Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue 

It’s a losing game.

Maybe if you asked anyone, maybe if you asked Miles afterwards, but a deep part of him knows, this is wrong.

There is no losing— no winning something that was never up to chance. 

And despite his stubbornness, his efforts, his desperate attempts to wake up from a nightmare and all this suffocation. The fear of not being able to surface, terror after terror. 

He can’t believe In his own hope. 

Dodging left and right all the Spider-Men— who are supposed to be the good guys right ? And if they are after him, what can that possibly say? 

Slammed again and again and again. 

The terror that tears him Into two on that train with Miguel’s claws on him, he realizes he’s never seen this much hate up close. It’s something that shakes him to his very core, deep within followed by the thundering of his heartbeat. 

Just the idea of someone loathing him so much. 

It’s not speculation. 

“ You’re a mistake! An anomaly, anywhere you go, you will always be an anomaly!” Miguel’s voice thunders in his ears, mere seconds away and the slamming of his body into the metal screeches. 

The pitter patter of his heart, his chest almost exploding because he can’t breathe- maybe he broke something— maybe Miguel is— he needs someone to help him. 

He just needs some help— all those times he’s helped people, has to pay off— even though that’s not why he does it. Despite that, good karma has to exist to balance all this bad out. 

“Get off of me, man! Get off of me!” His voice doesn’t feel like his own, it sounds strangely young despite his usual playfulness, and he forgets he’s Spider-Man. 

He’s just Miles Morales, and he was never meant to be this. 

Help. 

“Miguel, this has gone too far! We never agreed to this!?” 

It’s a grinding halt— that glimmer of hope that has him reeling back into his body— into everything he knows against the whipping wind.. Against the wild eyes of an animalistic man above him. 

He peers down below and almost sags at the sight of Gwen and Peter B. 

And then.

They’re not coming any closer. They could— they could fight against the harsh winds and climb up, pull Miles from under Miguel and help him. Ensure that he is Spider-Man despite what O’Hara says. 

But they don’t.

Betrayal stings like venom, he feels webs around his arms, hanging in the middle of a room with a cheap costume on and someone he thought had faith in him— telling him to sit back. That he isn’t ready.

“You guys talked about this?!”

He can’t think— can’t hear over his fear, terror, betrayal— and he can’t trust most of all. A deep part of him he didn’t intend on ever losing, being torn out with no consequence or thought for his well-being. 

Miguel’s claws are still against his shoulder blade— tiny cuts as Miles struggles like prey. He knows one thing. 

They will not come to help. No one will. They all believe him to be a freak of nature— something that shouldn't exist. It's no longer about the canon event, about what his fathers supposed destiny is anymore or the collapsing of his timeline. Its just Miles and all the error he is. 

He can’t breathe. 

“Get— get off of me.” It's a desperate plea that won’t be answered. 

In these situations, there are two intended actions. Flight or freeze. 

Except he can’t run while he's pinned like this, and freezing will have him ripped to shreds and Miguel might kill him— Miguel is going kill him— he is going to die, why won’t anyone help him— why won’t they help- help help help help. 

A jumble of words fall from his core and a shock pressed against a tech suit sends a thousand volts. When he’s finally free of Miguel and having lured the spiders away— it’s just a desperate scramble. A kid running away from things he can’t possibly stop at the moment. 

Being inside the Go Home machine is scarier from the inside than it was from the outside— it’s worse when you’re on a time limit and your breathing can’t get under control. 

His abilities go haywire when Miguel enters the room, bloodthirsty and frantic— despite the yelling for the machine to stop, it doesn’t— his rage blinds him from any logic and instead he attempts to claw at the wall. 

Miles backs away, eyes full of horror— watching sharp claws and fangs— Miguel’s going to tear his throat out. He makes eye contact with Margo.

Chapter Text

He tumbles into his room through a entanglement of limbs, his ankle hitting against the window sill, yet the pain doesn’t stop him from getting out of the Brooklyn rain. Shadows of blue from the billboards lighting up the room and his familiar posters on the wall. 

His body hits the ground with a harsh thud as he finally regains the chance to catch his breath and ease his frantic panting. He doesn’t have much time however, the thumping of light, foot patters followed by a heavy set come near. 

He’s only lucky his senses are so heightened as he throws on a dirty hoodie on the ground he was laying on, immediately remembering why he was on a desperate chase to get here. 

The door is thrown open, his dads angry scowl, his gun lowered near his waist. 

“Police! Put your—“ the booming trails off as his parents familiarize themselves with their son. His mother, the first to push her husband aside and rush towards Miles. 

He wants to hug her. 

Mere minutes ago it was all he could think about. Except.. Her rushing towards him makes his spider sense go Haywire and against his will— his body pulls him a step back. 

She falters. 

“Miles?! Where have you been?! I thought— I thought something—“

“Mom, dad— there’s— something coming, you don’t understand, something bad and it’s coming for us and—“ he needs to find a way to explain this. He can’t keep these secrets any longer— he doesn’t know when the Spot will show his face— when Miguel will come bursting through his window or perhaps his front door— clawing anyone in his way. 

He needs to tell them everything.

Then what? 

What happens? 

“Miles, son, calm down— what’s wrong, just breathe.” His dad is suddenly in front of him— when did he get here— why isn’t he angry?

“What?— no listen to me, Spot is— Miguel—“ his voice cracks. 

“Miles! Stop it— I’ll listen, just calm down, breathe, you’re worrying your mother!”

He is breathing. What is his dad talking about? 

His eyes shift over to the left— almost tilting, a sudden rush of vertigo just to meet his mothers. Her hand covers her mouth and there are panicked tears in her eyes. 

He jolts back to his dad— it feels too long- too short. He needs to tell them who he is. 

Then what? 

He circles back to it. 

What can his parents do against the spot? Against a multiverse of super powered Spider-Men? They can’t run and pack their bags— they can’t go anywhere. 

As long as they are with Miiles— as long as he remains an anomaly, they won’t be safe. They’ll never be safe. He blinks in and out— vision tinting red and white, a distance constriction on his chest. Heavy hands on his shoulders.

He looks up and sees fangs , the world disappears for a little while for Miles morales. 

—

“What do you mean there's nothing wrong with him?” Rios' voice stresses almost in disbelief, the firm and comforting hand of her husband on her shoulder as they face the doctor.

“There is nothing physically wrong with him Mrs. Morales, this episode he just had.. Well it's nothing due to heart problems or breathing. Your son might be suffering from a panic disorder–”

“No.” Rio’s voice cuts him off sharply, shaking her head. The doctor pauses.

“Excuse my wife, it's just that, Miles is a normal kid, he doesn't have any disorders, he's never…” Jefferson knows about traumas. He knows about panic attacks, ptsd, and all the nuisances that come along with it. Being a cop is almost like signing a package deal to understanding these things. Rio, on the other hand, while being a nurse herself has a hard time grasping when something bad is happening to Miles. 

A cold? The window must be open.

A stomachache? The damn vendor down the street!

A Panic Disorder? No. Miles is just upset about something.

“I understand this can be hard for any parent to take in, but anyone, including kids, can experience panic attacks. Under stress or certain circumstances these can develop, but they aren’t, per se, bad. Miles can learn to get through them, and if he's lucky they might just be a one time thing. Do you know what brought it on?”

The final question has the two staring at each other in guilt, unknowing, and parental fear that can't be dispelled even now that their child is home after going missing for hours with no idea about his whereabouts.

It's a loud answer. 

Miles shifts over in his bed, the muffled voices finally clearing as he opens his eyes. They feel heavier than ever,his body feels sore and hot all over. For a moment he thinks that maybe he stayed up too late during a school night and is now facing the consequences. He sighs, closes his eyes once more.

There's red, dark blue and pixelating tech that shocks, the sharp claw and swing, the cold air so fast against his face it almost cuts and the resounding words of what could've been a friend or a mentor. 

“That spider was never supposed to bite you! You're an anomaly, anywhere you go, you will always be an anomaly.” 

He jolts up from the bed, the light blue blanket falling off as he scrambles to get up and away, just the same time when his doctor and his parents behind enter. His dad isn’t dead. How long was he out of it? How long does he have?!

“Miles! Miles calm down please, you're scaring me mijo.” his mothers frantic voice, hovering hands unsure of what to do as his father tries to wrestle him back to sitting down. 

“Mom! Dad!, we need to  go– something is coming, we need to go and– let go of me!” his father doesn't listen, still attempting to pin him back onto the bed. 

“I can get a sedative in here if that would—” the doctor attempts to interject helpfully and being met with three resounding No’s.

And then , theres a different pressure, no soft plush beneath him and his breathing loud to his own ears. Sense clogged and haywire, blues and reds and too many flashes.

“Get off of me! Get off of me!”

“Jeff! Stop it, you're making it worse, let go!” His father backs off and Miles can see just how terrified his dad is. 

A jarring image because Jefferson Davis is an immovable object. He defies physics themselves and nothing can instill the horror he is quickly becoming familiar with. 

“Were you sworn in yet?” His voice is coarse. 

“What–”

“Were you sworn in yet?!” his voice echoes around the room. He misses the silent word Rio sends to the doctor who slinks outside, giving them some needed privacy. His father reels back confused, and then returns more so just for the sake of his son.

“No– I missed it, but it's ok Miles you don't–”

Miles doesnt feel guilty. Not an ounce of guilt because his father isn't a police captain. He's just like every other cop in Brooklyn. His shoulders shake from relief, from tiredness.

“Miles? Hun, are you okay, just tell us what's wrong.” his mom pleads coming closer to grab a hold of his hand.

He hiccups once, then twice. 

Tears stream down his face and he can't stop them as they drip down onto the thin blanket, blurring his vision. And he can't close his eyes because he's scared the moment he does, Spot or Miguel will be there, or even worse, Gwen and Peter. 

His father isn't dead, isn’t going to die and that's more than he can ask for, but nothing feels any better for him. 

A mothers hands wrap around her son's head, hugging him with all of her might, a father surrounds the two with open arms. Miles in the middle with shuddering breaths and distant to the sound of his family trying to comfort him, and where does he go from here?

Chapter Text

The Mofongo sits on his plate sadly, the rice being pushed around on the glass, nowhere near finished. The scraping of the spoon fills the room as Miles stares at the food. 

It’s his favorite. 

“Eat your food, Miles.” Rio voices suddenly, watching intently. 

“Ok.”

“Your mother worked hard to cook that for you.” Jefferson points out, spoon in hand yet his plate is just as full. None of them have eaten. Too intent on Miles’ own intake to care for their own. 

“Ok.” 

Scrape. 

“You haven’t eaten today.” She doesn’t ask him anything— doesn’t tell him to do this or that. 

“Okay.” 

Scrape. 

Scrape. 

“Miles—“ 

“I said okay?! I’ll eat— why won’t you let me—“ a sudden outburst rips through him, his hands slam against the dinner table and the plates rattle against the impact. 

A single crack forms beneath his plate. 

He doesn’t understand why he’s angry, there’s this rush underneath his veins that he can’t seem to get rid off by himself, and just as quickly as it arrives, it dissipates. He sinks into his seat and picks up the spoon once more like nothing happened. 

His parents stare at each other. And they don’t eat. 

He raises the spoon to his mouth slowly, long grown cold with white rice and shrimp. He doesn’t taste, chews once, twice, and barely prevents himself from spitting it out. 

“You know— a new uh— cafe opened up down the street…” Davis interjects awkwardly with an upturned tilt. 

“It opened up last year.” He doesn't meet his parents' eyes lately. He doesn’t think he’s much capable of seeing all the pain he’s causing. It’s his fault after all— If he never followed Gwen, if he never snuck out to graffiti— if he never picked up a stupid damn marker, none of this would’ve happened. 

Miles wouldn’t have happened. He stands up abruptly, chair scraping under the dim yellow light, their usually bright home, quiet and almost waiting with anticipation. 

For what? They don’t know yet. 

“Miles, sit down. I was thinking we could go down by the lake this week— y'know fish like we used to? Your mother could bring rosalins dog with us..”

“Yes! Yes, I could make your favorites, have a little picnic by the water, fight off the bugs! What do you say?” Rio interjects, suddenly excited at the notion of something familiar. 

“I think.. I should go to bed. Goodnight.” 

“Will you be going to school tomorrow?” Jefferson stands up, attempting to follow. 

“I don’t know— maybe I— I’ll let you know.”

“Miles, you’ve already missed a whole week, I can’t keep making up excuses— you made a commitment-“

“I know! I’ll try! I’m trying! It’s just one week, it won’t kill me!” He weaves around the table, getting away from his father who’s hot on his heels and not willing to let this go. 

“Jeff—“ Rio stands up along as well, rushing after them. 

“You won’t eat— you won’t tell us anything, you won’t go to school! What am I supposed to do? Just let you ruin your life?!” 

Their voices are raised now— so much similar to a year ago when their relationship was in the throes of ups and downs— shifting on their views alone. 

“Stop it! You’re not helping him! estamos tratando de ayudarte, tu padre no está—“ 

“Why does everyone want to help me all of a sudden? Where did this change of heart come from, and now I can’t do anything without you guys guarding my every move, I don’t need you now! I’m fine!” His screams echo in the apartment. Loud despite the Brooklyn night and his mother rears back full of hurt and surprise. 

He pants harshly, shock zapping his fingers and unnoticeable to his parents. His dad who mirrors his own stance, fists at his own sides, and an angry expression. 

“Apologize to your mother.”

Miles blinks. Fundamentally he knows his parents haven’t done anything wrong, they’re just concerned about him— they’re just trying to go back to the normalcy that was one week ago, or what can be seen as normal. However, it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in his chest as his dad worries about his outburst. He can’t blame them, they’re not mind readers, they don’t know what’s going on with him. Despite this, he wishes they understood on some level. 

“Seriously?” His voice cracks in disbelief. 

His mother turns around, one arm hugging herself and the other holding her face away. 

Miles' dad is an immovable object, Miles is an unstoppable force. 

They don’t work. 

He turns around, shoulders tight and slams his bedroom door with a loud boom, the hinges rattle against his fathers raised voice. 

He ignores it as it jumbles into a million thoughts, memories, past happenings, and not. He screams, knocks off his beloved expensive supplies from his desk, tears apart his sketchbook, and every memory of the other spider-men before sinking in his own heap of misery.

He grips tufts of his hair harshly, irregular breathing and tears pricking his eyes. He doesn’t know where to go from here. He doesn’t know how to ask for help and actually receive it, how to deal with receiving it. 

His dads voice drones on outside followed by his mothers shushing. It’s an unusual thing, his mother, usually the harsher parent, expecting the most from Miles as she thinks so much of him. His dad is not as harsh— just as demanding, and perhaps he doesn’t have that level of understanding like his mothers. 

“Was it a girl?” 

Miles stops, clear hot water running over the soap sudsed dishes. The window in front of him echoes the reflection of his mother. This way he doesn’t need to turn around to see her. It also means he has to face himself. The bags under his eyes, dark, his lips are chapped and his face doesn't seem to have that baby-like appearance despite virtually no time passing.

“What.” 

“Was it a girl? Is that why you're… did I do this Miles?” Rio’s voice cracks and she takes a step forward almost attempting to reach out.

It's a silly question a part of him thinks. Did Gwen do this? Is Miles so messed up because of her? He wants to believe that, in that case he can get over it, forget about her and move on. Gwen didn't force him to follow her though, she didn’t slam him into hard metal and send hundreds of people after him for the crime of protecting. The crime of existing, because that's what it boiled down to at the end. 

“What do you mean this?” his voice doesn't waver or change. His mother stays silent for a moment.

Him. It's him. Miles is an anomaly. 

He tries to remember his mothers words on that fire escape, between the cold night and lights of the city, against her kind eyes and warm hands… ,but it feels faraway, and the words are muffled to his ears. He wants to feel the same way he did back then– when he was so sure. 

The rooftop isn't scary. Maybe a year ago, it would’ve given him that same adrenaline from his first leap, but by now it's nothing he's afraid of. After All, why are people afraid of heights? It's only the fall and Miles knows how to catch himself. And he would despite everything. He stays still on the ledge and he almost wishes he could see the stars from here, but It's too clouded and polluted.

He finds himself discovering new things while confined in the house. First, there are dents in the side of his door– moments when his dad as numerousty bumped into the same spot over and over and over again. There are light cuts littering the counters– moments his mother got too passionate while waving a knife around.

And the most jarring, his room gets lonely at night.

His bright posters, tapestries, vinyls and hangings, the glow in the dark stars that have stopped working– none of it seems to make a difference when the Morales family has gone to bed. Not when Brooklyn sleeps, leaving its lone stragglers outside– fighting and adding to the crime with no Spider-man to help. The wind, once a lulling sound to sleep to, is no longer a friend, he fears it might come alive to suffocate him. His uncle's jacket doesn't bring warmth, instead the purple develops glowing eyes, and they stare at him in his bed, waiting for his guard to be let down.

It's more peaceful up here–safer– Miles has a quick escape plan where nothing can get him, when he's zip-lining through buildings and billboards, with cool air fluttering against his lashes. 

“....Miguel?”

It's almost as if the solid concrete falls out from underneath him, everything zooms in as he rapidly turns at the name, cast aglow in a dangerous hue of red. His heart remaking its entrance with rabbit beats in the same tempo– something he's coming to know– fear. 

“Who is Miguel?” the voice repeats, its gruff, tired and not brash. There are no claws, he stumbles off the ledge despite this, trying to get away from his dad. 

“Miguel, Miguel– Miguel– how do you know– is he here– where is he?” panicked whispers, hands in a gentle motion as they dare to come closer. 

“Did he do this, Miles? Did he hurt you? Just tell me– I'll keep you safe son– I just need to know.” his fathers voice cracks in pain. Miles sinks into the floor, like the world has decided to melt on itself.

“He's going to kill me–going to kill me–dad–mom– everyone, he's going to fix everything.” It's a delusional mantra, obviously from the lack of sleep he's subjected himself to, it does nothing to comfort Jefferson Davis. It only solidifies something he didn't want to acknowledge. Some man hurt his kid badly, and he doesn't know how to fix it. 

“Nothings going to hurt you– I'll protect you and your mom– no one will ever hurt you again.” 

A father embraces a son in the terror of late night, rubbing soothing hands against his hair and a reminiscence of when he was just a baby, rocking left and right.

Desperately trying to sleep. 

Chapter Text

Dim orange light reflects around, a faint buzzing that wouldn’t be visible to average human yet it rings around. His watch is gone too, no where to run to and even with it— he’s not sure where he could go. Instead, a blue bracelet is slapped right around his wrist, and an electric suppressor around the other. 

He’s useless. Or that’s what the other spiders might think. Miguel knows otherwise. His fangs laced with venom, his claws scratching into the floor, and any single chance could be someone’s end. 

Maybe that’s the problem. 

He sinks the claw into the ground. Loud screeching verberates, usually Lyla would pop up, say something about tantrums,’I told you so’s’- really anything. She doesn’t. She hasn’t since Miles got away.

Since Gwen and Pavitr— just teenagers decided to run a rebellion against him. The moment Miles was gone, Spiderbyte had shut down all the power, only using backups to keep the bracelet functioning properly, preventing any glitches.

It’s kind of… underwhelming. 

And overwhelming. Maybe O’Hara would’ve questioned this, but that’s just how he feels, all the time. 

He knew HQ would not always be around, he understood the multiverse is weird, and had rules, that it wouldn’t abide by O’Haras or it’s own sometimes. He knew everything he built would burn and crash eventually. A small part of him assumed it would be  a loose villain, or maybe Miguel would just leave one day. 

No longer caring to uphold the universe on his shoulders because it had never given a fuck when it came to him. 

He just didn’t expect one teenager to break it down in a mere day. 

And he had never really wanted to seek out company with the other spiders. He didn’t long for that connection or their weird puns. He distanced himself, but had the gall to form a level of respect— or mutual understanding in the least. 

Miguel knows he’s not like the others— that’s what drove him. To prevent anything like him to happen ever again. 

Maybe he should’ve attempted to make.. friends. 

But then again, there was Lyla, Jessica, even Peter B. And he wouldn’t exactly call them friends, despite this they always stuck around. He doesn’t understand why and a traitorous part of him wanted to in the hopes he could keep doing it. 

He never attempted the second part. He’s had two runs. Two— where he attempted to build connections, to care, and cherish, and in the end, everything crashed and burned…he was always the common outlier. 

Despite knowing this—despite going in a frantic angry rampage—attacking a kid and showing no remorse or gratification to his coworkers, it stung how easily they moved to the other side. 

And it wasn’t any betrayal, you have to have an emotional connection for that, and it wasn’t a hard decision for them either. A simple glance at Miguel in a cage he designed the tech for and understanding it was for nothing. 

They had been working for someone who their morals don’t correlate with, and the bigger picture— besides righting the wrong people in different dimensions— didn’t matter.

It stung. 

Harder than his rage at first against the orange force, where every slash against the barrier sent shock coursing through him— a new feature from SpiderByte— and looks that saw right through him. 

Like he was an animal just waiting to return to its nature. 

It’s funny. He laughs to himself in an almost pitiful way— almost— He’s Miguel O’Hara and he’s long outgrown pity for himself. 

“Yo. What are you having a laugh at?”

Miguel’s head snaps to the side, fangs bared at the new intrusion he hadn’t noticed. He snarls unconsciously and snaps his jaw shut when he realizes who it is. 

“Woah, woah! They weren’t kiddin’ you really do look like them caged tigers!— which I don’t agree with by the way, inhumane treatment toward animals to further capitalism.” Hobie swings down from the ceiling. Boots hitting hard against the ground, his guitar on his back. 

“What are you doing here?” Miguel hates him.

“-But you’ve got nothing to do with Capitalism eh? Unless you’ve got like- dunno jumpers with your face on them, selling them off to the people.” Hobie continues, ignoring Miguel’s question. One second standing and the other his guitar in hand.

“ Spider-Punk.” Miguel grits out. 

“ Don’t, call me that unless you wanna see what kinda action this baby gets. Right, anyways, I doubt anyone would buy em, maybe the bloke always around you in that fuzzy robe. Don’t know how he stands your face honestly. What I’m tryin’ to say is— I don’t agree with animal imprisonment— you’re not an animal— any imprisonment that is. No reform in it.”

Miguel’s head has started to pulsate, listening to this rambling and  accent to pare with it might actually be a form of torture.

“So I’m gonna let you go.”

Miguel almost let’s his jaw hang. Instead his eyes widen and he watches Hobie very carefully like he’s expecting some manical laughter, an, ‘I gotchu big time you absolute sneaker!’ Or the bird. Whichever pairs better. 

None of that is met. Hobie continues to pluck strings lightly, protruding  sound despite the lack of cord. 

Miguel almost thinks he heard wrong. This is Spider-Punk after all. Fascist punching, establishment kicking, Prime minister murdering, Anti-everything— offering to break out the same person who tried to control everything. 

He stands up slowly still expecting some kind of trick. 

The logical thing is to dissuade Hobie from this.. Miguel might be immoral, but he’s not two faced— lying and ass kissing has never done anything.

“Didn’t you quit.” He sneers.

“I did. I’m here to collect my benefits— see some things through y'know— seen you’ve gotten canned.” A smile grin forms on Hobie’s face, Miguel’s claws itch and he puts them away only to recall when a jumble of movement comes through his end. 

“Thought you didn’t like me?” He tilts his head and Hobie doesn’t hesitate before answering. 

“Still don’t.” 

“.. You’re so sure I’m not going after Miles? ¿Por qué no te preocupas por tu amigito?”

“Er— Didn’t pick up on that second part— but going after Miles right now would be bloody stupid. You know you’re not right, the multiverse is in tact, dunno how and the other spiders are tryin to figure it out— but m aybe— you shouldn’t try applying rules to where rules don’t need to be.”

His picking trails off in the dim room— he shoulders the guitar as if it’s weightless, steps one back and brings his hand down like it’s his birthright.

It shatters the glass with a shock of color and sound. Miguel hurriedly turns in an attempt to shield himself and despite this, finds blood trickling down his cheek. 

Hobie whoops, barely being drowned out by his guitar as the orange barrier fades along with the riff. 

Miguel stares deathly at the teen, Hobies face is amused— then it’s not. Suddenly, Miguel is on his back. Jabbed into the glass littering the floor.

He was right after all— Hobie had alternate motives. 

He bares his teeth from the vulnerable angle, the bottom of his guitar underneath Miguel’s chin in a warning— one move and off goes his head.

“Don’t be misled though— I don’t fancy you O’Hara . You’re everything I can’t stand… but you are the same. You just need a little fixing— demotin’— maybe a little kickin’ — anyways. You don’t try to contact Miles. It’s been days— his universe hasn’t collapsed. His dad is safe, spot stopped.”

“You. Were. Wrong.”  Pressure applies to his throat, Miguel’s claws twitch. 

“Get that into your bloody head, don’t go chasin’ some hook or tryna fix things. Come around Miles and I will kill you. You try to get some supervillain revenge on Gwen and Pavitr and I will kill you. I’ve done it before, not afraid to do it again.”

Hobie glares straight into Miguel, unwavering and uncaring Of any backlash despite being years younger. Miguel’s eye twitches, lip pulled and then.

“ I know.” Hobie rolls his eyes and his guitar swings back into place in a single motion as he yawns.

“Course you do! Kinda creepy if you ask me mate, all this stalkin ain’t healthy for ya—“

Miguel dusts himself off, body creaking from the cooped up space he’s been in and he pays it no mind. 

“Hobie.”  He warns and the other spider rolls his eyes, pulling his mask on and whistling.

“Ay it’s not like I wanted to talk to ya either, figured you wouldn't mind it since no one likes you, and I know damn well they’re not conversing either.” 

The younger casts one look at him before he begins to walk away, Miguel shoulders past him, mission set for the door.

However, he falters, pausing for a moment. 

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“I don’t trust you. But I can read people; you don’t want to be a bad guy, you feel bad for what you did, that’s the only reason you didn’t break out of that flimsy cage” 

Miguel doesn’t bother looking back, he doesn’t care to show any emotion at the words. He feels a slight angry twinge that Hobie thinks he knows anything about him. 

“I don’t feel bad.” He misses the way SpiderPunk rolls his eyes as Miguel continues forward through the exit. 

It’s only when the door swings shut does Miguel notice the drastic difference. 

The hallways are empty, no spidermen lingering and he doesn’t know if they’ve gone home-  if SpiderByte had activated the generators again. Then again, he doesn’t really care. He knows there’s no fixing this. 

Despite what little he’s been told he needs to see it for himself. 

He looks down at the janky put together bracelet, he recognizes the technology it’s built from, and not an ounce of surprise comes from him. If it were anyone other than Hobie, he would be impressed, but Hobie  has always been one of the more intelligent spiders. 

He sighs, shifts the watch over, watching as the numbers flutter.

Earth 1610

A gateway opens, a mix of colors and blocking. 

He steps through. 

Hobie rolls his neck, fingers cracking as they stretch, he hears a weird clatter come from the hall. The light from underneath the door lit in hues of green and purple. His eyes widen before shifting over to his wrist. 

‘Impressive’ is a passing thought, ‘I’m going to murder him’ is the second, and ‘Gwen is going to cave my head in’ Is the last. 

Chapter Text

Gwen does eventually go back home. 

Long after Miguel is stored away and the spider’s attempting to stall the inevitable mess that will be figuring out what to do with him. The one time they attempted to do so, many things were said, yelled, and fought over. 

All those spiders— who had to stand by and let their canons happen for the greater good— no longer feel this morality. Unlike their nature and even Spider-Man’s nature, they want revenge. They want Miguel to experience something more than just entrapment.

She’s seen it in their eyes, the blood thirst, and pain— what they had believed in crumbling away after following a madman. 

She doesn't bother entertaining the idea, places her foot down at the notion of harm because being Spider-Man was about seeing the good in others. She knows Miguel was trying to be good, he hadn't succeeded in it, allowing his own grief to blur the lines, but he had attempted. He let Gwen come along when she had nowhere to go, offered her solace in people just like her when she was on the brink, the edge, without anyone to brace for her impact. Most nights where she dreamed of that impact coming in and hard, dreamt of Miles catching her. And some nights… there was the cool embrace of an endless pit she had succumbed to.

Surprisingly afterward, Jessica is the first to apologize to Gwen. Admitting fault for enabling Miguel, especially knowing everything he had gone through so recently and his steady decline. She sides with her, places her hand on Gwen's back in a show of support, and places herself between the Spiders. Without her, she doesn't know if anyone else would have bothered to listen. Not when their minds were clouded with grief they thought was rested. Buried under destinies and the idea nothing they did, could've changed the outcome. She can’t blame them… it’s only when she goes to see her father and slowly patches up their shaky relationship does she understand. Does she start to comprehend what it would have meant if she let him die, for the sake of rules only to find out it didn’t matter? 

Not everything’s better, no. Her relationship is still strained, and despite being surrounded by hundreds who know the hurdles, she still feels alone. She still feels unbridled rage, misunderstood and most of all, ashamed. 

The person she wants the most... isn’t here. Miles, without a doubt, wants nothing to do with her. She saw the way he looked when he severed her webs, a cut connection between the two— a final goodbye. 

It hurt. And she hurt him. He’s not the only one, he won’t be the last. Everything still feels so wrong without him— despite knowing him for a short time, he’s her best friend. Her other half— the only one who actually tried to understand her and succeeded. 

She’s not so sure she understood him though… she thought she did but…

She sighs, shaking her head, her hood falls down and she pulls the mask off as her hair returns to its side-swept nature. Her shoes tap softly against the ground as she makes her way back to headquarters. 

She’s seemingly taken charge with the help of Jessica and Pavitr, no one else seems to question it despite her young nature. Maybe it’s the fact she’s so close to Miles, the one who broke— fixed?— everything. Maybe it’s also the fact she turned on Miguel almost immediately. She knows Hobie would be proud of that, she smiles a bit. 

However, her nostalgic mood doesn’t seem to stay in its good graces as suddenly a loud alarm blares through the mostly empty halls. A loud eery sound that echoes. She knows most of the spiders were dispatched to capture Spot as well as others to help secure Pav’s world… the rest, however, part ways permanently. 

Nonetheless, she breaks out into a run, entering into the main room where SpiderByte and Lyla are already fussing and bickering between monitors.

“That asshole! Why couldn’t he just stay— why does he have to be so goddamn stubborn all the time! Brainless goddamn bat—“

“What happened?!” She comes up to the screens, taking in the flickering monitors with worry, expecting an anomaly or the multiverse to somehow be collapsing. 

Instead, what meets her is Pavitr’s nervous face. 

“Er, so don’t be mad! But the Spider-Man with the creepy claws and the red eyes— super tall, buff guy with severe anger issues— might’ve gotten away.” Pavitr rambles his hands gesturing at the characteristics as Gwen feels something akin to hysteria building up. 

“ Miguel. You mean Miguel.”

“Oh! Yes! Did I not mention that?” He taps his chin and Gwen screams in frustration dragging her hands down her face.

“How did he get away?! I left for— for not even a day! You were supposed to be watching him— Jessica—“

“Hey don’t look at me, your friend was on guard duty.” Jessica places her hands on her hips and Gwen snaps back to a guilty Pavitr. 

“What happened?! Do you understand how dangerous this guy is, how could you let him get away?!”

“Don’t yell at me! I was bored— all he did was sit down and mutter and say creepy boring middle-aged man things! I just wanted to try a burrito from the cafeteria!” Pavitr moans distraught as Gwen notices said burrito now on the floor— mostly likely Jessica’s angry work.

“Spider-Byte’s working on figuring out where he's gone… or to who..” Jessica looks at the ground before looking up at the teenagers. 

“What?… what do you mean who?”

Her heart beats loudly, her mouth filling with cotton. 

“Miguel… is not in this universe. I don’t know how, but he used a watch to leave. It’s not one of ours since I can’t track it but I don’t think we need to. There’s one place he could possibly go.” Lyla glitches in and out, trying to trace a red line on a hologram only for it to cut out. 

Miles. It’s a repeating mantra, all she cares about at the very moment. It’s not even about O’Hara escaping. If he remained in this world, Gwen wouldn’t be worried but he’s not here. He’s after Miles she just knows it— she just knows it. She’s failed her friend yet again and a madman is loose yet again. 

Miles. 

She has to warn Miles.

“I don’t understand— we took his watch away— we shut down most of them— calibrated some to certain spiders— how could this happen?”

The door slams open with some cadence and flourish. Heavy set boots make their way in and a leather-clad, guitar-playing spider makes his way in. 

Gwen can’t even feel relieved at the sight of her friend before he opens his mouth. 

“Hey, Gwendy…. So, I might’ve flubbed a bit.” Hobie Brown scratches his neck awkwardly. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. Gwen grips her hair, breathing harshly walking in circles. Her mind is in a jumble as she tries to tune out Hobies rambling. She knew he was impulsive, that he didn’t care for anyone’s rules— she liked that about him. Made him one of her first new friends, but now she feels like kicking the stupid out of him. 

“You’re not helping Hobie.” Jessica addresses as the man groans. 

“I know that— you think I don’t know that? Look she’s doing the pacing thing— probably counting in her head, Franky I'm surprised I haven’t been kicked.” He mutters. 

“If it helps— we don’t know that he went to Miles?” Lyla pops up, an awkward smile like she’s apologizing for her kid biting another—- which if you think about it—

“ We do.” A chorus of voices cuts her off and she pops her bubble gum before returning to tracing Miguel— who is in fact in Miles's universe. 

“Ok I’m sorry— I didn’t think he would actually go to him— I did threaten to kill him… so we can just pop in— sight see and I can get on with it!”

“We aren’t killing anyone.” Jessica steps forward towards the younger spider who throws his hands up in the air. 

“I second that, I don’t like the guy but—“ Pav's interjection is cut off suddenly by Gwen. 

“No.”

The three of them turn toward her with a mixture of confusion and surprise. 

“No?” Jessica squints at Gwen who has stopped her pacing, securing her mask on her face. 

“No. I’m going alone. Miles— he can’t see all of us there or he’ll think we’re there to drag him back. I don’t want to.. scare him.”

“Psh, scare Miles? Nah, man isn’t scared of a single thing!” Hobie interrupts and Gwen closes her eyes frustrated and regretful. 

“You’re wrong, I forgot how he was at the beginning, how terrified — I don’t know why I expected that to just go away… I have to go get Miguel before Miles sees him— maybe I can talk some sense into him, but if not…Lyla?”

“Already reading your mind! Not literally though— I’m just great at guessing— anyways, as requested!” 

A sudden vial materializes into the air, lingering hexagons around it as Gwen easily catches it. The purple liquid swishes inside as she pockets it into her suit.

“What’s that?” Jessica looks intrigued— uncertain and almost worried. Gwen isn’t in the mood to ask who she’s worried about. 

“An… antitoxin— Miguel’s body has venom in his very DNA, it’s what makes him so powerful, see when he injects this venom into other people, it paralyzes them, it can kill too. This counteracts that— overloads his systems to the point he’s too out of it to cause any damage.”

“Is that safe?” 

“So your plan is to green this man out?”

Both Jessica and Hobie overlap, Gwen rubs her brow before turning around and fiddling with her watch. 

“I don’t know— I hope. But we’ve given him chances, I’m not going to let Miles get any more hurt. I’m not going to stand there and watch again, I won’t do it. 

The watch pinpoints the coordinates she intends on visiting, the light beeping sounding as holographic hexagons appear. Twisting in and out and through the geometric she can see a clearing. 

Brooklyn. 

She takes one step. Closes her eyes, and takes a leap forward. 

His hands are shaking. 

His feet don’t feel like they’re even walking— he can’t feel the concrete underneath him and it almost feels like a dream— except Miles has never been one for vivid or normal dreams. 

And his hands are shaking.

Despite the fall weather, cold sweeping winds that shake New York like an old friend, and clouds so tight you’ll never catch a glimpse of the sun, his hands are not cold.

They're wrapped tightly around the loose crumpled money in his pocket as he walks, forgetting to pay attention to the lights and if they have even changed. 

His eyes move into a jittery stumble, Ricocheting off buildings and signs, loose graffiti on poles, and an old sticker of his hung on one of the avenue signs. 

And then they fall— go static and he’s not seeing, not aware and empty. 

He bumps into someone’s shoulder, winding back up like he’s a broken doll of some sort and once again remembering why he’s out here in the first place. 

His mom needs milk and cream, she said she wanted to make something for him, but he zoned out. He does that a lot.

“Look at Mama's little errand boy! Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” 

 The voice shrieks in thearetics, Miles sucks in a hitched breath, his hand swiping on instinct in the direction of it only to be met with the solid shoulder of a stranger.

“Hey! Watch it!” The voice spits venom and Miles means to say sorry but by the time he’s adjusted, the person is long gone and there’s honking from the street. 

He darts past onto the sidewalk- not very intending on getting hit today of all days. He shakes his head trying to get rid of the weird feeling in his ears and the goosebumps along his arm. 

He finally reaches Mr. Choi's convenience store— a quaint little thing run by an old man who's made friends with his mom. The doorbell jingles, the man at the register with thick black glasses looks up and breaks out in a smile when he spots Miles. 

“Oh! Heya Miles! No, Rio today?” 

Instead, he blows past the nice man, rushing forward and just wanting to get this over with— his eyes hurt, he just wants to sleep— no. 

He blinks and finds himself standing in front of cereal boxes. He turns slightly confused before remembering what he needs to grab. 

“Are you having a hard time? Do you need some help finding anything?” 

Miles turns around caught off guard and suddenly…

A looming figure stands over him, stature growing in height, and a creeping darkness end that seems to follow. The pitter-patter of his heart as the predator towers over him and leaves Miles cowering. 

A figure made of pure black and white, scribbling madness around him and an eerie sound echoing from the walls. 

He crashes back into the freezer with a sharp gasp as the figure reaches out to him. He turns around trying to brace against the freezer and catches sight of himself in the reflection. 

The bags under his eyes are heavy, his skin looks dull and his hair is a mess— a sheen of sweat builds on his forehead, and as he peers behind him….

It’s just Mr. Choi. 

He turns back around. 

“-iles— Miles, are you okay kid? Did I startle you?”

“Uh— no— no I’m fine, sorry, uhm I need some cream, I think.” 

His eyes take to the floor and then sway to the right not taking any particular thing in. 

“Oh, yes! The red one your mom always gets, let me grab it for you!”

While the man bumbles off, Miles finally makes use of himself by grabbing the milk, one hand running over his hair, and attempting to calm himself down. 

He sets the carton on the counter before fishing out the bills and making sure to straighten all the crumpled ones out. Mr. Choi finally comes back, placing something on the counter as well.

He doesn’t bother to check if it’s the right thing— doesn’t bother to be there mentally as the distant sound of a cash register rings. And he doesn’t bother to grab his change either. 

Lately, Miles doesn’t feel safe. 

It’s a silly thought to have because no one ever feels safe in New York— but this is different. 

Before, he wasn’t scared of much, besides his parents and expectations— career goals— school. All non-physical fears that he trudged through with the grace of a newborn calf. And afterward when he became Spider-Man— it was better. 

He felt strong, he knew he would be able to protect his family, his friends, and his life. 

He’s not so sure anymore. 

He keeps his head down, a hurried pace on the streets, shifting eyes— look up and then back down, bumping shoulders and he swears he looks up to find Miguel or the spot staring back at him. 

He feels eyes constantly, never-ending, and when he turns around nothing. Endless city light sky and he feels hopelessly alone. This time, however, he can’t dream of anyone coming to save him— not Gwen or Pav or Hobie. It did him no good the last time…maybe he’s better off alone. 

He kicks his shoes off as he enters the house, uncaring about the crease as he toes them off, his mother is already there to meet him. 

“Oye, Mijo— how was it Miles?” She kisses his cheek, her nervous smile on as she looks him over like she’s expecting his arm to not be there. 

“Hey mama, I just went down the street y’know— didn’t even leave our street.” He tries to grin— tries to be normal. 

“I can be worried, let me have that at least.” She sighs dramatically before plopping down on the couch. Miles sets the bag on the counter before hesitantly walking into the living room. 

For some reason he expects it to feel different— to look different. 

It’s uncannily the same, the walls are still warm, their pictures are still up, his mother's plants flourish. He shudders as if a tiny sob is bubbling up. He rips it back down. 

Rio stares at her son, there’s a line between her brows as she watches emotions flutter on his face, and for once, she can’t tell what’s going on in her boy. 

She shifts on the couch, throwaway blanket snuggled over her.

“Miles? Do you want to watch this soap opera with me?” She pats the spot next to her, he stares for a second as if he’s not there and then he snaps back to reality. 

“Soap opera? What happened to your Turkish drama?” He humors her, finally coming closer. 

“Aye! They left us on a cliffhanger! How am I supposed to wait months to figure out who murdered Aylin? Unbelievable— this is how they treat their fans? I should enviarles hate mail!”

He breaks out into a smile about her rant, sinking into the coach below as the Tv turns on. He leans against his mother's arm as she throws the blanket over the two of them without a word spoken 

Miles doesn’t even make it a quarter into the episode. 

He jolts up with a strangled gasp clawing at his own shirt as if he’s going to be met with red. He tumbles off the bed harshly scooting backwards until he hits a wall and desperately scans his room. 

Nothing is there. Nothing except his messy clothes and articles, dark cast walls and his alarm clock blares a reading of 1:00 am. 

He pulls his knees up and braces his head against them trying to catch his breath. It’s only a minute later when he notices a strange clawing noise. He looks up with blurry eyes. 

A tall figure stands against his room door. Claws tapping against the walls and occasionally scratching down, the figure doesn’t look at him, too invested in its actions. Miles from sheer horror goes invisible, and scoots to the right across the wall, eyes unblinking as if he’s prey. 

And then it shifts towards him, red glowing eyes in the dark that know he’s there despite his invisibility. 

He can’t breathe. His heart shakes and thunders. 

“What — why are you here?!” He screeches shooting a look toward the window and just as fast the figure is there blocking his view. He shrieks at the speed, attempts to web him before realizing he doesn’t have his web shooters. His hands fizzle out electricity and venom, yet he’s stuck to the wall, slowly shifting away. 

“-iles— Miles?” His senses go haywire immediately as he jumps down from the wall landing on his bed with a loud squeak from his spring. 

“ Mama— no don’t!”  

The lights turn on flooding the room and he squints against it immediately running from the bed and towards his parents that stand in the hallway in an attempt to save them. 

“We have to go— he’s here—“

“What? Son, Calm down— look at me.” Jefferson grabs his son's face looking into unfocused eyes as he tries to calm him. Miles doesn’t attempt to fall into his efforts as he swats his father's hands away in order to turn back to his room. 

He goes still, shuddering breaths increasing and hitching as his parents fret around him. Looking into his room like they’re going to find something only to be met with silence. 

“Just talk to us— why are you so scared?”

“He was here— I saw him. He was here you don’t understand .”

“Maybe you had a bad dream?” his mother interjects wrapping her arms around herself while her son twists and turns in his tiny room. 

“No one was here Miles. Your windows are closed, the front door is locked.”

He sits back down on the bed with shaking hands, looking up at his parents. And to the right of them Is Miguel. Leaning against the wall and his eyes fixed on Miles.

His parents don’t see him. Miles didn’t see him a second ago. 

Is he even here? Is any of this real?

“You’re right, sorry— must’ve been a bad dream. You can go back to sleep, my bad.” He whispers, eyes locked on the corner. 

“You can always talk to us.” His mother hesitantly injects as his dad shuts the lights off and closes the door. 

He pays no mind to their hushed worried whispering out in the hall. 

His eyes stay glued to the figure in his room, his own form of a boogeyman. A part of him wants to throw something, watch it pass through the man, and another part trembles at the thought of what would happen if he caught it. 

“I’m not scared of you.” He whispers and then he doesn’t sleep that night. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, man.”

The room is awkwardly quiet— or at least awkward for Ganke who itches his neck with his lanky arms— unsure of how to position himself. He leans against the doorway while Miles curls into the bottom bunk— also consequently Ganke’s— and scrolls through his phone.

He hums in acknowledgment, watching meaningless thoughts and news scroll by, he’s not actually paying attention to any of it. Instead, quite the opposite, he’s hyper-aware of his friend's tone— how he acts like he’s walking on eggshells, and for once, he’s not glued to his screens.

“You’re in my bunk….?” Ganke says instead of addressing the elephant in the room.

“I’ll scoot over.” Miles does exactly that, shoving his body between the wall and leaving enough cramped space for another. He doesn’t actually expect his friend to take him up on it. 

Though apparently, Ganke is less better at talking and more at spontaneous actions. He kicks off his shoes, Miles doesn’t realize it until pressure dips next to him. He lowers his phone only to see his friend mirroring his position staring at him. 

“Uh— are you okay?” Ganke shifts slightly, his foot brushing against Miles’ but he doesn’t pull away. It’s reassuring in a way.

“Yeah... I’m alright man.” He doesn’t pick his phone back up, he places it face down, bunches his hands underneath the pillow, and closes his eyes. 

“We’re sleeping in the same bed.” Miles diverts, while Ganke huffs. 

“Yeah dude, I’m aware— and for the record you started it, I'm too lazy to climb up to your bunk Morales.” 

They both know it’s a lie, but Miles’ eyebrows scrunch, his lips pulled between his teeth as his friend watches the expression with his own worry. 

“Did, uh, some Spider-Man thing happen?” 

The word makes his stomach swirl, his world tilt upwards like he’s gotten off a rollercoaster, and for some reason, it feels odd. It doesn’t feel like it’s about him. Someone else— someone before. 

“No. Yes… I thought you didn’t want to be my guy in the chair?”

“I don’t, that doesn’t mean I can’t be a shitty therapist on occasion.” Ganke responds quite bluntly and Miles shudders. 

“It feels like everything that should be right, feels wrong.” It’s an odd thing to say— an odder thing to admit because Miles has always put on this confident yet awkward facade. He didn’t bury his emotions per se, but he didn’t go around shouting them from the rooftops. 

He settled for groans and plummeting on his bed, hands on his shoulder, a cold soda pressed into his neck, and an old movie. 

Ganke knows their routine too, so to have it diverge is something worrying. 

“You were gone for a week. Miles, what happened?” 

He doesn’t want to talk, yet at the same time, he wants to pour his heart out. However, his thoughts feel jumbled — memories cutting into others, and everything sounds right in his head, but if he opened his mouth it wouldn’t arrange correctly. It wouldn’t sound like a big deal, maybe it is— maybe it isn’t. 

“Let’s go to sleep Ganke.”

“Ok.” 

Miles kind of expects his friend not to bring it up. Expects everyone to just ignore it, but while his school doesn’t have a significant student population, none of them seem to have anything better to do than gossip. He can’t possibly be imagining the whispers in the halls as he walks past… suddenly it feels like last year all over again.  This time he’s taller, he doesn’t hunch his shoulders, but he grips his backpack all the same. 

Ganke follows on his heel. 

“C’mon, you’ve been gone for a week! You didn’t answer any of my texts, I interrogated Ms. Hill, and you know what I found out?” 

“What?” Miles sighs.

“Nothing! She had no idea either, but your parents came up here multiple times.. they wouldn’t tell me anything either!” Ganke throws his hands up, exasperated, and only drawing further attention to them. 

Miles chews his lips and continues walking to his class. 

“I was sick.” 

“Oh, c’mon! You’re never sick— your immune system is practically invincible because of your p—“ Miles quickly slaps a hand over his friend's mouth. 

“Shut up!” He whispers as the hallway falls into an awkward silence.

He looks around and realizes how exactly this looks— he quickly retracts his hand, laughing awkwardly, and barely restraining himself from sprinting away from Ganke. 

“Sorry! You know I’m just….” Ganke trails off, the words feel wrong in his mouth, and he stops in the hallway. Headphones curled around his neck, signature beanie on despite the uniform restrictions, and hands curled tightly into his backpack.

“You can tell me anything, we’re friends.” 

You can tell me anything mijo

When did Miles become so secretive? When did he become so afraid to admit anything to anyone that goes underneath any surface level? His confidence or just the front of it, his good nature— what happened to that? 

All the events in the past month, did they really take it all away? 

Maybe he should tell his parents what’s going on, that he's Spider-Man, and he doesn’t think he wants to be anymore. 

Maybe he should tell Ganke. 

“I—“ he opens his mouth, a million things at the forefront— he wants to scream it from the top of every building in Brooklyn. 

There’s a dark figure leaning against the lockers. Their red eyes glow red. They don’t say anything. They never say anything, but he’s always watching. Always waiting. 

Miles' teeth clatter shut in an instant, Gankes expression shutters. 

“I.. should go to class.” His head spins. He can’t focus on anything lately and despite knowing the reason why— he knows how to stop it, he can’t stand the thought, however. 

Every time he tries to sleep his mind conjures up reoccurring horrors and terrors. And on the worst occasion— sometimes his body will be paralyzed, a white figure will loom over him. Even having powers— being so strong— Miles is tethered to his bed. 

He’ll bounce back. Eventually, he will have to sleep, eventually, the nightmares will subside and he’ll go back to yelling at Ganke over silly things. Eventually, his father will go back to pestering him about school and art and career. 

Not about Miguel. 

A dreadful week passes by. Achingly slow as Miles try to catch up on missing work, and even longer questions about his disappearance. The only peaceful thing about it is that he actually has an excuse to avoid his parents until the weekend. 

He doesn’t go home that Saturday. He tells his mom he has work to catch up on, and her face pulls tightly over the phone. Then he tells her Sunday is a no too, he has to help Ganke with a chemistry project. His dads’ brow furrows, deep creases pulling between.

Miles tries he really does. He doesn’t understand why he’s having a hard time. He’s not supposed to struggle over feelings like tbis so much— not supposed to mull over useless things when there’s so much more. 

He can’t live like this. 

It’s the thought that has him laying underneath the bunk bed staring at the springs above with a determined expression. A duffel bag lays next to him and one of his hands grip it as he lays flat on his back unmoving. 

“Uhh… dude what are you doing?” 
Gankes head is upside down from where he peers at Miles. Glasses off center with a confused expression. Miles only bites his lip harder. 

“Chilling.”

“Underneath the bed?”

“Hmm.” Miles nods as his friend sighs, dumping himself ceremonially with a thump and wince of pain against the floor. 

“Are you going to make me sleep on the floor too?” He groans. 

“W-what? No! I’m not sleeping, and if I were, that doesn't mean you have to.” This finally snaps him out of the trance, turning underneath the bed to face Ganke.

“That’s what bros are for.” His friend shrugs and Miles feels a wrench in his heart. For some reason, the thought is actually comforting. 

“Fine. Roll over, I’m coming out.” Ganke gives a muted whoop as Miles pulls himself out, duffel bag in hand. His friend's eyes widen. 

“You’re going out as Spider-Man?”

“I… yeah.”

“That’s good. I mean you haven’t been out there in a week or two… but, uh—“

Miles throws his jacket off uncaring where it falls as well as shucking his pants off, before he attempts to pull the tight fabric over. 

“— Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

Miles pauses. Costume halfway on as he turns with furrowed brows. 

“You said it yourself, I haven’t been out there in a bit.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t been sleeping— or doing anything in general.”

His chest tightens, and he pulls the rest of the suit on angrily.

“So what? I’m lazy now? Just cause I took a little break, I should just quit? You don’t think I can handle it?”

“What?! No! Hey I didn’t say all that— I’m worried about you— you shouldn’t—“

“Stop—“ Miles steps forward with a certain anger that courses through his veins, jabbing a finger into Ganke’s chest roughly. 

“— telling me what I should, and shouldn’t be doing. I’m so sick of it all— why is everyone— I didn’t ask you to be worried!” He shouts throwing his hands up.

“Ooh— be nice to your friends Miles!” 

“Shut up!” His head swivels towards the corner where the voice came from. He doesn’t allow anything else to be said before he’s pulling his jacket on and placing his heel on the window sill. 

“Wait! Miles?!—“

Uncaringly, he leaps from the window, ignoring his friends' calls. 

Ganke watches as his friend's figure gets smaller, and smaller with every swing, his hands shifting in jerky movements, unlike his usual style. 

“Shit.. what did I even say?”

He mutters and for some reason, he feels unease grow in his stomach. He turns towards the corner Miles yelled at earlier. Nothing’s there. 

He bites his inner cheek, running his hands through his hair.