The Medicine Was Real If Russell Said It Was

Bruce was Spider-Man's name for his good friend, the Stone Demon.

Through all the days and nights since he had become Spider-Man, Bruce, perched on the church tower, had never once looked down on him.

Spider-Man crouched beside the gargoyle, four arms hanging at his sides like sleeves on a shirt left out to dry.

He gently rubbed the barbs on his arms. They felt wrong—not with the sharp pain of a cut, but with a discomfort that seemed to seep out from between his bones.

It reminded him of the early days after the mutant spider had bitten him, when nerdy Peter Parker had suddenly become Spider-Man, strong enough to send bricks flying.

"If Gwen saw me like this, I wonder if she'd be scared out of her mind."

Spider-Man murmured the name of his childhood friend. His lips moved beneath the mask, but only he could hear his voice.

He and Gwen had an important date tonight. She had been looking forward to it all week.

Spider-Man leaned forward until his chin rested on the gargoyle's head. The stone dug painfully into it, but he did not move.

He looked up at the sky, deep in thought.

How am I supposed to see Gwen like this? Six arms. Stuff four into bags? Hide them under a coat? Or wear an oversized hoodie?

A strange image began to form in his mind.

Mr. Parker wore an enormous hoodie with four extra sleeves sewn around the stomach. No, six sleeves in all.

People on the street would think he was some new kind of street performer who could juggle six balls at once and play the piano with his feet.

Gwen would stand beside him, holding on to one of his arms, while the other five had nowhere to go.