Fubuki awoke suddenly as a loud grunt sounded from across her apartment. Her eyes shot open in alarm, but she told herself to control her breathing before slowly pushing her quilt down around her ankles. Careful to act silently, Fubuki rolled out of bed. Padding quickly to the door to her bedroom, she scrambled to take her robe off its hook, fumbling with the weapon in her hand which was Whirling Wind Slashing Steel attack. As she pulled the cozy dressing gown around her graceful body.
Fubuki hissed in alarm and froze, trying to listen for any reaction from the other room. After about thirty seconds of silence, Fubuki exhaled slowly and bent carefully to pick up the letter opener. She grasped the doorknob, forced herself to count to ten, and slowly pushed open the door. Then, as she caught sight of a red mask on the floor and a familiar head of a buzz-cut collapsed on her couch, she relaxed and let out the breath she'd been holding.
Michael Watanabe lay asleep on the couch in the living room, his mask discarded on the floor next to him but otherwise still suited up as the city's famed webslinger. Fubuki smiled softly at his appearance, his disheveled hair strangely comforting. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and moved to exit the room, but another grunt from Michael stopped her.
Michael rolled over in his sleep, his hand grasping at his ribs. He let out a tight breath, making Fubuki frown.
"Michael?" Fubuki said softly, stepping back into the room. She squinted through the darkness, trying to see if Michael's eyes were open. "Are you awake?"
Michael didn't respond; he exhaled sharply and arched his back before twisting back onto his side. Then he grunted again, his hand once again falling on his ribs.
"Michael," Fubuki said again, stepping into the room and setting the letter opener on a side table. "Michael, wake up!"
The superhero moaned in his sleep, and Fubuki caught a muttered 'stop'.
"Wake up!" Fubuki said insistently, rushing to his side. "Michael, it's just a dream!"
Michael turned away from Fubuki, his eyebrows knit in concern and his arm crossed across his body. "No, stop," he murmured. He winced visibly as his fingers dug into his abdomen.
"Michael," Fubuki tried again, reaching for his hand. "Wake up."
As Fubuki's palm slid over the top of Michael's hand, Michael let out a gasp, and his eyes popped open.
"No!" He cried out, sitting up suddenly.
Fubuki flinched, yanking her hand away.
"What-" Michael blinked a few times before his expression relaxed as he saw Fubuki looking down at him nervously. "Fubuki?"
"Michael, you were having a nightmare," Fubuki said kindly, kneeling down to lock eyes with him. "Are you okay?"
"I-I..." Michael took a shaky breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
"Let me grab the light." Fubuki stood up and moved to the lightswitch.
"Wait," Michael said suddenly. "Wait, don't do—"
Fubuki flipped the switch and turned back to face the superhero, smiling gently as light flooded the room.
"There. See? Everything's fi—" She broke off as she locked eyes with Michael. His face was speckled with purple bruises, and the base of his nose was flaked with dried blood. He grimaced and turned away. Fubuki covered her mouth with her hand.
"Oh my goodness. Michael, what happened?" The elegant beautiful woman hurried back over to Michael and perched next to him on the couch, horrified at all the blood she knew had to be Michael's. Spider-Man always wore a full body suit when fighting crime, so any blood on his body and not his suit came directly from him—which was always heartbreaking for Fubuki to see.
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Never Going To Be Apart Again
FanfictionWhat if Spider-man had survived the final battle against Carnage.
