Chapter Text
Miguel wakes up feeling like shit.
It’s like he didn’t get any sleep at all, despite the sunlight streaming in through the windows. It still stings his eyes even when they’re closed, and he groans and drags something soft over his head to block it out. A blanket, he figures out eventually, once he can get past the way his joints are fiercely aching and his head burns with a lingering migraine.
Through the too-loud racket of cars and music outside, he hears a shuffling noise and a tired mumble. Miguel grips the blanket tighter, curling up in his miserable little corner against the mock-fireplace as he waits for the world to stop hurting so much.
“Miguel? Are you awake?”
He growls, not understanding the words but recognizing the voice, hoping to get Peter to leave him alone. The other spider does no such thing though, and when a hand brushes against his shoulder, he’s lashing out before he really knows what he’s doing.
Peter tries to jump back, his spider-sense warning him of the attack, but Miguel is just as fast as he is, and as he flips over and the blanket falls from his head, claws catch on Peter’s retreating forearm. Three long gashes are raked down to his wrist, and he yelps in pain at the same time Miguel whines against the blinding sunlight.
Just as quickly as he opened them, he slams his eyes shut and presses back into his corner, clutching the blanket to his face and over his ears like a lifeline.
“Huh? Wass goin’ on?”
Peter laughs nervously, and Miguel growls when it grates on his ears. The blanket barely muffles his hearing at all, and the various sounds are only getting more overwhelming.
“Uh, good morning, Gwen. Nothing’s going on.”
“Dude, are you bleeding?”
“It’s just a scratch. Can you close the blinds on the windows, please?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah.”
There’s more shuffling, the sound of footsteps going in two different directions, and then the light starts to become not so intense. Letting out a shaky breath, he slowly peeks out from under the blanket’s dark cover and finds that the room is still too bright for him, but it’s much more bearable now. One of his spiderlings goes to sit down on the corner of the air mattress, and it takes a brief sniff to recognize her as Gwen. She’s watching him closely, and the rest of the spiderlings are in a pile behind her, sleeping soundly.
Once he’s gathered the courage to set the blanket down, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes and sits himself partially upright, heavily leaning against the wall behind him. He winces when a car honks outside and drops his hands to squint at the room around him.
Peter is in the kitchen, and once he recognizes that the faucet is running he winces at that sound as well. He puts his hands over his ears and hopes that maybe that will help better than the blanket. It doesn’t, and he huffs a growl in frustration.
He flinches more in surprise than anything when a door opens. Sucking in a breath, he finds the scent of Rio as she leaves the room and pauses on the other side of the living room, looking faintly startled upon seeing Miguel up. Gwen turns to look at her over her shoulder and gives a small wave.
“Good morning,” Rio says, before she’s heading to the kitchen. Miguel is also startled by her gasp upon seeing Peter, although it’s not a loud noise. Her next words, however, definitely are.
“Peter! Qué pasó?! Here, let me see that.”
While Rio is tending to Peter’s wound, Miguel is more occupied with just how painful the sound of everything is. Whining pitifully, he reaches for the blanket again and turns to shove his covered head into the corner.
He stays there for longer than he can consciously keep track of, more focused on the hurt. When it’s so centered in his head like this, there’s no escaping or easing it, only riding it out until he can’t anymore. Claws flex through the cloth and against his scalp, itching to rip into something, if only to have a meager distraction. He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, and he wonders if it’s from the pain or something else.
A voice reaches him, slightly muffled by the layers over his ears, and he blinks and risks a glance under the edge of the blanket to see who is trying to talk to him.
It’s Rio, and she’s holding something he’s fairly sure he should recognize, but the memory is behind a fog he can’t cut through.
“Pobrecito. Come here, I can help.”
Miguel stares, only faintly understanding the gestures she’s trying to use to communicate. He doesn’t know what she’s trying to do, or get him to do, but her voice is soft and soothing on his oversensitive ears, and he finds himself subconsciously loosening his grip on his head.
“There you go. Will you let me get closer, araña?”
From where she’s crouched, she takes a shuffling step forward, and Miguel tenses and growls, turning to see her better in case she gets too close.
She takes the object in her hands and slowly holds it out towards him. He uncurls just far enough to sniff it warily, eyes still locked on her. It doesn’t smell like anything special, and it’s not food. If anything, it smells mostly like Miles, so it must be something the spiderling uses often, but other than that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing with it.
Once he’s done with his brief inspection, she pulls it back just as slowly and mimes putting it over her head, then gestures to him. Miguel snorts. Yeah, like he’s going to let anyone put anything on the most vulnerable part of his body. Frowning, she puts it over her head again, this time actually putting it on and leaving it there for a few moments.
“See? They’re just headphones. They aren’t going to hurt you.”
When she takes them off and starts to bring them closer to Miguel, he shifts back and bares his fangs at her. He still can’t get past the instinct telling him not to hurt her, so a warning hiss will have to suffice. She moves slowly and speaks to him softly, but he can’t let anyone close. It’s just as much a reaction to being overwhelmed as it is a learned behavior, and he has the scars to warrant it. Whether it be Alchemax, villains, or one of the many people close to him that have been killed by proximity, he’s learned his lesson, and he’s not about to leave himself that vulnerable again.
The thought prompts a more genuinely threatening growl, the blanket falling from his head as he sets his claws out between them defensively. His spine is uncomfortably pressed against the edge of the fireplace, and it would be easy to turn and run, but he’s unwilling to show his back and make it even easier for something to attack.
“Esta bien, Miguel. I promise, I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t even touch you at all. This will help, I swear it.”
Too close, too close blares in his head, shaking and growling where he sits. He can’t attack and he can’t run. He’s stuck in a stressful middle ground with whatever that object is only getting closer.
Her hands get close enough to touch, and he opens his maw with a drawn out hiss, moments away from biting her just to escape. She murmurs gently to him, and he flinches with nowhere to go when he feels something start to close around his ears.
A short growl and the tense coiling of his body is the only warning she gets before he decides to pounce. The object snaps over his head as she yelps and tries to quickly pull away. If it weren’t for the web that attaches to her back to yank her away and Miguel accidentally veering off course in surprise, his teeth would have closed around her hand. She would have been completely paralyzed for at least an hour, even with a small amount of venom, but he won’t know to be glad that he wasn’t successful until much later.
The sudden new thing over his ears distracts Miguel enough to send him to the floor instead of forward. His shoulder collides with wood, and he hurries to reach up and rip it off. But as soon as clawed hands close around the headphones, he stops. The weight is uncomfortable only because he’s not used to it, but that doesn’t matter as soon as he realizes that the noises are gone.
He makes a confused noise, shivering when another car honk becomes muffled and bearable. The loud music from some other apartment in the block is suddenly quiet enough that he has to strain to hear it again, and the voices of the people around him are only a little quieter than a normal, tolerable volume.
He picks himself up and scuttles backwards to the wall again, and when he looks up he finds that not only are Peter, Gwen, and Rio watching him from the couch, several other spiderlings have woken up and are either staring as well or looking around in confusion.
“Are those my headphones?” Miles mumbles, squinting accusingly at Miguel.
“Yes they are,” Rio says, amused.
Miguel eyes the way Peter is tense and crouched slightly in front of Rio, one bandaged arm outstretched between Miguel and her. He rumbles deep in his chest and taps a sincere apology into the floor. Rio helped him, and he could have taken an arm off if it weren’t for Peter. Apology, he says again, lowering his eyes submissively as he waits for a response.
“What’s he saying?”
“He said he’s sorry,” Pete answers sleepily, looking at Peter expectantly.
Peter grimaces, sighs, and loosens his posture to reach down for the floor and send a message of his own.
Accepted. Friend. No threat.
Miguel makes a sort of grating hum and perks up, tilting his head at the spiders before him. Now that he’s not entirely debilitated, he can actually observe the room and people around him. He lays down on his front, arms folded so he can comfortably rest his head on top, and watches.
Peter huffs. “You’re really something, Miguel, you know that? How you managed to survive so long without help, I have no idea.”
Rio stands up and claps her hands, and Miguel is still surprised to find that the sound doesn’t hurt at all. “Alright, I’m going to make breakfast. Does anyone have allergies? Preferences? I’m thinking bacon and eggs.”
“Extra crispy,” Hobie says with a long stretch and an audible crack of his spine.
Pav is still half asleep, but he manages to untangle himself from Miles and Pete to give his own answer. “Can I have over-easy eggs, please?”
The other kids give their own preferences as Miguel watches, wishing that he could understand and join their conversation. He knows the tones and recognizes the smell of food being put on the counter in preparation to cook, but it’s an incomplete picture as part of a larger, unknowable whole. His spiderlings speak a language he doesn’t know, or doesn’t currently know, and he finds frustration turning into boredom turning into annoyance again. The more he watches, the more he wants to turn away and attempt to go back to sleep.
“Does anyone know what Jessica and Miguel would like?”
There’s a variety of answers, which soon breaks out into a full discussion even after Peter gives a definitive answer for both of them.
Miguel huffs and turns back to the corner he’s claimed as his own space. He curls up and buries his face in his arms, hoping that if he just stays still with his eyes closed for long enough then maybe the aching in his head will go away. The headphones are a blessing that he takes full advantage of, and as the sounds and smells of cooking start up from the kitchen, he tries his best to get through it with a nap.
He never fully falls asleep, but by the time someone comes to “wake him up”, it feels like he hasn’t gotten any rest at all. The headache is somehow worse than it was before, the aching in his joints has become more widespread, and he’s faintly sweating from how warm he is.
Someone is calling his name from nearby, and it takes more than a minute to force his eyes open with a groan. Struggling to pick his tired head up, he peeks over his shoulder to see who it is.
Rio is there again, holding something new this time that very much smells like food. His stomach rumbles in hunger and curls ominously at the same time, and he grimaces as he twists around to face her.
“Aquí tienes. Traje comida,” she says, holding the plate of food out towards him temptingly.
Miguel reduces himself to the minimal movement necessary to turn and reach out for the plate, grumbling all the while. She sets it on the floor and backs up a bit, and Miguel hears a muffled screeech as his claws catch on porcelain and work to drag it closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees several of the spiderlings jump at the noise, but he doesn’t have the energy to tap an apology.
Once it’s closer to his face, the smell of eggs is almost overpowering, and he hides his nose behind an arm as he picks at the food halfheartedly. He’s hungry, but at the same time too nauseous to eat. He’s sure that if he were to take a bite then he would just throw it back up.
“Hey, Peter? He’s not eating.”
Peter perks up from his spot on the couch talking with a now-awake Jessica, and he stuffs some scrambled eggs in his mouth as he looks over to see what she means.
“I think that’s normal. I’m guessing he has a nasty headache right now, so it’s probably nausea and just—“ he waves a fork in the air “—general unpleasantness.”
Rio frowns, still displeased with the way Miguel is just picking at his food. “Is there some way we can help? He took some pain relief yesterday, so maybe I could try to give it to him again?”
Peter snorts and raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You really think you can get him to take anything when he’s like this? He’d probably try to maul you just for the attempt.” And beside him Jess nods in agreement.
“And do you really think we should just leave him like this for the rest of the day? Aren’t you supposed to be Spiderman?”
She puts her hands on her hips and Peter sputters, embarrassed when some of the kids laugh.
“Spiderman can only do so much, Mrs. Morales. The last time I tried to help him through this, I nearly got my throat torn out. This time he got my arm, and he could’ve gotten you too. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I also know that Miguel is dangerous when he’s not in his right mind. The only thing I can do is wait.”
Rio crosses her arms and leans back on her heels. By now, Miguel is just watching his food mournfully, wanting to eat but unwilling to try.
“Maybe waiting is the only thing you can do, but I can do more than that.”
When Rio moves to reach out for his plate, Miguel’s gaze snaps up to meet her, and as soon as he realizes what she’s trying to do, he moves his own arm to block her, claws digging into the wood floor with a deep growl. She freezes, as does the rest of the room.
“It’s okay, Miguel. I’m just trying to take your plate.”
She inches a little closer, and Miguel tenses, rising up on his elbows and putting deep scratches into the floor as he growls again.
Rio pulls back, looking to the others like they might know why Miguel is getting so defensive.
Okay? someone taps to him, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Rio as he responds with a demanding mine!
“But you’re not even eating it,” Pete says, confused.
But Rio takes a look at him, comes to the decision that Miguel clearly cares about it more than she does, and lets it go. “Okay, you can have it, big guy.”
He doesn’t relax until Rio slowly stands up and backs away, and he still eyes her warily as he returns mostly to the same position he was in before.
“Hey Pete, if I give him pills do you think you can convince him to take them?”
Pete blinks and shrugs. “I can try, but the spider language doesn’t have as many words as English…”
“Good enough for me.”
She heads back to the kitchen, takes out the same bottle of pills from the night before, and carefully makes her way back to Miguel.
He tenses as she approaches, baring his teeth in warning, worried that she’s going to try to take the plate from him again. Mine! he taps, although he’s fairly sure she doesn’t understand the meaning. She stops not far away, takes three pills, shows them to him, and starts to reach out towards him again.
“For you,” she says softly, and Miguel reluctantly lets her hand get closer. He’s wary of being tricked, but he’s also confident that he’s faster than she is, and if she’s stupid enough to try to steal from him, then he can always steal it back.
She drops the little things on the plate and pulls back, shuffling far enough away for Miguel to take his eyes off her to inspect what she’s given him. They’re small and colorful things that smell faintly of chalk and chemicals. He growls at them, wondering if Rio is trying to drug him into compliance. He wants to tell her that he’s not dumb enough to fall for that, but settles for a displeased hiss instead.
Pete waves off to the side to get his attention, and when Miguel looks over at him he puts both hands on the floor to start tapping. Safe, okay he says. His face scrunches up for a moment, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to say. Eat, no more hurt.
Miguel huffs a growl incredulously. His spiderlings want him to eat that? What if it’s poison? Or something to make him go to sleep against his will? He’s had enough of these kinds of things from Alchemax, and he’s not about to make it easier for someone to take a scalpel to his flesh.
No! is his angry reply. No sleep! Spider get hurt!
Pete’s eyes narrow, beginning to understand more of where Miguel’s mind is at.
“Mrs. Morales, Can you toss me that bottle?”
She seems to know what he’s going to do, because she hands it over without question. He turns it over in one hand curiously.
“This isn’t addictive, right?”
“No, Pete. It’s not.”
He nods, reassured but still tense, and takes a pill out before turning back to Miguel. I eat, he says.
Miguel growls, lurching forward. The pulse of pain in his head at the sudden movement is what stops him, but he watches Pete worriedly. No! Spiderling get hurt!
Safe, Pete insists, and then before Miguel can do anything about it, he pops the pill into his mouth and swallows.
Miguel jolts, wide-eyed and scared for his spiderling, but Pete just… sits there. A minute passes. He starts talking with the others again, and as far as Miguel can tell he isn’t acting any different. Another minute goes by, and another.
Dubiously, he turns back to his own pills, still not quite sure if it truly is as safe as Pete claims. But his head really shocking hurts, and if it gets any worse then he might just try to pry his skull open. If Pete says that these things will make the hurting stop, and it really isn’t secretly poison, then…
He spares a glance at the others and finds them distracted with other things, and emboldened by their lack of attention, he decides to risk it. He starts with one, and then the other two quickly join it, going down without complaint. He doesn’t notice the metaphorical sigh of relief from the rest of the room once it’s done, distracting himself by taking a piece of bacon and gnawing on it. The hunger is starting to outweigh the nausea, and he figures that maybe a lack of food is the reason he’s so achy. It’s worth a shot at least.
Some time later, when his migraine has transformed from a piercing pain to an ache that’s only noticeable when he moves too fast, he blinks and realizes that the light filtering in through the blinds over the windows has dimmed. The room is very slightly darker, and when he happens to take a deep breath, a new scent reaches his nose.
Having grown bored of the remains of his food a while ago, he gets up and wanders over to a window on the other side of the room. He gives a grumble when he gets to the blinds, wondering if he should push them aside or just rip them off. But he doesn’t get to decide, because then a web is shot from across the room to latch onto the strings. Miguel startles, half a hiss slipping out as he whirls around and finds that it’s Peter’s web. The other spider smiles at him and tugs on the thread, prompting Miguel to look back at the window when the blinds go up.
Ignoring Peter, he peers through to see the streets of New York below, but that’s not what has caught his attention. He takes another deep breath, savoring the smell of rain as the first few droplets hit the glass.
“Oh, it’s raining,” someone says.
He hears someone jump and silently land nearby, and when he glances over and sees Miles crouching down to look out the window as well, he doesn’t even care to get defensive anymore. Miles is just a curious spiderling, and now that most of Miguel’s pain is gone, he’s far less irritable than he was not very long ago. So he chuffs in a friendly sort of way, and rumbles happily when Miles smiles and waves back.
When he turns back to the view, he also doesn’t mind when a few of the other spiderlings decide to join them. He’s thankful that they still keep their distance, but he finds that he actually appreciates the company.
The rain gradually increases in intensity, and with the headphones still muffling the volume of everything around him, the sound of droplets hitting the window is distinctly soothing. He gets himself comfortable by folding his legs and resting his chin on the windowsill, just watching the world go by.
Once again, conversation flows around him but not with him. The kids seem happy, and Jess and Peter’s hostility has turned into a distant kind of wariness instead, but Miguel can’t help but feel… left out. There are so many other spiders here, and at least Pete and Peter know how to talk to him, but they don’t really bother to try. He supposes he can’t blame them, considering how he reacted to Peter yesterday. Here he is surrounded by people he’s close to, but it’s like he’s not here at all.
He slightly turns his head to kind of subtly glance over his shoulder, and he sees Peter holding up his hands for Miles to train his punches, both of them laughing. And he sees Pav and Hobie mock-wrestling, grinning ear to ear. And Gwen, leaning against Jess as they talk quietly between themselves.
He wonders why he can’t be a part of that. Every time someone gets close he ends up thinking of Alchemax, but trying to focus on the memories yields only blurry images and a vague note of pain. Thinking about it makes his head hurt in a more metaphorical way.
Rio glances at him, and Miguel quickly looks away, pretending that he definitely wasn’t just enviously staring at the others. The rain is nice, and he tries to pay attention to it again, but it no longer holds the same novelty as it did a few minutes ago, and that only grates on his nerves more.
“Hey, Peter. How about you teach me some of that spider language?”
Completely ridding himself of the previous train of thought, Miguel closes his eyes and tries to rest. It’s not a very comfortable position to sleep in, but he’s not really trying to sleep, and he’s passed out in stranger positions before. Mostly he’s just trying to shake off a lingering tiredness that hasn’t left him since he woke up in a panic the day before. It ebbs and wanes, but never completely goes away. The medicine Rio gave him has helped a lot with his headache, but he thinks it also made him sleepier.
The window grows cold by his face, and he shivers at the stark difference in temperature between that and his too-warm skin. Even in the slight chill, he’s slightly sweating. The more he relaxes against the windowsill, the warmer he seems to feel, which would probably be more concerning if he wasn’t getting more tired with every passing second.
Then, nearing a state of half-consciousness and wondering if he should just curl up and take a real nap, he feels vibrations through the floor. He gives a small jolt, blinking tired eyes open to find who’s speaking.
Okay? someone asks, and Miguel’s brow furrows when he doesn’t recognize it as Peter or Pete. Lifting a heavy head, he glances around and finds Rio with her hands against the floor. She’s staring down in concentration as she gives the same message again, and then quickly looks up at Miguel, waiting for a response.
He blinks, tilting his head curiously. He thought that she wasn’t a spider. Could he have been wrong about that? Why has he never seen her do anything even remotely spider-like? What is she?
“You’ve rendered Migs completely speechless,” Peter laughs.
“Am I doing it wrong?” Rio asks, faintly worried as she glances between Miguel and Peter.
“No, no. I think he’s just confused. I don’t think he was expecting to understand you.”
Peter’s voice snaps Miguel out of his own head, and he startles slightly as he realizes how rude he’s being by waiting so long to reply. He reaches a clawed hand down to tap out his response and—
A bright flash of light goes almost unnoticed, but the big BOOM! that follows it definitely doesn’t.
Miguel jumps so hard that the back of his head smashes against a corner of the wall, knocking the headphones off to clatter onto the floor, and in the next second he’s scrambling across the room in a panic. Not really paying attention to where he’s going, he ends up nearly bowling over a few spiderlings in his race to get away. He puts the couch firmly at his back when he whirls around, wide-eyed and with his growling coming off more as panting than anything else. He keeps low to the ground, tense and guarded even with everyone else between him and the window.
Most of the spiderlings are frozen in surprise, and Peter is the first to attempt to console him.
“Hey, bud, it’s just a little thunder. Nothing to be sca—“
There’s another flash of light, and Miguel snarls right before another crash follows. But without the headphones to contain the sound like before, not only does it scare him, but it overwhelms his senses completely.
He goes down in the next instant, shaking hands pressed to his ears and eyes squeezed closed in pain. It’s a sound that ends quickly, but the ringing in his head continues longer than that.
He doesn’t notice Rio and Peter coming up to him until they’re already there. Just when he thinks he’s recovered from the second crash of thunder, a third one comes. He scores deep gashes into the floor where taloned feet dig in, and when he realizes that he’s been approached, he tries to open his eyes and finds water pooling there.
“Oh, pobrecito,” Rio says, reaching a hand for him but stopping halfway. Jess comes over to try to keep her back, and Rio reluctantly moves away to allow Peter more space.
Peter has the headphones in his hands, and at least he makes sure that Miguel can see them before trying to shove them over his head.
He growls, putting up half a fight as he weakly tries to shove Peter away. But the other spider doesn’t go anywhere, and he whines at the futility of it all. The invasion of personal space makes his skin crawl, but this time he can’t do a thing about it.
Peter gets the headphones on, and while the physical relief is just as instant as before, Miguel has trouble calming himself down this time. Peter sits there hovering, claws caught on the front of his shirt and probably trying not to set Miguel off as he gradually winds down.
His face is damp and he doesn’t know why. He shivers with every rasping, panting breath and he can feel his meager breakfast trying to bubble up his throat. His arms are limp where his claws are still attached to Peter, and when the other spider slowly and carefully begins to remove the claws from his shirt, something inside Miguel breaks.
He moves quickly, and Peter tries to leap away but isn’t fast enough. Miguel tightens his grip to prevent him from moving, and a tearing sound fills the room.
The spiderlings yell out in alarm, and Jess puts Rio behind her as she moves to intervene, but Peter holds up a hand to stop her.
Miguel’s claws have shredded his shirt, but no blood has been drawn. Peter is perfectly fine, just with the added weight of a lap full of a very large Spider.
Miguel has his face pressed against Peter’s stomach and his claws still digging into Peter’s clothes, intentionally curled so they don’t brush against skin. And when Peter cautiously rests his arms on Miguel’s back, he finds a tremor running through Miguel’s body.
Despite the way his mind is screaming at him to get away, don’t let anyone close, Miguel can’t let go. His hands are locked in a death grip, and he doesn’t even consider not cowering under Peter like a little spiderling because every new boom of thunder has him flinching and wanting to burrow further into the other spider’s arms. The headphones block most of the noise, but it’s still frightening. And it’s that idea that keeps him where he is.
“It’s okay buddy,” Peter murmurs, starting to trace circles onto Miguel’s back. “I’ve got you. You’re safe here.”
And then he gags, moves his head just enough to lean over Peter’s legs, and throws up.
Peter pulls a deep grimace and tries to scoot both of them away from the brand new puddle.
“Alright, moment ruined.”
Miguel doesn’t pass out so much as he… lets go. He’s mostly limp and listless as Peter tries to comfort him, and it feels like he’s being slowly cooked alive when several pairs of hands pluck him off of the spider and maneuver him onto the mattress.
He doesn’t have the urge to snap at anyone, which is strange to him. There’s still a prickly sensation when he registers someone touching him, but the growling never comes. He just closes his eyes and lets himself be moved, occasionally jolting when the thunder gets loud but otherwise more focused on staying still so he doesn’t aggravate his stomach into expelling itself again.
Someone puts a hand to his forehead and makes a displeased hum. Their hand is cold enough compared to his overheated skin that he almost leans into the touch, but an ominous gurgle has him curling up with a groan. The hand smooths his hair back, picking apart a few tangles.
“Lyla, is his temperature rising?” Peter asks from somewhere over Miguel’s shoulder.
“He’s not at dangerous levels yet, but yes. His fever has been rising steadily for a few hours now.”
“Let me know if it gets to the dangerous point.”
“I was gonna do that anyway, but you got it, Boss #2.”
“I thought I was Boss #2,” Jess says from farther away.
“You’re Boss Lady. There’s a big difference, obviously. Boss #2 is just a temporary position.”
“Ouch, I’m hurt.”
“Do you want to be a permanent boss? No? Didn’t think so. Miguel would probably try to maul you anyway.”
“I can handle Miguel.”
“Well clearly you can’t because he just puked on you.”
“He didn’t puke on me, he—“
“Settle down, everyone,” Rio commands, and although her words are soft, she immediately captures the room’s attention.
Her hand is still in Miguel’s hair, and he finds himself practically melting into the bed with each brush. If he were in his right mind, he might have been embarrassed about letting someone pet him like an overgrown cat, but all he knows is that it feels really nice and wants it to keep happening.
But then she leaves, shuffling off the mattress to go retrieve something, and Miguel opens his eyes and gives a long whine. He’s just been abandoned, he thinks sourly, and he gives Peter an unimpressed look when he laughs and moves over to take her place.
“Oh my God, I’ve never seen you so needy before. Ha! I’m sending a picture of your grumpy face to MJ. She’s gonna love this.”
Peter pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures, and Miguel half-heartedly swats at him to get out of his face, grumbling the whole time. He eventually pockets the phone, and just as Miguel is contemplating biting him, he reaches up and starts the petting again.
He lets out a startled purr, which soon turns into a more extended one when Peter manages to scratch just the right spot.
“Por Dios, is he actually purring?” Rio has a new pill bottle in her hand as she comes back into the room, and she sits down on the nearby couch to read the instructions and dosage on the back.
“Today’s just an emotional rollercoaster, innit?” Hobie comments, one arm thrown over Pete’s shoulders as they watch Miles and Pav risk crawling closer. “What do you wanna bet one of them gets the claws?”
Pete chuckles softly. “I don’t have any euros, but I’ll bet a quarter that they only get hissed at.”
“Deal.”
Peter gives the approaching kids a warning look as Miguel’s purring stops when he feels the mattress being jostled. Following his line of sight, Miguel looks over his shoulder to see the spiderlings as well. Pavitr, being the bolder of the two, gives a friendly smile before practically draping himself over Miguel. He grunts and involuntarily twitches, that prickly sensation returning as he debates with himself on whether Pav is welcome there or not. It’s only when Miles takes a seat with his knees against Miguel’s back and his arms resting on his side that he chooses to relax.
Miles being where he is reminds Miguel of carrying the spiderlings on his back, and nearly all of the gathered tension leaves him in an instant at the thought. Wolf spider instincts are hard-wired into him, and the urge to protect his spiderlings quickly outweighs the need to be defensive around others.
He flops his head back down and accepts his fate.
Hobie laughs. “Guess that means we both lose.”
Both of the kids seem to be more than happy with that result, and he grumbles half-heartedly as Pav shifts around to get more comfortable. Gwen is quick to join them, and not long after that Pete and Hobie also jump in. He quickly ends up almost fully buried underneath spiderlings. It’s more comfortable than he cares to admit, but maybe that’s just the fever talking.
Rio reaches over his head to pass some pills to Peter, who tries to offer them to him. He makes a confused noise, wondering why he’s being given new drugs when the pain is still mostly gone.
When Miguel doesn’t seem interested, Peter hums and takes them back. “Hey Pete, you wouldn’t happen to know if the spider language has a word for ‘fever’, would you?”
From his position resting against Miguel’s legs, Pete shrugs. “I don’t think spiders can even get fevers, but you’d have to ask Porker about that.”
Peter sighs and idly taps his chin in thought. And then eventually he moves to tapping on the mattress instead, and the vibrations are very muffled, but Miguel can understand them still.
Spider warm. This makes Spider cold.
Miguel wrinkles his nose at the notion. With several spiderlings covering him like a heavy blanket, he’s practically sweltering, but he doesn’t want to be cold either. Does he really have to choose between one or the other?
Peter and Pete converse some more, and then Peter is tapping a new word.
Trust, he says, offering the pills again.
And, well, Miguel is the last person willing to take leaps of faith for others, but so far Peter and the others have been nothing but helpful to him, even when he tries to drive them away. They’ve closed the blinds for the sake of his eyes, given him headphones to protect his ears, fed him, and even took away most of the headache from before. Would it really be so far-fetched that what Peter is offering now would also help?
He has to pry an arm out from underneath the spiderlings to actually take the offer, and Peter smiles at him when he does.
He only has to swallow two pills this time, and that’s about all the activity that he’s willing to deal with, so the next thing he does is curl up further so he’s more thoroughly covered by the other spiders and closes his eyes to sleep. The heat is nearly unbearable, but he’s exhausted, and it doesn’t take long to drift off under the press of bodies and the white noise of whispered words.
He sways back into consciousness to the sound of a door being closed. Groggily trying to get his limbs working, all he really manages to do is twitch a bit and sort of open his eyes. He makes some kind of noise, like a sleepy whine that gets cut off half way when a hand starts to comb through his hair. It’s hard to care about anything else when he has that to focus on, so he closes his eyes again and starts a scratchy purr.
“Hey Honey. How was work?”
Jefferson sighs and kicks off his shoes, hanging his coat as he rounds the corner.
“I swear, it’s like as soon as the weather changes suddenly everyone forgets how to drive. But—I’m sorry, is he purring right now?”
“It’s so cool,” Miles supplies cheerfully from his end of the cuddle pile. As if in emphasis, everyone goes briefly quiet and Peter scratches a little bit harder so the content rumbling gets loud enough to echo through the room.
“You know, you said he’s not a stray cat, but he sure looks a lot like one right now,” Rio teases.
“Yeah, and he destroys the floor like one too,” Jefferson murmurs, scowling at the slashes in the wood as he heads to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers. “Is that, uh, medicine gonna be done anytime soon?”
Peter’s hand leaves Miguel’s head, and his purrs quiet to a smaller rumble as he watches Lyla appear by the spider’s shoulder. “It’ll be another 10 hours before it’s ready, but I think I might be able to speed it up. Someone will need to get a new sample of Miguel’s blood soon so I can see if the old dose is gone yet. Overlapping medication is dangerous.”
The room collectively groans at the news. Miguel may look relaxed now, but if he had bad reactions to food and pills, they’re positive that he’s going to have some kind of reaction to a needle.
“Alright, who wants to volunteer?” Peter asks sarcastically. Jess gives him a raised eyebrow, and he scrubs a hand over his face tiredly.
“Maybe you could wait until he’s asleep again?” Miles tentatively suggests. “He might not even notice it’s happening.”
Peter grimaces and shivers. “Oh, he’s definitely gonna notice. But maybe it would still be safer that way?”
But Rio gives a disagreeing hum. “I don’t think scaring him is the way to go. We were able to get him to take medicine, and put the headphones on twice, so I think we should at least try to give him a choice.”
Jess and Peter both look skeptical, but neither of them expressly disagrees with her, so she heads off to get the right equipment.
And Miguel is content to stay where he is, comfortably sleepy under a pile of spider kids, not really needing to pay attention to the things happening around him. At least, not until Rio comes into view with gloves and a syringe in hand, and suddenly he is paying very close attention.
The spiderlings feel the snap of tension immediately as Miguel locks onto her and his rumbling turns into a low growl. Twisting so he’s slightly more upright means his claws nearly puncture the air mattress below, but that’s the least of his worries at that moment. Rio stays back, nervous, and Miguel does not take his red eyes off of the thing in her hand.
“Miguel, buddy, it’s okay,” Peter tries to say, conveying the same message through vibrations muffled by the material they’re both resting on. But Miguel Isn't listening to him.
He sees the syringe and the walls around him don’t look warm and inviting anymore. They’re pale white and clinical, with holograms displaying dissected anatomy and bio-readings. The phantom pressure of metal around his spinnerets, his claws, his mouth is suffocating. There’s drying blood on the floor, lights bright enough to blind him, a thick glass panel separating the spider from the people on the other side. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nobody coming to save him.
A nightmare, except this one is real.
Hands grab his face as a body blocks his view, but the walls are closing in around him and he doesn’t have time to entertain Peter’s ramblings that he doesn’t even understand—
He moves to break free, but Peter’s grip is firm enough to keep him from seeing Rio again. Leaning down to force eye contact, Peter ignores his stuttering growl as he taps words directly against his skull.
Safe, Peter tells him. Trying to shake Peter’s hands off or push him away yields nothing, and the other spider keeps repeating the same few words. Safe, calm, trust.
He’s shaking, he realizes distantly, struggling to focus on anything past the tunneling of his vision and the burning of his scars. The spiderlings still clinging to him are also making their own attempts to reassure him, some tapping their own messages and some just pressing a little closer, more protectively.
He makes another, smaller attempt to shake Peter off again, but of course the other spider doesn’t let him go anywhere. And once he realizes that he’s being trapped by kind hands instead of cruel ones, he slumps and allows them to hold him.
“That’s it,”Peter murmurs, tapping slower now but still repeating the same message. He leans further down, awkwardly hugging Miguel’s head, and Miguel whines as he presses closer as well. “God, I wish I could take back what they did to you,” he whispers, and the ears that are meant to hear them aren’t able to understand the words.
Okay? Peter taps to him. And Miguel switches rapidly between tense and less tense as he tries to figure out if he’s truly safe or not. Rio is still standing behind Peter, and even though he can’t see it, he knows the syringe is still waiting there. These spiders haven’t given him any reason not to trust them, but this is terrifying.
Peter takes his lack of answer in stride, and he subtly gestures for Rio to make her way closer. He can feel the way that everyone tenses, and although he doesn’t see it, Jefferson is visibly fighting to not reach for his wife.
She makes her way over, and he hears her coming, feels the mattress dip as she sits down nearby, but he still startles when he catches sight of her. He cowers under Peter’s arms with a hiss, shifting away from her but not getting far with so many spiders still on top of him. She is by far the most relaxed one in the room as she calmly waits for him to calm down. And he does, as much as he hates it. He can’t hiss forever, and having Peter there acting as a sort of protective cover is more comforting than it should be.
Trust? Peter asks, and it is a big ask.
Images of his time at Alchemax flash across his eyes, and for a long few moments it’s difficult to differentiate between the woman who’s done nothing but help him so far and the people who took scalpels to his chest. But eventually the illusion fades, and he drags his eyes up from the tool in her hand to her face instead. It’s not easy to break past the spider’s haze to recognize the look she’s giving him, but it’s important enough that he tries anyway.
He finds only concern and warmth there. And that’s not a look that anyone at Alchemax ever would have given him.
He lets out a whine and turns away from her, seeking comfort in Peter. He moves an arm to tap his own words against the spider’s thigh.
Hurt Spider?
Peter squeezes him a bit before he responds with a resolute no. Safe. Trust.
The others watch with bated breath, waiting for his decision. He wonders if he even has one in the first place, what they might do if he refuses to participate. But even just giving him the option at all is far more consideration than he’s used to. He could say no, and maybe it wouldn’t mean anything, but they’re all waiting for his answer, and Rio is sitting there so patiently.
Okay, he says finally, sucking in a nervous breath at the same time Peter slumps in relief.
“He said okay. Just go slow. I don’t know how he’s gonna react.”
Peter takes one of Miguel’s arms and carefully pries it away from his body, offering his wrist to Rio. He has to fight back the urge to pull away or dig his claws into something as Peter holds it there. It’s with a soft enough grip that Miguel could easily slip away, and knowing that is just a little more reassuring.
He flinches when the cold plastic of the gloves makes contact, and Peter gently shushes him with a hand brushing through his hair. Watching the process makes his heart hammer away in his chest, so he turns and hides his face in Peter’s knee.
There’s a slight pinch at his wrist, and some other, more human instinct takes over to force his arm to relax enough for the needle to enter safely. Feeling the blood being drawn from beneath his skin is possibly the most unpleasant thing he’s had to deal with today, and every second it continues is a vicious fight in his head to stop himself from ripping into every other living creature nearby.
Just before he can decide that he’s had enough, it’s done. The syringe is pulled out just as carefully as it went in, and Miguel wrenches his arm away as soon as he’s sure it’s gone. Fangs are clamped down on his tongue as he lays there shivering, slowly making his way down from the emotional high of a few seconds ago.
“Lyla?” Rio tentatively whispers, trying not to set Miguel off. “Where do I put this?”
“Someone needs to bring it to Miguel’s office. Jess and Peter know where it goes.”
“I’ll take it,” Jess volunteers. “Peter looks like he has his hands full.”
And he definitely does. Miguel isn’t interested in moving off of him, and Peter is more than content to give away comfort freely. From where some of the kids had been jostled by his movement, they shuffle over to make themselves comfortable again. It soothes and settles something inside him, something he doesn’t yet have the presence of mind to describe.
Jess takes the syringe from Rio and quietly leaves the room, thankfully opening a portal in Miles’s bedroom behind a closed door instead. Rio disposes of the gloves and makes her way to her husband, having a near-silent conversation in the kitchen.
Miguel collects himself, piece by piece. At least it’s a little easier with everyone else around.
He’s not sure when he falls asleep, or how long he’s out for. He’s sort of in and out of it, drifting closer to consciousness when people move around him and farther away when the warmth of his spiderlings soothes him back to sleep. Time becomes long and syrupy, swimming in all different directions.
A hand combs through his hair and he leans into it with a soft purr. The results of Lyla’s analysis come back, but the words still don’t stick in his brain, drifting in one ear and out the other. What does stick though, is the tapping against his side and the small arms clinging to one of his own.
Pete is telling him safe and calm in random enough intervals that it’s almost like he’s doing it subconsciously, and it seems like Gwen has fallen asleep on top of him.
Another time he partially wakes up to a smell. There’s activity in the kitchen, and some of the spiderlings have gotten up to help. The TV is on some kind of sports channel, with Jefferson sitting on the couch with the volume thoughtfully kept on mute. Peter is gone too, or maybe just somewhere else nearby, but he doesn’t linger on the thought for long as he drifts off again.
The next time, someone is messing with one of his hands. Nimble fingers press against his palm and prompt his claws to unfurl a bit more. He hears Pav giggling as the others make various noises of interest.
Miguel gives half of a huff and fully extends his claws briefly. Pav holds his hand up for the others to see excitedly, trying not to make too much noise but barely able to contain a delighted shout.
There’s some more curious testing as he moves Miguel’s hand in different ways, the claws going in and out depending on the angle and tension. He might have been inclined to give them a full demonstration if he weren’t already being pulled under again.
There’s music one time. The soft strumming of Hobie’s guitar combined with Gwen taking a pair of pencils to rhythmically tap against the floor sounds amazing no matter which set of instincts Miguel is using. Pete starts humming a song, and the gravelly nature of his voice becomes a fast-acting lullaby.
And then, finally, a pinch. A shock to his system as his bloodstream is flooded with a potent mixture of chemicals and a switch is flipped in his head.
His back arches and his eyes flutter open with a stilted gasp. The reddish haze disappears, as do the sharp bits of claws and fangs. It’s like being doused in freezing water, unpleasantly refreshing and a harsh change in atmosphere.
He slumps, breathing deeply as he comes back into his own body. He twitches, recognizing the full-body ache and the tightness in his stomach at the lack of food, but curiously not as bad as he’s used to feeling. He’s used to coming out of these episodes feeling like death, stinking and covered in either vomit or blood. He’s used to being barely able to move, joints stiff and throbbing. But right now? He doesn’t feel great, but he also doesn’t feel terrible. It’s strange.
Another twitch and he actually starts to use his eyes. Wherever he is, it’s not as dark or open as his office, and while that thought is immediately alarming, the concern he feels is slow and clouded behind everything else. He doesn’t have the energy to know that he should be freaking out yet.
He blinks slowly, testing the movement of his slackened jaw before he gets his arms underneath him to push himself up. Sitting up makes the room spin, and he brings a half-numb hand up to clutch at his forehead with a grunt. His fingers brush against something, and he reaches further up to grasp whatever it is, surprised when he pulls a pair of headphones off his head. He stares down at it for several long seconds, coherent thoughts lagging far behind.
He realizes that he’s not wearing his suit, and then that he’s sitting on something soft that definitely isn’t the hard floor of his office, or anywhere else in Spider Society. He glances up and blinks the fog from his vision to see someone sitting in front of him, waiting expectantly. He sees dark hair, brown eyes, gray stubble, and it takes a second for him to put all the pieces together into a larger whole.
Peter, he eventually recognizes. And then, confused, he glances around to the walls of the room he’s in. The wallpaper is vaguely familiar, as is the mock-fireplace and the shape of the windows. He knows this place, but it takes a second for the realization to finally sink in.
Miles’s house, he thinks in a sudden panic. Not the safety of his office, is an even worse thought.
The headphones fall out of his hand and onto the mattress as he leaps up. He stumbles as he stands up, and when he finds his footing and whirls around, his heart jumps into his throat when he sees not just Peter, not just the kids, but also Miles parents staring at him.
“Sh-shock,” he curses, his hands beginning to shake as he sees all the scratch marks along the floors and a pair of broken picture frames on a table in the corner.
“I am—I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen—Is everyone okay? Did I—?”
A few people start to talk at the same time, but they all get cut off when Mrs. Morales gets up from her side of the couch and makes her way over to him. He takes a step back when she gets too close, afraid of hurting her if he hasn’t already. But she doesn’t seem concerned and steps into his personal space anyway.
“Miguel, can you take some deep breaths, por favor?”
Lacking any other direction to go in, he automatically follows her lead. She takes one of his hands, and then the other as well, and he’s struck by just how unbothered she is by the possibility of claws sinking into her skin. She waits until his breathing is just as even as hers, and then waits some more until his hands stop shaking. Only then does she let go, and Miguel jolts as he regains his sense of time.
He closes his eyes and takes a final, deeper breath before he lets himself speak.
“I understand if you want to bar me from your home from now on. I can fix your stuff and then you’ll never see me again.”
When he opens his eyes again, head bowed, he’s surprised to find that nobody is leaping at the opportunity. He can barely remember anything that happened, but it couldn’t have been good. Except none of them are rushing to shove him out the door, or yelling at him for putting their family in danger. He doesn’t get it.
Mrs. Morales crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “Why would we want to do that?”
And Miguel gapes at her, completely speechless as he races to figure out what the shock is going on. There’s way too many scratches in the floor for him to have been completely harmless the whole—what was it, 20 hours? 30? And he can’t imagine Jefferson, or Jess were entirely happy about his slip up. He’s absolutely positive that at least she is going to have some words with him about this.
He looks to Peter for some kind of guidance, but the other spider seems distinctly amused by his confusion, so he’s no help at all. But he’s not so amused when Miguel catches sight of the bandage wrapped around his arm, which he rushes to hide behind his back like it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world.
“It’s just a scratch,” Peter claims sheepishly, and Miguel doesn’t believe that at all.
“Whatever you’re thinking that you did,” Mrs. Morales starts, far more calm and collected than Miguel is, “you didn’t do it. Parker got scratched, and that was pretty much it. You spent most of the time sleeping.”
It sounds like the truth, but it doesn’t make any sense. He’s seen videos of himself during these episodes, and he’s never slept through any of them. He’s known for going stir crazy and tearing up as much of a room as possible, maybe sometimes build a web or trying to eat something he shouldn’t. But sleeping? That just doesn’t sound believable.
“How?”
She shrugs. “Giving you pain relief for the headaches seemed to work, and Peter did a good job calming you down.”
He glances incredulously between the two of them. “And I didn’t try to maul you?”
A few people chuckle at that, and he figures it’s some kind of inside joke he’s missing, and more than what Mrs. Morales is trying to tell him, it’s that thought that really makes it clear just how little concern they have for the things he’s worried about.
Everyone is fine, he realizes abruptly. He slumps, still confused as to how that’s even possible. Withdrawal isn’t a fun experience, and the wilder version of himself isn’t known for playing nice or being easy to deal with even on a good day. How they’re managing to make it seem like a walk in the park is beyond him.
“You’re really all okay?”
There’s a chorus of agreement from the kids, a smile from Peter, a reluctant nod from Jefferson, and Mrs. Morales gives him a look that makes him feel much smaller than he actually is.
He sighs in relief, pinching the bridge of his nose as he works through all the emotions flowing through him.
“Lyla, how do I fix wood floors?”
She appears near his head cheerfully. “Well, if you were from this time period you’d have to either replace the whole floor or fill in the gaps with wood filler, but since we’re from the future we have an even faster option!”
“Okay, then what is it?”
“Oh, I was just joking. Yeah, you have to fill in each scratch yourself. That sounds like a lot of work, so good luck!”
He growls and swats at her while the others laugh. She giggles and flickers somewhere else. He gives an annoyed sigh.
“What about everything else? Like the picture frames?”
“There actually is a faster solution for that one,” she supplies helpfully, for once. “I can have the glass made and sent here like that.” She snaps her fingers, and Miguel rolls his eyes.
“The vase can be either glued together or 3D printed, depending on how much you care about authenticity,” she tells Miles’s parents. Mrs. Morales looks at Jefferson, who just shrugs back at her.
“You can print it. It wasn’t anything important.”
“Got it. I’ll get right on that!”
Miguel wasn’t even aware there was a broken vase, but he’s glad it wasn’t something they valued. Otherwise he might be in a lot more trouble right about now, and strangely enough, he actually wants to stay, instead of getting kicked out like he was expecting.
“Can I do anything else for you?” he asks tentatively. “I’ve been an awful guest, and given all of you a lot of grief. So is there something I can do to make up for it?”
Mrs. Morales lets out a breath and moves closer to gently lay a hand on his arm.
“How about you fix the floor, let us know when you’re feeling better, and then maybe warn somebody the next time you’re getting overwhelmed.”
Miguel frowns and glances away, slightly embarrassed that that’s something he needs to be told. In hindsight, he absolutely should have warned at least Peter and Jess before coming over, or just not come at all. But that didn’t happen, and he made the mistake of caving to Miles and Peter’s whims without fully realizing just how close to the edge he was.
“Other than that,” she continues, “maybe the next time we invite you over, you can show us what you can cook, hm?”
He glances back at her. The idea that she would want to invite him over again is insane, but cooking for others actually sounds… nice. That’s something he would enjoy, without the stress of going off his medication looming over his head.
She pulls back and grins as she heads back over to the couch. “And besides, you have to come over again so Lyla can show me those videos she got of the purring.”
Miguel freezes.
“Qué?!”