in medias res

hunt-spider rolled over onto his chest, the cool painted steel of his fernweh c8 cutting right through the thin fabric of his spider-suit. it was a fancy, sly car with a sleek sports-like build and a painting as glossy and black as the void. groaning, he sprawled out, kicking his legs. next to him (on his back, arms folded casually behind his head) lie his not-quite-enemy-not-quite-friend, the prowler. 

"comfortable?" prowl asked, lazy grin twitching at the corner of his lips in that way that made his eyes crinkle upwards a bit, a half-grin. it suited him in every way, from the wrinkles on his forehead to the glitter in his brown eyes. in the night, those eyes looked almost as deep in color as the body of the car. 

hunt groaned, the side of his face pressed against the hood of the car as he tilted his head to stare at prowl. 

"there's no stars here," he mumbled- voice hoarse. it still hurt. everything still hurt. the memory was vivid in his mind. the feeling of teeth- of stitches- of cauterised wounds and saline and. . . the weeks in the hospital. the sharp ache in his throat when he spoke was a dull reminder of it all.

"it's new york city, wha'd ya expect?" 

a dramatic sigh escaped hunt, and he pushed himself up with fully extended arms, staring over at the lackadaisical not-quite-vigilante. 

"what's the sigh for, reds?" curse that sly smirk.

hunt scooted himself over, and flopped back down so that his chin rested on prowl's shoulder. another sigh. "i don't want to die."

a hand found its way to rest gently, almost awkwardly, on the back of his neck, "aye, now don't start on that," prowl is all comforting smiles. the way his eyes crinkle upwards subtly makes hunt forget himself for a moment. "you're gonna be fine, you're gonna be a-okay."

 but, he's said it too many times for it to mean anything anymore.

--- 

it's cold as hell. new york winter had just set in, and any snow that did fall was turned into disgusting brown slush on the side of roads by the turn of the hour. hunt gripped the almost translucent threads of his webbing as he swung, prowl close in tow like a creature tailing across walls and roofs alike. 

"i'm gonna kill him." hunt said, as his feet made contact with the rim of the roof. he tilted his chin down to keep the gentle snow that was blowing over the buildings out of his face. 

prowl landed next to him, a leap from a building over. "that's a bit rash, don't ya think?"

"i'm done fighting him. i'm done playing nice." 

"mhhph, alright then." 

hunt surged forwards, and the pursuit continued. it was like that a lot. he, the voice of destruction, and prowl the more reasonable of the pair. hunt was always so serious out here, in the suit and with the mask. it was jarring to prowler how different hunt was when he was his friend versus when he was the hunt-spider. it was jarring, but part of him was fascinated by it.

---

"here to borrow the shower again?" prowl asked, sliding the window open as the masked spider deftly slid in. he used to be unnerved by the blood, but that was a long time ago.

hunt tore his mask off, discarding it to the side, "yeah," he sat his backpack down, fetched his change of clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom.

---

hunt coughed, doubling over the railing as his head spun and he dry heaved. a hand found its way to his back, grounding and comforting with no strings attached.

concern flashed in prowl's eyes as he pulled the ginger over in a side-hug. hunt shrunk into his arms, vision swimming. 

"i'm here, i'm here." prowl's tone lacked its usual facetious humor. he was all serious, grin replaced with a thin, serious frown. "you sick again?"

"i'm always sick," hunt rasped, white knuckled grip on the railing. "always. always dying. always sick."

—

hunt flicked the blade over his thumb, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "shut up."

prowl crossed over to him, pride washing over him at the fact that he had managed to get a twinge of emotion out of hunt. especially while he was in a piss poor mood. when wasn't he? still, it was nice to see that ice melt away and those sharp teeth flash in (however fleeting) moments of joy. prowl's hands found their way to his waist, and a tired grin tugged at his expression. "why? predator has become the prey? not used to a bit of friendly teasing?"

"i'll gut you," hunt snorted- it was one of those half scoff, half laughs. the way he rolled his neck when he did so, to the crossing of his arms. his body language betrayed his amusement, as did the phantom of a smile threatening to break free of his steel expression. "i'll show you what the hunt-spider does to villains."

"oooh, murder. fun." prowl's smirk widened for only a moment- the glint of mischief in his eyes the only indication of his devious plan- then, well planned, he quickly raked his fingers along hunt's ribs. hunt promptly returned the favour with an elbow to the jaw, which left prowl reeling(albeit, with a shit eating grin.). 

prowl cackled, rubbing his face, "jesus, reds! i know they say an eye for an eye, but wow,"

"don't tickle me, you cretin!" hunt replied, absolutely incredulous. "bastard," he sneered, thinly hiding his boundless amusement. then, shifting his weight, he lowered his shoulders and-

the two went tumbling over the rooftop. 

---

it was all scarce comfort. 

hunt sat up on the hood of his car. he lit up a cigarette- one of those fancy german ones his dad gets imported. acrid as it was, he couldn't seem to shake the habit.

"when i die, you have full permission to steal my card and max it." hunt mumbled, almost cynical, as he flicked ashes over the side of the car. 

"don't joke," prowl warned, tone soft as he too sat up. he placed a hand in the small of hunt's back. comfortingly.

—

hunt never cries. for what its worth, he never cried. not when his nose was broken that night. not when his throat was almost ripped out. not when anything. not for anything.

but, fuck. something about the way the world lurched under his boots broke him. something about watching towers that have stood his entire life shudder and crumble and glitch broke what little composure the hunt-spider had left. and- for what it's worth -he did not cry. his throat closed up and it burned and his eyes swam with tears but they did not fall. and the hunt-spider did not cry. because spiders can't cry. because beasts and monsters like himself do not cry.

because hunt-spider does not deserve to cry. 

and he didn't, for what its worth. for all its worth.

that is, until the world inverted itself and diagonally he began to slip. his fingers latched onto the steel supports of the construction and he squeaked. he craned his head down to see if prowl was okay. always if prowl was okay- second to his own safety, sure, but always. 

prowl's claws dug into the concrete, long skid marks as he finally came to a halt precariously from the edge.

"all good!" he called up at hunt, who stared with wide hazel eyes like a deer in headlights.

"good. . ." hunt mumbled.

---

prowl handed hunt a bottle of half-finished vodka. it's taste was sharp, acrid, and about as vile as straight vinegar. hunt took a swig, leant back against the tinted windshield. "you know, ain't it odd we don't know anything about eachother?"

"what's there to know?" hunt shrugged, noncommittal. 

"lots, i'm sure."

"mmh," hunt shifted awkwardly. prowl knew a lot about him. he knew very little about him in return, though. "well, alright. why did you become the prowler?"

prowl straightened up a bit, having to think about this. "it started to prove a point. that i was capable of it. that my tech was good enough."

—

hunt giggled like a madman as they toppled over the building's edge, landing on the fire escape with a metallic thud. to anyone else, that would have hurt like hell. but he was a spider, and it was nothing. he kicked at prowl, trying to claw him off. "agh!!" he snorted and cackled as prowl dug his fingers along his ribs, giddy panic in his chest. ticklish as ever. he planted a boot on prowl's chest and kicked him off.

prowl hit the railing with an oomph, grinning and chuckling despite the brief pain. "feisty."

---

hunt stepped out of the bathroom, hair still dripping. prowl raised a finely managed eyebrow at him. 

"don't look at me." hunt said in that purposely vindictive way that was completely playful. 

"who said i was looking," prowl threw his hands up and turned away on his heel, "i'm not looking."

hunt teased his hair with the towel to sap up excess moisture, rocking a t-shirt and sweats. he tossed the towel aside and flopped onto prowl's bed. "can i stay the night?"

"another fight?" 

"mmhm."

"yeah, of course reiddy."

---

good? good? things weren't good. the building under his finger pads glitched and his hand lost traction. stumbling, he shot a steel web to the nearest anchor and snapped his attention down to prowl- another web, normal, gentle, shot and thwapped to his chest. the slack seemed dangerously close- it was slim. hunt yanked upwards, panicked. he saw the panic behind prowl's mask. saw the stiffness in his bones as he clutched the silk strung to his chest. 

the slack was finally used. like a dramatic scene in a musical, the line drew fully tense but a few feet too long. the broken world below, a spire of what was likely once a church, burst through the chest of the prowler and split him open. 

and everything shattered.

and god damn it. hunt-spider's eyes filled with tears. he wasn't thinking when he let go of his web and slid down the side of the building. he wasn't thinking when he lurched forwards, arms outstretched-

--- 

hunt sat on the hood of his car, glaring at the ground. vodka on his breath mingled with cigarette smoke. he coughed, covering his mouth with his elbow. prowl scooted over, long legs unfolding and hanging over the edge with hunt's. the hand in the small of hunt's back scooted to hold his waist and pull him into a side hug. hunt tilted his head to rest on his shoulder.

"i wish i were as noble as you." hunt mumbled, leaning into prowl's warmth. pressing his forehead into the crook of his neck. "i do what i do because i have to. not to be good. not to prove a point. not to save the world. i-" his voice broke, which wasn't difficult as it was always breaking. always on the verge of lostness. he breathed into his neck, shaky.

"and thats okay, reds." prowl assured, voice low and assured. "that's okay. i don't blame you. not for anything. i blame your father. i blame the damn creature in your blood. i blame the world for fucking you up and fucking me up." 

the pause feels like eternity, and prowl gently cupped hunt's face, making him look up. he pressed their foreheads together, mumbling the next words. "but i never blame you."

---

"i'm donating my body to science." hunt mumbled, decisively, as his grip on the expensive faux leather steering wheel tightened till it was white-knuckled. 

prowl, with his feet kicked up on the dash raised a brow and his expression became a thin line. "you always kill the mood, reid," he said, with that faint bit of amusement that he always had.

"i'm serious," hunt glanced over, raising his own brow in an accusatory look. "i'm gonna die before i turn thirty five. that's the prognosis." 

he looked back at the road, the bustle of new york traffic drowned out by the noise-cancelling of the car. fancy. at least he'd always have that. the thing he helped make. 

"have a little hope, will ya?" prowl said, with a laugh-scoff. "you're so serious. relax, hunts."

hunt's response came with genuine annoyance. "how can i?" 

—

-fight or flight, already in overdrive, snapped when arms wrapped him up from behind and wrenched him through infinite colours and flashes of light. blood was still strong on his mind. the image of his not-quite enemy- no! fuck that. his best god damn friend! with a spike through his chest was still too fresh a wound- mere seconds old -for him to process anything but the fact that he was being wrenched away from his dying friend and his dying world. 

snarling, biting, angry and vitriolic, he thrashed and writhed and surged forwards for prowl- for hobie -but was wrenched back by silk and arms and through a rift in reality wide enough to swallow him. and it did. it did swallow him, dragging him through time and space and not towards his friend who he realised he'd give anything for. who he realised meant more than any of it put together. who he. . . who he realised-

---

hunt-spider flicks another polaroid out the window. it's one of many. one of too many. he had gotten a polaroid for his fourteenth birthday because he was interested in the vintage photography scene. his mother had wrapped it up nice and pretty in a red bow and presented it to her son with wide smiles. it was one of his few happy memories left regarding her. regarding any of his kin. 

the face that stares at him as the polaroid falls is faded and improperly exposed, but the dark skin and wide grin are distinct. unmistakeable. the purple cloak around his shoulders and mask in hand are even more so. reid, to his left, looks almost amused, a smirk unable to be hidden from his freckled face as he snaps the photo, prowl's arm around his shoulder. 

hunt tears his gaze away from the fluttering photo. it falls away into obscurity to nueva york below, and he pulls his head back into his dorm. rifling through the box again, he chooses another polaroid. his gaze skims it for a cursory moment, and he throws it out with pretense of apathy.

the chapter is closed. the book is over. all of that is over.

and it's time to wake up.