Hey :) I just thought I'd drop by with another story for you :) Happy reading :)

WARNING: This one does contain some descriptions of injury/blood, just thought I'd mention it in case some readers are sensitive to that sort of thing :)

ENJOY! :D

Lightning flashed through the clear, square window and Oliver flinched under his blankey as the thunder vibrated around his dark room. It had been storming for hours, but he didn't want to go to sleep, didn't want to shut his eyes because he was scared, and he was too afraid to admit that he was scared. So he stayed there, form shaking and fingers curled up tightly in the comforter. His parents were only a few doors down the hallway, just outside his room - so close. But he didn't want to run to them, running would make him weak, weak like all the boys in class said he was.

He whimpered as another flash boomed through the room, and pulled the blanket over his head in an attempt to protect himself. His breath came in panicked gasps in the darkness of his bed, and he tried to calm down, tried to tell himself that it was alright, when he heard it.

Hesitantly, Oliver lifted the blanket from his head and his wide, hazel eyes peered over the top, listening. There was a crash and a bang, before he heard the sound of a scream - the sound of someone in pain. Bravely pushing himself up, he pulled back the comforter and slowly planted his feet on the ground, leaving the fabric (with an image of two large bug eyes and a red, webbed mask on it) resting in a crumpled mess on his bed. He hesitantly moved towards the window.

Thunder cracked again and he flinched in fright, but over the sound of the rain, over the sound of the thunder, he could sense it - conflict.

Not being entirely sure what came over him, Oliver quietly lifted his window (careful not to make a sound) and looked out into the gloomy street. Immediately he couldn't see anything, until his gaze shifted down towards the small alley just near his house. A flash of red and blue whizzed momentarily into view, before several guys wearing black appeared a second later. They were fighting.

Oliver's eyes grew wide and curious, and he looked on intently, trying to catch another glimpse of the action, confused as to what was going on.

The sounds of a struggle continued, increasing as the minutes went by, before there were several final yells, and everything went quiet. Suddenly, a shifty looking man ran out of the alley, bent over himself protectively - something clutched to his chest. He looked this way and that, before taking off in the other direction, disappearing into the night.

Oliver bit his lip in uneasiness, before waiting at the window for a little longer. When no further activity came from the alley, he became intent with wonder.

Looking back into his small, safe room, he considered things for a moment, a flicker of doubt forming in his mind, before he then made a very determined and arguably unwise decision.

His window wasn't far from the ground - he lived in a relatively suburban area, and the house was rather low - so (sneaky as a cat) he slipped out of the window, and jumped down onto the grass.

Instantly, he was met with the torrential downpour of the rain, wind whipping around him. He pulled his arms in closer to his torso in an attempt to fend off the chill, before silently creeping across the lawn of the neighbouring house, slowing as he came to the end. He paused at the corner of the building that opened into the alley, and nervously peered into its dark depths.

He was met with at least a dozen masses lined along the walls and floors of the inky passageway, all encased in large, shimmering cocoons. Any other child by now would have undoubtedly run and fled at the sight before them - weapons and sinister objects tied up all over the place - but no, not this little boy, as something, something in his being edged him to move on. So he did.

Judging each footfall carefully, Oliver began to venture further into the alley, breath barely audible over the rumbling of thunder and the pounding of rain, as he eased past tied up masses containing criminals.

Oliver gulped at the sight of them all, before something thin and shimmery caught his attention between his feet. Bending down, Oliver tentatively touched the silky strand that was of the same substance the criminals were tied up in, before lifting it up to his face. Webbing.

It was slightly sticky in his fingers, and the end swayed loosely in the breeze. Oliver found himself feeling not disgusted, but slightly curious by the stuff, as he knew it was something that came from one particular hero - a hero that meant a lot to this specific little boy.

Taken over by his fascination with the web, Oliver suddenly yelped and jumped out of his skin as the lightning flashed and his foot came into contact with something else in there with him, lying on the alley floor.

Oliver started panting, terror rising up in his chest, before it flashed again and he caught a slight glimpse of red and blue. The boy froze, confused by this development, and with curiosity once again nibbling to the surface, took a step forward.

Each foot slowly being placed before the other, he crept closer to where the glimpse of colour had emerged from, until he was soon standing over a much darker spot in the shadows of the alley floor.

Rain splattered down on the ground from the neighbouring building's awnings, and the sky lit up, giving Oliver a full view of what lay before him. Oliver wailed, completely forgetting about creeping and being quiet, as he practically threw himself at the form, little strand of web forgotten, as it slowly floated to the ground.

In horror, Oliver looked down at the slight glow of the large, white bug eyes just visible in the darkness, as he grabbed the motionless form of Spider-Man. His eyes widened to the size of saucers as his small fingers gripped the spandex material underneath them, bunching it up, before he started to speak.

"Spider-Man?" he asked, voice tentative and questioning, as he gave his hero a small shake. "Spidey?" he asked again, when he received no response, and lifted the hero up slightly from the ground, shaking him furiously. "Spidey!"

Spidey's head just lolled back as his body sagged before falling limply onto the ground when he again made contact with it, eerily still.

"Wake up, wake up!" Oliver screamed, panicked, as he madly shook him again, slapping his face on either side: trying desperately to coax the hero to move.

"Wake up!" his terrified voice cracked, choked tears making their way out of his eyes, as his hands grasped at the fallen hero, clasping the costume's material on his neck. Oliver screamed, broken, as his clenching fingers then moved, and grabbed at Spidey's loose hand, making an attempt to pull at the hero, causing him to slide slightly along the ground. But he made no move to get up.

Oliver wailed, distress leaking through his little voice, as he went back to Spidey's body, hands resting against the red and blue belly.

That's when he noticed it. His hero's tummy was too wet, and when he pulled one of his hands away, it was smeared with red. Spidey was hurt; his hero was hurt.

He sat frozen, staring at his hand, small sobs choking through his form, before he scrambled back up to Spidey's head, and grasped at him. His hero just shook limply, lying back in his hands, neck arched and open, vulnerable throat exposed.

Oliver shivered. He couldn't leave his hero like this, lying in the wet and cold, where anyone could hurt him. He looked up at the masses around them, and suddenly felt fear at the villains housed there, hands unconsciously curling round Spidey's neck, once again bunching the material.

Making a very, very brave decision, Oliver grabbed at Spidey's shoulders, and with one mighty heave, pulled him along the alley floor. If he left Spidey here those criminals could get him, and Oliver would never see the day when he would let his hero get hurt, especially when he could help. So, with tremendous effort, he began to pull Spidey towards the alley entrance. His arms protested, and his body tired, but he wouldn't give up. The little boy began to pull the bigger one out of the alley, and slowly towards his home. He couldn't lift him, so shifted between pulling under his arms, to dragging him by his limp hand, putting everything he had into moving his hero, inch by inch, along the ground, and towards safety.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, he reached his still-open window, and stopped, panting for breath, but he couldn't wait there. Propping Spidey against the wall, he reached up and climbed to the window, before turning around and leaning down to once again grasp Spidey under the arms, and began to heave him up.

He strained, grunting audibly, as he desperately tried with all his might to lift Spidey. Luckily for him, Spidey was slightly lighter than your average human being, and with nothing less than a miracle, Oliver somehow managed to lift him up enough to drag his upper half partly through the window. Shifting so that he was perched in the windowsill, he began pushing Spidey's body through, panting and gasping as he did. But just before he was entirely in, he stopped. He ran over to his bed and grabbed two pillows, before running back again and placing them on the ground below where Spidey's middle would land, then he tucked himself behind Spidey's head, and pulled.

Spidey's hips and legs slipped through the window in one go, and he fell softly onto the pillows, his head safely cradled by Oliver. Jumping up again, he began to pull him further into the centre of the room, and lay him there.

Running back as fast as he could, he grabbed the window, and pulled it shut.

Immediately, the room was filled with silence, with nothing being heard other than the faint patter of the slowly easing rain from outside, and Oliver's panicked breaths. They were safe now, enclosed in the boy's encased room. Nothing could get at them here. Not in his space.

Quickly remembering his guest, Oliver once again grabbed the pillows from where they lay, and ran back to the hero (with them flopping all over the place) before he crashed to the ground. Tenderly, he lifted Spidey's middle and placed one under where he was hurt, stuffing it in, before he rested him back down. Then, he moved to Spidey's head, which he proceeded to pick up as he tucked the pillow under his neck, carefully resting him on it. After that, he moved to his side, and shook at the hero again - even though it was useless - his eyes pleading, voice whining; begging him to wake up.

He sat there, exhausted, not knowing what to do or completely understanding the situation. Slowly, his eyes started to become heavy, and before he knew it, his head was drooping down, until it finally came to rest on Spidey's webbed chest. His eyes slipped shut.

Oliver was suddenly awoken by a jarring sound, along with being disturbed as the thing beneath him moved, jostling him.

He was confused for a second - blinking his tired blue eyes of sleep before the memories all flooded back.

Jumping up, he looked down at Spidey's form lying on his carpeted floor, watching as his chest rose and fell unevenly, and hearing the slightly strained wheeze in his breath as he shifted uncomfortably. Whimpers of pain emerged from Spidey's throat, and he suddenly coughed harshly, a gloved hand unconsciously moving to his stomach.

Oliver swallowed, eyes full of empathy, and he moved forward, arms wrapping around his hero's neck, face buried in the curve under his chin, as he tried to comfort him, but something was wrong. Spidey felt hot, really hot. He placed a tiny hand on his hero's forehead, and could immediately feel the heat radiating off it in waves.

Feeling distressed, Oliver looked around his room, trying to come up with any idea of what might help him feel better, before he then got up, and ran over to a brown cupboard. Rummaging around for a moment, he messed with its contents, before emerging with a small plastic box with a handle.

Kneeling down beside the arachnid, he opened the lid, revealing a tiny, toy doctor's kit inside. Leaving it there, he then left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Barely minutes passed before he was creeping back in, a wet washer in hand.

Once again moving back over to Spidey, he laid it on his forehead, smoothing it down.

"There you go, Spidey. Mummy always puts a cool towel on my head when I'm sick, so maybe it will help you feel better too," he said out loud, before giving Spidey's cheek a quick kiss, and once again curling up to the hero's neck.

They stayed like this for a moment, the boy listening closely to Spidey's breaths, before he lifted his head from Spidey's neck, and reached over to his toy stethoscope. Placing the end on Spidey's chest, he tried to search out his heartbeat, only to have no success through the pretend plaything, and his face screwed up in worry. Throwing it back in its box, he moved so he was leaning over Spidey, and grabbed either side of him, giving him a shake.

"Spidey?" he asked, and small tears began to trickle down his nose. "Spider-Man?!" he called, before sobs slowly started to rack his form.

Noticing Spidey was beginning to shiver slightly, he crawled over to his bed and balled his hands up in the fabric of his comforter, before he then dragged it over to Spidey's unresponsive form, and began to wrap the red and blue Spider-Man blanket around his wounded body.

He sat there for a while, just watching Spidey sleep, before he got another idea, and once again disappeared out of the room.

Sneaking into the kitchen, he dragged a short stool over to one of the cupboards, and stood on it. Reaching up, he swung open the door, and grasped his hand around one of the many glasses on the shelf. Carefully removing it, he got down again and set it on the bench, before trotting over to the fridge, and pulling out a carton of milk. Running back to the glass with the contents swishing about, he wound off the lid, before carefully pouring the white, creamy substance in. Putting it back again he then ran over to another cupboard, peering inside, before he grabbed a packet of biscuits, and pulled one out, placing it on a small saucer. He then grabbed both items, and headed back to the room.

Creeping in, he placed the tediously collected items down next to Spidey, before grabbing Spidey's head, and shifting it slightly towards them. Picking up the biscuit, he moved it over to Spidey's mouth, waving it around. Spidey didn't respond.

"Look Spidey, I brought you food!" the boy tried to coax cheerfully, while instead picking up the milk and holding it towards him. But the hero didn't make any action of recognition, remaining still other than the jagged rise and fall of his chest.

Oliver choked, moving forward, and tried shifting Spidey's head further, patting at his cheek. "Spidey!" he said, before the distress finally took its toll, and he burst into tears.

Milk and biscuit abandoned, Oliver curled into the hero's form, as his body shook with sobs, the tears now flowing freely. He whimpered, pressing his face under Spidey's chin, hands clasping the hero desperately.

He stayed like that, cries muffled and silent, as the night went on, the sounds of thunder long faded in the distance.

Voices, cheerful and eager, made their way into Oliver's consciousness, and he stirred in his sleep - stretching his arm out lazily. He felt tired, exhausted. He didn't want to wake up, and the thought of having to made his body feel heavy.

Louder, the voices were getting louder. Oliver blinked his eyes open in confusion, before a female voice yelled strongly outside his door, clear as a bell.

"Come on, sleepy head. You can't sleep in forever!" And it was opening, his door was opening!

Oliver scrambled up in a rushed hurry, pushing himself onto his knees, just as it swung in, and the face of his mother appeared through the crack.

"Oh!" she yelled, the minute she saw the scene before her, and dropped the glass of juice she'd been taking him. It shattered on the floor. Her hands clamped over her mouth in shock as her breath came in shuddering gasps.

"Honey? Honey, what is it!? Is everything alright?" was yelled, and then within barely a minute his father's face was there too, staring with pretty much the same amount of alarm as his mother.

Oliver blinked up at them lazily - the disturbed night getting to him, as it was hard to keep his eyes open – from where he sat leaning slightly over the figure on the floor.

Following their line of sight, he looked down at the painfully familiar form on the ground, which'd barely moved an inch. He was breathing normally now, his breaths even and calm – he looked much more relaxed. It wasn't hard to know he was doing better. The sun had now come up, basking the room in a bright, golden light. It was comforting to Oliver, and the beams seemed to sparkle off the superhero's lenses, making them look bright and friendly.

He looked back up to his parents innocently, little face showing clearly the night's despair, eyes dark with remnants of tears trailing down his face.

"Mummy? Daddy?" he asked confused, waiting for them to do something. Getting the message, his father quickly zipped into the room, running to the boy and lifting him up in his arms, whispering that it was okay, that it was alright, while his mother moved over and gently checked the hero's pulse - letting out a long breath when she found one, and nodding to her husband, who curled his hand around his boy's head soothingly.

"There was a fight outside. Spidey was hurt. I couldn't leave him," their boy revealed, crying into his Dad's chest. "Am I in trouble?" His voice wobbled.

"No! No, you're most certainly not in trouble little man! Not at all! It's alright, you did a good thing, ok? You did a good thing helping the hero. I'm sure he'll be very thankful for it later," his father quickly cut in with before his boy could go any further, while looking intently over at his wife, who was perched by the fallen hero - the couple sharing a silent, worried facial conversation with each other. She was gently touching Spidey's cheek, trying to rouse a response from him. He continued to sleep.

Shifting Oliver in his grip, the father caught a glimpse of the boy's hands, and without thinking, quickly grabbed one of them. It was covered in a thin layer of drying blood.

Alarmed, he looked back up again with strong concern evident in his eyes, and lifted his son's hand so the mother could see.

Her mouth dropped open at the sight, before she quickly turned back to the hero, noting her son's favourite blanket wrapped around him - a Spider-Man blanket to be precise. Shaking the thought from her mind to mull over later, she gently found the edges, before pulling it back. She gasped in horror, and she could hear the sound of dread that came from her husband at the sheer amount of blood. Oliver whimpered too at the sight, curling further into his father.

"Oh God..." the woman barely muttered. It was dried, but it was obvious the hero had lost a lot.

Leaning forward, she lifted up the suit to reveal his stomach, searching for a better view of the damage. The wound was a long cut along the hero's abdomen, not severely deep, but enough so to have caused a lot of bleeding. Now, it was healing up, the edges closing and the original severity of the damage no longer visible, but it didn't stop the shock of the sight from getting to them.

"I'll go get a cloth. Come on, Ollie," the father said quietly, before getting up, and leading the boy out of the room.

Ten minutes later, and the last string of water was squeezed out, before the used piece of cloth was dumped on the edge of a bowl of water.

"I think that's it," the woman said, as they all looked over their handywork. Spidey's belly was now all nice and clean, with a fresh, thickly wrapped bandage wrapped carefully around his stomach. Oliver was looking on curiously from his spot on the floor in the corner, playing with some toys.

"I better take this out to the laundry," the father then inputted, as he picked up the bundled blanket, and walked out of the room. The mother then moved over to pick up the milk and plate still left on the floor, and headed out to the kitchen, also intending to clean herself up.

Watching them leave, Oliver looked back at the figure still lying on his bedroom floor, before abandoning his toys, and scooting over to the hero. He just sat there, gazing at Spidey with a look of quiet wonder and concern, before leaning forward and resting his head against his red and blue chest. He could hear Spidey's beating heart in this position, and it was reassuring to the young boy.

After a minute, he heard voices beginning to rise outside his room. He looked towards their direction curiously, before getting up off of Spidey, and running out to see what the commotion was, leaving the web-slinger all alone.

"Aden, I just don't know what else to do. I've done all I can for him, but I'm no nurse," Oliver heard his mum say, as he crept down the hall.

"But he seemed to be alright, yes? He's stable?"

"I-I think so. His heart rate's normal and his breathing's fine, and I can't see any signs of lingering infection, but he's still unconscious, and I don't know how long he's been here. Who knows how much time has passed since Oliver first brought him in."

"He's a superhero, hon. As far as I've heard they are pretty tough; they would have to be in their line of work."

"I know, I know. I'm just concerned. I have an injured superhero, in my house, which my son dragged in through the window. Forgive me if I'm finding this a little hard to deal with."

Oliver paused, as he heard the shake in his mother's voice, then they were embracing, his father trying to comfort her.

"It's ok, Kath. It's alright. If you'd like I can call an ambulance, and let them deal with it. I'm sure they're more experienced with these things than us."

"There'll be no need for that."

Everyone turned at the new voice cutting through their conversation, to find none other than the topic himself leaning in Oliver's doorway, a hand braced carefully around his middle.

"SPIDER-MAN!" Suddenly Oliver was running up to the new addition, wrapping his arms around his waist, as he was hardly tall enough to reach up higher. "I'm so glad you're ok! And that Mummy made you feel better!" he said, and Spidey warmed inside, running a hand over the boy's head affectionately.

"Yeah, I'm feeling much better, thanks. Your Mummy did a good job, and so did you! You may well have saved me today kiddo; you were a good superhero yourself," Spidey replied, and Oliver beamed, as Spidey slowly crouching down to the ground, giving the kid a friendly fist bump. He giggled, and threw his arms around the hero's neck, squeezing tight.

Gently unwinding himself from the embrace, Spidey rose up again to address the parents.

"There'll be no need for an ambulance; I'll be quite alright now. This little kiddo here gave me just the space I needed to heal." Both the parents nodded, the father swallowing hard, – "But, I think I could really do with some of that milk and a cookie right about now. I'm famished," he continued.

Oliver beamed, and before anyone could blink, was tearing towards the kitchen with such eagerness it left the parents gobsmacked.

The three remaining all looked at each other for a second, before moving out to follow the kid.

As soon as they reached the kitchen, they saw Oliver determinedly fetching a new glass and filling it with fresh milk - coming awfully close to spilling it, before he once again fetched a cookie from the cupboard - causing looks of alarm from the parents when they realised he knew just where they hid them. Very carefully, Oliver then carried the objects towards the lounge room, where Spidey followed, quickly settling down onto the couch, and letting out a relieved sigh as he did so. Leaning forward, he then reached to take the proudly offered items from the boy.

"Thank you," he said politely, before resting the plate on his lap, drink held in one hand. Oliver then took off again, heading back down the hallway.

Spidey paused for a second in surprise at his disappearance, before looking up as the parents hesitantly sat in the chair opposite him, eyes wide and mouths slightly slack in what was most likely awe as they took him in, sitting there in their living room. Spidey suddenly felt the slightest bit of awkwardness, as he cleared his throat, before Oliver reappeared, holding up something in his hand.

"Look, look!" he said, and Spidey soon found himself with a toy action figure of himself in his lap. "And this," Oliver continued, before toy after toy was added to the collection, soon becoming a miniature pile. "They're all you! You're my favourite hero! You kick bad guy's butts, and keep people safe," he praised. "I love you Spidey!" And then Oliver was hugging him, side on.

Spidey swallowed at the attention, unused to this kind of hero worship, before letting a small smile tug at his lips beneath the mask, as he then proceeded to lift it up, moving the glass of milk to his lips.

Spidey proceeded to slowly drink from the cup and eat the biscuit, occasionally dunking it in the milk, as Oliver snuggled into his neck - hug like a vice.

Taking a few more gulps, he took another bite of his cookie, before focusing back on the parents.

"So," he said, after he'd swallowed, "your son here's quite a Spider-Man fan, judging by the death grip he currently has on me." He joked, making conversation. This seemed to snap them out of their shocked trance, as they looked up at him. To his surprise, they both smiled, fond looks covering their faces.

"Yes, he's always been quite the fan of, uh, you. Spider-Man toys are all he ever wants for his birthday, and he watches the TV attentively whenever there's a newscast. He even likes us to take him on the occasional afternoon walk, where we'll let him look around at the rooftops, just so he can catch a glimpse of you some day. But, I guess that's not needed so much now, as I think he's well and truly met you," the mother said, slightly affectionately.

Spidey smiled. "Really?" he chuckled. "Well, I'm not sure he's going to let me leave. Now that he's found me, he just doesn't want to let me go, do ya kiddo?" he laughed, addressing the last part at Oliver who was still curled up around his chest. He leant down for a minute, shifting so his chin curled round the boy's head, putting another bite of biscuit in his mouth before he let out a big sigh - last night's events swirling in his mind.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Oliver pulled back, and looked him in the face.

"Who were those guys that hurt you last night?

Spidey looked thoughtful for a second, body becoming stiff, before white lenses focused on the boy. "That doesn't really matter. Just some street thugs who were more prepared than I expected, stealing a lot of important money. But don't worry, I'll catch them later."

"You'll kick their butts?"

"Yeah, I'll kick their butts," Spidey giggled, replying to the boy's enthusiastic statement, before he picked up his glass, and downed the last of it in one go. Quickly replacing his mask he stood up and stretched, many audible cracks coming from his back, before he loosened out his arms, shaking his hands. "Well, I'd guess I'd better be going now. Thank you, for all your help, especially you kiddo," –he turned to Oliver – "you were very brave, going out to rescue me like that, all by yourself. I really appreciate it," he said, leaning down to give him one last hug, and Oliver grinned from ear to ear, because Spider-Man had just called him brave. "Oh, and before I go, can I use your bathroom?"

The father jumped slightly, as if startled out of his thoughts. "Yes, certainly. Just down the hall to your left, opposite Oliver's room."

"Thanks."

Later that afternoon, an intricately woven web would be found strung in front of the window in Oliver's bedroom, the words "Thank You" weaved perfectly into it. And resting on the floor just in front of it, would be placed a small, red spider tracer, with a handwritten note underneath, explaining its function: along with saying how he'll be there at the touch of a button should they ever find themselves in trouble.

From that moment on, Oliver would keep it in his school bag every day, knowing that he was protected, and could call his hero if his bullies ever hurt him again, while the rest of the time, in the household, it would be placed next to the phone, the words "Emergency" written under it in big, large print.

About a week after that, a bunch of crooks were discovered tangled to a lamp post, the mysterious words "I told you I'd kick their butts," written on a note attached to the package, with the stolen goods tied beside it. The police never could figure it out.

As usual, I hope you liked that, and I'll be back with more soon :) Have a great weekend :D