On the Knight Watch, the glowing avatar of Kamen Rider Tsukuyomi flickered into existence like a ghost materializing from moonbeams. The hologram was ethereal and beautiful, with armor that seemed to be carved from crystallized starlight, but it lasted only for a heartbeat before slowly dissipating like morning mist. The purple light faded with a soft sigh, and the familiar face of Kuuga returned in its place, the red compound eyes seeming almost reproachful in the hospital room's sterile lighting.
John's expression was no longer just shock; it was complete bewilderment that made his face go pale beneath the fluorescent lights. His mind raced through everything he knew about Kamen Rider lore, his hands unconsciously clenching the hospital bedsheets until his knuckles went white. He knew that a Kamen Rider's transformation device wasn't always exclusive—if certain conditions were met, others could use it. The devices chose their wielders based on compatibility, courage, and sometimes pure necessity. And given that Gwen had become Spider-Woman in other universes, it wasn't a huge surprise that she might qualify as a Rider.
Still, the irony burned like acid in his throat. When he first got the watch, he had fiddled with it for hours with absolutely no reaction, pressing buttons and muttering every transformation phrase he could remember from shows and movies. His fingers had gone numb from trying different combinations, and he'd nearly given up hope. For Gwen, it worked on the first try, responding to her touch like it had been waiting for her all along. What kind of double-standard device is this?! he thought, frustration mixing with awe and a tiny spike of jealousy.
"Okay, try this," John stammered, his voice slightly hoarse from the shock. He handed her the watch with hands that trembled almost imperceptibly. "Hold it up, press the button on top, and at the same time, shout 'Transform!' You have to really mean it."
The weight of the device seemed to transfer more than just its physical mass—there was an expectation in the air, a sense of potential energy waiting to be unleashed.
"Huh?" Now it was Gwen's turn to be stunned, her blue eyes widening as she stared at the seemingly innocent device. This is a little childish, she thought, glancing at Flash, who was watching with wide-eyed curiosity that made him look years younger. His usual swagger had been replaced by the kind of fascination a child might show when witnessing real magic.
The hospital room suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, as if the three of them were sharing a secret that could change everything.
"Come on, Gwen, just try it," John encouraged, his voice carrying an undercurrent of nervous energy. There was something in his tone that suggested this was far more important than he was letting on.
Gwen hesitated for a moment, the watch feeling warm in her palm, almost alive. The metal surface seemed to pulse gently against her skin, and she could swear she heard a faint humming, like a tuning fork struck in the distance. "Okay, but only this once."
She lifted the Knight Watch, feeling slightly ridiculous but unable to deny the strange pull she felt toward the device. It seemed to fit perfectly in her grip, as if it had been designed specifically for her hands. Taking a deep breath that tasted of hospital antiseptic and nervous anticipation, she timidly said, "Transform!"
This time, the light and sound from the watch were clearer and stronger, filling the room with purple radiance that made the white walls look lavender and cast ethereal shadows that danced like living things. The transformation sequence began to initialize—energy crackling around Gwen's form like gentle lightning, her clothes starting to shimmer as if preparing to be replaced by armor. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the process stuttered and stopped. The light faded away like a candle being snuffed out, leaving only the faint smell of ozone and disappointed silence.
John breathed a quiet sigh of relief, though whether it was relief or disappointment even he couldn't say. Okay, so the watch does like me more. If Gwen had successfully transformed, with Kamen Rider Tsukuyomi's power—which he suspected involved time manipulation and lunar energy—she could probably wipe the floor with him. The thought of the main Rider having to toss his transformation device to the secondary Rider to win a fight was just too embarrassing to contemplate.
It's probably a power issue, he reasoned, his analytical mind trying to make sense of what he'd witnessed. The Knight Watch still has a lot of locked potential. As I get stronger, I can probably unlock the ability for Gwen to transform, too.
"I told you this was childish," Gwen muttered, her cheeks slightly pink with embarrassment. She handed the watch back to John with a mixture of relief and lingering curiosity, though her fingers seemed reluctant to let it go.
"Ha, ha—" John laughed awkwardly, the sound coming out more nervous than amused. "Flash, your turn."
"Me? No way, that's too weird," Flash said, shaking his head vigorously. His usual confidence had evaporated in the face of something he couldn't understand or control. "I don't do... whatever that was."
"Hurry up. That's a boss's order," John said, pointing at him with mock authority, though his eyes held a genuine curiosity about what would happen.
"Alright, alright." Flash reluctantly took the watch, holding it like it might explode in his hands. The device felt cold and unresponsive against his palm, like a piece of dead metal. He tried to press the button, but it wouldn't budge—not even a millimeter. The surface might as well have been welded solid. He pressed harder, putting his thumb into it with enough force to leave a white mark on his skin, but nothing happened. The watch remained as lifeless as a paperweight. "What the hell?"
Sweat beaded on Flash's forehead from the effort, and his face grew red with exertion and frustration. It was as if the device was actively rejecting him, refusing to acknowledge his existence.
Now it was Flash's turn to be dumbfounded, staring at the watch with the expression of someone who'd just discovered that gravity worked differently for other people. Gwen had barely touched it and the thing had lit up like a Christmas tree, but he couldn't even get the button to click. The unfairness of it all was written across his face in bold letters.
"Okay, stop, you'll break it," John said, taking the watch back before Flash could damage either it or himself. The device felt warm in his hands again, as if welcoming him home.
By now, both Gwen and Flash understood that this was no ordinary toy. The implications hung in the air between them like a bridge they weren't quite ready to cross. The comfortable world of high school problems and teenage concerns suddenly seemed very small and far away.
"You'll understand later," John said, seeing their curious stares that were equal parts fascination and concern. "It's just not time yet."
The words carried a weight of prophecy that made the hospital room feel like the site of some cosmic appointment that hadn't quite arrived.
"Oh, right," Gwen said, remembering something with the sudden clarity that comes when your mind has been elsewhere. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper that crackled softly in the quiet room. "My dad said that once you've recovered, you just need to answer the questions on this paper. After that, they won't bother you again. Just give it to me before you leave the hospital."
John could imagine what those questions might be—carefully worded inquiries designed to assess exactly how much he knew and how much of a threat or asset he might be. Captain Stacy was walking a careful line between his duty as a police officer and his gratitude as a father.
"Got it," John nodded, tucking the paper away. It seemed Captain Stacy knew more than he was letting on but had decided not to dig any deeper, at least for now. The unspoken understanding between them felt like a temporary ceasefire in a war that hadn't been declared yet.
He was also relieved that his cousin had texted him earlier, her message full of apologetic emojis and caffeine-fueled typos, saying she was swamped with a big project at work and would be staying at the office for a while. That saved him from having to explain his disappearance and mysterious injuries to someone who knew him well enough to spot lies.
"Well, I should get going before I get grounded," Flash said with a whistle, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Have a good night." But he paused at the doorway, looking back with an expression that was uncharacteristically serious. "John... what you did was pretty amazing. I mean it."
John shook his head as Flash left, but there was warmth in the gesture. He needed to do something about Flash's home situation, and soon. The boy's transformation from bully to reluctant hero was real, but it was fragile, built on a foundation that could crumble if the right pressures were applied.
A comfortable silence fell over the room, leaving just John and Gwen. The evening light streaming through the windows had turned golden, casting everything in warm hues that made the sterile hospital room feel almost cozy. She looked at him, her face turning a light shade of pink that reminded him of sunrise on fresh snow. "John, are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat?"
Her voice had taken on a softer quality, more intimate now that they were alone. The question was simple, but the way she asked it carried layers of meaning—care, affection, and something deeper that made the air between them feel charged with possibility.
"Uh, anything's fine." John was suddenly at a loss, his usual calm analytical nature deserting him completely. The confidence that had carried him through superhero battles evaporated in the face of one girl's gentle smile. He could sense that Gwen's feelings for him had changed, shifted into something that made his chest tight with emotions he wasn't equipped to handle.
Before he got the Knight Watch, he'd just been an ordinary, quiet kid—the type who sat in the back of classrooms and walked through hallways like a ghost. To be honest, both in his past life and this one, he'd never been popular with girls and had never worked up the courage to ask anyone out. The few crushes he'd harbored had been distant, unrequited things that he'd nursed in private. He had no idea how to act around Gwen now that she was looking at him like he'd hung the moon and stars just for her.
When she returned with the food—a modest meal from the hospital cafeteria that somehow smelled like the most delicious feast—Gwen helped him sit up with gentle hands that lingered longer than strictly necessary. Her touch was warm and careful, mindful of his injuries but also somehow reverent, as if he were something precious that might break if handled roughly.
She began feeding him spoonful by spoonful, her movements patient and tender. Each bite was offered with a smile that made his heart skip beats, and when a drop of soup escaped to run down his chin, she wiped it away with a napkin, her fingers brushing his skin in a way that sent electricity racing through his nerves.
"I can do it myself," he protested weakly, his voice lacking any real conviction. The words were what he thought he should say, but every part of him wanted to let her continue this careful attention.
But she insisted with a gentle firmness that brooked no argument. He had been injured saving her; the least she could do was make sure he ate without straining himself. "You took bullets for me, John. Let me do this."
Over the next few days in the hospital, Gwen took meticulous care of him with a devotion that amazed the nursing staff. She arrived each morning before visiting hours officially began, somehow charming her way past the front desk with smiles and homemade cookies for the staff. She chatted with him for hours about everything and nothing—school gossip, her dreams for the future, silly jokes that made him laugh until his ribs ached.
Her hands were always busy caring for him: massaging his sore muscles with a touch that was both therapeutic and intimate, changing his dressings with the concentration of a surgeon and the gentleness of a lover, feeding him every meal as if it were a sacred ritual. Her care was total and unwavering, helping him with everything from washing his face to getting around when he was finally allowed out of bed.
The level of intimacy grew gradually, naturally, like flowers blooming in spring. She helped him wash his hair, her fingers working through the strands with such tenderness that he nearly fell asleep under her touch. She read to him from books she brought from the library, her voice creating a cocoon of words around them. She stayed long past visiting hours, somehow invisible to the staff who should have sent her home.
This constant closeness quickly erased any awkwardness between them, replacing it with something deeper and more meaningful. In the quiet moments they shared—watching the sunset through the hospital window, her head resting on his shoulder as she dozed—their feelings for each other grew like seeds finding fertile ground. A gentle romance blossomed between them, built on shared looks, soft laughter, and touches that lingered longer than friendship required.
The night before he was discharged, John lay awake watching the play of shadows on the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the hospital at night. Gwen had fallen asleep in the chair by his bed, her head tilted at an angle that would give her a terrible crick in her neck. Her blonde hair caught the moonlight streaming through the window, making her look like something from a fairy tale.
He smiled softly, his heart full with emotions he didn't have names for, and carefully reached out to brush a strand of golden hair from her face. The touch was feather-light, but she stirred slightly in her sleep, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Gwen...
Carefully, moving with the stealth he'd learned during his transformation training, he got out of bed. His injuries protested, sending small spikes of pain through his arm and thigh, but he ignored them. Gently, so gently that she barely stirred, he lifted her into his arms. She was lighter than he'd expected, warm and trusting in his embrace, her head settling naturally against his shoulder.
He carried her to the adjacent empty bed—a room that hadn't been occupied since he'd arrived. The sheets were crisp and clean, smelling of hospital detergent and fresh cotton. He tucked the blanket around her with the care of someone handling the most precious thing in the world, smoothing the fabric and adjusting her pillow until she was perfectly comfortable.
He stood for a moment, looking at her serene face in the moonlight that painted everything silver and ethereal. Her features were relaxed in sleep, the small lines of worry that had appeared since her kidnapping smoothed away by rest. She looked younger, more vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.
"I will always protect you, Gwen," he whispered, the words barely disturbing the night air. It was a vow made to the darkness, to the moonlight, to whatever forces had brought them together. He meant it with every fiber of his being.
In the drawer of the nightstand, unseen by John, the Knight Watch glowed with a soft purple light that pulsed gently like a sleeping heartbeat. A faint, ethereal voice whispered a single name—feminine and full of promise—before it went dark again, returning to its patient slumber.
"Tsukuyomi."
After being discharged, John and Gwen returned to school together, walking through the familiar hallways that now seemed somehow different. Everything looked the same—the lockers covered in stickers and graffiti, the bulletin boards with their layers of announcements, the smell of floor cleaner and teenage anxiety that permeated every high school in America—but John's perspective had shifted fundamentally.
The moment they walked into their first-period classroom holding hands, a wave of shock silenced the room so completely that you could have heard a pin drop on the linoleum floor. Conversations stopped mid-sentence, textbooks slapped shut, and every head in the room swiveled toward them like flowers following the sun.
The practically invisible John—the quiet kid who sat in the back and never raised his hand—had somehow won the heart of the brilliant and beautiful Gwen Stacy. It was like discovering that the janitor was secretly dating the prom queen, a complete upheaval of the natural order that governed teenage social hierarchies.
Whispers and exclamations quickly followed, rippling through the classroom like wildfire spreading through dry grass.
"No way, is that really—?"
"How did he—?"
"Gwen Stacy is holding hands with—"
"Boss John," Flash said with a huge grin and a conspiratorial wink that made him look like he was in on the world's best secret. His voice carried across the room, causing another wave of shocked murmurs.
"Hey, Flash, don't call me boss at school," John said with a slight headache building behind his temples. He could feel the weight of every stare in the room, the pressure of suddenly being visible when he'd spent years perfecting the art of being overlooked.
Flash just straightened his shirt with military precision, his posture snapping to something resembling attention. "Okay, John," he said, as if he were a loyal subordinate acknowledging his commander's orders.
Oh, this is going to be trouble, John thought, rubbing his head as he felt the beginnings of what promised to be a legendary migraine. He reluctantly let go of Gwen's hand, missing the warmth of her touch immediately, and returned to his seat at the back of the room.
The walk to his desk felt like running a gauntlet, every step scrutinized by dozens of eyes. He could practically feel the gossip network of Midtown High spinning up to maximum capacity, ready to dissect this development from every possible angle.
"John, the teacher said you were sick," Peter said, approaching his desk with the careful steps of someone navigating a minefield. He glanced from John to Gwen and back again, his voice tinged with an envy so thick you could cut it with a knife. "Uh, you look great."
There was something in Peter's tone that suggested he was trying very hard to be happy for his friend while simultaneously wondering why the universe seemed to reward everyone but him.
"It was a beautiful accident," John replied, his voice carrying layers of meaning that Peter couldn't possibly understand. "But forget about that. Flash seems to have changed a lot, right?"
"He's like a different person," Peter agreed, shaking his head in wonderment. "Harry and I were going to visit you, but we didn't know which hospital you were in. Flash told us, but he said you and Gwen were... busy, and it was best not to disturb you. So we didn't go."
John could imagine exactly what Flash's original phrasing had been, probably involving much more colorful language and suggestive eyebrow waggling.
"It's good that he's changing," John said, laughing despite himself. "And I'm sure his original words weren't quite so polite. But it's no big deal."
"Um... can you tell me how you and Gwen got together?" Peter asked awkwardly, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he were asking for state secrets. His eyes kept darting toward the front of the room where Mary Jane Watson sat, her red hair catching the morning light like flame.
"This?" John followed Peter's gaze and felt a familiar pang of sympathy for his friend. "If you like MJ, you just have to be brave and tell her. She and Flash are just messing around." He could see the way Mary Jane looked at Peter when she thought no one was watching, the small smiles she saved just for him, the way her whole demeanor softened whenever he was around.
Seeing Peter stammer, his face cycling through various shades of red as he struggled to form a coherent response, John sighed. "Look, Gwen and I were an accident. I never planned on asking her out, even though she's amazing. And she never planned on asking me out either." He could feel the truth of those words, the strange series of events that had brought them together in ways that normal high school romances never experienced.
"I saved her, I got hurt, she took care of me, and we just... got together. It's that simple. I don't have any dating tips to teach you." The summary made it sound so mundane, when in reality it had involved transforming into an armored warrior and fighting for their lives.
He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder, feeling the tension in his friend's muscles. "If you really like someone, you just have to be brave."
John looked at Peter's timid expression—the downcast eyes, the nervous fidgeting, the way he seemed to shrink into himself whenever Mary Jane's name was mentioned—and felt a pang of sympathy that went beyond friendship. Peter was just too shy for his own good, trapped by his own insecurities and convinced that he wasn't worthy of the happiness he saw others achieving so easily.
"Anyway," John said, standing up and shouldering his backpack, "I need to go find Harry. I'll catch you later."
As he walked toward the door, he caught Gwen's eye across the room. She smiled at him—not the polite smile she gave everyone else, but something warmer, more intimate, filled with shared secrets and promises for later. The sight of it made his heart skip a beat and reminded him that sometimes, accidents could be the most beautiful things in the world.