe by fate, I don’t know. But people like you don’t get to just walk away and pretend they’re normal. You don’t get to sit on the sidelines anymore.”

Still, silence.

She said it softly, but it hit hard.

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

Patroclus’ throat tightened.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he murmured.

“I know,” Briseis said. “But you have it anyway.”

They stood in it, that moment, like the air had gone thick with meaning. Patroclus didn’t say anything. Neither did she. Not for a while.

Then she sighed and started walking again, weaving through rusted metal and shattered glass.

“I’m just saying,” she added, tossing her voice back over her shoulder. “If you don’t do something with those powers, help those in need. Things can get messy.”

Patroclus trailed behind her, kicking debris absently. “You sound like a motivational poster.”

Briseis smiled. “Thanks.”

“They’re already heroes made for crime. What’s the harm in there being one less hero in the world?”

”Thats not the point—“ Briseis voice was cut off, as they rounded the corner of a crumpled bus, and that’s when they heard it.

A low, rumbling hum, too deep to be natural.

Then—

BOOM.

The sound cracked through the junkyard like thunder, followed by a shockwave that made the stacked cars tremble. Metal screeched. Glass shattered. A distant fireball bloomed orange against the dusk.

Briseis grabbed Patroclus’ arm instinctively.

“What the hell was that?!”

Another explosion. Closer.

Patroclus’ ears rang. He spun toward the direction of the blast, eyes wide.

A figure emerged from the smoke—massive, armored, glowing red at the joints like lava pulsing through steel. The symbol on his chest was small, but sharp. A silver trident embedded in a black sun.

Neither of them recognized it.

But it was burned into the chest plate like it meant something.

Like it meant everything.

Patroclus instantly pulled the hoodie to hide his face. 

Briseis yanked out her phone, thumb shaking as she unlocked the screen.

“Shit,” she muttered. “There was a villain alert.”

Patroclus turned toward her. “What?”

She held the phone out to him. The screen glowed with a bright red banner:

“Level 3 Villain Activity Detected — South Industrial Sector. Civilians advised to evacuate immediately.”

The junkyard.

The alert was timestamped ten minutes ago.

“We missed it,” she said, eyes wide. “We were too deep in, the signal must’ve glitched or something—”

Another boom cut her off. Closer. Metal groaned like it was being torn apart.

The villain didn’t say anything.

It didn’t have to.

Because its fist swung forward and slammed into a car nearby, sending it flying.

Briseis screamed and ducked as it crashed behind them, a spray of glass and fire curling into the air.

Patroclus grabbed her, pulling her back behind a wall of rusted metal.

“We have to run,” he said, breath catching.

Briseis looked at him, her voice hoarse. “Do something!”

“I—I can’t—”

He peeked around the corner. The villain was smashing through car piles like they were nothing. Looking for something. Or someone. But not him. Not SpiderBoy. Not yet. Right..?

Briseis shoved him. “Pat, you have powers!”

“I’m not ready!”

“He’s going to kill people!”

“He doesn’t know who I am—he’s just—he’s just attacking—”

“Exactly!”

But his body wouldn’t move. His fingers curled around the edges of her hoodie, the web-slinging hand twitching with indecision. Everything inside him screamed to run.

Then—

Another car launched.

Time seemed to slow.

It twisted through the air, on fire, a flaming meteor aimed directly at them.

Patroclus turned.

But Briseis was already stepping in front of him.

Her eyes wide, her hands raised like she could stop it.

She couldn’t.

He moved.

But he moved too late.

The explosion hit the ground feet from them, and the shockwave cracked through the world like lightning. Briseis was thrown back—her body hit a pile of scrap hard and collapsed to the ground.

“Briseis!”

A car piece pierced through her chest.

He stumbled forward, heart crashing.

She was lying still. Blood at her temple. One arm twisted beneath her.

Blood escaping her mouth as she whimpered.

“Briseis—Bris—!”

The villain’s red eyes locked on them.

He didn't know what to do.

Patroclus dropped to his knees beside her, fingers trembling as they reached for her wrist. Her pulse was faint — fluttering, weak, like it didn’t know if it should keep going.

He could hear her heartbeat loudly in his ears as well, like his hearing was somehow enhanced even as he took his hand away from her wrist.

“Hey..” he whispered. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just—just stay awake, okay? I’ve got you.”

But her eyes weren’t opening.

Until, slowly, she squinted them open. Gasping for air. 

She coughed, as blood trickled out of her mouth: “I.. Pat?”

”Hey, i’m here. You’re okay.”

His hands hovered over her, helpless. He didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. He didn’t know what to do.

He hadn’t moved fast enough.

He hadn’t done anything.

He took off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around her. 

“You aren’t going to die. I…I won’t let you. Please you can’t, just stay with me. Stay with me!”

”I’m scared.” She pleaded, as tears trickled down her face. “I can’t—“

”Help! Somebody, help her!” Patroclus screamed, as he heard her heartbeat rapidly decreasing.

”It’s okay. You’re… safe.” She finally gasped, a small smile formed on her pale face. As she reached her arm up to stroke Patroclus’s cheek.

”No, no, no no..no! Just hang in there, please I can’t lose you!” 

“You’re going to be okay.” She whispered, as she closed her eyes again. 

Her heart beating for the last time as Patroclus screamed.

A roar tore through the junkyard as the villain raised a glowing arm again, gearing up for another hit, but this time, something slammed into him from the side.

A golden blur.

And then a flash of blue.

Aristos Achaion.

Achilles was here.

His suit blazed under the junkyard fires—sleek and shining, plates of golden alloy etched with his family crest. The moment he landed, he moved like a weapon forged for this. Every hit he landed sent shockwaves down rusted steel columns. The villain stood no chance. In seconds, he was on the ground, chest sparking, limbs twitching.

Achilles didn’t hesitate. He slammed a glowing restraint onto its wrist, one hissed and lit up, then the other. Immobilized.

He didn’t stop to pose. Didn’t nod at the watching cops. Didn’t even glance at the camera drones beginning to buzz in from overhead.

He turned—and froze.

Because across the wreckage, just past a burning fender, he saw him.

”Patroclus?”

The word hit the air like a gasp.

Achilles was already moving. He nearly tripped over scrap trying to get to him. The second he reached him, he dropped to his knees and grabbed Patroclus by the arms like he didn’t believe he was real.

“Are you okay?” His voice cracked. “Are you hurt?”

“I—I’m fine,” Patroclus managed, dazed, still kneeling beside Briseis’ motionless body.

But Achilles was already scanning him. His hands moved over Patroclus’ shoulders, chest, down his arms. Checking for blood, bruises, any sign of injury. His fingers were trembling.

“I saw the car, philtatos, you could’ve been—” His breath caught. “God, I thought—”

He pulled him into a hug, right there in the dirt and smoke and wreckage, wrapping himself around Patroclus like he could shield him from the whole world.

Patroclus didn’t hug back.

Not right away.

Because Briseis was still on the ground.

Achilles pulled back, saw where Patroclus’ eyes were locked.

Then he saw her.

“Oh my gods.”

Achilles crawled the last step to her, his gloves pressing down on the bleeding edges of the wound like maybe he could close it. Maybe he could save her.

“Medics!” he roared. “Now!”

They were already rushing in. Achilles didn’t move, didn’t look away from her face even as they surrounded her, even as they started shouting codes and prepping the stretcher.

“She was—she was with me,” Patroclus whispered.

Achilles turned toward him slowly. His face was pale. Ash-smudged. And full of something like grief.

“She saved me,” Patroclus said. “I didn’t—I didn’t move in time.”

Achilles stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached for him again, one hand at the back of his neck.

“It’s not your fault.”

“She stepped in front of me.”

“She was brave,” Achilles said, softly now. “She was always brave.”

“You don’t get it.” Patroclus began to sob.

Her words rang in his head, loudly: With great power, comes great responsibility.

What had he done?

— . • flashback .

It was Briseis’ third day at Patroclus’s  school.

She sat alone during lunch. Same bench near the edge of the quad, tucked into the shadows of an overgrown tree. The courtyard buzzed with voices, laughter, lockers slamming. But she was outside of all of it.

Her tray was untouched. A plastic fork lay discarded beside a bowl of salad that was already starting to wilt in the sun.

Patroclus noticed her because she flinched when someone laughed too loud.

Because she looked small in a way that had nothing to do with her size.

He noticed her because she was just like him in a way.

That day, he found her again behind the science building.

She sat curled against the brick wall with her knees to her chest, a paperback novel open in her lap. One of the ones assigned for English class. He recognized the cover — Of Mice and Men. But this copy was covered in sticky notes, each one scribbled with translations and underlined phrases.

Her lips moved soundlessly as she read, then stopped. She turned a page. Blinked. Then shut the book and pressed her forehead to her knees.

Patroclus hesitated. Then walked over.

“Hey.”

She didn’t look up.

“Sorry. I just… I’ve seen you around.”

She raised her head slowly, eyes cautious. “I don’t want trouble.”

“I’m not trouble,” he said gently. “I just thought you might need help.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’m fine.”

“You were crying.”

“No,” she said too quickly. “No, I just—dust.”

He sat down beside her without asking. “What are you reading?”

She held up the book, hesitant. “Homework.”

He took it, flipping to the page she’d marked. The margin was filled with her handwriting, cramped, careful. Some of the notes were wrong. Some of the translations didn’t match. But it was clear how hard she was trying.

“I could help you, if you want,” he offered. “With the English stuff.”

Her eyes searched his face, waiting for the joke.

“You… you help me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “If you want.”

Briseis blinked, and something in her expression cracked. A little wall, faltering. She nodded, just once.

— . •

So he started showing up every afternoon.

At first, they sat cross-legged in the back of the library, whispering through verbs and idioms, Briseis taking furious notes while Patroclus mimed out scenes like a drama kid possessed.

She was shy at first, but she laughed when he tried to explain sarcasm. She scowled when she got things wrong, and smiled like sunlight when she got them right.

He taught her “cool” and “weird” and “heartbreak.”

She taught him how to say idiot in her mother’s tongue.

She made him say it back to her, giggling. “Perfect. You sound like my uncle.”

And she got good, fast. Too fast. By the end of the semester, she was outpacing half the class.

One day she leaned over their shared notebook and whispered, “You know what you are?”

“What?”

She wrote it down. Safe.

Then circled it.

_ . •.._

From that day on, they were always together. Patroclus waited for her by her locker. She walked with him between classes. 

Achilles was gone a lot, training almost constantly. 

Before Briseis, the school gossiped a lot.

The two teens were both boys, inseparable boys, one could imagine the judgement that circulated. 

Patroclus and Achilles didn’t touch in public, not really. Not in the way that would give anything away. But even distance couldn’t dull the way they looked at each other — too long, too soft, like the rest of the world had never mattered and never would.

People noticed.

People whispered.

Boys like them were never just “close.”

So when Briseis showed up — always by Patroclus’ side, all dark curls and quiet fire — the rumors shifted.

They weren’t subtle. “Guess he’s not so into Achaion anymore,” someone muttered one afternoon near the bleachers. “Upgraded.”

Briseis had heard it. She’d rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her whiplash. But Patroclus caught the slight pink in her cheeks.

And Achilles…

Achilles noticed, too.

He came home from training one night — tired, bruised, sharp around the edges — and the first thing he asked was, “Who’s Briseis?”

Patroclus blinked. “She’s a friend.”

“Yeah?” Achilles had tossed his bag down too hard. “Because everyone thinks she’s more than that.”

Patroclus crossed his arms. “Why do you care what everyone thinks?”

“I don’t,” Achilles said too quickly. “I care what you think.”

There was a moment — taut, silent.

“I thought you trusted me,” Patroclus had said, voice small.

Achilles had looked away. “I do.”

But after that, the blonde started appearing more. At lunch. Between classes. In the courtyard, where Briseis and Patroclus always sat. His golden shadow, reclaiming space. And Briseis noticed, too.

She never said anything about it.

She just smiled at him, polite and unreadable, and started sitting a little farther from Patroclus whenever Achilles was around.

That was Briseis.

She never asked for what she wanted when she was younger.

Not until one night, on the rooftop.

— . •

It was cold enough that Patroclus’ breath curled white in the air.

Briseis had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but her arms were still pulled tight to her chest. She was staring up at the stars like she was trying to memorize them.

“I’m going to be up there one day. We all are.” She hummed.

Patroclus laid beside her, hoodie zipped up to his chin. Their legs touched — just barely.

“Yeah?”

”Yeah.”

She didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I wouldn’t.”

She inhaled slowly. Then exhaled. “I think I love you.”

The words weren’t dramatic. There was no edge of hope or desperation. Just soft honesty, laid bare beneath the night.

Patroclus sat up. Slowly. Though his eyes were wide.

Briseis didn’t flinch. “I’m not telling you so anything changes. I just… needed to say it once.”

“Bris…”

“You make me feel safe,” she continued. “Like I can be the loudest version of myself and still be okay. And maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. But I love you.”

Patroclus’ chest tightened.

“I love you too,” he said. “But—”

“But not like that.”

He nodded.

She smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “It’s Achilles, isn’t it?”

His throat caught.

She laughed softly. “I’m not blind, Pat. The way you look at him… it’s like you’ve already decided to die for him.”

“I haven’t,” he mumbled.

“You have.”

She wiped under her eyes quickly. “It’s okay. Really. I figured. I mean… no one’s ever looked at me like that.”

Patroclus reached for her hand. She let him.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “Just not in the way you wanted me to say.”

Briseis leaned into him, their heads knocking together gently.

“Do you think he knows how lucky he is?” she asked.

“He should.”

They stayed like that. Quiet. Close. Not lovers, not almosts, but something stronger than either.

Eventually, she whispered, “If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

Patroclus smiled into her hair. “Please don’t.”

“No promises.”

She never said it again.

She didn’t have to. 

- . • Present 

She lost her romantic feelings eventually, but the platonic ones never faded away.

Until her dying breath.

Maybe Patroclus had saved her long away, helped shape her into her snarky sarcastic present day self.

But had saved him, again and again, just by showing up.

And now she was gone.

”With great power comes great responsibility.”

Chapter Text

The ride home was quiet.

Patroclus sat in the passenger seat of Achilles’ black Achaion-issued SUV, his hands still streaked with blood, her blood, his hoodie bunched in his lap like a used bandage.

Achilles drove, one hand tight on the wheel, the other hovering near Patroclus’ leg, never quite touching, but always there.

The taller boy kept glancing over. Like he needed proof that Patroclus was still breathing. Still here.

Briseis’ blood had dried into the seams of Patroclus’ nails.

She was everywhere.

She was nowhere.

He needed her blood off him.

When they reached the estate, Achilles parked and got out quickly, circling to open Patroclus’ door like the boy might shatter if handled too roughly.

The brunette moved slowly, limbs stiff like he’d been carved out of glass. He didn’t say anything as Achilles guided him inside, past the grand marble foyer, the vaulted ceilings, the golden Achaion crest etched into the tile.

He didn’t say anything at all.

Achilles led him across their hall, past the trophy wall, past the doors to the gym, all the way to their bedroom.

He just walked Patroclus there gently, like someone carrying a wounded bird.

Inside, Achilles peeled back the sheets, helped him sit down, then knelt to untie his shoes.

“I can—” Patroclus started.

“I know,” Achilles said softly. “Let me.”

So he did. Unlaced the sneakers, pulled off the hoodie, ran warm water and handed Patroclus a cloth for his face. The brunette moved like he was underwater. Like everything was happening three seconds too late.

He didn’t cry. Not at first.

He just sat there. Quiet. Distant. His eyes stuck somewhere no one else could see.

Achilles stayed. He didn’t leave, not that night, not the next day either. He missed a patrol for the first time since he was sixteen. The press speculated. The Achaion PR team called him nonstop. Thetis even showed up on the doorstep, demanding an explanation.

Achilles told her to get out.

Because Patroclus had barely spoken, and he didn’t want to leave him alone.

He sat on the floor next to the bed while Patroclus laid above it like a stone. Sometimes he’d read to him, softly. Sometimes he just… stayed there.

When Patroclus flinched in his sleep, Achilles reached for his hand. When he sat up gasping from a nightmare, Achilles rubbed his back. When he turned to the wall, silent and broken, Achilles pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and kissed the side of his head.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered.

Patroclus didn’t answer.

— . •

The next morning, an alert pinged on Patroclus’ phone.

He stared at it for a long time before unlocking the screen.

Mr. Brown: “Finally got around to your final paper. Very impressive. 95. Let me know when you want to discuss med school prep.”

He stared at the message.

The message that use to be the source of his only worry.

How naive he use to be.

Then turned off the phone and laid it face down.

Achilles knocked softly on the door before stepping in. He was in a soft sweatshirt now, no armor, no hero mask. His golden hair was messy, his eyes still shadowed with worry.

“I made toast,” he said. “It’s really burnt.”

Patroclus didn’t respond.

The taller boy walked over anyway, kneeling beside him. He brushed a strand of dark hair behind Patroclus’ ear.

“I miss her too.”

Patroclus blinked, but didn’t look away from the ceiling.

“I keep thinking about how scared she must’ve been,” the brunette whispered eventually, voice hoarse.

Achilles’ jaw tightened.

“She wasn’t alone,” he said quietly. “She knew you were there. She died protecting you.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I know.”

Silence again.

Then, softly: “She would’ve said something sarcastic right now,” Achilles added. “Like, ‘Suck it up, nerd.’”

A small, watery laugh escaped Patroclus’ lips. It cracked something open in Achilles.

“Gods, I missed your laugh,” he breathed.

The brunette looked down at his lap. “I don’t deserve to laugh.”

Achilles crawled onto the bed beside him and pulled him close. The smaller boy didn’t resist. He leaned into the taller boy’s chest, hands curled in his shirt.

They stayed like that for a long time.

— . •

But grief is slippery. It changes shape.

And a few nights later, Patroclus couldn’t sleep.

The bed felt too big.

Achilles was curled up behind him, breathing slow and steady, a protective arm draped around his waist. But the brunette’s eyes stayed open, blinking into the dark.

She would be so disappointed.

The voice came sudden, sharp, echoing like it had come from inside him. But it wasn’t his voice.

It was Briseis’.

What are you doing, Pat?

He sat up.

You’re just going to sit here forever?

He stood. Slowly.

You don’t get to do nothing.

The words were louder now, overlapping with memory.

You were given a gift. Maybe by accident, maybe by fate, I don’t know. But people like you don’t get to just walk away.

He slipped out of bed.

With great power, comes great responsibility.

Down the hallway. Past the kitchen. Past the training room. And out the back entrance.

The night air stung.

— . • . - 

Briseis small apartment looked the exact same.

Because why would it look different?

Her family was away, and despite hearing the news of her death, their way of grief was to leave her apartment alone. For as long as possible.

Her funeral would be held in a few weeks.

Patroclus pushed open the door with his hoodie sleeve after unlocking it, he had a key, of course.

The apartment was too quiet. The kind of silence that felt wrong.

Briseis’ boots were still by the door. Her jacket still hanging on the chair. Her books stacked on the windowsill in their usual chaotic tower.

Her toothbrush was in the holder.

The brunette stood in the center of the room, fists clenched.

She had posters everywhere—some of protests, some of poetry, some of the city skyline covered in hero tags. One of them was crooked. He fixed it.

Then sat on the floor.

He stared at nothing for a long time.

Wiped away a lose tear.

And then, slowly, began to move.

First, he pulled a shoebox out from under her bed and started digging through old receipts, sticky notes, little sketches she’d made on napkins.

He smiled, just barely.

Then he grabbed a pair of scissors.

A glue stick.

A journal she’d left open on her desk, with a quote she’d once underlined three times:

Be the thing you needed when you were hurting.

He found a blank wall. Grabbed thumbtacks.

Started pinning.

Cutting out shapes.

A mask design.

A symbol—a small one—stitched from the corner of a Briseis sweatshirt sleeve.

Colors, black, crimson, slate blue. Nothing too flashy. Something fast. Something he could move in.

He sketched glove webs on the back of a coffee-stained napkin. Then rewrote Briseis’ words beside it.

With great power…

His hand paused.

His eyes stung.

He finished it.

…comes great responsibility.

He stepped back from the wall. The vision board looked messy. Scrappy. Brave. Hers.

His.

Patroclus stood in her living room for a long time.

Then he touched the spot on the wall where she used to pin her favorite poems, and whispered:

“I’m going to make it mean something.”

The wind outside shifted.

Like she’d heard him.

- .•

Patroclus returned every night Achilles went on patrol.

He timed it perfectly.

As soon as the taller boy suited up and took off with a kiss to his hair and a whispered, “I’ll be back soon,” the brunette was out the door.

Briseis’ apartment became his sanctuary. His secret place. No cameras. No noise. Just her things. Her scent still lingering faintly in the threads of her favorite hoodie. Her ghost in every corner.

He worked in silence.

He sat cross-legged in the middle of her bedroom with a sewing machine humming beside him. He’d seen her use it a hundred times, threading the needle with practiced hands, pinning fabric with her teeth, muttering curses when the bobbin jammed. Now it was his turn.

He messed up a lot at first.

The fabric tangled. The lines weren’t straight. His fingers got pricked.

But he kept trying.

He watched tutorials at low volume. Studied her old sketches. Reused material from her half-finished projects. A worn hoodie became the base for his suit. A spool of reinforced silver thread from her last convention project became webbing stabilizers.

Piece by piece, he brought it to life.

A black base layer, breathable and flexible, reinforced along the joints. A crimson spider stitched across the chest, the same deep red she used to say brought out his “brooding eyes.”

A mask next. Tight, form-fitting, with tinted lenses made from old safety goggles. He modified it with a focus sensor, something he cobbled together from scraps in Achilles’ training lab. The mask helped steady his senses when they overwhelmed him.

He added a voice modulator behind the mouthpiece. Low, scrambled, untraceable.

The gloves were next. He worked on them the longest. Tiny mechanical nozzles mounted near the wrist, connected to pressure-sensitive triggers. He modified one of Achilles’ old grappling hook prototypes, took it apart and built his own version using a synthetic compound stored in canisters on a belt under the suit.

His webs.

He tested them at the junkyard late at night. Swinging from beams, clumsily at first. Crashing into a car roof more than once. But getting better.

The taller boy never noticed the bruises. Or maybe he did and didn’t ask.

Patroclus told himself he’d confess soon.

But not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

He didn’t even have a name.

He tried out a few.

Web-Walker. Spider-Kid. Nightthread. Nothing stuck.

Spider-man?

The name shouldn’t have worked. But it did.

It sounded like something she’d yell across a rooftop at him. Like something she’d smile about.

“You know what you are? Safe,” she’d said once.

Now he had to become something else.

Not just safe.

Strong.

Strong enough to protect the next person. The next Briseis. The next scared kid who flinched when someone laughed too loud.

He trained every day in secret.

While Achilles was out saving the world, the shorter boy was saving himself.

He memorized the layout of the Achaion estate’s training room, when the staff came and went, which door creaked, how long he had before the motion sensors kicked in again. He left no trace. Reset every weight. Cleared the workout logs. Wiped the sweat from his forehead before Achilles returned.

He pushed his body hard.

Harder than he ever had.

The Oscorp spider had changed his biology in ways he was still figuring out, stronger muscles, enhanced senses, unnatural speed. But none of that mattered if he didn’t know how to use it.

So he taught himself.

He used the combat dummies. Practiced flips off the balcony ledge. Trained his reaction time using the Achaion punching drones. Sometimes, he let them knock him flat just to remember what it felt like to lose. To fail.

Because he wasn’t going to fail again.

Briseis had died saving him.

Now he had to become the kind of person worth saving.

— . • . -

The suit was finished the night before her funeral.

He didn’t plan it like that. It just happened.

He stood in Briseis’ apartment at two a.m., the city glowing through the windows, and held it up to the light. His creation. His shield.

A mix of grief and pride burned through his chest. He traced the hem with his fingers, ran a hand across the symbol. He wanted to show her. Gods, he wanted to show her.

Instead, he whispered, “Do I look cool?” and waited in the quiet for an answer he’d never hear.

He folded the suit carefully and packed it into the duffel bag.

When he got home that night, Achilles was asleep on the couch. His golden hair was tousled, a medical journal open across his chest. He looked peaceful. Unaware.

Patroclus watched him for a moment. Then slipped into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like it was the only thing left that still tethered him.

The taller boy stirred, mumbling, “M’safe?”

“You’re safe,” Patroclus whispered.

The next morning, they buried Briseis.

— . • . -

The service was small, held in the church her mother used to bring her to when she was young.

Patroclus didn’t speak.

He couldn’t.

He stood between Achilles and the priest, fists clenched at his sides. He wore the same black button-up from the night she died. He hadn’t been able to put it away.

Her casket was closed. There were flowers everywhere, too many. Lilies, roses, peonies, the colors all blurring together.

Someone from school gave a speech.

Then someone else.

He didn’t remember what they said.

All he could hear was her voice in his head.

Suck it up, nerd.

Don’t let me die for nothing.

Afterward, he stayed behind while the crowd filtered out. Just him and Achilles and the weight of goodbye.

“I should’ve saved her,” he murmured. His voice cracked. “I should’ve—”

“She saved you,” Achilles said, wrapping an arm around him. “She chose that.”

“I didn’t want her to.”

“I know.”

The taller boy pressed a kiss to his temple, fingers running down his back like he was trying to calm a wild current.

“You don’t have to be okay right now.”

“I know,” Patroclus whispered. “But I still have to do something.”

Achilles frowned. “What does that mean?”

Patroclus didn’t answer.

Not out loud.

That night, after dinner, after Achilles kissed his forehead and suited up for a long patrol, after he disappeared into the night sky like a comet, Patroclus slipped away again.

— . • . - .•

The suit fit like skin.

He pulled it on with practiced ease, zipped it up, snapped the gloves into place.

When he tugged the mask over his face, the world changed.

His vision adjusted. Heartbeat steadied. Every sense sharpened.

Patroclus was gone.

Spider-Man remained.

He stepped out onto the fire escape.

Climbed to the roof.

Looked out at the city that had taken his best friend.

Then he ran.

He leapt.

And flew.

— . • 

It felt different this time.

Not like training. Not like the junkyard or the empty streets.

This time, the wind rushed under him like a pulse. The city blurred past in streaks of light. His web connected with the corner of a billboard and he swung, higher than before, soaring over traffic with his stomach in his throat and fire in his chest.

A new siren wailed below.

A robbery in progress. Third and Grant.

Patroclus didn’t hesitate.

He landed on the ledge above the bank, crouched in shadow. His new lenses adjusted, zoomed in.

Two men. Guns drawn. A third by the safe.

Hostages.

He exhaled.

Then dropped in.

THWIP.

One web pinned a gun to the wall.

Another snagged the second man’s ankles.

He flipped over the third, dodging wild fire, and slammed him into a desk hard enough to splinter the wood.

In and out in under two minutes.

By the time the police arrived, the hostages were safe, the robbers unconscious and strung up like ornaments.

And on the wall, in red webbing, a symbol left behind.

A spider.

He didn’t wait for the cameras.

Didn’t pose for the drones.

He was already gone.

Swinging high into the night.

A boy. A mask. A promise.

A legend in the making.

Spider-Man.

— . • . -

Achilles was already up when Patroclus got back. The taller boy paced in front of the television in their bedroom, shirtless, hair still damp from his post-patrol shower, a mug of untouched coffee going cold on the nightstand.

The news was playing on loop.

“—unknown vigilante strikes again. Last night’s robbery at 3rd and Grant was foiled in under two minutes. Eyewitnesses describe the masked figure as agile, fast, and incredibly strong. Police arrived to find the suspects webbed to the ceiling. Literally. We’re calling him Spider-Man.”

The anchor chuckled like it was a joke.

Achilles didn’t.

He crossed his arms, jaw clenched. “Webs. Are you kidding me? Who even does that?”

Patroclus, freshly showered and pretending to be groggy, padded into the room in the blondes’ oversized hoodie and raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with webs?”

“What’s wrong—?” Achilles turned sharply. “He used decorative wall graffiti as his calling card. You know how many rules of hero protocol that breaks?”

Patroclus blinked, too convincingly. “Wait, you’re mad at the wall art?”

“I’m mad that this random bug guy keeps showing up before me!” Achilles snapped. “He’s not even registered. No records. No backstory. He just…appeared.”

The blonde gestured at the screen. A grainy video replayed the moment Spider-Man flipped over the last gunman and slammed him into the desk like he weighed nothing.

Achilles glared.

“He has a professional-grade suit. Technology. Voice modulation. Web shooters. That’s not some amateur teenager making bad decisions in a hoodie. That’s someone who planned this. Trained for this.”

“You sound kind of…” Patroclus glanced at the screen. “Jealous.”

Achilles sputtered. “I’m not jealous! I’m the top hero in the city. The world. I don’t need to be jealous of some knockoff with wall-crawling party tricks.”

Patroclus leaned on the doorframe, shrugging. “He looks kind of cool to me.”

Achilles turned on him.

“Cool? Cool? Pat, this guy is not cool, he’s reckless. He’s unpredictable. He’s—he’s trying to be me, but worse.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to be you,” Patroclus said, voice soft. “I think he’s trying to be good.”

Achilles narrowed his eyes. “Why do you care so much?”

The brunette hesitated.

He could feel his pulse in his throat.

“I don’t,” he said eventually. “I just think maybe… maybe the city needs more than one hero.”

Yeah, he definitely couldn’t tell Achilles the truth anytime soon.

Achilles’s brows shot up, his tone going sharp. “Are you serious?”

Patroclus met his gaze, quiet but firm. “What if Spider-Man helps someone you can’t reach in time? What if he saves a life you don’t even see?”

The blonde stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“You’re really defending this guy.”

“Yeah,” Patroclus said. “I think he’s trying.”

“That’s not the point,” Achilles muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “This—this is my responsibility. I’ve been training for this since I was eleven. I’ve been through government testing, hero academy, tactical warzones, press training. I don’t need some masked freak complicating things.”

Patroclus didn’t flinch. “He’s not a freak.”

“How do you even know that?” Achilles snapped.

“I just do.”

Silence.

Achilles stared at him for a beat too long, like he was trying to put puzzle pieces together.

Then he scoffed. “Gods. My mother is livid. She’s already demanding an investigation. She thinks it’s Oscorp’s fault again—‘leaking experimental mutations,’ or whatever. She wants him unmasked. Registered. Gone.”

Patroclus’s chest tightened. “She wants to unmask him?”

“She wants to destroy him,” Achilles muttered. “You should’ve seen her face when the footage came in. She said, she said no one’s stealing her son’s legacy. That this is a threat to our entire brand.”

“Brand,” Patroclus echoed, voice hollow.

Achilles didn’t notice the shift. He was pacing again, anger like heat rising off him. “This guy’s gonna get himself killed. Or worse, he’s gonna get someone else killed. And who’s gonna take the blame when that happens? Me. Because I wasn’t fast enough. Because I didn’t stop it.”

The brunette’s eyes dropped to the floor.

He thought of Briseis.

He thought of her voice, her courage. Her sacrifice.

“She would’ve liked him,” he said quietly.

Achilles stopped. “Who?”

“Briseis.”

That froze the taller boy in place.

His expression shifted, cracked, softened, then hardened again.

He didn’t respond.

Patroclus moved toward him, gently pressing a hand to Achilles’ chest, grounding him.

“You don’t have to be the only one trying to make things better,” he said. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

Achilles closed his eyes. Exhaled. “But I want to.”

Patroclus smiled, just barely.

“I know.”

He dropped his hand and turned back toward the hallway, but not before Achilles looked at him one more time.

Eyes narrowed.

Suspicious.

“Pat… is there something you’re not telling me?”

Patroclus paused.

Then yawned. “Only that you burned the toast again.”

And with that, he slipped away.

Leaving Achilles staring after him with furrowed brows and a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest.

Spider-Man was more than just a new hero.

Chapter Text

Patroclus was starting to get used to flying.

Well, not flying. Swinging. It wasn’t graceful yet…he still knocked a streetlight loose now and then or landed a bit too heavy on a rooftop, but he was getting better.

It helped that the whole city wasn’t watching.

Achilles’ patrols happened in the spotlight. Center city. Flashbulbs. Journalists. Headlines.

Patroclus kept to the outskirts. He stuck to the scaffolding shadows, the forgotten fire escapes, the neighborhoods where the official heroes never came unless the cameras did.

He didn’t have a team. Or sponsors. Or even a sidekick. But he had something that felt stronger than all that.

A promise.

And a suit held together by grief and reinforced thread.

He landed hard on a rooftop in the West End and took a moment to catch his breath, crouching low and peering over the ledge at the quiet street below. Wind blew through his hair beneath the mask. Somewhere down the block, a couple was arguing over whose turn it was to take the trash out.

So far, tonight was quiet.

“Don’t jinx it,” he muttered to himself, adjusting the web cartridges on his belt.

He didn’t talk much as Patroclus. But as Spider-Man?

He was different.

He had to be.

Nerves became banter. Fear became fuel. Hesitation became instinct.

And he was finally, finally, learning how to use it.

A high-pitched scream broke the silence.

“Help!!”

Patroclus flung himself over the edge without thinking, slinging a web and swinging toward the sound. He landed hard in an alleyway just as a masked thief tried to speed off on a stolen bike.

“Hey!” Spider-Man shouted. “Nice bike. Bet you stole it.”

The guy turned. “What the—?”

Patroclus shot a web directly at the front wheel. It locked up, and the thief faceplanted into a stack of empty produce crates.

“Oof,” Patroclus winced. “That’s gonna bruise you and your ego.”

The girl who’d been chasing after the bike froze mid-step. “Wait… are you—are you that Spider guy? From youtube?”

“Guilty,” he said with a two-fingered salute. “Bike’s all yours. Careful, it’s got trust issues now.”

She just blinked. “That was… cool.”

He grinned under the mask. “Tell your friends.”

He swung off before she could say anything else. No time for interviews.

He wasn’t doing this for clout.

Okay, maybe for a little clout.

As he swung back onto the next rooftop, he passed a group of kids hanging out of their apartment window.

“Spider-Maaaan!” one of them called. “Yo! Can you do a flip?!”

Patroclus paused in midair. “Can I do a flip?” he echoed.

He flipped three times before landing upside down on a nearby lamppost. “I majored in flips.”

The kids screamed with laughter and applause. He gave a dramatic bow, upside down, and swung off again, heart light, adrenaline buzzing in his bones.

It was moments like this that made the bruises worth it.

Until the fire.

It started as a glow in the distance. Red-orange light blooming like a second sun on the horizon. A plume of smoke curled above the rooftops.

Then came the sounds, explosions. Screams.

No.

His stomach dropped.

Patroclus veered toward the light, webbing fast and hard between buildings, his heart thudding. When he reached the edge of the district, he saw it.

A robot.

Not anything from the city’s official registry. This one was jagged and metallic, with sharp joints and glowing blue lines of energy running down its arms. In one hand, it held a trident-shaped weapon that pulsed with electric power.

Patroclus skidded to a stop on the edge of a rooftop and stared.

No.

Not again.

This robot looked familiar.

People were running—some already lying hurt on the street. Cars overturned. A fire spread up the side of an apartment complex.

And in the middle of it all, the robot turned slowly. Right toward him.

“Target acquired,” it buzzed, eyes glowing red.

Patroclus swallowed. “Hey, uh, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m, uh, actually just the neighborhood pizza delivery guy. This is my… pizza suit.”

The robot didn’t laugh.

It raised its trident.

Patroclus sighed. “Figures.”

It lunged.

He dodged the first strike, flipping backward and firing a web to the robot’s chest. The web bounced off with a spark.

“Cool! So you’re one of those guys,” Patroclus muttered, dodging again as the robot’s trident sliced a crater into the sidewalk.

“I’m here,” the robot droned, “to retrieve what was stolen.”

Patroclus landed on a lamppost. “Can you retrieve your tone? You’re really freaking me out.”

“You were not meant to be created,” it said. “You are the error.”

“I am a lot of people’s worst mistake,” Patroclus muttered, then slung a line of webbing around the bot’s arm and yanked hard.

It stumbled.

He dove from above, landed on its back, and webbed one of the power conduits.

The robot shrieked and spun, flinging him into a car windshield.

Glass cracked. Pain bloomed in his side.

He pushed up with a groan, smoke in his lungs.

“Okay,” he coughed. “Ow. That one gets a solid nine out of ten on the pain scale.”

The robot came in fast again.

Patroclus ducked under it, firing two lines of web at its legs and vaulting himself upward. He used the momentum to swing in a wide arc and land a full-strength kick to its core panel.

It shuddered.

Sparks flew.

“You think this ends with you?” it growled.

“Hope not,” Patroclus said, webbing its face. “I still have so many witty retorts left.”

He spun around its body, ducked under the trident, and planted an explosive web-canister at the base of its spine.

Then jumped back.

Boom.

The robot staggered, then dropped to one knee.

“You are… a deviation…”

“I’m Spider-Man,” Patroclus said breathlessly, crouched and ready. “And I don’t need your approval.”

He leapt forward and drove both fists into its chest.

The machine sparked—then collapsed.

Smoke curled into the night sky.

Patroclus stood in the middle of the rubble, chest heaving, ash clinging to his suit, bruises blooming along his arms.

The street was silent.

People had already scattered. No crowd. No applause.

Just the sound of distant sirens.

He didn’t wait.

He webbed up and vanished into the skyline, limping slightly, ribs sore, still clutching at a fraying part of his sleeve where the silver thread had melted away.

As he neared the estate, his body ached all over. His eyes stung from the smoke. His shoulder was already starting to bruise, but it would heal. It always did.

He slipped through the back entrance of the house, heart pounding. The mansion was quiet. Achilles was still on the opposite side of the city finishing up patrol.

Patroclus made a beeline for the bathroom, stripping off his gloves as he went. His whole body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. He needed a shower. A long one. Then maybe to collapse and not move for forty years.

He was halfway through the hallway, mask tucked under his arm, suit torn and scorched and streaked with more black soot—when he heard it.

The door.

Achilles was home.

At the same time as him.

And—he was ranting.

Loudly.

“THIS STUPID SPIDERMAN—AGAIN?!”

Patroclus froze.

Oh no.

“THIS GUY!” came a voice from down the hall. “I swear on the gods, if I have to see that stupid spider-flipping nerd beat me to one more crime scene—”

Patroclus panicked.

He yanked the zipper back up in a blur and bolted across the room. There wasn’t time to hide the suit. Not in the laundry. Not under the floorboards. Not anywhere. He dove into bed instead, mask off but everything else still on, and threw the blanket over himself like a damn burrito.

Achilles’ footsteps echoed up the hall.

“—and it’s not even like he’s an official hero! Like who does he think he is? I trained for years, I get no credit—”

“Don’t come in!” Patroclus called, voice shrill with panic. “I’m, uh, I’m naked!”

There was a pause.

“…What, why would that stop me?” Achilles called back, sounding completely baffled. “Since when do you care if I see you naked?”

Patroclus grimaced. Gods, Achilles, please shut up.

Achilles opened the door anyway.

Patroclus yanked the blanket higher over his head so that only his face was visible. Which, unfortunately, was still completely covered in ash and soot.

Achilles blinked. “Why is your face all—What happened to you?!”

Patroclus opened his mouth. Stalled. Then blurted: “I was cleaning the chimney.”

Achilles stared. “We have no chimney? I think. It doesn’t matter, we have workers for that kind of thing! I’m confused-”

“- I got bored?”

“You got bored so you climbed into our fireplace that i’m not even sure exist to scrub soot off the bricks like some kind of Victorian orphan?”

Patroclus blinked innocently from beneath the covers. “…Yes?”

Achilles looked genuinely concerned now. “Are you feeling okay? Like do I need to call someone? This is the second weird thing you’ve done this week.”

Patroclus laughed, a little too quickly. “Nope! Totally fine. Just, you know… wanted to help out. Contribute. Domestic stuff.”

“You’ve never done domestic stuff. You burned spaghetti last month.”

Patroclus shrugged under the blanket. “Growth.”

Achilles walked over, clearly still confused. His golden brow furrowed. “You smell like smoke.”

Patroclus tilted his head. “Yeah, because… chimney?”

Achilles looked like he was about to say something else, really think about it, when his comm buzzed.

He glanced at it, groaned. “Ugh. It’s the PR team. Probably to yell at me for not beating Spider-man to that stupid robot attack.” He muttered the name with venom. “Gods, even his name is smug. ‘Spider-Man.’ Who does he think he is.”

Patroclus swallowed a grin. “I still think he’s kind of cool.”

Achilles whipped his head around. “What?”

“I mean,” Patroclus said with an exaggerated yawn, “he’s saving people, right? That’s the goal.”

Achilles crossed his arms. “I save people.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“He’s just…” Achilles made a vague flailing gesture. “He’s flashy. And smug. And where did he even get that suit? It’s like—weirdly professional.”

Patroclus tucked the blanket tighter around himself, sweat beading along his spine. “Yeah. Weird.”

Achilles narrowed his eyes, then sighed dramatically and dropped onto the bed beside him.

“Whatever. He’ll slip up eventually. And when he does, I’ll be there.”

Patroclus nodded, heart racing. “Of course.”

Achilles nudged his knee. “You’re so weird sometimes.”

Patroclus smiled faintly beneath the blanket. “I know but you love me anyway.”

”Yeah, I do.” The blonde smiled softly.

• . _ -

The hallways were quieter than usual.

Patroclus kept his head down as he walked toward Mr. Brown’s classroom, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. His ribs still ached faintly from the fight with the robot. The bruises were fading, but the weight in his chest wasn’t.

He hadn’t told anyone about Briseis yet. Not really. Not outside of Achilles… who was there when it happened.

And now, with the city watching the new masked vigilante, and fire-scorched fabric still hidden beneath the floorboards of his closet… he wasn’t sure if he could go back to being the person he used to be.

The kid who wanted to save people with scalpels and steady hands. Not webbing and fists.

He paused in front of the door.

Mr. Brown’s classroom was still the same—chalk dust on the windowsill, anatomical posters on the wall, diagrams of heart chambers and neural pathways curling slightly at the corners. Patroclus stared at one for a long time before knocking lightly.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice.

Mr. Brown sat behind his desk with a thick red pen in hand, surrounded by ungraded papers. He glanced up, and smiled.

“Patroclus,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “There’s my star. You’re a little late to our meeting. Everything alright?”

Patroclus nodded faintly. “Yeah, I just… needed time.”

Brown nodded back, gesturing toward the chair in front of the desk. “Well, sit. We can talk about next steps. That paper you wrote? Your argument on neural grafting for post-traumatic spinal injuries? Fantastic work. It’s the kind of thing that’ll get you straight into any program.”

Patroclus sat, stiff. He stared at the edge of the desk.

Usually, he would’ve smiled. Or asked a hundred questions.

But today…

Mr. Brown squinted at him. “You alright? You look tired.”

“I’ve… been having trouble sleeping.”

“Happens. It’s a stressful time, college stuff, decisions, the world being a mess. Where’s your other half? You two are usually glued together.”

Patroclus froze.

“Briseis,” Brown clarified with a chuckle. “She hasn’t been by my office to debate my syllabus in at least two weeks. I miss her smart mouth.”

Patroclus didn’t lift his head.

“She’s gone.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. Like the breath between heartbeats.

Mr. Brown leaned forward. “Gone?”

“She was caught in the attack on the north side,” Patroclus said, his voice hollow. “It was quick. She… didn’t make it.”

The older man’s face dropped. His hands slowly lowered the pen onto the desk. “Patroclus… gods, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

Mr. Brown stood up and crossed to the front of the desk, crouching so he was eye-level. “She was brilliant. And stubborn. And the two of you, you had the kind of friendship that made this job worth it.”

Patroclus’ throat tightened. He nodded once. Looked away.

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” he whispered. “The medical thing.”

Mr. Brown didn’t speak right away. He gave Patroclus time. Then said gently, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Patroclus lied. “It just feels… different now. Like everything I was doing was with her.”

— . • . — Flashback

He was seventeen when he first said it out loud.

They were sitting on the roof of Briseis’ old apartment building, legs dangling over the edge, fast food wrappers scattered between them. It was mid-July. The sky was violet with heat. Achilles was off training at a private compound two hours away, some elite hero camp run by the Achaion corps.

Patroclus had just finished rereading the same article on spinal surgeries for the third time, highlighter ink staining his fingers.

“I think I want to go into medicine,” he said.

Briseis popped a fry in her mouth. “Duh. You’ve been watching surgery videos for fun since middle school.”

“No, but seriously,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I think I want to do something with neurology. Or trauma care. Something where I can—” He hesitated. “—help people.”

Briseis turned to face him, raising a brow. “You already help people. You’re like the empathy ninja.”

“That’s not a real job.”

“It should be,” she muttered.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Achilles has his path already mapped out, he’s going to be a hero whether he wants to or not. But I want to… I want to save people too. Just in a different way. Not with powers. Just with my hands. With focus. With understanding.”

Briseis looked at him for a long moment.

Then she nodded once. “Then I’ll do it too.”

Patroclus blinked. “What?”

“Medicine. Hospitals. Whatever. You’ll need someone to keep you from spiraling into nerd mode and forgetting to eat. Might as well be me.”

He smiled. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” she said, poking him with a straw. “Plus, I look good in scrubs... and I think helping people sounds cool.”

They stayed on the roof a while longer after that. Just the two of them and the setting sun, and a future they could both see clearly for the first time.

. - . • Present 

Mr. Brown’s voice pulled him back in, “I think you still have a path.”

Patroclus frowned, not fully believing the elder. 

“I know you do,” Brown said. “And when you’re ready, I’ll help you figure it out. But this”—he pointed to the paper—“this proves something. You’re meant for more. Whether it’s here, in the lab, or out there—whatever way you decide to help people, it matters.”

Patroclus nodded slowly. He was halfway up, halfway to the door, when something clicked.

He paused.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

Mr. Brown glanced up. “Of course.”

“You used to work at Oscorp, right? Or still are working there. That’s why you’ve been out for so long?”

Brown blinked. “That’s… not usually what students ask me about.”

“But you do… When you’re not teaching here. You’re in advanced biotech. Experimental cross-species development.”

Mr. Brown sat back slightly. His expression tightened just a bit. “I see you’ve done your research.”

“You were on a team funded by Thetis Achaion. Recently,” Patroclus added. “She funded a project involving arachnid DNA. Genetically-enhanced neural mapping.”

Mr. Brown didn’t answer right away.

Then, calmly: “You really have been digging.”

Patroclus held his gaze. “Why’d the project stop?”

Mr. Brown folded his hands. “The experiment… it failed. But, I wanted to leave anyway. Especially when the project stopped being about science.”

Patroclus felt his stomach twist.

“What do you mean?”

“It became about results,” he said. “Weapons. Applications for enhancement. The kind of things that make board members rich and soldiers unstoppable. I signed on to improve prosthetics and neurological interfaces. I left when they wanted to start human trials.”

A beat.

“And Thetis?” Patroclus asked quietly.

Mr. Brown looked tired. “Thetis doesn’t like to lose. Or wait. She wants her son to be the best, and she’ll bankroll whatever gives him an edge.”

Patroclus stared at the desk. “Even if it hurts people.”

Mr. Brown didn’t answer. Not directly.

“I’d be careful asking too many questions,” he said instead. “People like her? They don’t like it when things go off-script.”

There was something sharp beneath his tone. Something old and resigned.

Patroclus gave a tight nod and turned to leave.

But Brown added one last thing as he opened the door:

“If something happened to you… if you got caught in one of those labs, or—” he hesitated, just a moment—“bitten by something that wasn’t supposed to get out… just nevermind.”

Patroclus froze in the doorway.

Brown didn’t elaborate.

But why would he assume that?

What did he know?

He just picked up the red pen again and returned to his stack of papers like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

— . • . 

The night air was thick with smoke again.

Patroclus could feel it clinging to the back of his throat as he swung low across the industrial sector, the wind howling past his ears. His side still ached from the last battle, a dull throb beneath his suit, but he didn’t slow down.

Because he’d seen the glow again.

That awful, electric red.

And now, he saw it clearly — down at the far end of a construction site, the ground cracked and scorched, the same kind of jagged trident-wielding machine stomping toward a terrified group of workers trapped behind a stack of steel beams.

Same glowing lines. Same voice.

“You do not belong,” it said.

Patroclus landed on top of a nearby crane and glared down at it. “Okay, seriously, you guys need a new scriptwriter.”

The robot’s head snapped toward him.

“Deviation detected.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a mistake, an error, a glitch in the matrix,” Patroclus muttered, webbing down fast and landing with a heavy crouch between the civilians and the machine. “You’ve said it all before. Got anything new for me tonight?”

The robot lunged without another word, trident crashing toward him. Patroclus rolled under it, fired a line of web to pull one of the workers to safety, then spun around and planted a kick straight into the robot’s shoulder joint.

It barely flinched.

“Cool,” he gasped. “Love that for me.”

They clashed again, blow after blow, heat scorching the edges of his suit. Patroclus fired webs, vaulted off pipes, flipped between wrecked scaffolding and broken crates to stay ahead.

And then, in a streak of golden light—

Achilles landed behind him, flames crackling faintly at his heels.

Patroclus froze mid-move.

Oh no.

Achilles didn’t even look at him. “I’ve got it from here.”

“No, wait—!” Patroclus started.

But Achilles had already leapt forward, fists glowing, muscles tensed, ready to strike—

And then the robot… stopped.

Just stopped.

Its trident sparked.

Its eyes flickered.

And before either boy could react—

BOOM.

It self-destructed in a blinding explosion, sending them both flying backward.

Patroclus slammed into a shipping container with a grunt, the metal denting behind him. Achilles hit the ground hard and rolled, coming up fast with a snarl.

The air was thick with smoke again.

But the robot was gone.

Reduced to ash.

And Achilles was livid.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” he shouted, staggering toward the wreckage. “Again?! Again with this?!”

Patroclus coughed quietly. “Technically, I softened it up for you.”

“You didn’t soften anything,” Achilles snapped, finally turning to face him. “You show up, hog the fight, and then vanish when the credit rolls in!”

Patroclus raised a brow beneath the mask. “Pretty sure that thing exploded itself. That’s not really my fault.”

Achilles took a furious step closer. “Who are you?!”

Patroclus hesitated.

“I mean,” he started, “we just met and already you want to know my name? That’s fast, even for me.”

“Drop the act,” Achilles barked. “You’ve been showing up for weeks, getting in the way—”

“Saving people.”

“Getting in the way, and now this thing just… self-destructs as soon as I show up?”

Patroclus blinked, then shrugged. “I don’t think it liked your vibes.”

Achilles growled in frustration. “Gods, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet you chased me down instead of doing literally anything else,” Patroclus said, stepping away, trying to turn his body slightly so Achilles wouldn’t see the burn on his side where his suit had torn open.

“I’m serious!” Achilles yelled. “You’re not part of any guild. You’re not on the city network. You’re just some masked idiot playing hero—”

Patroclus turned, slowly. “And you’re just mad because I beat you to the punch.”

Achilles stopped.

Breathing hard.

He looked at Patroclus like he was trying to puzzle him out, like he knew something didn’t add up but couldn’t find the piece.

“You think this is a game?” he asked, voice lower now. “You could’ve died.”

Patroclus didn’t answer.

“I’m not doing this because I want fame,” Achilles muttered. “I do this because I have to. Because I was born to.”

“Then maybe let someone else be born for it too,” Patroclus said, softer now. “You don’t have to carry the whole city on your back.”

Achilles shook his head. “That’s easy to say from behind a mask.”

Patroclus looked at him, for a moment, in complete silence.

Then said gently, “Yeah. It is.”

He turned to leave, already reaching for his next web.

Achilles stepped forward. “Wait!”

But Patroclus shot a line into the night sky and pulled himself up, swinging with a practiced arc.

Achilles didn’t chase him this time.

He just stood below, watching, fists clenched at his sides.

From far above, silhouetted by the moonlight, Patroclus whispered to himself, “It’s weird seeing him mad at me… even when he doesn’t know it’s me.”

His chest hurt.

And for once, it wasn’t from the fight.

He didn’t like keeping secrets from Achilles, it was wrong. 

He knew it was.

Chapter Text

The silence in Briseis’ apartment was louder than any siren.

Patroclus stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of his suit and the heavier ache beneath it.

He hadn’t planned on coming here. He was supposed to be researching, digging through old blueprints of Oscorp’s west wing, piecing together what the hell these robots were and why they seemed designed to fight him…not Achilles.

But instead, his feet brought him here.

To the place that used to feel like a second home.

Now it just felt… hollow.

The lights were off. A few boxes were still stacked by the front wall, sealed up. Most of her things were already gone—either packed by her parents or donated.

But a faint trace of her still lingered in the corners. The outline of her bookshelf against the wall. A scuff mark on the floor from where she used to stub her toe every morning.

Patroclus let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He crossed the threshold slowly, his footsteps echoing on the bare floor. The couch was gone. The photos. The smell of old lavender tea and nail polish remover.

It was empty now.

Just a space.

Not hers anymore.

His throat tightened. He reached up and peeled his mask off, hands shaking slightly. He sat down on the edge of the windowsill where she used to do homework with her knees pulled up to her chest and the city lights glowing behind her. His heart thudded too hard.

And that’s when the memory hit.

. • — Flashback 

“Careful, you’re gonna drop it!”

“I’m not gonna drop it,” Patroclus huffed, arms straining under the weight of a suspiciously heavy box marked “books and possibly weapons.”

Briseis was already halfway up the apartment stairs, barefoot, carrying three boxes at once and somehow managing to balance an iced coffee on top.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel?” she grinned, glancing over her shoulder.

“Because you own more books than the entire New York Public Library,” he muttered, following her up. “I didn’t sign up for cardio.”

“Oh please,” Briseis said, throwing the door open with her hip and gesturing grandly. “You live in a marble palace. This is culture shock. Consider it character development.”

The apartment was small, studio-style, old wooden floors, a window with a view of the laundromat next door, but it was hers. And she was practically glowing.

“I can’t believe you’re living alone,” Patroclus said, setting the box down and wiping his forehead. “You’re like… a full-grown adult.”

“I know,” Briseis said, spinning slowly in the center of the room. “No more rules. No more curfews. Just me and my dreams and possibly some minor violations of the fire code.”

Patroclus laughed. “You’re gonna burn this place down.”

“You’re gonna visit me every week, admit it.”

“You think I want to climb five flights of stairs just to watch you make instant ramen and call it gourmet?”

Briseis beamed. “Yes, actually.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “This is your last chance to ensure that you don’t wanna move in with me and Achilles? You’d get your own bathroom. The towels are heated.”

Briseis groaned. “Ugh. You estate kids. Do you even know how to plunge a toilet?”

Patroclus raised a brow. “Do you?”

They dissolved into laughter. The kind that echoed off the empty walls, too loud for how small the space was. Briseis flopped onto the floor with a sigh, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna love it here,” she said softly. “Even if it’s small. Even if it’s messy. It’s mine.”

Patroclus nodded and sat beside her. “I think it’s perfect.”

. • . - _ Present

The memory faded, but the feeling stayed, warmth and love twisted into loss so sharp it hurt to breathe.

Patroclus curled forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the peeling paint on the windowsill.

She should’ve lived a long, loud, beautiful life.

She should’ve been here.

Instead, he was.

Alone.

And the city was still cracking under the weight of secrets he didn’t understand—Oscorp, Thetis, trident-wielding robots that self-destructed on sight of Achilles.

Something was wrong. Really wrong.

And he needed to find out what.

She’d want him to find out what. 

He stood slowly, brushing dust off his hands, and looked around the empty space one last time.

“Miss you,” he whispered.

Then he pulled the mask back on and vanished into the night.

. •. - 

The Oscorp building looked clean on the outside.

Too clean.

Patroclus clung to the side of a ventilation shaft as the last of the night-shift employees filed out beneath him. They looked normal. Bored. Carrying coffee cups and security badges. Not one of them knew what was happening four floors beneath them.

He waited for the security lights to rotate before slipping in through the second-floor access hatch. The ductwork creaked under his weight…but just slightly. Just enough to remind him how much heavier the world felt now.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. Not even just justice.

It was fear.

Because these robots weren’t just machines. They knew him. Called him a deviation. Carried the same insignia. The same trident weapons.

They weren’t just trying to stop him.

They were designed to erase him.

And Mr. Brown’s words — the unfinished warning, the way he glanced at Patroclus like he knew — it had all been too strange.

Too close.

Patroclus crawled through the final shaft and landed with a muffled thud in an unlit storage room.

From here, the facility stopped looking like a lab and started feeling like something else entirely.

Military-grade locks. Windows covered with blackout shielding. No corporate branding anymore, just bare steel and humming vents. The hum of machines below him.

He kept low, following the quiet mechanical whine of bio-processing units down into the bowels of the building.

Eventually, he slipped through a final door and froze.

Rows of cages.

But these weren’t holding animals.

Not exactly.

Some held creatures that might’ve once been animals, limbs swollen with chemical tissue, eyes flickering like tiny computers. One pulsed with bioluminescent veins, twitching each time the lights above flickered. Another had no face at all, just rows of red vents that hissed softly, sensing movement.

He nearly backed away, bile rising in his throat.

Then his eyes landed on a glass cylinder at the far end of the room.

Inside it, encased in pale green fluid, floated something small and curled. A spider.

Exactly like the one that bit him.

A metal tag hung off the base of the cylinder:

Subject X-14

Code: A.R.A.C.H.N.E.

Status: Prototype viable

Notes: Neural merge achieved in 1 of 1 live exposure trials.

Patroclus’ breath caught.

One.

Of one.

He stumbled back a step.

It was never meant to be released. Never meant to survive. And somehow, somehow, it had gotten out and bitten him.

And that meant…

Someone else was supposed to be Spider-Man.

Achilles.

Just like Briseis had thought.

Patroclus’s head spun.

The tridents. The robots. The obsession with “retrieving what was stolen.” It was never about random attacks. It was about one thing.

Making sure the wrong person didn’t have the power.

And Patroclus had stolen it — just by existing.

He turned on his heel, chest tightening, ready to bolt, when he heard it.

A door slammed somewhere down the corridor.

Then raised voices.

“You don’t get to walk away from me!”

It was Thetis.

Patroclus froze, retreating into a shadowed alcove behind a bank of electrical consoles.

“You owe me loyalty,” she snarled. “After everything I gave you.”

“I owe you nothing,” Mr. Brown snapped back, his voice rough and sharp. “This project was supposed to be about helping people. You made it into a weapon.”

“You’re naive,” she hissed. “And replaceable.”

There was the sound of something thrown, a crash of metal. Then the hiss of hydraulics. More footsteps.

“Your son wouldn’t even have powers without me giving them to his Dad—”

“My son,” she cut in, voice ice-cold, “was born for greatness. You were just a tool to sharpen the blade.”

Patroclus slipped down the hall, every sense buzzing, as quietly as he could, inching closer to the source of the voices.

But by the time he turned the next corner—

They were gone.

The corridor was empty. Still warm with recent movement. A dropped folder still fluttering from the floor vents.

Patroclus scanned for signs, boot prints, the gleam of a heel print. Something sharp and chemical hung in the air. He followed it.

The hallway darkened the farther he went. Metal pipes lined the walls. At the far end, a heavy, vault-like door glowed faintly with green light beneath its seams.

And from behind it, voices.

Patroclus pressed close.

He could hear faint humming. A mechanical rhythm. Then Thetis’ voice again, lower now, more clinical.

“You always said you wanted to change the world, David. But the world doesn’t change without sacrifice.”

A pause.

Then Brown’s groaning voice: “This is… not what I meant.”

“You had your chance,” Thetis said. “Now you’ll contribute one way or another.”

A sharp hiss of air.

Patroclus gritted his teeth and reached for the door handle.

Locked.

He braced, ready to rip the panel open with a web burst, but before he could act, the door opened from the inside.

And Thetis stood in the doorway.

Framed in the glowing light, elegant as always, her silver-blonde hair pulled into a tight twist. Behind her, Mr. Brown hung suspended inside some kind of vertical chamber, tubes running from his chest and neck into a machine filled with bright blue liquid. His eyes were half-lidded. Unmoving.

Thetis’ eyes flicked up.

And met the mask.

“Spider-Man.”

The name wasn’t said in anger.

It was said in recognition.

She stepped forward like a queen approaching a battlefield. Her eyes flicked to the side.

“Security Unit 08. Terminate the intruder.”

A panel hissed open.

Another robot.

Even bigger this time. Even sharper. Its trident began to glow.

“Oh, come on,” Patroclus muttered. “Don’t you ever get tired of this?”

He spoke as if he wasn’t terrified.

His future to be mother-in-law was behind all of this.

Then he fired his first web and launched into the rafters just as the machine lunged.

The lab exploded into motion. Lasers cut through the air. The machine tore through surgical tables and ripped a support beam clean from the ceiling. Patroclus flipped over the attack, hit the wall, and bounced back hard, slamming into the machine’s shoulder with both feet.

Nothing happened.

It absorbed the hit.

“You are the error,” it buzzed. “This world has no place for you.”

“Funny,” Patroclus growled, dodging another swing. “My therapist says the same thing.” He snarled, even though he most definitely did not have a therapist.

He webbed the trident, yanked it wide, and sprinted past, making a break for the stairwell at the back of the room. A bolt of plasma scorched past his shoulder. The air smelled like fire and metal.

Behind him, Thetis didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t even flinch.

She just watched.

Watched like she always had.

Like he was beneath her.

And that hurt in a way the robot never could.

. - • . Flashback

Patroclus was nine when he was brought to the estate.

It wasn’t just him.

There were twelve of them in total, all foster kids, all boys between the ages of nine and twelve. They came in a line of government vans, blinking up at the shining mansion behind the iron gates like it was a dream. Cameras were already flashing as they stepped out, all of them handed polished shoes and matching white polos like a summer camp for orphans.

It was Thetis’ idea.

A charity initiative.

A highly publicized “philanthropic effort” to give underprivileged boys a temporary taste of elite living. Three months in the countryside estate of the Achaion family. All expenses paid. A week of press coverage. Enough material to soften her image just in time for the Hero Guild’s annual fundraiser.

The estate was massive, glistening columns, sprawling lawns, a pool big enough for five families, and nothing about it felt real.

The boys were shuffled in and fed and paraded for photos.

Most of them were thrilled. They laughed too loudly, wrestled in the halls, marveled at the indoor gym, stole extra slices of cake during the staged “family dinner.” Some bragged about what they’d do once a real family adopted them, because surely this was a stepping stone, right? Surely this kind of place would want to keep one of them?

Patroclus wasn’t like the others.

He was the youngest. He didn’t talk much. He wasn’t loud or charming or bright-eyed. He hung back in the doorway whenever they entered a new room. His shirt was always a little wrinkled, his hair uneven from a too-fast group home cut. His voice was quiet, his eyes tired in a way kids’ eyes weren’t supposed to be.

Thetis noticed.

And she didn’t like it.

He could feel it in her gaze — how it slid past the other boys with a forced smile, but lingered on him with something colder. Calculating. Like he was a blemish on her clean PR campaign. Too dirty. Too withdrawn. Not the kind of orphan you showcased for photo ops.

She never said his name.

In fact, she said very little to him at all, unless it was to tell him to keep his shoes off the furniture or remind him not to touch the art.

The other boys called her “Miss Thetis.” Patroclus called her nothing.

She made it clear, in small, careful ways, that she was counting the days until he left.

And he would’ve, he was supposed to. The program ended in twelve weeks. They all knew it. Patroclus didn’t expect anything else.

Until Achilles found him.

It was week three.

Patroclus had snuck away from the pool party after one of the other boys pushed his head under water for too long. His lungs were still tight, hair dripping onto the floor as he curled behind one of the grand staircases, arms wrapped around his knees.

Achilles found him there.

Barefoot. Damp from the pool. The sun caught the gold in his hair like a halo.

“You didn’t finish your cupcake,” he said casually, holding it out like a peace offering.

Patroclus blinked up at him. “Wasn’t hungry.”

Achilles plopped down beside him like they’d known each other forever. “You don’t talk much.”

Patroclus looked away. “Don’t have much to say.”

“That’s fine,” Achilles said. “I talk enough for two people anyway.”

Patroclus glanced at him, wary. “You’re not scared of me?”

Achilles tilted his head. “Should I be?”

He shrugged. “Most kids think I’m weird.”

Achilles grinned. “I like weird.”

And just like that, it changed.

Achilles started sitting beside him at meals. Dragging him out to the garden to catch frogs. Asking him questions about books, music, anything that made Patroclus’ eyes light up, even for a second. He didn’t mind the silences. He filled them with laughter, dramatic impressions of the butlers, and wide-eyed excitement about a world Patroclus had never been invited into.

One night, Achilles asked if Patroclus could sleep in his room instead of the spare.

Thetis refused.

Achilles asked again. And again. Then stomped into her office and refused to leave until she agreed.

“He has nightmares,” Achilles said. “And I don’t like him being alone.”

Thetis looked up from her papers slowly. “He’ll be gone in a few weeks. It’s not worth getting attached.”

Achilles didn’t flinch. “I already am.”

Thetis stared at her son for a long moment.

Then relented.

When the program ended, eleven boys were packed back into vans.

Patroclus stayed.

Thetis signed the extension quietly. No fanfare. No warmth.

She never said why.

But everyone knew.

It was Achilles.

Achilles, who refused to let him go. Who cried the night before the vans arrived and told Patroclus he wasn’t going back, not if he could help it. Who stood on the steps beside him while the others left and didn’t stop holding his hand.

Patroclus had told him the truth — about the homes. The bruises. The nights he’d pretended to sleep so no one would touch him. The fear of being returned to that.

Achilles had listened.

And Thetis had agreed.

But she’d never forgiven him for it.

To her, Patroclus was still the blemish. The foster boy who overstayed his welcome. The quiet, dirty, nothing-child who wouldn’t go away. Who stole her son’s attention. His affection. His loyalty.

Even years later, when he wore tailored clothes and spoke with better posture, she still looked at him like the same crack in her perfect image.

And now, hearing her voice echo from the dark corridor of a secret lab — cold and furious and god-like — Patroclus knew:

That hatred had never left her.

Not for a second.

Not for him as Patroclus or Spider-man.

Chapter Text

The lab was falling apart.

Patroclus ducked another blow as the robot’s trident tore through a steel beam like paper. Sparks exploded. Alarms shrieked in the distance now, triggered by the damage. A red siren began to flash in the upper corner of the lab, casting everything in blood-colored pulses.

He launched himself off the wall and fired two webs, one to the robot’s arm, another to a loose ventilation pipe above, yanking them together with a grunt. The pipe crashed down onto the machine’s back, momentarily staggering it.

Not enough.

He skidded across the floor, chest heaving. His shoulder throbbed where he’d been clipped by debris earlier, and the static in his head was building, a high, tense warning buzzing beneath his thoughts.

“Unauthorized deviation,” the robot growled, adjusting. “Eradication required.”

“I get it,” Patroclus snapped, dodging left. “I’m the glitch in the matrix, blah blah—” He fired a web directly at its optics. “You know, for someone with a trident, you talk a lot.”

It lunged blindly, screeching.

He ran. Straight up the wall and across the ceiling. Then, flipping hard, he landed behind the robot and sent a web blasting into the support cable holding one of the overhead tanks. The tank plummeted.

The impact cracked the machine’s back casing, sending sparks flying. Steam hissed from its joints.

Now.

Patroclus web-zipped to the vault door, yanked it shut, and sealed it with reinforced webbing. It wouldn’t hold forever, maybe not even ten seconds, but it was enough. He sprinted back through the corridor, every step pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Thetis’ voice echoed behind him once more, not shouting, not panicked.

Just calling calmly:

“Run, little spider. But you can’t outrun fate.”

He didn’t look back.

Even though Mr. Brown was still inside.

Hooked to a machine. His eyes rolling back. He’d tried to say something, maybe a warning, maybe a plea. And Patroclus had left him there.

He was too fast to be caught. Too strong to be trapped.

But he hadn’t saved him.

He should’ve.

He should’ve done something.

His mask felt tighter than ever. Like it was suffocating him now.

What kind of hero ran?

A weak one. A scared one.

The kind who left people behind.

He shot out of the Oscorp loading dock a minute later, breath ragged, suit scraped and smeared with soot and blood. The night air hit him hard, cold and real and sharp.

He stumbled into the alley behind the facility and collapsed to one knee, shaking.

She was behind everything.

The robots. The experiments. Mr. Brown.

The trident was hers. The anger, hers.

All of it meant for Achilles.

But he was the one who’d been bitten.

And now she wanted to erase him.

His hands shook against the concrete. His mask was damp with sweat and panic.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

A sound broke his spiral.

Footsteps. Not heavy. Familiar.

He looked up fast.

A silhouette stepped out of the shadows — glowing gold trim on deep navy-blue armor, gauntlets humming faintly with residual energy. No mask. Wind tousling golden curls like he’d just stepped off a movie set.

Achilles.

Patroclus froze.

They stared at each other.

Both in hero gear. Both out of breath. Both marked by a night they hadn’t shared but somehow lived through together anyway.

Achilles narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “Spider-Man?”

His voice was cautious but curious. Like he didn’t know whether to laugh or punch.

Patroclus didn’t respond.

Because this was it. The moment where he could tell him everything.

Who he was.

What he found.

What his mother had done.

His mask stayed on.

His fists clenched at his sides.

He looked at Achilles — the only person he’d ever loved, who’d once pulled him out of a mansion’s shadows and into sunlight, and for the first time, Patroclus didn’t know what to say to him.

The silence stretched.

His voice cracked when he finally spoke.

“Achilles I...”

Achilles blinked, “What-?”

”-nevermind.”

Patroclus was already gone, webbing into the sky, vanishing into the dark before Achilles could answer.

. • - 

The wind cut sharp against his mask as he shot into the night sky, leaving Achilles behind on the cracked pavement below.

Patroclus didn’t know how long he swung, five minutes, maybe ten, twisting between rooftops and fire escapes until the Oscorp tower was nothing more than a bruise against the skyline. His arms ached. His ribs screamed every time he breathed too deep. But it was the guilt that hurt worse.

One thing kept replaying in his mind… how he’d left Mr. Brown behind.

He could still see him, floating in that tank like some kind of half-dead science project. Patroclus had seen a lot in the last few weeks, but nothing like that. Nothing that felt so… human. And he’d run. Because of course he had. Because he was scared and overwhelmed and—

Not a real hero.

He landed on a quiet rooftop, collapsed to his knees, and tore his mask off like it was choking him.

“What the hell am I doing?” he whispered to no one.

His chest heaved. His eyes burned. The city stretched around him like a million tiny lights he wasn’t part of.

He wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man.

It had never been his bite.

It had never been his fight.

Achilles was supposed to be the one in the suit — brave and golden and beloved. Achilles would’ve kicked that robot’s ass. Achilles wouldn’t have left anyone behind. Achilles wouldn’t be up here questioning if the world would be better off if he never put on the mask again.

Patroclus curled forward, hands in his hair as he slipped his mask back on.

A voice startled him.

“There he is! Oh my gods — Spider-Man!”

He looked up fast, alarm rising, but it wasn’t a threat. Just… a camera. Two of them, actually. A news van had pulled up to the curb of the building across the street. A young woman with a mic and windswept hair was practically bouncing in her heels.

“Please, just one quote!” she shouted. “The city is obsessed with you, you just took down an armed mech outside Oscorp, you saved three civilians last week, you flipped over a garbage truck to stop it from hitting a preschool—”

“That was an accident,” Patroclus muttered.

But she was already racing forward. “Spider-Man, everyone’s talking. There’s even a party tonight for the city’s top-ranking heroes, the mayor’s office is hosting it in Union Hall. People keep asking if you’re going. Are you going?”

Patroclus blinked.

The hero party. Right.

Achilles had asked him to be his plus one, hours ago, back when the only thing he was worried about was what color shirt to wear. And Patroclus, still exhausted from his last patrol and worried he’d fall asleep in his pasta, had said no.

He’d said no a lot lately.

The parties made him feel like he didn’t belong, just some ghost hovering at the edge of glittering confidence. And now, knowing what he knew, being around Thetis, even in the same building?

He almost said no again.

But the reporter was still staring at him with sparkly eyes. Like he was a real hero. Like he had answers.

“Are you attending?” she asked again, breathless.

Patroclus hesitated.

Then he looked at the skyline.

And realized, if he couldn’t tell Achilles the truth, maybe he could at least listen. Feel out the vibe. Eavesdrop on some high-powered conversations. Maybe even corner another hero, one who might believe him. He couldn’t solve this alone anymore.

He forced a grin beneath the edge of his mask and saluted with two fingers.

“I’ll see you there.”

- . • . 

Union Hall was glowing by the time he arrived.

The stairs were lined with lights. The doors open wide. Inside, the music thumped through the walls and laughter spilled into the air. Heroes, some in uniform, some in slacks and silk, mingled with wide-eyed civilians and bored politicians.

All of them wore no mask to hide their face.

All of them except for Patroclus.

He landed silently on the roof, slipping in through a third-floor window. He didn’t bother changing. His suit was still scraped and torn at the elbow, his knuckles raw. The mask stayed on. That was the point.

He made it ten steps before someone handed him a drink.

“Spider-Man! You made it!” a hero in neon-blue armor cheered. “Dude, the city loves you. You’re all over HeroWatch. Try the sangria.”

He didn’t try the sangria.

He tried the bourbon.

Then he tried the sangria.

Slipping off his mask to only hide his nose and eyes, but his mouth was open to the public so he could drink as much as his heart desired.

Then he tried something purple in a glowing cup that tasted like candy and definitely wasn’t juice.

Patroclus was never much of a drinker, even if he was officially the legal age to drink. 

He didn't like the feeling of being intoxicated and not fully in control of his own actions.

But tonight was different.

The music pulsed louder. Someone started breakdancing in a cape. Two heroes challenged each other to a backflip contest. Patroclus stood at the edge of it all, sipping his third drink, feeling the buzz creep in and the guilt slip away, just a little.

Achilles was here somewhere.

He didn’t need to talk to him.

He didn’t even need to get close.

He was just… watching.

That’s what he told himself.

Until Achilles stepped into the crowd.

Golden curls, stormy eyes, tailored black suit with a deep blue tie that matched the trim on his gauntlets. He wasn’t wearing a mask, didn’t need to. He radiated attention.

Patroclus stared.

Then, for reasons that could only be blamed on hero-grade cocktails and years of unresolved thirst, he walked up to him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said, voice modulated low and teasing through the mask.

Achilles blinked. Slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re even hotter up close,” Patroclus added. “No wonder the media loves you.”

Achilles stepped back a little, eyes narrowing. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“Guilty.”

“And you’re… flirting with me?”

Patroclus leaned on the nearby railing with a lazy, exaggerated pose. “Is it working?”

Achilles straightened, shoulders tight. “No. Not even a little.”

Patroclus smirked behind the mask. “Harsh.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Achilles said, voice firm now. “Who I love very much. And who is a thousand times better than whatever web-slinging sleaze act you’re trying to pull.”

“Ouch,” Patroclus said, not sure if he was flattered or gutted.

“Stay away from me,” Achilles snapped. “And from him. Got it?”

“Him?”

“Patroclus,” Achilles said, like it was obvious. “My boyfriend. The one who actually matters. In fact, I shouldn’t even have told you his name. You don’t have the honor in bearing it.”

Patroclus’s breath caught in his throat.

The irony hit hard. And then the ache.

He’d made himself disappear so well… even Achilles didn’t recognize him anymore.

“Yeah,” Patroclus said quietly, stepping back. “He sounds amazing.”

“Damn right he is.”

Achilles turned to disappear into the crowd, already irritated — but before he could, a hand shot out.

Web-shooter warm against his wrist.

“Wait,” Spider-Man said, voice low and a little slurred, the bourbon catching up to him now. “One more question.”

Achilles groaned. “Are you serious—”

“Yeah. I just… I’m curious.”

Achilles gave him a look like you better make this quick, arms crossed, one golden brow raised.

Spider-Man tilted his head.

“This Patroclus guy,” he began, voice modulated and teasing, but his heart was racing in a whole different way now. “What’s he like?”

Achilles blinked. “What?”

“You said you’re taken,” Spider-Man said, sipping from a half-empty plastic cup. “And you said he’s better than me, which — okay, rude, but fair. So now I wanna know. What’s he like?”

Achilles sighed. “I don’t have time for—”

“Humor me.”

Achilles hesitated.

Then, reluctantly, he said, “You’re drunk, so surely you won’t even remember this. But, he’s quiet. Kind. Smarter than me. Smarter than most people.”

Spider-Man smiled behind the mask.

“He’s also stubborn,” Achilles continued, eyes narrowing. “Way too hard on himself. But he cares more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Wow,” Patroclus said, voice a little hoarse now. “That’s… that’s a lot.”

Achilles looked away, jaw tense. “He’d hate that I’m even talking about him like this. He doesn’t like attention.”

Spider-Man tilted his head. “Is he cute?”

Achilles blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just asking. You brought him up, man.”

Achilles looked ready to explode. “He’s beautiful. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Patroclus felt his breath catch, heart tripping over itself. The word stuck to him like glue. Beautiful.

He couldn’t help it , the teasing kicked up again, more playful this time. “Do you two live together?”

Achilles gave him a sharp side-eye. “What exactly are you trying to pull?”

“Just making conversation.” Spider-Man shrugged innocently. “Do you guys, like, cook together? Watch movies? What’s his favorite snack? Oh, does he like cats?”

“Yes. Yes. Cheese puffs. And he loves cats,” Achilles snapped.

Spider-Man clutched his chest. “Gods, I’m falling in love with him too.”

“Don’t push it.”

“No, I’m serious. This Patroclus guy… he sounds like someone who’d make you soup when you’re sick. Or laugh at all your stupid jokes.”

“He does,” Achilles said, and the sharpness in his voice softened just a fraction. “And he puts up with all my shit, even when I’m being an idiot.”

Patroclus swallowed hard.

He felt it, like a pulse in his ribs,that this boy, this golden, chaotic boy, loved him. Even when he didn’t feel lovable. Even when he hid behind a mask and flirted just to feel close.

But he couldn’t say any of that.

So instead he said, “He’s lucky.”

“No,” Achilles said. “I’m lucky.”

The words hit him square in the chest.

He took a slow step back, something warm curling in his throat, guilt, longing, maybe something worse.

“You really love him, huh?” he asked, quieter now.

Achilles didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

Spider-Man nodded, breath catching.

“Cool,” he said softly, a sad smile tugging beneath the mask. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you,” Achilles said firmly, turning back toward the crowd.

But just before he disappeared again, Spider-Man called out, one last time.

“Hey, Achilles?”

Achilles turned, visibly annoyed now.

“I hope he knows how lucky he is,” Patroclus said, voice thick. “To be loved by you.”

Achilles blinked.

Just for a second, his face shifted — something flickering behind his eyes, confused. Like maybe he recognized something. Maybe.

But then the moment passed.

He turned away without another word.

And Patroclus slipped out of the party, mask still on, heart breaking quietly beneath it.

Then Achilles turned and vanished into the crowd.

And Patroclus stood there, the world spinning a little, the weight of everything pressing against his ribs again.

He’d tried to forget. To drink it away. To joke it off.

But the truth was still the same:

He was in love with Achilles.

And Achilles was in love with him.

He just didn’t know it.

Not like this.

Not with the mask.

And sooner or later, something was going to break.

Whether it was the lie.

Or Patroclus himself.

. — •

The rooftop was cold by the time Patroclus landed on it.

It wasn’t a glamorous one, not the top of a skyscraper or the edge of some high-tech balcony. Just an old, flat building on the edge of Brooklyn with peeling tar and a busted satellite dish, one he used to climb before he ever had powers. It had always been his place to think. To breathe.

He sat on the edge now, legs dangling, suit half-unzipped and hanging off his waist. The mask lay beside him like a second face he didn’t know how to wear anymore.

The city glittered below like it didn’t know him.

And all he could think about was Mr. Brown — limp in that machine. Helpless. His eyes glassy.

He should’ve done something.

He could’ve stayed. Tried harder. Smashed the tank. Fought for him.

But instead he ran.

Like a coward.

And now he was drunk on cheap party bourbon, flirting with the one person who was never supposed to see Spider-Man as anyone, let alone as a threat.

Achilles loved him. Loved Patroclus.

But if he ever found out…

Patroclus buried his face in his hands.

He didn’t know if he could handle the look of betrayal Achilles would give him. The disbelief. The hurt.

He sat there for a long time. Let the city breathe around him. Let the guilt settle heavy into his ribs. The stars were faint and few, but they were there, soft pinpricks of light, trying.

Briseis was up there.

Eventually, his head started to ache. His stomach turned a little from the mix of alcohol and adrenaline.

He stood, slowly, and webbed back toward the apartment, wind tearing at his curls.

. . • 

He snuck through the window like he always did. Peeled the suit off fast and stuffed it into the hamper with the others. Pulled on a loose T-shirt and sweats, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he stumbled toward the kitchen.

He was halfway to the fridge when—

“Where the hell have you been?”

Achilles.

He turned, heartbeat immediately picking up. Achilles was standing in the doorway of the hall, arms crossed, wearing an old hoodie and gym shorts. His curls were a little damp like he’d just showered, and his eyes were sharp, worried and angry all at once.

“I—” Patroclus started, then paused. His voice was still a little slurred. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Doing what?” Achilles asked. “I came home and you weren’t here. I called, like, three times.”

Patroclus winced. “My phone died.”

“Where were you?”

Patroclus hesitated.

He’d rehearsed this kind of moment before, in nightmares, in passing thoughts, in all the ways this could go wrong. But it had never felt this real.

“I was…” he swallowed. “Out. Needed air.”

Achilles squinted. “Were you drinking?”

“No,” Patroclus said too fast. “Well…a little. Not… I didn’t mean to—”

Achilles stepped closer, looking at him more closely now. “Wait… are you hurt?”

Patroclus touched his shoulder instinctively, where a dark bruise was blooming beneath his shirt. “No. Just sore.”

Achilles looked at him like he was trying to read a book in a language he should understand but couldn’t quite translate.

“I saw Spider-Man tonight,” he said carefully. “He was… weird.”

Patroclus’s mouth went dry. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know. He said some stuff. About you.”

“About me?” Patroclus blinked. “Like what?”

“Just…” Achilles narrowed his eyes. “He was asking all these questions. And the way he talked about you — it felt off.”

Patroclus tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. “Maybe he’s a fan. I am pretty great.”

Achilles didn’t laugh.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, softer now. “You seem… off.”

Patroclus’ chest pulled tight.

“I’m just tired,” he said. “Long night.”

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

Achilles didn’t push.

He just stepped forward, reached out, and gently brushed a piece of hair back from Patroclus’s forehead.

“You can talk to me, you know.”

Patroclus nodded. “I know.”

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

Achilles pulled him into a hug anyway — warm and firm and grounding.

And for one long, aching moment, Patroclus let himself hold on.

Even though the secret was getting heavier by the second.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight crept in through the edges of the curtains, warm and soft like it didn’t know the world was falling apart.

Patroclus sat at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He hadn’t slept.

Not really.

Achilles was already out on patrol.

Which left Patroclus and his thoughts that seemed to be consuming him, or rather suffocating him, alone.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mr. Brown floating in that tank, eyes foggy and mouth barely moving. Asking for help. Asking for him.

And Patroclus had left.

Just like he had done nothing good for Briseis either.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until stars flared behind them.

I’m going back.

He thought.

He didn’t know how. Or when. Or what he’d do differently this time. But he had to try. He had to. Because every second he didn’t, he felt it, like static humming under his skin. Like the universe pulling at him with invisible threads.

He couldn’t let someone else die.

But he couldn’t save Mr. Brown alone.

The last robot had nearly killed him, and that was when he wasn’t cornered.

And if Thetis found out he was snooping around Oscorp again, if she suspected even for a second that Spider-Man was connected to Patroclus, she’d send something worse. She’d send everything.

And still… he couldn’t bring himself to tell Achilles the truth.

Not yet.

Because the moment he did, everything would change. Achilles would ask why he’d lied, why he hadn’t come to him first. And Patroclus wouldn’t have the right answers.

Just shame. Just fear.

The guilt was stabbing him.

He stood and crossed to the window, tugging the curtains open all the way.

Outside, the city was already moving. Taxis honking, dogs barking, a vendor calling out prices for bagels in broken Spanglish.

Somewhere out there, Mr. Brown might already be gone.

He took a breath.

Then another.

And just when he turned to grab his mask from where it lay draped on the chair, attempting to save Mr. Brown himself despite knowing the possible outcome…

His mind pulled backward.

Back to high school.

. • - . Flashback

The apartment was dim, lit only by the pale blue glow of the TV screen. Patroclus sat stiffly on the couch, remote still in his hand, though the volume had long faded into static. He wasn’t really watching anymore. He was just… staring.

Onscreen, Achilles was walking a red carpet.

And he wasn’t alone.

A girl hung on his arm, tall, glittering, polished to perfection in a shimmering gold gown. Cameras flashed. Her hand curled naturally against his bicep, and Achilles smiled just slightly for the reporters. Confident. Unbothered. Not a single flinch of protest.

The caption on the bottom corner read:

“Achilles, Golden City’s Brightest, Steps Out With Daughter of U.S. Senator.”

Patroclus didn’t move. Couldn’t. His throat was tight and his fingers numb around the remote.

He hadn’t been told anything about this.

They’d had lunch together just yesterday. Achilles had ruffled his curls and made fun of his salad order. They’d laughed until Patroclus nearly choked. Nothing about a red carpet. Nothing about a girl.

He didn’t even know this was happening until Briseis had texted:

“Yo… your boyfriend just soft-launched a senator’s daughter?? I’m gonna kill him.”

Patroclus shut the TV off. The screen blinked to black, but the image of Achilles with that girl burned behind his eyes like a bruise.

He wasn’t angry. Not yet.

But he felt it starting, a low, sharp pressure in his chest that made it hard to sit still. So he didn’t.

He stood. Paced. Went to the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Closed it. Sat back down. Stood again. His head was a tornado of silence and what ifs.

And then the front door opened.

Patroclus turned fast.

Achilles stepped inside, still in his suit jacket and dress shoes, hair tousled from the wind, not yet cleaned up from the event. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t wanted to be there.

Patroclus didn’t say anything. He just stared at him.

Achilles paused in the doorway, took one look at Patroclus’s face, and sighed.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.” Patroclus said quietly.

Achilles closed the door behind him. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Oh? Because it looked like you were introducing your girlfriend to the entire country.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Achilles said quickly, walking forward. “Gods, Pat, come on—”

“You didn’t tell me.” Patroclus’s voice was flat. But beneath it was that quiet, shaking tension he always got when he was trying not to break. “You didn’t say anything. I had to see it on TV like everyone else.”

Achilles stopped a few feet away from him. He looked guilty. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I was going to tell you, I just—”

“—You weren’t going to. You were hoping I wouldn’t see.”

“That’s not true!”

Patroclus laughed, humorless. “You had your arm around her. You smiled for the cameras.”

“Because I had to,” Achilles said, sharper now. “Because my mother, Thetis— she arranged it. Some PR stunt to make me look more ‘well-rounded.’ Said I needed to appeal to conservative donors, whatever the hell that means. It wasn’t my idea.”

“You still did it.”

“I didn’t want to!” Achilles snapped, stepping forward. “I fought with her all week about it, Patroclus. I told her it was stupid, that I’m not interested in her, that I’m with you, but you know how she is. She doesn’t care.”

Patroclus’s expression didn’t change.

Achilles’s voice dropped. “Nothing happened. I didn’t even talk to her outside the photos. She’s a stranger. A name my mother threw at me for ten minutes of press coverage.”

Patroclus looked away, jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Achilles said, quieter. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Patroclus whispered. “You should’ve.”

The silence between them grew heavy. It wasn’t the kind that passed. It lingered. Settled in like a storm cloud between their ribs.

Achilles stepped closer, slow and cautious, until he could reach for Patroclus’s wrist.

“I swear to you, it won’t happen again. No more secrets. Not from you. I don’t care what she says. I won’t let her make me into something I’m not.”

Patroclus’s throat worked. His eyes stung, but he blinked it away.

“I need to be able to trust you,” he said, voice thin. “Not just when it’s easy. Not just when we’re alone.”

“You can,” Achilles said instantly, gripping his hand tighter. “I promise. From now on, everything’s on the table. Me and you. We don’t lie to each other. Ever again.”

Patroclus finally looked at him. And this time, something in his expression cracked. It wasn’t forgiveness yet. But it was hope.

“I don’t want to be some secret you keep behind cameras.”

“You’re not,” Achilles said. “You’re the only real thing I’ve got.”

They stood like that for a long time, hands tangled, apology held between them, unsaid but understood.

And eventually, Patroclus leaned forward. Rested his forehead against Achilles’s chest.

And Achilles whispered it again like a prayer:

“No more secrets.”

. • — present

”No more secrets.”

Yeah, right.

Patroclus stared at his reflection in the window, the sun rising behind him.

He’d already broken that promise.

Again and again.

And he hated himself for it.

But telling Achilles now… telling him everything… it would do more harm than good.

He needed help, but not as Patroclus. Not with the history, not with the heartbreak. Not when there were still lives on the line.

If he told Achilles the truth now? He didn’t know what would happen and he couldn’t risk it. Not yet.

… maybe Achilles would understand. Someday.

He reached for his mask.

Maybe he could tell him.

Just.. not as Patroclus.

It didn’t matter if Achilles got angry at Spider-man, though. 

 . - • .

The mask clicked into place.

Patroclus took a breath.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure this would even work. But if there was even the slightest chance Achilles might listen, might help… he had to try. For Mr. Brown. For Briseis. For himself.

He followed the sound of chaos.

A familiar street near the Brooklyn Bridge was half-closed off, filled with clouds of smoke and the screech of police barricades being flattened. A low-flying drone zipped overhead, recording. Civilians screamed and scattered.

And in the center of it all—Achilles.

Suit shimmering blue and gold, fists crackling with controlled energy. His curls were damp with sweat, jaw clenched. He moved like fire: fast, ruthless, impossible not to watch.

Patroclus hovered on the edge of a rooftop above, crouched low.

He could leave.

He could wait. Try someone else for help. Try anything other than pissing Achilles off mid-battle. The last time someone interfered with his solo fights, Achilles had broken their comm unit and didn’t speak to them for three months.

But there wasn’t time for his lover’s pride.

Patroclus swung low.

The villain was winding up a hit from behind, one Achilles didn’t see coming. Patroclus shot a quick web, yanking the baton’s power core clean out of its center. It burst in a flash of sparks.

Achilles turned on him instantly.

“What the—?”

“No need to thank me..?” Spider-Man said, landing beside him, mentally preparing for Achilles response.

Achilles’s face darkened. “Are you kidding me?”

The villain lunged again.

Patroclus shoved Achilles out of the way and webbed their legs together, flipping over the enemy’s head and yanking hard. The villain went face-first into a parked car, denting the side.

“Clear,” Patroclus panted, chest heaving.

Achilles glared at him like he’d committed war crimes.

“I had that handled!”

“You were about to get hit.”

“Well what if J wanted to get hit!”

“Okay, maybe we unpack that later,” Spider-Man muttered, clearly confused.

Achilles advanced on him, furious. “Don’t you think you’ve already done enough? You’ve beaten me already to several battles, you already made your way to the top in a few weeks! It took my whole life, my whole life to get where i’m at today! And now you show up when you’re not wanted, interfere with my fight like you think I need you—”

“I don’t think you need me,” Patroclus said quickly, the guilt bubbling inside at the blonde’s words. “But I need you.” 

That stopped Achilles cold.

The air crackled between them, heavy with tension and smoke and static. Sirens echoed in the distance, but they sounded far away now.

Achilles’s voice was low. “What?”

Patroclus raised his hands slightly, not defensive, just open. “I need to talk to you. Alone. It’s important.”

“I don’t—”

“Someone’s in danger. And I can’t save them alone.”

He took a breath.

“I know who’s behind the Oscorp attacks. The robots. All of it.”

Achilles tilted his head. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.”

“Then who?”

Patroclus’ jaw tightened behind the mask.

He didn’t want to say it. But he had to.

“Your mother.”

Achilles went still.

Silence.

Achilles blinked once.

Then twice.

Then he laughed, short, sharp, and humorless. “You don’t want to finish that sentence.”

Patroclus didn’t stop. “She’s behind it. The robots. These genetic trials. A man’s trapped in Oscorp right now, a good man. She’s trying to wipe me out because I got powers that were meant for you.”

“Don’t,” Achilles snapped.

“I’ve seen what she’s building. What she’s hiding. The robots, the labs, the tests—”

“You’re lying!”

“She has people trapped in there, Achilles. She’s—”

“Shut up!”

Patroclus took a breath. “You don’t know what she’s capable of—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” Achilles roared.

Lightning cracked down his gauntlets. A car alarm blared. Patroclus didn’t move.

The air pulsed with anger.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” Achilles snapped, “but don’t you dare come here and throw wild accusations at the one person who’s always had my back.”

“I’m trying to help—”

“You don’t know her,” Achilles said, voice shaking with rage. “She’s not perfect, fine, but she’s trying to help people. She’s trying to protect me. She’s given everything to this city. Who the hell are you to question her?”

“I’m someone who’s seen what she does when no one’s watching.”

“Liar!”

“She’s hurting people.”

“You’re just trying to turn me against her. You’re jealous. You’re pathetic. You can’t stand that she chose me, that she’s my mother—”

“Achilles—”

The punch came fast.

Patroclus didn’t dodge.

It connected squarely with his jaw, throwing him back into a mailbox with a clang. His mask cushioned most of it, but stars burst behind his eyes. He winced.

Achilles stalked forward. “You think you can walk in here with your stupid mask and tell me my own mother is a villain? You don’t know anything about me!”

Patroclus straightened slowly. “I do.”

“No, you don’t—”

“I do. And I know you hate taking help.”

Achilles froze, for a moment.

Patroclus took a shaking breath, voice lower now. “And I know you’re so afraid of being abandoned, you’d rather push everyone away before they have the chance.”

“…Who are you?”

“I told you,” Spider-Man whispered. “Someone who cares.”

Achilles’s hands shook. “Why won’t you take off the mask?”

“Because it’s not about me. It’s about what’s coming. Please, just listen. Oscorp’s hiding someone. If we don’t act soon, he’s going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You’re insane!”

“I’m right.”

Achilles’s face twisted. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you. You liar.”

Patroclus swallowed hard. “That’s a risk I’ll take.”

Achilles charged again.

But this time, Patroclus didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just stood there.

Achilles grabbed his collar and slammed him back into the wall of a corner store, gauntlets glowing at full charge.

“You’re lucky I don’t hit people who don’t fight back.” Achilles growled.

Patroclus said nothing.

Just looked at him, eyes soft behind the mask. Hurt.

Achilles stared at him like he wanted to say something else. Maybe a question. Maybe an accusation.

But he didn’t.

He let go.

Turned away.

And stalked off into the smoke, vanishing without another word.

Patroclus didn’t move for a long time.

He stayed leaning against that wall, chest aching. Every inch of him screaming to call after him. To tell him the truth. To pull the mask off and say please don’t hate me.

But he didn’t.

Because it wasn’t the right time.

Because it couldn’t be.

So he turned away.

And swung into the dusk, heart cracking open with every webline.

. • -

He didn’t have time to sulk in his sadness though, he still had a job to do.

And if Achilles wouldn’t help him, someone else would.

So he swung.

Across rooftops and fire escapes, through fading dusk and into city shadows. Just motion. Just wind. The only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He needed backup.

He needed someone who could break into Oscorp and survive whatever trap Thetis had waiting.

And Achilles wasn’t an option anymore.

Which left only one name. One person Achilles would never have approved of. Who seemed nice enough at the hero party. And who was also one of the highest ranking heroes.

Patroclus touched down on a rooftop in Midtown and crouched low behind an air vent. Down below, neon signs buzzed. A food truck hummed on idle. And cutting down the alley like a blade of light—

Hector.

Golden armor gleaming in the dark. Controlled, calm. Surveying the block with narrowed eyes as he walked his patrol route.

Achilles had always hated him.

Said he was a fake. Said he was too perfect, too polished, too smug. Accused him once of being in league with the very villains they were all trying to stop.

Back in freshman year, they nearly got into a physical fight during a televised panel. Patroclus had to drag Achilles off-stage by the collar.

But Patroclus had never seen it. Never sensed anything malicious in Hector.

He knew Achilles could get a little wild with his conspiracies, and Thetis only supported it. 

Hector was another hero, another someone who got it. Who knew what it meant to hold the city’s weight in your hands and still carry yourself like you were trying to earn it, or at least that’s what he tried telling himself to make the betrayal he was about to commit feel lighter.

He took a breath and dropped down into the alley.

Hector turned instantly, shoulder plates locking into place.

“Spider-Man?” His brow furrowed. “You’re not supposed to be in my sector.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patroclus said, breathless behind the mask. “But I need your help.”

Hector didn’t lower his guard. “You don’t have clearance to be—”

“It’s not about clearance,” Patroclus cut in. “It’s about being a hero.”

Something in Hector’s face shifted. He looked him over again, slower this time. More carefully.

“What about it?”

“There’s a man trapped in Oscorp. A researcher. He’s being kept in one of their private floors, chemically sedated, hooked to some kind of machine. I saw him myself.”

“What?”

“I tried to get him out once, but the security… it’s not normal. She’s guarding it. She’s building something, and anyone who knows too much disappears. She’s the same one behind the robot attacks I’ve been stopping.”

Hector blinked. “She?”

Patroclus hesitated.

“I can’t tell you that. Not yet. Just—someone powerful. Someone running the whole thing from the inside.”

He wouldn’t tell him it was Thetis, that would ruin Achilles whole career.

Hector narrowed his eyes. “And you want me to help break in?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I had any other options.”

“Why would I trust you? The only other conversation we have had was something I can hardly remember as we were both intoxicated.”

“I know… but this is about stopping the robots. Saving an innocent man. Who knows what will happen next? Casualties have already arose and—“

“And you came to me? Not any other hero?”

“I did,” Patroclus said simply.

That landed. Hector tilted his head.

“You trust me?”

“I want to.”

That was honest. That was the most he could give right now.

Hector stared at him for a long time. Then sighed.

“You’re reckless.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Then let’s go.”

Patroclus blinked. “Wait, really?”

“If someone’s in danger, we’re not wasting time,” Hector said, already reaching for a comm device. “You have five minutes to send me coordinates. I’ll follow you in.”

. • - .

They moved fast.

Through silent shadows and around Oscorp’s perimeter. It was late enough now that the building loomed darker than usual, its top floors lit by cold fluorescent light and nothing else.

Patroclus landed on a ledge two stories up and scanned the access panel. It hadn’t changed. No new barriers. No extra patrol.

He looked to Hector, who gave him a silent nod.

They broke in.

Two flights up. One floor over. Through a glass panel Patroclus had cracked on his last attempt, it was still web-sealed, which meant no one had been here since. Maybe that meant Mr. Brown was still—

They landed inside.

And everything was gone.

The machine. The tanks. The fluid. The wires. The strange readings on the monitors. Gone.

The floor gleamed like it had been polished.

As if no one had ever been here at all.

Patroclus froze.

“No…” he whispered. “No, no, no…this was it! This was the room. Right here, he was right here!”

He darted to the far wall and shoved open a cabinet.

Empty.

The drawer where Brown had kept his coded files?

Empty.

Even the scratches in the tile were buffed out. No evidence of a fight. No evidence of anything.

“Are you sure this was it?” Hector asked behind him.

“I know it was. I was here. I saw—” His voice broke.

Hector stepped forward, calm but firm. “Then they cleared it. Someone was trying to cover their tracks.”

“No. They’re already ahead of us.” Patroclus’s head spun. “He could be dead. Or moved. Or—”

He swore and slammed his fist into the desk.

Everything was crumbling. Everything.

“You okay?” Hector asked after a beat.

Patroclus didn’t answer right away.

But he straightened slowly. Breathing shallow.

“I thought this would fix something,” he said. “I thought if someone else saw it, I wouldn’t feel so—”

“Alone?”

He looked at Hector.

And nodded.

Hector studied him for a long second. Then said:“You’re not. Whoever’s behind this, we’ll find them.”

Patroclus’s heart thudded.

He hoped that was true.

“It’s late. Do you want to keep investigating or is there some place you’ve got to be Spidey?”

Patroclus wanted to keep searching, he didn’t want it to be too late for Mr. Brown. Too late to save the day.

But it was already dark, Achilles was probably home and wondering where the hell he was.

He had done enough to worry the blonde, so he sighed.

”We can call it quits for tonight. I’ll do more research, if… if I find anything else, can I count on you?”

”You can.” Hector smiled, as he left.

Patroclus frowned underneath is mask, the guilt consuming him more and more.

. • . 

The apartment door clicked shut behind him.

Patroclus stepped into the dim light, the familiar scent of leftover takeout and sandalwood filling his lungs.

He was changed into normal clothes, he covered up the bruise Achilles left him when he was Spider-man with some drug store foundation.

And as he slipped inside, for one second, he let his eyes close. He wanted to drop everything, the mask, the mission, the ache in his chest, and crawl into bed forever, cuddling the love of his life.

But then a voice came from the kitchen.

“There you are.”

Patroclus flinched.

Achilles stood by the counter, suited up, gold and blue streaked with neon under the low light. His hair was pushed back, still damp from a shower, and his face was unreadable.

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” Achilles said. “Where were you? You’re always gone lately.”

Patroclus’s throat went dry. “I—”

“You know what? We’ll talk later.” Achilles cut him off. “There’s an emergency downtown. Some kind of freak mutation, or a science experiment gone wrong. City’s already evacuating the lower blocks.”

He stepped toward the window, unlocking the latch. “But we’re not done, Patroclus. When I get back, I want the truth.”

Patroclus didn’t move.

Achilles turned back briefly, eyes scanning him like he was trying to solve an equation that wouldn’t line up. “And don’t go outside. I mean it. It’s bad out there. You’re not equipped for this kind of threat.”

And then he was gone, leaping out the window in a flash of lightning and speed, vanishing into the night.

Silence fell again.

For half a second, Patroclus stood frozen, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Mutation.

Experiment gone wrong.

Something twisted in his gut.

He moved.

Straight to the bathroom, changing back into his suit. The fabric was still warm from earlier, still carrying the smell of sweat and smoke and guilt.

He tugged it on in silence, then stepped to the window Achilles had just vanished through.

And jumped.

The city below was chaos.

Smoke curled up from the financial district, glass shattered across rooftops. Civilians screamed as they scrambled out of alleyways, running from something massive and fast.

Patroclus swung low, heart hammering.

A hulking figure tore through a city bus like it was made of paper, throwing the twisted metal into a parking garage. Police sirens blared uselessly nearby, officers scrambling to set up a barricade that immediately collapsed.

He landed on a lamppost and squinted.

The creature was monstrous, half-man, half-reptile, standing over ten feet tall. Its skin was a sickly shade of green, scaled and glistening. Spikes curved along its spine, and its mouth hung open in a snarl, revealing rows of jagged teeth.

Its movements were jerky. Unstable. Like it wasn’t used to this body.

Like it wasn’t supposed to be in it.

Patroclus felt a chill.

And then… the monster turned.

For just a second, its eyes met his.

They were cloudy. Unfocused. But something in them flickered, confusion. Pain.

Recognition.

Patroclus’s breath caught.

No.

No, no, no.

It couldn’t be—

“Mr. Brown?” he whispered.

The creature let out a bone-rattling roar.

Patroclus staggered backward on the lamppost, vision swimming.

It was him.

He could see it now, beneath the scales, beneath the mutation, the remnants of a face he knew. The slight hunch in his left shoulder. The scar across his brow.

This wasn’t just an attack.

This was the fallout.

The experiments. The tests. The machine in that room.

They hadn’t just cleared it out.

They’d finished it.

And Mr. Brown had been the trial.

Patroclus’s knees nearly buckled.

“Oh my god…”

The lizard-creature whipped around, claws tearing through asphalt, and roared again, louder this time, raw and awful, a sound that made the streetlights flicker.

And somewhere nearby…

Achilles was fighting it.

Unaware.

Unaware that the thing he was trying to destroy… had once been a man.

Had once been kind.

Had once asked for help.

Patroclus launched forward, swinging into the chaos.

“Don’t hurt him,” he whispered. “Please don’t hurt him—”

But he didn’t know if he meant Achilles…

Or Mr. Brown.

Probably both. 

But his worst fear was confirmed.

He took a step forward, just as a blast of gold light hurled the creature sideways.

Achilles landed a second later, skidding through the rubble, fists glowing with energy, jaw clenched in fury.

“Get the hell out of here, Spider-Man!” he barked, not even looking at Patroclus. “I told you to stay away!”

Patroclus flinched.

He’d almost forgotten he wasn’t Patroclus right now.

Just the mask. Just the suit. Just Spider-Man, the hero Achilles hated, the threat he didn’t trust.

“But he’s—!” Patroclus tried to say.

“I don’t care! This isn’t your fight!”

Achilles charged again, launching himself at the creature.

The lizard-man turned with shocking speed, caught Achilles midair, and slammed him through the hood of a car. The metal buckled beneath them.

“No!” Patroclus sprinted forward, webbing a chunk of debris and hurling it to distract the monster.

It worked, barely. The creature turned toward him with a snarl, eyes narrowing.

“Mr. Brown?” he called again, breathless. “It’s me. You know me it’s…”

He didn’t know if he should say it. 

But the hesitation made the creature falter.

One step back. Its claws twitched.

Recognition flickered across its warped face, just for a second.

And then it screamed, a sound of pure torment, and lunged.

Patroclus shot a web and flipped backward, narrowly avoiding the swipe.

“STAY AWAY FROM IT!” Achilles shouted, recovering, blood trickling from his lip. “You’re only making it worse!”

“I’m trying to help him!”

“You’re getting in my way!” Achilles blasted the creature again, sending it sprawling into the side of a newsstand. “I warned you once. You come near me again, and I’ll put you down next.”

Patroclus’s heart cracked.

But he didn’t have time to respond.

The creature surged up again, stronger than before, muscles swelling unnaturally. Its tail lashed out,  hit both of them like battering rams.

Patroclus hit a wall and crumpled to the pavement, vision spinning.

Achilles was thrown into the side of a delivery truck, armor denting.

They barely got to their feet before the creature came back, swiping claws in a storm of rage. It caught Achilles’s arm, tearing through plating, then slammed Patroclus into the ground with enough force to make his ribs scream.

They were losing.

Patroclus tried to say something, tried to reach what little of Mr. Brown was left, but the creature let out a howl and vanished, bounding over buildings in a blur of motion.

Gone.

Smoke and silence filled the space it left behind.

Patroclus lay there, breath ragged, staring at the sky.

Achilles groaned nearby, pushing himself upright, broken armor hissing at the seams.

He looked over at Spider-Man.

Scowled.

“Don’t follow me again,” he growled. “Next time, I won’t hold back.”

Then he turned and vanished into the smoke, searching for the villain, limping but defiant, already calling for backup on his comms.

Patroclus didn’t move.

He just lay there, heart pounding in his ears, lungs raw with grief.

Because that wasn’t just a villain.

That was someone who once called him a friend.

And now… he didn’t know if there was anything left to save.

He went after Achilles and Mr. Brown anyhow. 

. • 

The lizard-like monstrosity tore through an abandoned subway station, ripping down tiles and shrieking with rage.

Achilles followed close behind, boots striking sparks off the third rail, gauntlets glowing. Every muscle in his body screamed from the last fight, but he didn’t care.

He wasn’t done.

Above them, Spider-Man swung silently from the cracked ceiling beams, trailing just far enough to stay out of Achilles’s eyeline, but not far enough to lose him.

He had to stay close. He had to make sure Mr. Brown didn’t hurt anyone else. He had to make sure Achilles didn’t get killed trying to do this alone.

Because whatever this thing was now… it still had Brown’s mind inside. Somewhere. And if there was even a sliver of a chance of saving him, Patroclus had to try.

A red beam flared ahead.

“Hey!” came a voice from the far end of the tunnel.

Hector dropped into view, golden armor shining in the dim light.

“You said you might need future backup,” he called to Spider-Man, eyes narrowed. “This count?”

Patroclus landed beside him with a breathless nod. “The guy…. it’s too strong. Achilles and I both couldn’t stop him on our own.”

“Yeah, well…” Hector cracked his knuckles. “Let’s hope we can together now.”

The creature burst through the wall with a roar before either of them could say more.

Everything exploded.

Tiles shattered. Dust swallowed the tunnel. Claws slashed the air like blades. Achilles slammed into the creature from one side, Hector from the other. Patroclus darted between them, webbing ankles and dodging jaws, but the villain fought like a thing possessed.

Patroclus tried to reach him.

“Mr. Brown! It’s me! You don’t have to do this!”

A swipe of a claw nearly took his head off.

“Shit—!”

The subway tunnel echoed with the clash of fists, blasts, and roars.

Achilles launched himself at the mutated creature, the thing that used to be Mr. Brown, sparks flying from his gauntlets with every strike. The beast reeled but didn’t fall. Its scales were too thick, its rage too consuming.

Patroclus, still masked as Spider-Man,  swung between beams, webbing down falling debris to protect civilians fleeing through the far exits.

And Hector moved like a fortress, pushing forward with kinetic shields, holding the line.

For a moment, they looked like a team.

That moment didn’t last very long.

But the tide wasn’t turning.

It was getting worse.

“Both of you need to leave!” Achilles snapped, panting hard as he glanced between them. “Now.”

Hector narrowed his eyes. “You’re barely standing. We leave, you die.”

“I can handle it!” Achilles shouted. “I don’t need backup, and I sure as hell don’t need him.” He nodded at Spider-Man, eyes burning.

Patroclus didn’t flinch. “We don’t have time for this!”

“You shouldn’t be here!”

Then the tunnel trembled again, this time from the other end.

Three metallic figures stepped out of the darkness, sleek and glinting red.

More robots.

But they didn’t attack Achilles.

They marched straight past him. Toward Spider-Man.

Achilles froze.

“What the—?”

Hector raised a blaster. “That’s not good.”

Patroclus dodged one of the bots as it lunged, twisting mid-air and webbing it to a broken beam. Another leapt and nearly caught his leg, claws out.

Achilles turned in disbelief. “Why aren’t they coming after me?”

That’s when the intercom buzzed to life again.

Calm. Cold. Commanding.

“Do not engage the golden one. Priority target is the Spider. Do not harm Achilles. Repeat: protect Achilles.”

Achilles blinked.

“What the hell was that?”

Patroclus’s stomach dropped. He knew that voice.

Thetis.

“They’re not after you,” he said, barely loud enough. “They’re after me.”

“What?” Achilles spat. “Why?!”

Patroclus looked at him. “Because I was never supposed to exist! I tried telling-“

Before Achilles could respond, Mr. Brown roared again and slammed Hector straight into a steel support beam.

Hector crumpled with a grunt, his shield flickering out. He was down.

“Hector!” Patroclus yelled, scrambling toward him.

Achilles lunged too, but the lizard swung its tail and clipped him across the ribs, hurling him sideways.

Patroclus barely had time to grab Hector and web him to safety behind a broken support column. He was alive, but dazed, and his armor sparked from the impact.

They were running out of options.

The robots kept closing in.

Patroclus fought wildly, every breath a scream in his chest, but for every one he knocked away, another replaced it.

And then, he heard it.

A screech.

A roar.

The lizard-beast turned, and charged straight for Achilles.

Thetis warning be damned. 

Claws raised.

Ready to strike.

Achilles didn’t move fast enough.

He was still watching the robots.

Still trying to piece it all together.

Still thinking maybe he was safe.

And then—

The claws came down.

And Patroclus threw himself in front of them.

The blow landed squarely in his side — deep, brutal, crushing.

“Agh!”

He crumpled instantly, thrown across the station like a ragdoll, crashing hard into the tiled floor.

Blood smeared the ground where he hit.

“Spider-Man!” Hector shouted, voice ragged.

Achilles’s eyes went wide.

“No—”

The lizard reared up again, but before it could strike.

The intercom buzzed back on.

Thetis’s voice.

Calm. Collected.

“Target acquired. The mission is complete. Retrieve the Spider. Leave the others.”

One of the remaining robots stalked forward.

It reached down.

Clawed hands stretched toward Patroclus’s unconscious form.

Achilles didn’t even think.

He moved.

“Don’t you touch him!”

He grabbed Spider-man first, hoisting his limp body into his arms, and blasted the robot with a full-force energy pulse.

The robot staggered back, sparks flying.

Achilles turned, holding Patroclus tightly, heart hammering in his chest.

He didn’t know who this guy was — not really.

But he wasn’t letting him go.

Not like this.

Not to her.

“Hang on,” he whispered, breath catching. “Just hang on.”

And he ran.

He ran with Patroclus cradled against him.

Into the smoke.

Into the night.

Into whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Achilles couldn’t feel his legs.

His vision was narrowed to a single thing: the broken body in his arms.

Spider-Man’s blood soaked through the fabric of his own suit, warm and steady. He didn’t know how the hell he was still alive. He barely was.

They’d almost lost him.

They might still.

Sure, he hated the guy, but he hadn’t wanted him to die, not really. Not after saving his life.

 Gods.

Achilles didn’t remember getting to the building. Didn’t remember blasting the Oscorp drone that tried to follow him. Didn’t remember kicking down the front door of the penthouse he and Patroclus shared. He only remembered running.

“Pat!” he shouted as he crossed the threshold, voice cracking. “PATROCLUS, I need you—!”

Nothing.

He shoved the door shut behind him and activated the security system. Shutters slammed into place over the windows. Locks slid home with an airtight hiss.

A robotic voice echoed calmly from the panel:

“Home system engaged. All entrances secure.”

It was naive to activate a security system that was set up by Thetis herself.

But Achilles ignored it.

“Patroclus!” he shouted again, louder this time, his voice desperate now, not just calling, but begging. “Please, this is bad, I need help! There’s someone, and he’s—”

He kicked aside a blanket, half hoping he’d find Pat asleep on the couch. The kitchen? Empty. No half-drunk tea mugs or laptop open on the table like there always were. No soft music playing. No lights on.

The place was hollow.

Achilles swallowed hard and looked down at the man in his arms. Still unconscious. Barely breathing.

Spider-Man.

He looked so small without the swinging and the flips and the smart-ass remarks.

Just a kid, his age or younger probably. Thin frame. Chest barely rising.

Achilles lowered him gently to the couch, every movement careful. As if any wrong shift would shatter what little was holding him together.

“Hang on,” he muttered, brushing hair out of the other’s bloodied face. “You’re gonna be fine. Pat’s a medic. He’ll fix you up. He always, he always fixes everything—”

He looked around the house again, slower this time.

Still no Patroclus.

No note.

No text.

No one coming to help.

Where was he?

He pulled out his phone with shaking fingers. Dialed.

Straight to voicemail.

Tried again.

Nothing.

His gut twisted.

“…Where are you?” he whispered, like maybe the walls would answer.

Now he was terrified for Spider-Man, and even more-so for his lover.

He sat back on his heels, breath catching, and looked down at the hero again.

More blood now.

Too much blood.

Achilles reached for the mask.

He hesitated.

Ripped and stained, it barely clung to the boy’s face anymore. But still, it felt wrong. Like opening a diary or cracking a vault. Someone’s secret. Someone’s soul.

But then the body let out a weak, choking cough.

And Achilles panicked.

He reached for the mask with shaking hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you die like this. I can’t let you- if I don’t know who you are, how can I- how can I even-“

He peeled the mask off.

And then Achilles froze.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing. His brain tried to place the face as a stranger’s, just some random boy, but the features were too familiar.

The lips. The jawline. The tiny scar near the eyebrow from when he fell off his bike in seventh grade.

No.

No.

No no no no no—

It was Patroclus.

Achilles recoiled like he’d been struck. He stumbled back against the coffee table, knocking over a stack of books. One hit the floor with a thud.

He didn’t feel it.

All he felt was ice.

“No…” he whispered, voice so small it didn’t sound like him. “No, no, no, no—”

Patroclus’s face. Bruised. Bloodied. Pale.

Patroclus’s chest, still faintly rising under the torn suit.

Patroclus’s curls, dark with sweat and blood, curling against the seam of the mask Achilles had just pulled off.

His voice broke.

“You—you lied to me.”

He spoke to the unconscious figure, as he got to work searching for medical supplies.

Memories flashed like lightning. Patroclus stumbling in late, always “busy” The sudden bruises he brushed off.

He had blamed it on grief for Briseis, assumed it was the brunette’s way of coming.

But the way Spider-Man knew too much. Spoke too much…

The way he’d fought like he cared.

The way he’d thrown himself in front of a monster to save Achilles’s life.

Achilles clutched at his chest like something was breaking open inside of it.

“You promised,” he whispered, vision going blurry. “You said, no more secrets.”

“I need to be able to trust you,” Patroclus had said once. In the kitchen. Late at night. Achilles had sworn it, sworn no more hiding.

But all this time.

All this time.

Every night he came home bleeding and shaking, every time he vented about Spider-Man getting in the way, every mission, every fight—

Patroclus was there.

Right there.

Wearing the mask.

Hiding the truth behind every kiss, every quiet moment on the couch, every I love you.

Achilles sank to his knees, hands tangled in his hair, shaking like his body couldn’t contain the storm inside it.

“…How could you do this to me?” he whispered. “How could you…”

He looked up at the boy on the couch.

His boy.

His best friend.

His partner.

And the person who had been lying to him longer than anyone else.

Achilles pressed the mask into his lap, curling over himself like it was all too much. Because it was.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked the silence. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

But there was no answer.

Just Patroclus. Still unconscious. Still bleeding. Still Spider-Man.

Still the boy Achilles loved.

And Achilles didn’t know if he would ever forgive him.

But he needed to save him.

Achilles stayed kneeling for a second longer.

His chest burned with betrayal, anger, heartbreak, but underneath it all, louder than everything, was fear.

Patroclus wasn’t moving.

His skin was cold, too pale under the yellow of the apartment light. There was blood on his lips. On his shoulder. His side. Everywhere.

Achilles scrambled forward.

“No, no—no, you don’t get to do this right now,” he said hoarsely, brushing hair out of Patroclus’s face again. “You don’t get to lie to me for months and then almost die before I can yell at you.”

He pressed his fingers to Patroclus’s neck.

There. A pulse.

Weak, but steady.

Achilles let out a breath that collapsed him.

“Gods, you idiot,” he whispered. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He didn’t want Patroclus on battlefields. That was his job. Achilles had powers. Training. Armor. An entire system built to keep him alive.

Patroclus had none of that.

Or… he hadn’t had any of that.

Just a too-big heart and a death wish wrapped in a spandex suit.

Achilles’s hands moved automatically. Years of training taking over.

He grabbed the med kit, flinging it open with shaking hands. Gauze. Saline. Sutures. Blood coagulant spray.

He’d patched up teammates before. Civilians. He’d even stitched up a teammate with a collapsed lung once.

But nothing had ever felt like this.

“You weren’t supposed to be out there,” he muttered as he peeled away the ruined suit, trying not to look at how bad it was underneath. Torn muscle. Bone showing in one shoulder. A long slice across his ribs that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“You weren’t supposed to be him. That was me. That’s my job. Not yours.”

His voice cracked again.

“I was supposed to protect you.”

He sprayed the coagulant, working fast, hands steady even though his breathing wasn’t. He pressed gauze hard against the gash, hating the sound it made when it hit blood.

Patroclus flinched and whimpered weakly, not fully conscious,but not gone either.

“Good,” Achilles whispered, voice trembling. “Stay with me. Come on. I’ve got you.”

He injected a low dose of stabilizer into his thigh. Patroclus jolted, then sagged back against the couch. Breathing shallow. Achilles checked his vitals again.

Still there. Still fighting.

“Of course you are,” Achilles whispered. “You always fight for everyone else. Even when it kills you.”

He wrapped his ribs next. Tried not to panic at the color of the bruises blooming across his stomach. His fingers brushed the spider-emblem on the half-ruined suit, and something caught in his throat.

He hated that suit.

He hated everything it meant.

But he loved the boy underneath it more than anything he’d ever known.

“Why didn’t you trust me?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t you let me help you? We could’ve figured this out together. I would’ve protected you.”

He swallowed. Pressed another compress to the cut on Patroclus’s cheek, gentle now. He wiped the blood away slowly, like maybe if he cleaned him up enough, he’d wake up and laugh and explain everything and they’d be okay.

“You promised no more secrets.”

He shut his eyes.

“And I promised to keep you safe.”

His hands dropped to his lap. Patroclus was breathing a little easier now, though his skin was still frighteningly cold.

Achilles sat there for a while, just watching him. Listening to the slow, unsteady rhythm of his breath.

And for the first time since the battle started, Achilles didn’t feel like a hero.

He felt like a boy who had already lost too much.

And might lose everything again.

. •

It started with a breath.

Barely audible. Ragged. But real.

Achilles’s head snapped up.

“Pat?”

On the couch, Patroclus stirred, just barely. His brows knit together like he was trying to push off a nightmare. A quiet, broken sound escaped him.

Achilles was beside him in an instant.

“Hey. Hey, I’m here, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Patroclus blinked up at him, sluggish and confused. His gaze flitted around the room. The living room. Their apartment. His hand twitched.

Then he saw the blood.

The bandages. The bruises. The slashed-up suit clinging to his frame.

Then—he realized.

His mask was gone.

“No.” The word cracked out of him. His voice was raw.

Achilles froze. “Hey-”

“No, no, no, no!” Patroclus tried to sit up, instantly clutching at his side, nearly crumpling back down. Panic bloomed on his face.

“Don’t, don’t move,” Achilles said quickly, steadying him. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

But Patroclus was spiraling now. “You know- you know, fuck—”

“Of course I know,” Achilles whispered. “You were dying in my arms. You think I was gonna just let you bleed out because of a mask?”

Patroclus squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I didn’t want you to, fuck, you weren’t supposed to—”

Achilles swallowed hard. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t supposed to be carrying your half-dead body across half the city either.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You lied to me.”

“I wasn’t—” Patroclus winced, lowering his voice, breath shaky. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared. And you hate Spider-Man—”

“I didn’t hate him,” Achilles said, softer now. “I was scared of him… I guess. He kept one upping me. And I-I didn’t understand why I cared so much.”

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face.

Patroclus went quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Achilles looked at him, really looked at him.

His skin was pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

The blood was drying, but his breathing was still shallow and tight. And behind all that, his eyes were glassy with guilt and exhaustion and the kind of fear that never came from physical pain.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Patroclus added. “You already carry so much. You didn’t need this on top of it. You didn’t need to be scared for me.”

Achilles’s throat clenched. “You idiot,” he whispered. “You think I’m not scared now?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.” Achilles shook his head slowly. “You never were.”

Patroclus looked like he might cry. He shifted again, arms wrapping loosely around his own waist. Trying to hold himself together. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to. Just… not like this.”

Achilles leaned forward, resting one hand carefully over Patroclus’s trembling one.

“We’ll talk about it. All of it. Later. But right now, I need you to focus on breathing. Staying awake. You’re still really hurt.”

Patroclus nodded faintly, voice barely audible. “You patched me up?”

“Yeah,” Achilles said. “As best I could. I panicked a little. You lost so much blood, I thought—” He stopped himself. “You’re lucky. Your body’s healing faster than normal, I think. But you’re still not okay.”

A fragile silence fell over them. Just their breathing. Just the faint hum of the apartment.

Until—

BEEP.

Achilles turned sharply toward the sound.

The security system screen.

SYSTEM OVERRIDE – REMOTE ENTRY ACTIVE.

His blood went cold.

“What the hell is that?”

Patroclus’s eyes went wide. He pushed himself up with a weak, painful grunt. “No. No, no, Achilles—”

“Hey, stop, what’s—”

“It’s her,” he breathed. “Your mom. She’s here. She has access, she must’ve figured you’d bring me, or- or Spider-Man here, she’s coming to finish it—”

Achilles was already moving.

He sprinted to the front door and slammed the manual override switch.

OSCORP SECURITY – ADMINISTRATOR CLEARANCE VERIFIED.

The door handle clicked.

“No,” Achilles growled, shoving himself in front of it like a barricade. “You don’t get to come in here. Not now. Not him.”

He hit the deadbolt. Engaged every physical lock he could. His heart was hammering. His hands shook.

Patroclus forced himself to his feet, swaying hard. “She’s after me,” he said, coughing. “You have to let me go. You can’t—”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“You don’t get it,” Patroclus said desperately. “She doesn’t care about you, she wants me gone, Achilles, if she gets in here—”

Achilles turned to him.

“Let her come.”

Patroclus’s voice broke. “You can’t stop her.”

“Then she’ll have to kill me too.”

Patroclus stared at him. His chest was heaving. His wounds ached. But something behind his eyes cracked.

Because he knew Achilles meant it.

He wasn’t going to run.

He wasn’t going to let go.

No matter what.

The front door handle turned again.

This time, it didn’t stop.

The front door handle turned again.

This time, it didn’t stop.

Achilles slammed his weight against it, but it wasn’t enough. The security overrides clicked louder than the locks. He was no match for her technology, not in this house. Not when she was the one who built it.

The door opened with a quiet hiss of hydraulics.

And Thetis stepped inside.

There was no armor. No team. Just a long black coat, hair pinned immaculately, and a cold steel expression that froze the room.

She looked down at her son, arms still braced like a shield in front of something, someone, behind him.

“Achilles,” she said, calm and measured, like this was a business meeting and not a war. “Step aside.”

She took another step forward, gaze sweeping past him. Her expression didn’t even falter at the wreckage, the ruined furniture, the cracked floor, the blood trailing across the hardwood.

“Where is he?” she asked. “I know he’s here. The drones traced him to this building. Don’t insult me.”

Achilles didn’t move.

Behind him, barely visible from the couch, Patroclus struggled upright. His breath was shallow, one hand pressed against a bandaged side. His face, exposed, pale, bruised, twisted in pain as he pushed himself up on shaking arms.

Thetis’s eyes found him.

She froze.

The silence dropped like a stone.

Her lips parted slightly. Her brow twitched, just a fraction. But that was all Achilles needed to know she hadn’t known.

She hadn’t known it was him.

She hadn’t known she was hunting Patroclus.

And for the briefest flicker of a moment, something that might’ve been hesitation passed through her eyes.

“…Patroclus?” she said.

It came out like a breath.

Achilles felt it in his chest, that old ache from when he was a kid, when his mother first met Patroclus and said, He’s soft. Keep him close, but don’t depend on him.

He remembered defending him.

He remembered her scoffing.

And now she knew.

Achilles could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, the recalculation, the reassessment. But instead of backing down, she straightened. Her expression iced over.

“That changes nothing.”

Achilles’s jaw clenched. “He’s hurt, he’ll die!”

She ignored him. Spoke over him, her eyes never leaving Patroclus: “You made your choice the moment you put on that mask. You aligned yourself with chaos. With lies. With failure.”

Patroclus was trembling now. He tried to get to his feet again, swaying.

Thetis took another step. “Step aside, Achilles. You have a future. Don’t throw it away over someone who was never built for this.”

Something inside Achilles snapped.

All the years of obedience. Of trying to live up to her expectations. Of believing her version of love meant control.

He stepped in front of Patroclus fully now — arms out like a barrier.

“You don’t get to talk about him like he’s not here.” His voice was tight, cracking. “You don’t get to decide who’s worthy of what.”

Thetis tilted her head. “You’re choosing him over me?”

“I’m choosing right over you,” he said.

Behind him, Patroclus whispered, “Achilles—” and tried to stand again.

Thetis’s gaze sharpened. “Stay down, Spider-Man.”

And Achilles spun to him, holding out a hand. “No,” he said gently. “You don’t get to throw yourself away anymore.”

He turned back to his mother.

“I’m here now. And you don’t own me. Or him.”

Silence.

Then—

Click.

Thetis lifted a small remote and pressed it.

The walls shuddered. Metal panels slid open above the balcony, and the sound of whirring turbines filled the room.

A drone dropped from the ceiling.

Then another.

Then six.

All of them locked on to one target.

Not Achilles.

Patroclus.

Their red lights glowed brighter as they processed the command.

Target acquired.

Spider-Man.

Achilles looked up, stunned.

“They’re not attacking me,” he whispered. “You… you programmed them not to.”

“Of course I did,” Thetis said. “You’re my son.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

Everything was confirmed.

And for the first time, he didn’t see a mother.

He saw a tyrant.

Someone who would rewrite the rules of morality to suit her pride.

Someone who would let anyone die, so long as it wasn’t her legacy.

“No,” he said softly. “Not anymore.”

One of the drones lunged.

Achilles blasted it apart mid-air with a burst of raw kinetic energy.

Patroclus staggered beside him again, coughing blood. “I can help,” he muttered.

“You can barely stand.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Thetis raised a hand, the signal for them all to fire.

“This is for your own good son!”

But Achilles turned his body fully to face the drones, arms spread wide. “I dare you.”

The drones paused. Hesitated. Confused.

Behind him, Patroclus webbed two and yanked them together, their circuits shorting.

It was clumsy, chaotic, and uneven, but together, they began to win.

The last drone spun violently and dove for Achilles’s head. He ducked. Patroclus blasted it out of the air with one final surge of webbing and electricity that shorted the light fixtures and sent a glass panel crashing to the ground.

The room went silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing.

Smoke curled from a wrecked drone’s shell.

Achilles looked up.

Thetis stood calmly at the edge of the mess. Her coat unwrinkled. Her hair unmoved.

But her expression, her expression, was something colder than hate.

Disappointment.

“You think love is strength,” she said. “But it makes you predictable. It makes you weak.”

Achilles stared at her.

And then said, without hesitation:

“No. It makes me free.”

The room was thick with smoke and the sharp scent of ozone from fried circuits. The wreckage of drones littered the floor like fallen soldiers, but Thetis still stood, a calm storm ready to break.

Her eyes flicked between Achilles and Patroclus, lips curling into a thin, dangerous smile.

“You think this ends here?” she hissed, voice like steel grinding over glass.

Patroclus, still trembling but steadier now, kept his web-shooters raised.

“We’re done running,” he said, voice low but resolute. “No more secrets. No more hiding.”

Thetis’s smile twisted, eyes narrowing. She raised her hand, palm glowing with a harsh, blue light.

How did she even have powers?

Before she could unleash her attack, Achilles lunged, his body moving faster than he could think, slamming into her with a violent burst of kinetic energy.

He shut his eyes, he didn’t want to think that he was harming his own Mother.

She stumbled backward, but recovered with terrifying speed, twisting through his grasp with uncanny agility, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Too slow,” she spat, her voice cold and sharp like a knife.

Patroclus sprang into action, firing webbing that shot through the air and snagged her wrist. She snarled and tore one strand free, but more followed, sticking to her skin, binding her movements.

Achilles joined the assault, landing a heavy punch to her side that knocked the breath from her lungs. She staggered but caught herself against the wall, glaring daggers.

“Hurting your own Mother?” she sneered, voice shaking with anger but tinged with desperation.

Patroclus steadied himself, swallowing the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. He aimed with precision, firing a thick webbing net that wrapped tightly around her torso.

Thetis thrashed violently, but the sticky strands held strong, each movement slowing her more and more.

Achilles caught Patroclus’s eyes, a silent question of whether she was truly subdued.

Patroclus nodded, voice rough, “We finish this.”

With slow, deliberate care, Patroclus began weaving more webbing, cocooning Thetis from head to toe like a dark chrysalis.

She fought with every ounce of strength she had left, but her power was draining fast, her attacks weaker, her breath ragged, her resistance fading.

Finally, completely bound and unable to move, Thetis slumped against Achilles’s shoulder, unconscious.

Achilles exhaled sharply, voice rough and tired.

“Not dead. Not broken. Just… contained.”

Patroclus dropped his web shooters and collapsed to the floor beside Achilles, every muscle screaming in protest.

The apartment was silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing, mingled with the distant hum of city life outside.

“We did it,” Patroclus whispered, voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” Achilles said, voice low but firm. “But this is just the beginning.”

He reached out, placing a steady hand on Patroclus’s bruised shoulder, grounding them both.

“We fight this together. Every step.”

Patroclus nodded, eyes closing briefly in relief, exhaustion overtaking him.

For now, they had won.

But neither of them knew how much it would cost.

The floor rumbled.

Achilles turned sharply toward the sound.

“For Gods sake what now?!”

A low growl echoed through the building. Not mechanical. Not robotic.

Something alive.

The wall exploded.

A monstrous, scaled hand tore through the drywall, followed by a deafening roar. Concrete split. The far corner of the apartment was suddenly gone, blown open by the force of the mutated lizard bursting through it, Mr. Brown, no longer just mutated, but feral.

He was bigger now. Faster. No hesitation left. Just hunger.

They hadn’t stopped him last time.

Achilles barely had time to shield Patroclus before debris rained down.

From where she lay bound in webbing, Thetis smiled, awoken from her state of unconsciousness.

“I didn’t come alone.”

Patroclus’s stomach dropped. “She summoned him—”

The beast roared again, shaking the glass.

Achilles ran straight at it

But the monster didn’t just go for Patroclus this time.

It went for Achilles.

Claws out. Fangs bared. No holding back.

“ACHILLES!” Patroclus screamed, dragging himself upright, pain burning down his spine.

Achilles took the hit, slammed back into the dining table, splinters flying. He got up, groaning, but slower now.

Thetis’s voice cut through the chaos, smug:

“He’ll never stop. Not until he kills one of you.”

Because she had programmed him to. Or conditioned him. Or twisted what was left of the man beneath the scales.

Patroclus didn’t think, he ran.

Straight into the monster’s path.

The two collided with a crash. Patroclus grunted, grappling, his muscles screaming.

He webbed the beast’s arms, its jaw, its claws, holding it back, and through the madness, he shouted:

“Mr. Brown! Please! You know me, y-you know me, I know you’re still in there—!”

For just a second, the creature hesitated.

One flicker.

The eyes, those eyes. Still human underneath the green and yellow.

“Mr. Brown, it’s me,” Patroclus begged, breathless. “You taught me. You helped me.  You don’t have to do this. You can fight it. You can.”

But Thetis didn’t care.

Her voice came sharp from across the room: “Execute protocol!”

And just like that — the flicker vanished.

The monster snapped the webs in two and hurled Patroclus backward like a ragdoll.

“NO!” Achilles shouted, catching him mid-fall. “You okay??”

Patroclus coughed hard, vision swimming. “Y-Yeah…”

But Mr. Brown was charging again.

Achilles stood in front of Patroclus without hesitation.

He knew what would happen.

The claws flew.

But they never landed.

Because Patroclus fired one last blast of webbing, straight into the creature’s open mouth, yanked himself forward, and slammed a second gadget into its neck: a disruptor chip. One he’d stolen from Oscorp months ago. A shutdown code.

It glowed. It sparked.

Mr. Brown roared.

Convulsed.

Then collapsed.

For a long, horrible moment, nothing moved.

Patroclus crawled to him, hands shaking. The monster’s breathing was shallow. Labored.

And then, his eyes shifted.

Human.

Just for a moment.

“Kid…” he rasped. Barely audible. “…Sorry I scared you.”

Patroclus’s throat tightened.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t say that. You didn’t scare me.”

Mr. Brown tried to smile. But his body was fading fast.

“… I’m sorry,” he muttered.

And then he was still.

Patroclus didn’t move.

He just knelt there, bloody fingers gripping what was once a man who believed in him, who tried to protect him, and who died under Thetis’s orders.

Achilles stood beside him, jaw clenched, eyes dark.

Thetis didn’t smile anymore.

Patroclus finally stood. Slowly. His body a battlefield.

He looked at Thetis, still wrapped in webs.

“You killed him,” he said.

She tilted her head, unbothered. “He served his purpose.”

Patroclus didn’t speak.

He just turned and fired one more shot of webbing,  sealing her mouth shut.

Then, finally, he collapsed into Achilles’s arms.

They held each other in the rubble of their living room. Sirens still distant. Lights still flickering.

And for the first time that night… there was silence.

For a moment. 

The TV buzzed faintly in the background, casting blue light across the wreckage of their apartment. The city outside was in chaos.

“…riots downtown after Oscorp’s East Sector lab was linked to last night’s attack…”

“…mutated assailant remains unidentified. Reports speculate genetic experimentation…”

“…calls for CEO Thetis Iapetus to address the allegations…”

Achilles didn’t move.

He was sitting with his back against the wall, one arm curled loosely around his knees, the other bracing a bloodied shoulder.

Patroclus was quiet beside him, legs pulled to his chest. There was dried blood flaking off his cheek. His suit was half-peeled off, the spider emblem torn and scorched.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Then Achilles finally said, “If we find the right server… whatever system those drones and labs are hooked into, we could delete it. All of it. The recordings. The logs. The files about you.”

Patroclus turned his head slowly.

“You mean… cover it up?”

Achilles shook his head. “No. Not just cover. Erase. Make sure no one ever uses it again.  If we wipe it clean, she has no weapons left. No blackmail, no defenses. She’s powerless. And maybe… maybe we tell the public what she did too.”

Patroclus looked at him carefully.

“You really think you can undo her entire empire by deleting a few files and telling everyone?”

“No,” Achilles admitted. “But it’s a start. We can ruin her from the inside. Get rid of everything she used to hurt you. Hurt him.”

He gestured loosely toward the rubble, where Mr. Brown had fallen. There was a smear of blood on the floor where the mutated creature’s body had finally collapsed, after turning on Thetis herself.

They both knew the police would arrive soon. 

Patroclus stared at it. Then looked back at Achilles.

“No,” he said.

Achilles blinked. “What?”

Patroclus’s voice was hoarse. Quiet. But steady. “That’s still your mom.”

Achilles opened his mouth. Closed it.

Patroclus continued, “You want her gone. I get that. I do too. But if you destroy everything she built just to protect me, then you’re becoming the same kind of person she is, someone who’ll burn the world to save one person. I say destroy the bad, but i’m sure there’s some good?”

“I almost lost you,” Achilles snapped, voice cracking. “She tried to kill you. I carried your body home and watched you bleed out on our couch!”

“I know,” Patroclus said, almost whispering. “But I’m still here. And you are too.”

He met Achilles’s eyes. His own were glassy.

“If we’re going to fight this… let’s not become them in the process.”

Achilles stared at him.

Then looked away.

His fists clenched once, hard, then released.

“Gods, I hate when you’re right,” he muttered.

Patroclus gave a weak smile.

“I hate that I almost didn’t tell you,” he said, more quietly. “I hate that I was so scared of losing you, I didn’t let you in.”

Achilles sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“Yeah. Well. You did lose me. A little.”

Patroclus nodded.

“I know.”

And then—

Achilles turned to him again. Jaw tight. Voice low.

“But I don’t want to stay lost.”

Silence.

Patroclus whispered, “Then I’ll wait.”

”The authorities will be here, what will we tell them?”

”We can say the truth, but I don’t think the whole public has to know. That may ruin your reputation too.”

Achilles finally stepped forward and opened the door as the sirens approached.

Two government agents stood there, weapons holstered, flanked by armored officers.

And in the middle, restrained, webbed, and utterly silent, stood Thetis.

She didn’t look defeated.

She looked cold. Remote. As if this were just another strategic delay.

But for the first time in Achilles’s life, he wasn’t afraid of her.

“I’ve deactivated her drones,” he said flatly. “There’s enough tech wreckage in that lab to trace a dozen violations of international law.”

Patroclus added, voice calm, “And there’s a body in the alley. Used to be a teacher. Mr. Brown. She turned him into a monster.”

The agents didn’t ask many questions. They just nodded.

Achilles watched them haul his mother away. She didn’t look at him.

Good.

When the door finally shut again, he turned back to Patroclus.

Silence fell again. But this one didn’t feel heavy.

It felt like relief.

Achilles collapsed beside him on the couch. His shoulder brushed Patroclus’s. “Do you think that’s it? It’s really over?”

Patroclus was quiet for a long time.

Then he whispered, “It’s never over. Not really. But at least now… we get to choose what we fight for.”

Achilles tilted his head, studying him.

Patroclus smiled faintly, eyes distant. “Briseis would’ve laughed at us.”

Achilles blinked. “You think?”

“She always said we were two idiots pretending not to care as much as we did. She’d have made fun of us for the drama. But she’d be proud we’re still standing.”

Achilles didn’t answer right away.

He just reached down and laced their fingers together.

Patroclus leaned his head on his shoulder, breathing steady now. Their bodies ached. The city was still burning in places. Nothing was perfect.

But they were alive.

They had each other.

Achilles rested his head lightly on top of Patroclus’s curls.

And after a while, in a voice barely audible above the hum of sirens and static and silence, Patroclus whispered:

“No more secrets.”

Achilles nodded.

“None.”

The city flickered outside, broken and glowing.

And somewhere out there, something else waited, healing, maybe. Or redemption. Or just another fight.

But for now, they had this.

Together.

Chapter Text

Hey everyone!

This is Jaylene, the author! :) 

I’m so beyond grateful for this community that has formed from this fic and how many people loved it! <3 

Last chapter, I sent a suggestions link on a google form and all of you agreed I should make a discord server!

https://discord.gg/4xnvAT9fjj

Here’s the link to that! ^ 

By joining my discord, your suggestions will get priority and you can get notified each time a new work is posted from there as well!

Along with just a fun community in general :)

Also, please don’t forget to fill out my google form if you’re interested in suggesting future works! 

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScwrbIWdB_86E3GrjebEmBqPHD7xI5HOJajXqZxxL3WLnxuXQ/viewform?usp=header

Here’s the link to that! ^

Lastly the only social I have that’s just for online which i actually use is called pookiejayjay on tiktok! 

I usually keep most of my socials to just irls!

Anyway, thank you all so much again! Sorry if this got anyone’s hopes up, please join the discord server it took years!