friendly neighborhood spiderman

The skyline of Seoul was a blur of neon lights and shimmering glass as Jungkook swung through the air. The wind whipped against his mask, the cool night air filling his lungs. This was the only time his brain felt... right. Usually, his thoughts were a tangled mess of yarn that a dozen cats had been playing with, but when he was mid-air, gravity was the only thing that mattered.

"Okay, okay, focus, Kook. Or Spider-Kook. Or just 'Hey, you in the spandex!'" Jungkook muttered to himself, his voice muffled by the fabric of his mask. "Bank robbery on 4th. Standard. Boring. Maybe they’ll have those cool thermal drills? I wonder if those drills can melt cheese. I bet they could make a killer grilled cheese in like three seconds. Oh, wait, focus. Crime. Bad guys. Right."

He landed on the side of a building, sticking to the brickwork with ease. Below him, a group of armed thugs was loading bags into a black van. But they weren't alone.

Across the street, six figures stood in the shadows of an alleyway. Jungkook groaned, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, great. The Boy Band is here. What is this, a coordinated dance-off or a stakeout? Honestly, do they need six people to handle four guys with pea-shooters? It’s overkill. It’s inefficient. It’s—"

"Spider-Man," a deep, calm voice echoed from below.

Jungkook looked down. Namjoon, the leader of the group—known to the public as 'The Vanguards'—was looking up at him. He stood tall, his black hair with blonde tips catching the moonlight. Beside him stood Seokjin, broad-shouldered and looking far too composed for a man about to engage in a firefight.

"Oh, hey, Joonie! Can I call you Joonie? No? Okay, Mr. President it is," Jungkook chirped, dropping from the wall and landing in a crouch. He immediately started pacing, his hands moving rhythmically as he spoke. "Listen, I’ve got this. I was actually just thinking about grilled cheese, which led to thermal drills, which led to me being here. So, you guys can go back to your secret base and play Jenga or whatever it is you do when you’re not looking brooding and expensive."

"We’re here to ensure the perimeter is secure," Yoongi said, his voice flat and blunt. He was leaning against a dumpster, looking like he’d rather be sleeping, yet his eyes were sharp. "Stop talking and do your job if you’re going to do it."

"Stop talking? Me? Have we met? I’m the king of talking. I’m the Sultan of Slang. I’m the—hey, watch out!" Jungkook fired a web, snagging a gunman who had tried to sneak up behind Hoseok.

Hoseok didn't even flinch. He just nodded at Jungkook with a warm, patient smile. "Thanks, Spidey. But maybe let’s focus on the ones with the actual money?"

"I am focusing! I have multi-focus! It’s a gift!" Jungkook yelled, diving into the fray.

He was a blur of red and blue, his movements erratic and fast. He was mocking the robbers as he disarmed them, his ADHD brain firing at a million miles an hour. "Nice shoes, buddy! Are those knock-offs? They look like knock-offs. Also, your stance is all wrong, you’re going to throw out your back and then who’s going to pay the medical bills? Not the bank! Because you’re robbing it! Logic!"

"He’s particularly energetic tonight," Jimin noted, his blonde hair shimmering as he gracefully dodged a punch, redirected the momentum, and pinned a man to the ground.

"He’s a brat," Taehyung added, his voice airy and free-spirited even as he used his telekinetic grip to stack the discarded weapons in a neat pile. "But he’s a talented brat."

Jungkook landed a kick and flipped backward, landing near the Vanguards. "I heard that! And I’m not a brat! I’m a high-functioning vigilante who doesn't need a babysitting club following him around. Seriously, why are you guys always where I am? It’s creepy. Are you stalking me? Is this a fan club situation?"

"We work for the same city, Spider-Man," Seokjin said, his voice stern but layered with an annoying amount of patience. "It would be easier if we coordinated."

"No thanks! I work alone! Well, me and my inner monologue, but he’s a bit of a jerk sometimes," Jungkook snapped, his heart racing. He hated how they looked at him—like he was a puzzle they were trying to solve. He hated how calm they were. It made his own internal chaos feel louder. "Stay out of my way!"

He swung away before they could respond, leaving the scene cleaned up and the criminals webbed for the police.

***

Two days later, Jungkook was sitting in a small, tucked-away coffee shop in Gangnam. His head was pounding. He hadn't slept; his brain wouldn't shut up about a project he was working on, a new web-fluid formula, and the fact that he’d forgotten to buy milk.

He was tapping his fingers on the wooden table in a rapid, staccato rhythm. His leg was bouncing so hard the table was vibrating. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, his dark hair messy, trying to blend into the background.

The bell chimed. Six men walked in.

Jungkook froze. They weren't in their gear. They were in expensive coats and casual sweaters. They looked... normal. But the way they moved—the confidence, the spatial awareness—it was unmistakable.

*It’s them.*

He ducked his head, staring intensely at his americano. *Don't look up. If you don't see them, they aren't real. Object permanence, Jungkook. Use it.*

"Is this seat taken?"

Jungkook looked up. It was the tall one. Namjoon. He was smiling, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He looked incredibly handsome and utterly terrifying.

"Uh, yeah. No. I mean—I’m leaving," Jungkook stammered, his words tripping over each other. "I have a thing. A cat. My cat has a dentist appointment. Very important. Gingivitis is no joke."

Yoongi, standing behind Namjoon, raised an eyebrow. "A cat dentist?"

"They exist! Probably! Somewhere!" Jungkook scrambled to grab his bag, his hands shaking slightly. "Bye!"

He practically sprinted out the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. *That was close. Too close. Why do they look so familiar even without the masks?*

***

The night things fell apart started with a simple patrol that turned into an ambush. A new gang, armed with experimental pulse technology, had caught Jungkook off guard.

A blast of energy hit him mid-swing, sending him crashing through a warehouse skylight. He hit the concrete floor hard. Shards of glass sliced through his suit. His side was burning, a deep gash from a metal strut leaking blood onto the floor.

"Ugh... okay... that hurt. That definitely hurt. Note to self: glass is sharp. Who knew? Everyone. Everyone knew," Jungkook gasped, trying to push himself up. His vision was swimming.

The warehouse doors kicked open. The Vanguards.

"Spider-Man!" Hoseok’s voice was stripped of its usual sunshine, replaced by sharp concern.

Jungkook tried to stand, but his legs gave out. "Get... get away. I’ve got this. Just a scratch. I’ve had paper cuts worse than—" He coughed, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

"Hoseok, cover the entrance. Yoongi, Taehyung, clear the rest of the building," Namjoon barked out orders.

Seokjin was already at Jungkook’s side, his hands moving with practiced, medical precision. "We need to get him to the safehouse. He’s losing too much blood."

"No... no safehouse," Jungkook protested, his voice weak. He tried to push Seokjin’s hands away, his fingers fumbling. "I don't... I don't know you guys. You’re the enemy. You’re the ones who make everything complicated."

"We’re the ones saving your life, brat," Seokjin said firmly, lifting Jungkook into his arms. "Now stay still."

The world went black before Jungkook could argue.

***

When Jungkook woke up, the first thing he smelled was antiseptic. The second thing he felt was a sharp, localized sting in his arm.

His eyes snapped open. He was in a high-tech medical bay. He looked down and saw a clear tube running from his arm to a bag of fluids.

An IV.

"No. No, no, no!"

The panic hit him like a freight train. It wasn't just a fear; it was a visceral, soul-crushing phobia. His ADHD brain, already prone to overstimulation, went into full-blown meltdown mode.

"Get it out! Get it out of me!" Jungkook screamed, thrashing on the bed. He ripped at the tape, his breathing coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "I can't—I can't have it in me! Get it out!"

"Jungkook, stop!"

The use of his real name didn't even register. He was spiraling. He scrambled off the bed, his legs tangling in the sheets, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. He was shaking violently, tears streaming down his face.

"Don't touch me! Stay away!" He backed into a corner, his back hitting the cold metal wall. He was clawing at his own arms, the sensory overload making him want to crawl out of his skin.

"Jungkook, look at me."

It was Jimin. The blonde was kneeling a few feet away, his hands held up non-threateningly. His voice was incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the chaos in Jungkook’s head.

"I’m going to hurt myself—I’m going to—I can't breathe—" Jungkook sobbed, his hands flying to his hair, pulling at the strands.

Suddenly, a heavy, warm weight settled over him.

Namjoon had stepped forward, wrapping his large arms around Jungkook, pinning the younger boy’s flailing limbs to his sides. It wasn't a violent hold; it was a grounding one.

"Let go! I’ll kill you! I hate you!" Jungkook shrieked, struggling against the embrace. He started hitting Namjoon’s chest, his fists weak but frantic.

Namjoon didn't move. He just took the hits, his chin resting on top of Jungkook’s head. "It’s okay. Let it out. I’ve got you."

"He’s hyperventilating," Seokjin said, his voice calm and clinical, though his eyes were full of worry. He held a small syringe—not for an IV, but for a quick intramuscular injection. "I need to sedate him slightly to stop the panic attack, or he’s going to tear his stitches."

"No needles! Please, no needles!" Jungkook wailed, his body sagging against Namjoon even as he continued to fight.

"It’ll be over in a second, Jungkook-ah," Hoseok whispered, kneeling beside them and stroking Jungkook’s damp hair. "Just a tiny pinch, and then the world will stop spinning. I promise."

Taehyung moved to Jungkook’s other side, taking one of his hands and squeezing it tight. "Focus on my hand, Kook. Just the pressure. Feel how solid it is?"

With a quick, expert movement, Seokjin administered the sedative. Jungkook let out a broken sob, his body finally losing its frantic energy.

"There we go," Seokjin murmured, stepping closer to wipe the tears from Jungkook’s face. "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

The haze started to settle over Jungkook’s mind. The screaming thoughts began to quiet. He looked up, his vision blurry, and saw the six of them surrounding him. No masks. No costumes. Just the men from the coffee shop.

"You... you knew," Jungkook whispered, his voice thick.

"We figured it out when we took the mask off to treat the head wound," Yoongi said, sitting on the edge of a nearby table. He looked tired, but his gaze was softer than usual. "You’re a lot more trouble as a civilian, kid."

"I hate you guys," Jungkook mumbled, though he didn't pull away from Namjoon’s hold. In fact, he leaned into it, his forehead resting against the leader’s collarbone.

"We know," Namjoon said, his voice vibrating through his chest. He began to rock Jungkook slowly, a rhythmic motion that finally allowed the boy’s racing heart to slow down. "You’ve told us about fifteen times in the last hour. You also told us that Seokjin’s shoulders are 'unrealistically wide' and that you think Jimin smells like vanilla."

Jungkook’s face flushed a deep crimson. "I... I was delirious."

"Sure you were," Jimin teased, though he reached out to rub Jungkook’s arm gently.

"Go to sleep, Jungkook," Seokjin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We aren't going anywhere. We’ll be right here when you wake up. And no more needles for now, okay?"

Jungkook wanted to argue. He wanted to tell them he didn't need them, that he was Spider-Man, that he was fine on his own. But for the first time in his life, the silence in his head was louder than the noise.

He let his eyes flutter shut, anchored by the six men who had spent months being his rivals, only to become his gravity.

"Fine," Jungkook muttered into Namjoon’s shirt, his voice trailing off into a sleepy slur. "But I’m still not joining your boy band."

He heard a soft chorus of chuckles around him—warm, patient, and utterly steady. As he drifted off, he realized that for once, he didn't mind being caught in someone else’s web.