expiationlogs | ( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

Entry tags:

( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

Who: Spock, Jim, Gwen, Peter, and various.
Where: Various locations (see prompts for details).
What: Gnosia-related shenanigans.
Warnings: Uh. Probably more than a few? Most likely: references to genocide, references to starvation/famine, references/overt descriptions of being targeted by racially motivated crimes, general violence, and gore. Maybe some vaguely racy commentary here and there (linked).

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[Gwen's already taking in as much information as she can before she even gets through the doorway. Tripwire? Really? She doesn't believe Jim would even think she would fall for that, and she dances over it easily, but that just mentally prepares her for the onslaught of lights that come.

She sensed people, but she has to squint thanks to the bright lights to see the cages-- rows of them, all with nearly a dozen people. She knew they would be bloodthirsty, but this? This was way beyond anything she expected. What were they even doing to them?

She moved towards the cages without thinking, ready to rip open the bars and free them when Jim's voice rang from above. She looked up at him immediately, honestly horrified by what she saw. It was Jim, but in a state almost beyond recognition. How could this really be the kind hearted Captain her and Peter had befriended? But she was no stranger to mysterious circumstances leading to a friend, changed beyond recognition. It-- hurts. Another reminder of how she failed before. But she would not fail this time. She could save Jim. She had to.]

There you are! Did you really do all this for me? Awww, how sweet. [But before she can even put her arm out to swing towards him, the waves of sound surround her, and she drops to her knees, hands going to her ears. She grits her teeth, trying to focus through the noise, but it hammers at her senses in the most painful of ways. The biggest downside of super senses was the risk of getting overwhelmed, and Jim hit the nail with that.

It takes everything that she has to raise her arm again. Swinging isn't going to happen, and her aim is probably going to be shit, but she has to try. So she shoots, hoping her web hits it's mark-- the remote in his hand.]

[ The people in the makeshift cages are injured and frightened, to be sure - hopefully none of them are dead. This, however, was ultimately all they had been able to do, in terms of diverting the violent urges. Capturing people, collecting them, a form of resistance until something gave way - they were stopped, or the Gnosia finally overwhelmed them completely. Maybe it would have been worse, had Jim and Spock not been able to reel each other back from the precipice.

If his ferocity and unbridled cunning is surprising, well, fighting Jim and Spock had never been on the table before; the closest they had ever come was Jim's makeshift plan of attack on City Hall, him and Peter busting in to cause a scene, should Gwen and Spock not return in the allotted time. Which begs the question - if Jim is ostensibly the easier target, how might Peter be faring against Spock?

There's no more time to wonder, however - the webbing manages to snag on the trigger, sending it flying - she's a deadly shot with that, but she manages to pull it out of his hand. Jim ducks, rolling across the gangway in a decently agile forward roll. He hits something on the mess of wires he lands next to, and the lights begin to flash, oscillating rapidly. ]

You know I'd hate for you to get bored.

[ His voice echoes through the megaphone, and Jim caps it off with a chilling laugh, something wild and wheeling, echoing in the space as the lights continue to go. Some of the prisoners are wailing now, frightened, adding to the confusion and noise.

Suddenly, there's a projectile, zipping past too quick to identify. Another follows, barely missing Gwen - but be careful, his next shot may yet prove to hit home. Which would run out first, his ammo and marksmanship, or Gwen's senses? They'd handed over their phasers - but it seems Jim was making due with a nail gun, strafing along the upper walkway, laying down covering fire while Gwen still made to recover from his sensory helltrap. ]

[Okay, so at least the onslaught of sound is gone with the trigger out of his hands. Lights aren't exactly fun either, but it's a little more manageable. She closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, and focusing on the noises around her. The people in the cages. Jim's steps on the catwalk. The subtle noises of electricity pulsation through the lights. And--

Oh.

Her eyes fling open just in time for the nails to start flying, and she flips out of the way, doing her best to dodge the oncoming projectiles. She ends up behind one of the cages, which maybe isn't the best cover, but it gives her a chance to finally do something about that. The metal bends pretty easily in her grip, and she tosses aside the lock, whispering to the strangers to wait until she has him distracted for them to run.

Next priority-- the damn lights. She's not going to be able to get to the control panel without going through him, so she does the next best thing. She webs them. Each one of bright, flashing lights gets a glob of webbing to block out most of the lighting. It helps significantly, especially for the strobing ones.]

As riveting as this is, I think we should really get to the point.

[Cue her finally swinging up and landing on the catwalk. She's crouched, still completely on guard. She knows she can most definitely overpower him, but Jim knows this-- she has no idea what other tricks he might have up his sleeve.]

[ She's better than he might have expected, but there has always been a part of Jim that relished a challenge - here, it's twisted, a demented shadow of his normal curiosity. The nails continue firing even as she takes cover - embedding themselves in the metal sheet of the prisoners' cage. Well, that answers the question of whether or not Jim was willing to injure the people being kept there, with the answer being a no-hesitation yes. They cry out, frightened, but Jim doesn't seem deterred.

He tilts his head as Gwen lands on the catwalk, eyes still obscured by the goggles. There's something other about the motion - not quite human, perhaps, and definitely not Jim. He discards the megaphone carelessly over the side of the railing, the crack and splinter of it on hard pavement sending another wave of cries through the captives - whatever Jim and Spock have been doing with them, they're clearly completely terrified. ]

If you're that eager to be added to the collection, Gwen, who am I to deny you? [ His grin is feral, all teeth, and it's clearer up close that he's...not in great shape. He's collected scrapes and bruises all over his torso, beneath the tattered shirt, a smarting bruise blooming in the shadow of his jaw, where someone clearly fought back. He tsks, sliding a step closer, gloved hands spread, deceptively open. ] The point, of course. You know, you could have just said you missed me.

Instead, [ Jim shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet in a mimicry of playfulness, raising his hands into fists. His voice is a lilting, creepy sing-song as he says: ] You're gonna have to kill me~

But you're familiar with that, right? [ Is he goading her, or just being a cruel asshole? Why not both? His voice rises in both volume and mania as he continues, waiting for the first strike, for one of them to break the impasse. ] Killing your friends is your MO, isn't it? I suppose I should be honored, actually. All-time Gwen Stacy Collateral Damage Hall of Fame, ladies and gentlemaaaan!

Come on, Gwen. [ Jim's laugh is cold and horrible, taunting, fingers curled into fists. ] Add me to your collection of ghosts, sweetpea.

[ Finally, Jim strikes out - should his fist make contact, Gwen will find out pretty quickly that the gloves he's wearing are wired up to a battery, tucked into the back waistband of his pants - electrifying them, makeshift taser gloves. ]

[He looks like shit. Goddamn. Gwen could tell he looked rough from the ground, but being up on the same level, past the incandescent glare of those awful flood lights, it was even worse than she originally thought-- and that had already been pretty bad.

There's one thing she can be sure of at least, this is not Jim. Whatever this infection had done to him was blocking out the real Jim. Removed all the good and kindness she had grown so fond of. She had watched Peter B. become like a mentor to Miles when he needed it, coaching him and guiding him with compassion and understanding-- something she didn't exactly get. Even if Jim wasn't a spider-person, he still had a level of understanding that most others didn't. He was someone she had found she could talk to, be honest to, without risk of judgement. It felt weird to think of him as a mentor, but maybe like a big brother sounded better. And as an only child, who wouldn't want that?

Only. Here he was. Spitting everything she told him in confidence back in her face. Even if it wasn't really him doing it, it still stung-- which was exactly the point.]

Wow. Wow. You know, you could've just told me you didn't like my nail puns.

[Deflecting. Because that's all she can do-- how else do you respond to all of that? Those insults, carefully designed to hit her right where it hurts the most. To throw her off. He couldn't beat her physically, but who needs to when you know exactly what to say to break her spirit?

Needless to say, she's still reeling when the first punch comes, and while she starts to move, it isn't quick enough. His fist makes contact, and she stumbles back, the electrical shock that comes with it throwing her off balance. She's grateful for the guardrail, otherwise she would have stumbled right off as her muscles tensed, but at least it gave her a minute to recover and hop back before he could hit her again. But the downside was her webslingers were fried in the electric shock-- because of course. Jim would know a regular tazer current wouldn't be enough to take her down. What he used still wasn't enough to do more than make her stumble, at least with a quick punch, but her tech was vulnerable.]

You know, you're right. I did miss you. I'm a terrible friend. The worst, really. You're right to say it. And with such a moving speech, too! Look-- why don't we hug it out and call it a day?

[She's mostly bullshitting again, but...that's her plan. To hug him. She can't explain how she knows, but she knows... that's what she needs to do to save him.]

[ He hasn't been sleeping, and it's little wonder why. The dreams the Gnosia induced were clearly meant to drive the host a little batshit, dredging up the worst memories available to torment the addled mind. Having Spock gave Jim something to focus on, but without him, Jim was left to drift, Gnosia-madness taking hold. There was certainly enough in there for it to feed on.

Jim laughs, the sound unsteady, fists still raised to entice her forward. No, this was not the Jim that brought Gwen coffee in the morning at STEM with a wink and a smile; not the Jim that told stupid jokes when she was down, just to get her to roll her eyes and smile at him. He was not the Jim that made up one half of the two-man comedy routine he and Spock had down pat, or the Jim that rigged an airhorn under Peter's chair, sending the teen to the ceiling in surprise - a reaction that made Jim laugh so hard he cried for the next half-hour.

Gone is all that, and in his place, something feral and vicious remains. Not a friend and a confidant, but a rabid dog in need of an end to the suffering. The cruelty the Gnosia exhibited, taking Jim's knowledge and using it ruthlessly in defense of it's own existence - the efforts of a cornered animal, designed to get her to give up, to give in.

It seems he'll take the advantage though, because Jim presses it hard, swiping at her with the gloves, letting loose a volt of supercharged electricity; it disables the webshooters with a spark as the conduit gives out, frying them, and Jim grins, clearly pleased with himself. ]

Come on, Gwen! Hit me, I'm waiting for it! [ He advances, another swipe of the gloves that doesn't manage to land - clearly, Jim had no compunctions about fighting her. ] You're the worst friend in the entire world, alright. Poor little Jimmy is in here, screaming for you to put him out of his misery, and what do you do? Nail puns?

Another soul you couldn't save. And you think I'm racking up the body count! [ Jim tuts, bearing down on her with more swipes of his electrified fists, fast as anything. Where Jim can't beat Gwen in reflexes or brute strength, it's clear he's relying on training, well-practiced forms. He's lying about the presence of his normal personality, the person he is underneath - sufficiently smothered, but Gwen has no way of knowing. It seems determined to lie however it needs to in order to survive. ] You never save them! They all die, because you're weak.

I'm going to haunt you, Gwen. Every time you close your eyes - [ He manages to get up close with that one, attacking with a flurry of strikes, forcing Gwen on the defensive. Jim snarls at her, something bestial and angry coloring his tone. ] Come on and hit me!

[Thank god she's quick to recover. Even if the electricity hurt like hell, her muscles work, and she's able to dodge the swings that come her way. She might not be a trained fighter, but she's a trained dancer. She's graceful, even in pain, bouncing away from his fists, trying not to focus on his words.

Deep down, she knows it's all lies and distractions. Jim has never once made her feel guilty for the things she's experienced. He was quick to tell her her hands were clean, to support her as she dealt with her sentencing and the ghosts that came with that. But it's still Jim's body, no matter how feral it was acting, still Jim's voice, no matter how harsh and terrible his words were. It was still his thoughts and memories that fueled everything that came out of him, making her wonder what his real thoughts were. She never thought he was lying before-- her senses are sharp, usually her spider-senses would creep up if something was wrong, or she'd notice a flux in someone's heart rate or breathing, but Jim always felt genuine and trustworthy. Surely she wasn't wrong about him, but it wouldn't be the first time she misjudged someone she thought she could trust.]

You're making it really hard to want to help you right now! [She could pull her punches, sure, but she's trying really hard to not hurt him. That might end up being impossible, the way he was going. As erratic and aggressive as he was being, she's not sure she can stop him without force. Especially since her webslingers were completely busted. But she does the next best thing. When he launched another punch her way, she ducked, throwing her leg out to swipe at his. The intention was to knock him off balance, maybe even knock him down completely. It was still risky, on a catwalk, and without webbing to help in case of a slip and fall, but she had to do something.]

[ There's certainly something to a wolf wearing a friend's face and how it affects perception, the natural doubt that begins to creep in when something like that happens. Jim - when he's in his right mind again - will be suitably horrified by everything that's happened tonight; but especially with Gwen. Both Peter and Gwen had quickly become important friends, but Gwen...they'd connected. She'd opened up to him, at least marginally, and he'd done the same in return, an equivalent exchange. The idea that something beyond his control could destroy that...well, he wouldn't blame her, but he'd feel like shit about it regardless. That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute... ]

You? Help me? [ The laugh that rips its way out of his throat sounds painful, and his movements jerk - someone's not doing too great. Maybe there's an advantage here, solely in the fact that Jim is run-down and tired; as ruthless as his strategy to take her down has been, the human body does have limits, and it's clear he's been busy with Spock; maybe he's reaching that limit. ] Why would I ever want your help, you whiny, do-gooder little -

[ Whatever he's about to snarl at her is lost to the flurry of activity as Gwen manages to sweep his legs out from under him, landing him hard on his back on the metal grate of the catwalk. Jim hisses, cringing in pain - all those jokes about him being an old man aren't necessarily that far off, when his muscle spasms come into play. They're worse when he's tired and off his meds, and maybe there's a second stroke of luck here - he should have gotten his injection two days ago.

But he's not going down without a fight, dirty or not. Jim scrambles backwards, freeing a small knife from his boot, swiping it through the air in front of him to stop Gwen from fully pressing her advantage, buying himself a little breathing room. Propped up on his elbows isn't the best, but he doubts she's going to let him get his feet under him again.

Time for plan B.

Jim tilts his head at her, holding the knife in front of him as a warning. He flips it in his hand, reaching up slowly to push the goggles to the top of his head - finally revealing his eyes. They're manic, wild - a desperate kind of craze behind them, bags sunken beneath them. He's so incredibly sick, it's almost painful to look at. Jim raises the knife to his own throat, tutting again, should Gwen try to take a step closer. ] Maybe I should just end it all here. I promised you a ghost, didn't I?

Let me guess: you came after me, and sent Peter to Spock. [ Jim laughs again, a bead of blood trailing down the edge of the knife, where it digs into his flesh. ] That's too good. I keep forgetting you're kids! Bet you ten credits poor Petey's drooling on himself by now. Spock will crack his mind in half without breaking a sweat and you, missy -

You get to watch me choke on my own blood. Try explaining that to the angry Vulcan. [ Jim winks at her, jerking the knife as if to actually go through with it - but his other hand punches a button on the control box he landed next to, and the lights Gwen webbed go completely dark, dousing the room in shadow. He rolls himself off the edge of the catwalk, relinquishing the knife so he can catch himself on the support - swinging underneath it, and dropping onto the top of one of the cages with a clang.

Seems someone's making a break for it. ]

[It's honestly a relief that her leg sweep works. It knocks him down, and best of all, it shuts him up. Gwen honestly doesn't know how much more of his monologues she can take. It's one thing when she's sassing right back with one of her usual villains of the week, but everything about this is so wrong. Jim is her friend. She's not supposed to be fighting him. She's not supposed to be scrambling to save him from whatever monstrous infection has consumed him and turned him into something he's not.

Once he's down, Jim was right to swipe the knife out-- because she was doing just that, moving towards him. But she freezes, holding her hands out in front of her as he points the knife at himself.]

Whoa, hey, let's not get any ideas here-- [Dammit, she really wished she had her webbing right now! It would be so easy to get that knife out of his grasp, but all she can do is stand helplessly back, hoping he'll move it so she can move in. But he doesn't, and for a second, she really thinks the worst is happening.]

No! [The lights are out, there's the sounds of movement, and she rushes forward, finding the spot where she last saw him empty. She grabs the railing, focusing on the sounds she can hear through the darkness, and she pinpoints the direction he's going.

She might not have her webbing, but she has speed on her side. She's hurt, but she's not nearly in as bad of shape as Jim is now. Even without being able to see perfectly in the dark, her eyesight is still better than a normal human's, and her spider-sense is honing in on what she needs to know.

She jumps. It's a graceful leap off the side of the catwalk, and she somersaults down, landing perfectly, but she didn't stop there. She took off after him, using the crates and cages that were obstacles in his way to her advantage, practically dancing across them, cartwheeling and launching ahead of Jim in the darkness.

Once she's finally sure she's passed him, she somersaults from her height advantage and lands in front of him, throwing her arms open. If she timed it right-- and she's pretty sure she did-- he'll run straight into her arms, which is exactly what she wants.]

[ Hitting the lights probably made it look worse than it appeared, but that's what the Gnosia is doing, isn't it? Preying on their worst fears, making them a reality. It's figured out that the people around it have more regard for Jim's life than it does - so why not use that to its advantage? The collective infection will rage - consuming Spock, Jim, and all others in its grasp - and torment everyone around them, to do as much damage as possible.

They could only hang on, and hope they lasted long enough to clean up the destruction later.

Jim doesn't have the benefits of superpowers, or any kind of nightvision technology - in this instance, he's purely human. The best he's got is his knowledge of the floorplan, even in the dark; Jim cuts across the cages, making for the back of the warehouse. There's movement next to him, but he can't quite make out Gwen, nothing more than a shade in the darkness, briefly illuminated by the moonlight of a passing window - Jim vaults over a crate, boots thudding on the metal of the other side. Spock, she's going to catch me. Spock - !

Jim catches sight of Gwen, flitting directly into his path, too late to stop his momentum - though that doesn't stop him from trying, skidding on his heels. He'd probably fall off the side of the cage and break something if not for her catching him, arms looping right around his middle like she planned it. With anyone else, the force of impact would have bowled them over - but Gwen is sturdy, stickiness keeping her planted and them both upright.

Well, for about two seconds, they're upright.

As Jim's hands move to the back of Gwen's suit, presumably to pull her away and keep fighting - there's a warmth that touches him, a hot popcorn kernel in the center of his chest. Pink, soft light floods his vision - emanating from Gwen, encapsulating Jim with it. His hands still, and the howling, gnawing void that's had a grip on his mind since he first went under yowls in pain. For the first time, the Gnosia is in pain - not him.

Jim cries out as the light glows brighter, bigger - a hazy bubblegum color that chases away the shadows. Quite literally, actually - black-as-night, oil-slick shadows whose shapes outline themselves grotesquely against Gwen's light - they disintegrate, banished from Jim's person. He slumps against her like a marionette whose strings have been cut, knees buckling beneath him, as he's freed. He can't hear the voices anymore, and it seems so - so quiet without them, dizzying and disorientingly so.

Jim finally hugs her back, trying to get his feet under him, but he feels wobbly and off-kilter - especially now that the preternatural force isn't driving him to extremes, he can feel everything his body has been through in the past...Jesus, he doesn't even know how long. ] ...Gwen...?

Edited (wrote in actionspam so long i forgot it wasnt prose DONT LOOK AT ME) 2024-07-30 21:41 (UTC)

[Gwen's biggest fear in that moment was that Jim would be able to deviate his path and avoid her. It's dark, and he's moving so quickly, though. He'd have to be doing this attempt to flee strictly by memory, and if she's fast enough, she hopes it would play out like she hoped.

And it does. Jim runs right into her, and as soon as he was in her grasp, she threw her arms around him and held tight. She's sticky, which helps tremendously, but Jim can't begin to match her strength. She still holds back, of course-- she doesn't want to break him in half, but she kept him in a snug embrace, closed her eyes, and poured all her energy into willing his infection gone. Willing this over, willing Jim back.

At first, she doesn't think it's working. He's thrashing in her arms, trying to fight his way free, but she doesn't relent. But that's only temporary. Eventually, his struggles start to slow, and she chances opening her eyes, only for them to widen. The warmth she had felt flooding from her was visible, pastel watercolors of light brightening the dark warehouse, all coming from her. She watched, shocked, as the light chased away literal shadows, and Jim dropped in her arms.

She keeps her grip on him, helping him down to the ground, still not releasing him from her embrace-- especially when he finally hugs her in return. She can't explain how she knows, but she knows this is him. Jim is Jim again. She fixed him. She saved him.

She's grateful her mask is still in place, so he can't see the tears forming in her eyes as she finally lets him out of her grasp, though she keeps a hand on his shoulder-- just in case he needs the stability.]

Who knew, friendship is magic. [She can't help but laugh. It's dumb joke hour, and honestly, it's honestly just relief. It's hard to admit, but that was terrifying.]

[ It's a good thing she does, because Jim's not sure he has the option not to collapse at the moment, the shakiness of relief hidden in the way he grips her back, sure and firm. Freed, from the murky influence, though it left him slightly breathless from the absence. Give him a minute to recover, it'll be fine.

Jim thunks on the metal, turning over to lean more on his left side - something's going on with his right. Muscle tightness, or maybe simply overextended; no sleep combined with brain-melting evil did a number on a guy. The joke does get a huff out of him, one that turns into an incredulous laugh, echoing Gwen's. The situation is so ridiculously awful he has to laugh, because if he doesn't - if he focuses too much on the way the gnawing sensation isn't gone completely, the presence of another mind clogged with cloying Gnosia still present pressing against his own, the conspicuous absence of the other half of their club unit -

He's not thinking about it. Do you see him not thinking about it?

The laughter trails off, sobering, and Jim's hand comes up to touch Gwen's where it steadies on his shoulder, squeezing gently - partially in solidarity, and partially as if to check that she's actually real. ] Are you okay? Did I - I didn't hurt you, did I?

[ Physically, he means, because that's about as much as they're prepared to handle with right now. Jim remembers every horrible thing that came out of his mouth, cutting deeper than any knife, and there's nothing he can say in the moment that will erase them. What he can do is damage control, and making sure that taser, or hell, the fucking nails he fired at her hadn't done any damage. ] What...happened?

[It's such a relief to see the Jim in Jim again. He's exhausted and hurt, no doubt, but the kindness is back in his eyes, and the laughter isn't haunted and cruel. He's him again, no doubt about it.

At his question, she glances down at herself to take in her own state. She's in one piece, at least, but the scruffle has left a little bit of a mark. Everything hurts thanks to the electrocution, and one of the nails he shot must have scratched her arm, so there's a tear in the fabric of her suit, and a tracing of blood, but other than probably needing a new tetanus shot, and a really, really long nap, she was good.]

I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. [Physically, this was nothing. And she certainly wasn't going to think about everything he said to her, not when their mission wasn't done. Peter was still distracting Spock, and then there were the cages of people still trapped. No thinking was going to happen to let those words dig too deep, for now.]

I healed you, duh. But it looks like it only fixed the infection. Are you okay? Do you think you can walk? [Carrying him would be easy, of course, but some guys have feelings about being princess carried by a girl.]

Kinda in my job description, kid. [ It's not meant flippantly or as a dismissal, but rather earnest concern. A far cry from his disposition ten minutes ago. Jim's eyeing that tear in her suit, the blood that wells to the surface and stains the fabric - trying to determine how critical it is. He doesn't wait for acceptance, hands moving to his shirt (or what remained of it). Jim tears off a strip of fabric from one of the hanging bits on the bottom, offering it to Gwen. If she'll let him wrap it for her, great, but if not - he'll press the fabric gently towards her until she takes it for a makeshift bandage. ]

How did you do that? [ He knows what it felt like from his end, but the question of how this all worked was still something of a mystery. Jim nods, exhaling before he gathers his strength and gets a hand underneath himself, pushing into more of a sitting-up position from where he'd sprawled. ] Yeah, I'll live. Might need a hand to stand but I'm - mostly just tired.

[ He's not; his muscles are seizing and he's littered with minor injuries, bleeding sluggishly. But he can stand, and more to the point, he needs to stand. Spock and Peter are still out there and Spock -

Spock and Peter are -

It's as though once he's thought of it, the bond surges forward, called to mind instantly. Jim's lost in the mire of it for a second, eyes unfocused; it's so much information, and more than he's used to with the simple press of a hand. But he remembers this, from before, during the infection - remembers Spock burrowing deeper, remembers communicating on an instinctual level. He'll get the hang of it - but they don't have a moment. ]

Fuck. Fuck. [ The panic sends a shot of adrenaline right through Jim's system, blessedly washing away some of the exhaustion - and getting him up on his feet, at least. He can still feel Spock through the bond, and it doesn't feel like he's subdued. He feels - angry. An angry Vulcan was not a good thing - Peter might be able to hold his own for a while, but would he be able to take Spock down on his own? ] Where are they? Gwen - are they here?

[ They're not. He knows they're not, but the worry rises up in him like a physical sensation in his throat. ] We have to find them. Spock is -

[ Vicious satisfaction, a flash of imagery as Peter's suit comes undone around him. Spock lunges forward and Jim staggers, trying to cope with the onslaught. ] Fuck, his suit - !

[Gwen would normally try to argue, but honestly, she's too damn tired, and she knows just how stubborn Jim can be. Even though he has his own injuries, bloody and scraped up as he is, she still accepts his help, holding out her arm to let him help her tie it. She could do it herself, but given he's there and willing, she knows better than to refuse.]

Honestly? I have no idea. I just... knew. When I had the opening, I did what felt right, and it worked. [All she can do is shrug, really. None of this stuff has made sense, but when has anything about this place ever made sense?

Especially because her spider-sense started to flare in her mind again. Jim was fine, there wasn't anything else around, so why was the anxiety creeping up in her again? But then it suddenly made sense, when Jim suddenly stood and changed the topic to the two people not here with them at the moment.]

Um--- they should be close? Peter was supposed to distract Spock, just long enough for me to heal you. Here, let me text him-- [She had barely even gotten the message sent over to Peter when more curses came out of Jim, and she felt like her stomach dropped.]

Jim, what-- ["his suit". Goddammit. Jim didn't have to finish the sentence for her to know what he meant. Peter was in that goddamn Iron Spider suit, which they thought might be best, but its power supply was faulty at times. She told Peter to make sure to charge it, but even if he did, it didn't always last like it was supposed to. She doesn't have an answer for know Jim has any idea what might be happening with Peter and Spock at the moment, but his own panic is adding to hers.]

You don't think...? He was just supposed to distract him, not take him on by himself--

[ Gift, horse, mouth. As long as she can do it again (??), things will be fine. Jim's manifesting. That's what the kids do nowadays, right? Gwen allows him to tie the fabric around her arm, and Jim knows it's more for him than it is for her - that she's letting him do something, some way to start repaying the horrible debt he's racked up. ]

He's not he - Spock - [ Jim's trying not to panic and failing, which is really not a great sign. He's usually good under pressure - like he said, kind of in the job description. But having a direct line to Spock's mental anguish and the physical beating that's unfolding while they sit here, helpless - well, that's a different matter entirely. Jim makes a concerted effort to focus on Gwen, pulling himself away from the bond, the mental link still connecting him and Spock and the terrible, gaping maw of the Gnosia. ] Spock caught him, Gwen. They're fighting, but Peter's suit is compromised.

[ A grappling, fist and fury and violence, barely restrained, because Spock is reeling from the loss of Jim - he knows what happened here, as easily as Jim knows what's happening there. Peter is worth much more whole. Peter's suit, gone, knocking Spock off balance - the whip Spock had fashioned as a weapon, caught in Peter's hands, arrow wounds twinging where the shafts were still embedded in Spock's person - ]

Spock don't - [ Jim lurches forward, a hand outstretched, as if to do something. But the damage, it seems, is already done - Jim's hand lands hard on Gwen's shoulder, his own knees threatening to buckle again. ] Spock just - he broke Peter's collarbone.

[ A nerve pinch, dropping the kid like a stone, a decisive victory. Oh god. Spock has him. Peter, at his mercy, the only thing keeping him alive (or, well, his mind not soupified) the fact that he was a hostage. ]

[Jim panicking is not helping Gwen's own panic.

She has so many questions. For one, how the hell does Jim even know what's happening? Did he have secret cameras hidden around their compound? Had he been watching them both, from the second both Gwen and Peter came onto the property? She knows Spock has a weird touch telepathy thing about him, but full on, actual telepathy? She didn't think he was that powerful. Then again, who knows what this Gnosia infection did to them. Did it boost powers? She had no idea. Jim didn't seem necessarily stronger, to her.

She'd honestly ponder the whole situation more, if it wasn't for what Jim was telling her.]

What? Oh, no-- No, no, no-- [Peter wasn't completely helpless without the suit. He still had webslingers, but if it was compromised because he was injured--

No. She couldn't think like that. Peter would be fine. He could hold his own, he was-- ]

Shit. [Yep, she sure is racing out of the warehouse without a second thought at the mention of Peter being hurt. She doesn't know where exactly Peter and Spock ended up, but surely they were still close enough, if she could get to them-- only. her webslingers were busted. She would have to get there on foot. She was fast, but running when she hurt like this-- it would slow her down. Could she even get to them in time?]

Shit, shit, shit!

Gwen! Gwen wait -

[ Jim stumbles after her, thrown off balance by the sudden movement - but he's able to follow her close behind, boots pounding on the metal containers as they make their way outside. The docks are eerily quiet, no one snooping around this secluded area - especially not with the way Jim and Spock have been prowling around. Jim slows a pace behind her as Gwen stalls out, trying to figure out which way to go.

...but it's no use. Spock and Peter aren't here, aren't even close to here, or Spock would have come as soon as Jim was healed. As soon as he'd realized Gwen was going to catch him. There's no way to find them, with Peter's suit offline, his GPS turned off. ]

Gwen, stop. [ Jim hovers, knowing he'll be unable to stop her if she takes off on him, but they have to stick together. They have to work together, or they won't be able to save them. ] It's too late. He has him, Spock - nerve pinched him. Which means he's unconscious, but alive. Peter's alive, Gwen.

[ The for now hangs unsaid in the air. ]

They're not here. [ Jim's tone gentles, apologetic but earnest, firm. He knows they're not, and taking off half-cocked into the night wasn't going to get them any closer. ] We can find them. We'll find them, I swear.

[Gwen's only half aware that Jim is behind her when she stops. Panic has consumed her at this point, and she puts her hands to her head, trying to figure out something.

She hears Jim talking, but doesn't process the words, doesn't understand the reassurances he's trying to give her. All she can focus on is the fact that Peter was gone. He was hurt, his life was in danger, and she was helpless to do anything about it.

This was all her fault. She should never have let him take that suit. She should have made sure it was charged first, or just insisted he go in his regular suit, or just never let him go on his own in the first place--

The anger and frustration she felt at herself bubbled inside her, until all she could do to let it out was grab the closest thing and throw it with all her strength-- it just happened to be a helpless car. She lifted it with ease, tossed it like it was nothing, and it crumbled at the force of her throw. A guttural cry escaped her lips, and she dropped to her knees, pounding her fist on the ground. Again, she made no effort to hold back her strength, not caring that she left a dent in the concrete. But finally, some of that anger seemed to be dissipating from her, and she had to fight back tears.]

This is all my fault.

[ Whatever Jim's expecting out of Gwen, absolutely fucking bodying a nearby car is totally unexpected.

He knew the kids were strong - hell, he watched her chop that wood for him like it was nothing, he's seen Peter lift a ridiculous number of supply boxes - but that's another level. Especially with the violence of it, emotionally driven, and he can't blame her for it. He'd throw a car too, if he could get away with it.

It puts a stutter into Jim's step, but it doesn't stop him from slowly circling, approaching Gwen from the side, where she can see him. It throws the careful way she was handling him when they were fighting into stark contrast; and the last thing Jim wants is to spook her by showing up in her peripheral when she wasn't expecting him. ]

Hey. None of that, now. [ Jim levers himself down next to her, kneeling next to the cracked concrete. Small mercies the Spider-teens weren't affected - how in the blue fuck would Jim and Spock ever have caught them? ] None of this is your fault. None of it, do you hear me? Shit happens. You and Peter are brave, intelligent, incredible people.

Plans work sometimes, and when they don't, you keep making 'em. [ Now, Jim reaches out, gently tapping the back of her hand, where it rests against the ground. ] He'll be okay. We'll make sure of it. New plan, you and me, alright?

[Gwen hears Jim moving and knows he's there before she even sees him. The fact that Jim takes precautions to be in her line of vision is obvious, and she feels immensely guilty. She didn't mean to scare him, and she's sure she had to. She tries so hard not to get emotional, not to let her strength loose, but the emotional reaction of failing so bad came out of her so easily.

She's already lost two of the most important people to her. She's already separated from friends she cared deeply about. She didn't know if she could handle something else happening to someone she loved.

But she did save Jim. He's back to himself, albeit a bit roughed up, but he was like that before she got to him. Shit happens. She knows this. Shit always happens. But they make do with what they have, they make a new plan, and they figure things out.

She nods, feeling a bit numb, but she didn't have time to wallow in self pity.]

...We should get you cleaned up. We can regroup and figure out a plan once you don't look like your clothes went through a shredder.

[ Jim nods his assent slowly, the concern clear in his steady blue gaze - no longer iced over with madness but warmer, crystal water. The buzzing from Spock's side of the bond, Jim pushes back, trying to stay grounded in the here and now and not lose himself to the turmoil again. He has no idea if the Gnosia can re-infect him while they're connected, and he'd rather they find Spock and Peter and cure the Vulcan before they have to find out.

He'd make a joke about how often he loses his shirt, but Jim's not sure either of them are in the mood for it. At least this isn't his uniform shirt, because it'd be a real bummer to ruin the only one he's got on him here in Aldrip. ]

And...those people. We need to free them, get them medical attention. [ He'd lost count of how many were trapped in that building. Deactivating the traps so no one else fell prey to them... ] Oh god, Claude. Fuck -

[ Jim tries to stand too fast and staggers, blood rushing in the wrong direction. Still, he relentlessly pushes on, catching himself on another nearby car. ] Fuck, he's stuck in the bottle dungeon -

[ What the hell had they been doing? ]

[Right. The people inside. She had almost forgotten about that, and that makes her feel even more guilty. Peter could take care of himself. Even in Spock's hands, he was still more than capable. But the people trapped here and now needed her help, and she was too distracted and self absorbed in the moment. She needed to get it together.]

Yeah. Yeah-- I opened one of the cages already. Hopefully the people I set free already started that process. No... no offense, but they might not be excited to see you, even if it is to help.

[She still feels some kind of way, after facing Jim like that. It was intense, to say the least. Maybe it's a good thing she doesn't have the time or mental space to process that right now. Just bury and deal with it later, yep, sounds good.]

Bottle dungeon...? What? [yeah, she has no idea what he's on about right now.]

You're right. [ Jim forces himself to take a breath, trying to get his head on straight. Of course she's right, after everything him and Spock have been doing for the past couple days - it's hard to focus, hard to process properly, when it all feels like such a nightmare. He lets the air out slowly, determination settling over his shoulders like a well-worn blanket. ] I need to disable the traps, though. We set tons, all around the perimeter. If someone steps into one...

It's exactly what it sounds like. [ Jim is heading back for the warehouse door, a man on a mission, despite whatever blood pressure problem he's having - but luckily there's plenty around to aid him. ] It's a trapdoor that drops its victim into a pit. An oubliette.

[ One guess as to who that idea belonged to. ]

An oubliette, seriously? For two guys from the future, you and Spock really went all out with your medieval means of torture. Geez. Remind me to never get on your bad side again.

[She supposes that even in the future, people have a fascination with medieval times. Meanwhile she just played a lot of D&D.]

But fine. Then you work on traps. I'll get the cages open, and funnel the people through the areas that are already cleared. And rescue whoever had this misfortune to end up in your pitfall. Sound good?

( mixed. ) pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego

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🎀?