Archive of Our Own

One. 

The first time Peter tries to cheer Miguel up is weeks after his universe falls. 

He had been holed up in his office and no one in the Spider Society has seen his face or heard his voice through the grating speakers plastered around headquarters for a week so Peter was getting worried. 

He was there when Miguel’s family died and watched helplessly as the once snarky but thoughtful man turned quickly into an angry and snappish vulture. Peter’s been there as well, knowing firsthand what it felt like to have his entire life fall apart before his very eyes, in a quick snap of a finger. Perhaps his experience was not to Miguel’s extent but he understood the pain all the same. 

Grief consumes people and pierces their hearts with a subtle, deadly poison that slowly changes the victim terribly like a deadly virus feeding on their suffering. 

Healing completely is impossible. The scars left are permanent but it’s possible to survive and recover. Escaping from that anguish takes time though so Peter was content to leave Miguel to mourn in peace but as time went on, contentment turned into apprehension before finally burgeoning into daunting concern. 

The rest of Spider Society had been antsy as well, jittery and nervous without the presence of their leader. It’s not unusual for Miguel to keep to his office but it is unusual to not hear even a pin drop of his presence. The life in him is large and bursting, his stature and personality overwhelming so to not hear the ground tremble from his very steps or the corridors shake from his shouting is bizarre. 

Peter’s only a couple of strides away from Miguel’s office when he spots Jess, back facing him as she lingered in the front of the door. He continues walking, louder this time, mainly to alert her of his presence and when she turns, she takes in his approaching figure and gives him a half-hearted smile. 

With her front facing him, Jess’s face is clear in his line of sight and he took in her present state with heavy concern.

Dark circles fenced the entirety of her eyes, her cheeks hollowed and her face weary with fatigue. As usual, she had been left in charge after Miguel’s persisting absence but she had never been the leader for this long. The job is tiring and when it’s combined with her current assignments, it’s nearly sucking the life out of her soul. 

“You need a break, Jess?” Peter asks. “I can take over if you want.” 

He didn’t really have the time for it either, with his life back home and out here but the worries lurking in the back of his mind didn’t mean much at the sight of Jess’s current condition. She’s strong, one of the strongest and Peter admires her greatly but that only makes him want to help her even more. 

“It’s fine, Peter,” Jess said because she’s kind and selfless like that. She gestures over to the metal door where the effulgent surface was reflecting a comical, stretched-out picture of both Peter and Jess. “You want to give it a try?”

Peter stares at the door, hoping that if he looked hard enough, his eyes would shoot a laser that would melt it into a puddle of alloy. Alas, laser-eyes is not a power he’s blessed with so the door still stood solid and firm despite his best attempts. 

It’s worth a shot, he thought then bangs loudly. His knuckles sting as they made contact and the sound produced echoed throughout the vacant corridor, reverberating throughout the walls. It’s noisy enough that it would be impossible for Miguel not to hear. 

There’s no answer though and Peter’s about the bang at it again when a sparkle of orange explodes in between his eyes. He jumps back and saw Lyla, whose holographic form is darkening into existence. 

“A little warning next time, Lyla?” Peter groans, forcing his racing heart to revert back to its normal pace. Next to him, Jess is in a similar state, muscles tensed and poised for a fight. 

Lyla grins at them in her usual, infuriating way, except it's usually directed at Miguel. 

“My bad.” The apology is thrown out casually without any intent or meaning. “Miguel’s busy right now, sorry.”

“Yea? He’s been busy this whole week.” Peter tries to sound pissed but failed as a little of his concern leaks out. Lyla’s face softened and at times like these, it's easy to forget that Lyla isn’t real; that she’s actually artificial intelligence programmed to mimic and feel emotions the same way humans do. The idea honestly gets a little disconcerting when Peter thinks too deeply about it. 

“Sorry about that.” This time the apology sounded genuine. “That’s probably my fault. I finally got him excited about something so he’s in there being a giant nerd right now. You really do not want to see it.” 

Realization crashes upon Peter like a gentle wave — it’s not just him who's been trying to cheer him up but Lyla as well. It should be obvious but to him, it’s not. The news is as much of a relief as it is a joy but Lyla is also wrong because Peter does want to see what exactly has Miguel O’Hara so enraptured that he forgot about his own organization for an entire week. 

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” she assures. ‘Pinky promise!” 

With that, Lyla disappears, this time disintegrating like crushed chalk instead of a burst of color. 

Jess’s face is a mirror of Peter’s mind — comforted but filled with a burning curiosity. Still, Peter’s never one to take a gift for granted so he’s more than happy to leave, eager for when the moon sets and the sun rises, signaling a new day and a returned Miguel, once again back in action.

Two.

The second time he tries, Peter is a lot closer to his end goal. 

(He’s not, in fact, he’s at least five football fields away but anything would be better than the first.)

He’s actually in the presence of Miguel for one, instead of being blocked out completely by an unbreakable wall. The bad thing is, he’s probably going to fail but at least he got a mission out of it. 

A mission with Miguel himself. 

This is something that has never happened before because unfortunately, Spiderman-2099 only makes an appearance on the field when the situation is dire. The number of times Peter has seen Miguel in battle is low enough to count on one hand so he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. 

Right now, they’re both swinging to their destination — the very top of a tower situated in the middle of a busy, bustling city. The rhythmic swinging is calming, even as the air rushes and pops into Peter’s ears. It’s one of the activities he enjoyed most about being Spiderman because it provided him with the sense of freedom one usually lost when becoming a superhero. 

This time, however, his brain is filled with questions, each thought flitting through his mind like sheets of paper. 

What should he have for dinner?

Pizza? 

If yes, what kind? 

But the most prominent of them all: Why is Miguel coming along with him?

“Hey Miguel,” Peter said, unable to hold in his curiosity any longer. “Why are you out here? I mean, no offense man but you’re never in battle unless the multiverse is like on the verge of collapsing or something.” 

There was no reply on his end, so Peter assumes that Miguel hadn’t heard him through the sighing winds. Or maybe he’s been ignored, but he much prefers the former option to the latter. 

Turns out, it’s none of them, because Miguel replies, his voice holding an edge of annoyance. “I lost a bet.” 

Peter nearly loses his grip on his web in surprise. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. “A bet? Against who?”

There are not a lot of people Miguel talked to nowadays. His social circle of acquaintances is extremely limited and even harder to enter so Peter thinks that his disbelief is warranted. Even more shocking though is Miguel O’Hara making a bet.

“Lego Spider-man.” 

Ah, Peter thinks, amused. That made a lot more sense. 

Miguel’s unexpected fondness for the tiny superhero will never fail to make Peter laugh. Their borderline friendship is one no one can explain, not even Lego Spider-man himself but it’s a popular topic of conversation amongst the Society. 

There’s no elaboration on Miguel’s point, instead, he continues swinging as if he hadn’t just dropped the bomb of the century. That’s alright with Peter whose imagination can suffice for now but he swears to himself that one day, he’ll pull the story out of Miguel even if it took a thousand years. 

When they arrive they spot the criminal perched at the edge of the tower. He’s a mutant. A Vulture variant with a shadow of feathers that accompanied his every move. The civilians below were screaming, so loud that even from up his current height Peter could hear the shaky fear in their voices. 

He stiffens when his gaze landed on a little boy, backing away in horror on the highest floor of the building. Not even a second later, Vulture spots the kid too. The inky blackness of his wings stretch out with intent, resembling the curved blade of a scythe, and the feathers glint menacingly in the light. 

“Take care of the kid, Parker,” Miguel orders, his steady voice cutting clean through the horrified screams coming from below. “I’ll distract him.” 

Peter nods in affirmation, building enough momentum through his webs before he jumps toward the boy. By now, Vulture had caught sight of his presence and had altered his course towards Peter’s. A gust of wind follows, so strong it pushes Peter back but the variant didn’t even have the time to move before he was being crashed into a billboard. 

Miguel fights wilder than any Spider-man Peter had seen before, and trust him, he had seen a lot. His breath is lodged in his throat, stunned into stillness at the ferocity Miguel moved with. He’s on all fours, claws raking deep into the surface as he speeds towards the fumbling Vulture. 

Even from afar, Peter can tell the variant is fighting a losing battle but it’s still amazing to watch as the villain tries to shoot to the sky, only to be stopped before he’s even a meter away. The distinctive ruby red that coated the entirety of Miguel’s webs fires off his wrists, looping around like ropes. A loud thud then shakes the sky, the sound parting the city’s afternoon clouds through sheer force alone. 

“Woah…” The little boy next to Peter gapes at the sight, mouth hung open in awe. His fear was long forgotten and instead of edging away, he’s creeping closer trying to catch a better glimpse of the ensuing fight.  

Peter scrambles to stop him in his tracks. “That’s dangerous, kiddo. You can watch but watch from here.” 

The boy's lips jut into a pout but doesn’t protest. Perhaps the fact that he doesn’t question Peter’s presence is something he should be concerned about but Peter thinks the trauma shock is at fault. 

It’s a little embarrassing that he’s just as enamored with Miguel’s performance as the little kid but who can blame him? It’s a sight to behold. 

Peter has heard enough about him to know about his vampiric tendencies — biting — and he’s not as much of a liar as to say that he doesn’t want to see it happen but he also didn’t really know why. He’s not a vampire enthusiast, in fact, he hated most movies that included the old folktale but the idea of Miguel O’Hara sinking the acute tips of his fangs into flesh is an image his mind is weirdly obsessed with.

It’s honestly borderline concerning. 

Despite his assumptions, Miguel ends the battle by stringing the variant to the edge of the half-destroyed billboard. The Vulture dangles in the air, outraged screams muffled with the help of Miguel’s webs. The strings don’t give, even despite the Vulture’s thrashing. Instead, it stretches and pulls more like a yoyo rather than seeming on the verge of snapping. 

Miguel didn’t waste another second, doesn’t even spare the villain a glance before he’s jumping to the tower and over to Peter. 

The little kid is still dazed with shock, but apparently being so close to Miguel is enough to send his mind into the subconscious. He faints and Peter stumbles to catch him. 

“Didn’t I say take care of the kid?” Miguel was brushing off dirt from his thighs as he said this and Peter’s eyes instinctively draws toward the motion.

His suit does wonders for his already impressive figure, Peter thinks, a little envious. 

Once he was sure the kid is safe, he props him up against the wall, supporting him with one hand as he shrugs with the other. “He was fine before you came.” 

Miguel spares him a glare but he’s mostly scanning the sleeping figure of the boy. His eyes are bright and observant as he confirms to himself that Peter didn’t actually let a kid die in his presence. A sigh leaves him, exasperated, and from that, Peter spots the glint of his teeth. 

“Why didn’t you do your thing?” Peter all but whines, suddenly reminded by the lack of biting involved in Miguel’s ass-beating. 

Miguel gives him a confused look, eyes narrowing as he tries to discern what Peter meant. “What thing?”

“You know, the thing!” Peter exclaims, albeit unhelpfully. “The biting thing. I was so excited to see that.”

His furrowed expression clears, replaced with an eye roll. His gaze lands back on the kid as an answer and in an instant, it clicks. 

The sight of Vulture screaming in pain is not quite PG, Peter concedes though it doesn’t help settle his disappointment. To show Miguel just how miffed out he was, Peter draws out a lengthy, heavy sigh, chock-full of dismay. 

“Bummer,” he mutters. “It would have made for a fang-tastic sight.”

Dead silence follows his joke. Instead of a laugh, Miguel’s face is scrunched in disgust, pure revulsion transforming his face. The quiet is broken but only by whimpers that belonged to the unconscious boy braced in his arm. 

“Come on,” Peter tries for a nudge but Miguel had already stepped out of his range. There’s a disgusted sort of sound coming from him that sends a flare of indignation in Peter’s chest so instead he focuses his attention back to the kid. The slow rise and fall of his chest is a relief, a clear indication that the boy is in fact still alive but the parents probably don’t know that. 

“Any idea who the kid’s parents are?” 

Peter leaned closer to the edge, peering down in an attempt to spot any remaining civilians. Instead, he’s met with thick gray clouds that span across the edge of the horizon.

“Let’s head down. They’re probably around there somewhere,” Miguel replied which told Peter enough about his knowledge. Or lack thereof.

They eventually find the parents, who burst into tears at the sight of him. Many thanks of gratitude spill out from their mouth but it’s barely discernable through the frequent shakes and hiccups. When they finally left, Peter turns to the billboard where Vulture was still hanging by. 

He doesn’t try and hide his impressed, cutting whistle. “How long will that last?”

“Couple hours,” Miguel said, as he taps at his watch, presumably calling for authorities. 

The two wait quietly for the familiar red and blue flashing of police cars. Miguel is probably basking in it, Peter thinks, but with the silence came the revival of Peter’s questions.

“So…” Peter spins on the curve of his heel. “What type of pizza do you think I should have for dinner tonight?”

Three.

The third time, it was Miguel who made Peter smile. Not on purpose because the man is as uptight as a tuned guitar string but it happened when Peter found himself being invited to Jess’s baby gender reveal party.

The day started off as normal; Peter’s taking a stroll in his neighborhood, basking in the tranquility of it all, and intending to stop by his favorite bakery for a short but tasteful snack. As he walked, he was humming quietly to a tune he heard from the radio whilst his fingers tapped gently against his thighs in a poor imitation of the beat. 

He’s a corner away from his destination when his watch blinks red, displaying the holographic image of Jessica Drew. Peter’s heart drops, plummeting to the depths of the abyss whilst his brain mourns his lost day off.

“Hey, Peter,” Jessica said. “You free today?”

“Is this for a mission?” Peter tries not to sound so reluctant but the day had only just begun and he was already so close to the bakery. 

Jess laughs, reading his disappointment, and shakes her head. “Nah, nothing so important. I’m having a small gender reveal party this afternoon. At my verse. Want to come?”

Her invitation mildly startles him but the feeling is quickly replaced by one of excitement. 

“Oh shit, of course, I want to come!” Peter’s tone was brimming with joy. It’s a double win. He gets to go to Jess’s gender reveal party and still gets to fulfill his bakery dreams in the end. 

She smiles. “Great, the party starts at one, I’ll see you there?” 

“You got it.” Peter salutes her dissipating figure before checking the time. Ten o’clock. 

Peter continues on to the corner, wondering what type of gift a baby would enjoy. In the end, he’s not sure and instead chooses the safer option of buying a dozen pastries from the bakery.

His large order garners a few odd looks from bystanders but they don’t do much to deter him. Instead, Peter pointedly ignores them, leaving to store with an armful of bags. 

He’s munching on a mouthful of croissants, savoring the soft, chewy taste of well-baked bread when the clock strikes one. The gentle chime that followed was drowned under from where Peter was putting in the coordinates on his watch before disappearing from his ears altogether when he drops into Jess’s world. 

Standing in front of her home he notices the door creaking open. It’s vaguely concerning that it's unlocked but then again, when you’re Spiderman, there are not many villains you can be afraid of. 

Peter sticks his head into the crack, expecting to see Jess. What he saw instead was bizarre enough to send him into startled laughter. He forces the sound down before it could leave his lungs and fumbles wildly for his phone, nearly dropping it in a panic. Luckily, his hands catches the phone before it could clatter loudly to the ground and he tried, as subtly as he could, to push the door open for a better angle.

Miguel O’Hara, crouched to the ground, petting a dog is probably a dream image of his fan community. 

(Yes, Miguel has a fan community and yes Peter was shocked as well when he found out.)

He still hasn’t noticed Peter and with a quick inhale, Peter clicks for the picture. A flash of light explodes from the lenses of his phone, sending his stomach crashing to the ground and his heart leaping in fear. 

Oh shit.

Miguel’s head snaps over to the burst of light and it was only then that Peter realizes he was wearing sunglasses. But not any sunglasses. It’s heart-shaped, like Lyla’s though colored black instead of pink. The tint coated over the lenses was dark enough that Peter shouldn’t have been able to see his eyes but there’s still a glowing scarlet hue visible beneath it. 

Unable to help himself, his fingers edge closer to the photo button but Miguel’s perceptive vision catches his movement in milliseconds. He lunges and Peter twists away, heart pounding. 

“Okay, no pictures!” 

He raises the phone above his head, hoping it would appease Miguel enough to not murder him. The sunglasses had jolted forward in the commotion and was now resting at the tip of his nose bridge. Red eyes peer at him from above, darkening in fury.

“Give me your phone.” 

Peter hesitates. He really did not want to, not even having had the chance to see it.

“Parker.” Miguel practically snarls at him, baring out his fangs. A vague thought passes his mind, wondering if the fangs are retractable and Miguel just always has them out for intimidation purposes but he filed the idea away for later.

“I don’t know, man…” Peter creeps away, fingers gripping the edge of the door. He’s considering running out but Miguel’s muscles are tensed and prepared to lunge. 

“The phone,” Miguel says expectantly. 

There are only two options and Peter didn’t feel like dying today so with no other choice, he decided to try and negotiate.

“One condition.”

“One condition? Parker, I’m not asking you.”

“Well, I’m not listening to you.” Dangling his phone tauntingly is perhaps not his smartest move but it’s worth it when Miguel’s brow twitch with annoyance. “One condition is all I want.”

Miguel practically growls, murmuring rapid Spanish under his breath as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “What condition,” he bites out, forcing the words through gritted teeth. 

“Let me take a picture with you.” 

It’s clearly not what Miguel was expecting because he sort of freezes and glitches in shock. It’s a little weird but also kind of cute, like a habit he picked up from spending hours with Lyla. 

“Dude, did you just glitch.” Peter grins, mirth twinkling in his eyes. A hand is raised to his mouth only a second later to muffle the laughter threatening to escape. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Miguel doesn’t wait for his response though. “Whatever, fine. Just give me the phone. Honestly, why does this idiot even want one.” 

The last bit is muttered quietly to himself, edged with a little bizarreness that hints at confusion. It’s clear as day that the question is hypothetical but Peter decides to answer him anyway.

“Because friends have pictures of each other, obviously!” Peter’s lips are still curled into a grin, in fact, it grew larger at the sight of Miguel’s dumbfounded expression; the tip of his nose scrunched slightly and his sunglasses teetering dangerously, one light breeze away from falling off. 

He passes his phone, reluctant but satisfied at his successful negotiation. 

“We’re not friends, Parker.” Miguel’s voice was flat as he deletes the image. When he’s done, he tosses it back to Peter.

Ouch. 

Peter waved his harsh words off though because they are. At least to Peter.

He’s spent enough time with Miguel and knows him well enough that it would be weird to refer to him as an acquaintance. Part of him had thought Miguel considered him a friend as well but now, he’s not so sure. Perhaps it was a hopeless delusion.

Just in case, Peter pulls up his recently deleted folder but there’s no sight of it anywhere. With disappointment so strong he could almost taste it, he pockets his phone away. 

Still, Miguel doesn’t deny him of the photo even as the silence stretches on and Peter’s about to pull his phone out again when Jess emerges from the kitchen. A tray of cake was held in her hands and she brightens at the sight of him.

“Hey Peter, you clean up well.” Her voice is light and joking as it rakes over his form. Peter’s clad in his usual green jacket, aged with wear and tearing at the seams. His pants were just the first clean pair he found and the washed-out blue probably clashed terribly with his outfit. 

Still, he smiles back, then raises his arm, bringing attention to the bag of pastries slung around at the tip of his elbow. 

“I brought food,” he said. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what to buy for a baby.” 

Jess shakes her head. “No worries, leave that in the kitchen for me would you?” Then she turns to Miguel. “You can help set up the table. The guests should be coming soon and I didn’t invite you early just so you can play with Peter Barker.” 

Peter snorts at the name. “Peter Barker?”

“Yea, Lyla helped me come up with it.” 

Her answer catches the line of Peter’s attention, and his mind forms three thoughts, each as mysterious as the rest. Miguel was here early. He knows Jessica’s dog. The dog was named by Lyla.

It makes him wonder just how far they went back and whether Miguel considers Jess a friend. He wants to ask but Jess was already gone, busy with the cake and the chances of Miguel answering his question are a big, red zero. 

Speaking of Miguel, he had easily complied with Jess’s request with only a short grumble. He moves around the house with familiarity, pulling table sets and cups from drawers Peter didn’t even know existed. 

He’s so curious but a group of people opens the door, walking in with a gift before he could get the nerve to ask. The sound of the door swinging open and colliding with the wall rung high, ricocheting off the decorated apartment. The group is no one Peter recognizes, probably not even a variant of someone he knew but their appearance was enough to get the party started. 

Two hours had passed and Peter had consumed enough food for a lifetime. His mouth mingles with the taste of cake, burgers, pizza, and soft drinks which really isn’t as disgusting as it sounded like. The house was still erupting with commotion, in fact growing louder and louder because Jess had just cut the cake half an hour ago. 

Blue confetti streaked the entire floor of the living room, some even sticking to the walls. It turns out that Peter and Miguel are the only ones from the Spider Society she had invited because everyone else is people he had never laid eyes upon in his entire life. It’s honoring but also lonely because Jess is busy with her family and friends. Peter isn’t going to disturb her partying, he’s not an asshole and she deserves all the attention so he scoured around for Miguel.

He finds him in a complete accident; Peter was only a couple of feet away from the kitchen, intending to grab a glass of water before returning back to his search. Instead, he finds the silhouette of Miguel. His broad shoulders practically filled the entirety of the doorframe and he was turned away, once again playing with Peter Barker.

It’s the second time this day Peter walked into him petting a dog and he’d learned from his mistakes. Once he was sure his phone is silent, he tiptoes closer, breath held in his throat. 

The phone shutters with no sound. Relief threatens to leave his lips in the form of a sigh but Peter held it in, shifting to pocket his phone.

“Parker.” 

Miguel still had a hand carded into the dog’s fur, his chest turned away from Peter but the annoyance under-toned in his voice was enough that Peter could tell he was scowling. 

“How did you even see that?” Peter’s disbelief shows in every aspect of his body; eyes wide, eyebrows raised, nearly reaching the top of his hairline and his voice pitched high and a tad incredulous. 

“I heard your footsteps,” Miguel says in that obvious tone of his.

“Heard my what? Okay, now I know you’re lying 'cause I know you couldn’t hear my footsteps, I mean I made sure of that.” Peter rats himself out but he couldn’t find any bone in his body to care. He’s more focused on the fact that Miguel heard his footsteps, something he normally could not do when he’s being purposefully silent.

“Not when you were here, pendejo,” he sneers like Peter was an idiot for not figuring it out himself. “I heard you’re footsteps when you were coming. It doesn’t take that many brain cells to guess why you stopped midway.”

“Does your brain ever stop working?” Peter asks, exasperated because seriously, he has never seen him sleep in his life. “How did you even know it was mine? Do my footsteps sound different? Ring louder in your delicate ears or something?”

There was no answer even after Peter waits, expecting Miguel to snark back or demand he deletes the photo. Still nothing, only silence as he continues to scratch behind the ear of the dog.

She ruffs as she nuzzles into his hands, the only sound in the growing stillness. 

“So you’re not going to ask?” Peter asks awkwardly.

“Ask what?”

“To delete the photo?” Peter wonders to himself why he was even bringing it up but it was too late to turn back now.

“I don’t care, Parker.” Miguel stands from where he was crouched, giving the dog one last ruffle before he’s heading out of the kitchen. “Do whatever. I promised you one anyways.” 

Four.

The fourth time Peter tries he was met with new revelations. New revelations that completely fucks with his mind and turn it into a whirling mess of a hurricane. 

He has Mayday strapped to his chest and he’s looking for Miguel. When he finally arrives at his office Miguel was nowhere to be seen so he heads to the gym instead. 

Peter knows Miguel quite well now, enough that he’s aware he frequents the gym every so often. It’s a wonder really why he does because he’s bulk enough as it is but he supposes it was more of a venting mechanism rather than of a workout. 

When he arrives, the gym is locked. Odd because there’s no reason it should be. Mayday babbles curiously, her head tilting 90 degrees in confusion. Peter’s confused as well but instead he grabs a pin from her hair, fiddling it into a screw. With a familiarity that would send his aunt to shame, he unlatches the nails holding the entrance panel shut, flipping it open. 

He twists a few of the wires and the glowing screen blinks green as the word ‘Access Granted’ materializes onto the surface. 

The door clicks open and he enters, breath held in anticipation for what he would find. 

His eyes squint into the darkness of the gym. The room is dim and would have been pitch dark if not for the glowing red lines lining the ceiling. In the middle is Miguel, who’s looking at Peter and Mayday in surprise. At least, that’s what Peter assumes. It’s hard to see in the darkness. 

“What are you doing here, Parker? I locked it for a reason.” He sounds pissed but upon further observation, Peter notices that it lacks any real bite. He sounds more weary which is concerning, to say the least.

“I was looking for you. I wanted to ask you to grab a bite with me.” 

“By ‘ask’ do you mean ‘force’ like you usually do or are you actually going to ask this time?” Miguel’s voice is dry but doesn’t seem bothered beyond that. 

Peter grins sheepishly because he knows that Miguel’s freaky vision is good enough to see it. He still can’t see very well though and neither can Mayday, judging by her whines. 

“Man, it’s dark here. I’m going to turn to lights on, alright?” Peter stumbles blindly, hands running against the wall to find the light switch. He can hear Miguel protesting but he pays no mind. His fingers land on the familiar bump and he flicks it on. 

The lights flicker on, and the red burns brighter, allowing him to actually see normally. Miguel hisses, eyes reaching to cover his eyes but stops. It’s only then that Peter realizes that his fingers were extended into claws.

“Parker, puta madre.” Miguel’s eyes blink rapidly then shuts close altogether. Peter’s dumbfounded but it doesn’t stop his mouth from spewing out his concerns.

“Shit, man, are you good?”

“Shut the light off,” he snaps. His claws detract slightly but then revert back to their previous length. Peter flicks the switch off, hearing Miguel sigh in relief as the lights gradually grow dimmer until only a soft glowing pulse is left. 

He grants Miguel a few short seconds of silence before he speaks again. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” 

Peter snorts. “Nothing? I’m not blind, Miguel and neither is May. She can vouch for what I saw, right May?” 

She’s close enough that Peter doesn’t have to squint to see her and she’s curling her stubby fingers into an imitation of claws. She burbles what sounds like ‘claws’ and Peter’s heart melts. 

“That’s right, sweetheart. Claws! See, she saw it too. Didn’t you, May?” Peter’s hugging his daughter tight, heart throbbing at the sound of her giggles. “You really want to tell May that she didn’t see claws.”

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?”

Peter grins. “You, every day actually.” 

“One would think you would get the hint by now,” Miguel grumbles. There’s a soft rustle then the sound of claws scratching into a punching bag. 

Peter hopes that’s not meant to be a warning to him. “You still haven’t answered my question.” 

“Yea, and I don’t plan to so get out, Parker.” 

“You can’t just pull that shit and leave me hanging,” Peter whined, covering May’s ears. He can’t see anything but he’s sure Miguel’s glaring at him now. His spidey senses tingle at the sensation of his narrowed gaze. 

“I didn’t pull anything. You were the one who barged in here.” 

“I didn’t barge in here,” Peter defends himself. “I only intelligently hacked my way through.” He’s not sure if what he did could be considered hacking but technicalities are just technicalities. 

“Yea and now I’ll get Lyla to secure the locks better.” He sounds slightly pissed now, his tone holding an edge that it previously didn’t before. It makes Peter’s gut roil in guilt. 

“Look, I have no idea what’s up with you but I know the lights only made it worse so either you give me something to work with so I can make it up to you in a reasonable manner or I buy out an entire burger store.” 

Miguel's silence is a little unnerving in the darkness but he holds his ground.

“You can make it up to me by going away.” 

Peter laughs because there’s no way he’s doing that and Miguel knows that as well. “I didn’t know you developed a sense of humor.” 

“Parker, I’m not joking.” He can hear Miguel as he sighs loudly from his nose. The air twitches and he can vaguely register that Miguel’s trying so hard not to clench his claws into a fist. 

“Ehh,” Peter drawls the sound out. “Could have fooled me though your delivery could use some work.” 

He should feel bad for riling him up but there’s a rush that fills his veins that’s urging him to not stop. 

There’s some Spanish floating in the air, spoken so fast that Peter couldn’t even try to decipher it. Not that he would have gotten far either way, having forgotten most of his high-school Spanish. 

“Come on,” Peter continues. “What about this? I’ll get us some food 'cause I know you enough to guess that you haven’t eaten today and then I’ll leave right after.” 

“Fine.” 

Peter’s lips quirk into a smile. He unstraps Mayday from his chest and says, “Be good for Miguel, okay?” 

“What? Parker, you’re not leaving your child here.”

“But Mayday doesn’t want to wait in line, isn’t that right?” She bobs her head in agreement though he doubts she has any clue what was going on.

“Listen to me just this once, Peter B-Grade Parker. I can’t take care of her right now.” There’s a raw insistence in his voice that tugs at Peter’s heartstrings. Still, it pales in comparison to the pure amusement in Peter’s chest. 

“B-Grade Parker? That’s good, I can’t even be mad.” He can’t because that’s as close as a nickname Miguel’s ever given him. 

“Are you even listening?” 

“I am and I’m still leaving her with you. She’ll be fine, you’ll be fine and we’ll all be fine,” Peter assures. “Trust me.” 

“I don’t.”

“Okay, I trust you so just shut up and agree.” 

He can feel Miguel’s eyes sweep across him, contemplative. “Fine but if you’re not back in thirty, I’m leaving her here.”

It’s an empty threat but Peter rolls his eyes anyways. “Whatever you say.” 

When he’s close enough to Miguel, Mayday practically leaps onto his shoulder, crying out in excitement. It’s an adorable sight that Peter shouldn’t be so emotional about but his heart warms, burning with the intensity of Mayday’s hair.

“Careful,” Miguel says, his tone considerably softer.

Peter leaves only a few seconds later, dropping back into his world. He’s not worried at all, in fact, his heart feels lighter because while it probably won’t cause a smile, he knows Mayday has always helped Miguel feel a little better and she always enjoys spending time with him as well. 

When he walks, there’s a skip in his step as he contemplates what to order. 

An hour passes and Peter’s finally back at headquarters. The line was considerably longer than he thought but it was worth it because the place makes the best burgers. The mouth-watering smell is prominent even underneath all the packaging and Peter can’t wait to bite into it. 

He’s practically sprinting back to the gym and when he enters, the lights are back on and Mayday was curled up and sleeping on Miguel’s chest. 

He’s sleeping as well, which is an even bigger surprise. The tension lining his stature seemed to have left his body and his claws were retracted back, revealing strong hands that wrapped protectively around May. 

The sight sends an arrow straight to Peter’s heart and he curses himself for forgetting his phone back home. 

Miguel’s eyes flutter open and scarlet red peer lazily at him, still groggy from the nap. 

“That was more than thirty minutes,” he rasps out, his voice scratchy from the aftermaths of sleep.

Peter shrugs, trying to hide the smile on his lips as he sets the bags down. “Yet you’re still here.”

“She fell asleep first.” 

Peter snorts, mirth bubbling in his chest. “I’m sure she did. Want me to take her back?”

He’s quiet as he considers then nods. 

Even though he was the one to offer, his nerves still racked as he crouched closer to grab his daughter. His hands brush against hard, firm muscles and- 

Fuck, he should not be so nervous right now. Why was his heart racing it’s not like Miguel is kissing him right now.

The thought startles him like a jolt to his knee and sends sparks straight to his heart. Where did that even come from, he wonders. Yet he’s not repulsed by the idea which scares him even more.

Mayday’s still sleeping even after the commotion, snoring peacefully as she drools on his shoulders. 

Miguel was still on the floor, seeming content to just sprawl there for the rest of his life. His eyes are unfocused, deep in thought but it doesn’t seem to be anything bad so Peter doesn’t break him out of it. 

When he’s finally anchored back to reality, Miguel raises his hands, staring at his claws with a pinched look on his face. It clears away quickly though but Peter’s curiosity had resurfaced.

“You’re claws are gone,” he comments. 

Miguel nods, then says, “They’re always supposed to be out. I have to focus to keep them retracted.”

Peter’s silent because he doesn’t know what to say. He admires Miguel’s powers so much, thinks it's the coolest, especially when it's put to good use but now he can’t help but feel pity for the man.

“My eyes get more sensitive too. Happens when I’m out of it. Lyla says it’s when my brain fizzles out 'cause I use it too much.” 

“Lyla’s probably right.”

Miguel hums, agreeing. 

“What helps?” Peter can’t help but ask for more. There’s a clawing in his chest that wants to know, longing because he’s always been a little desperate when it comes to Miguel. 

“Sleep works the best but sleep…” He trails off but there’s no need to say more. Insomnia was common in their line of work so Peter understands more than he ever has before.

“I made it up to you then?” 

Miguel cocks his head. He’s calmer, Peter realizes, most likely still dazed from sleep. 

“For the eye thing?” He feels even worse now that he knows but Miguel nods so the guilt doesn’t stay.

“Thanks.”

A burst of something warm and fuzzy explodes in Peter’s chest, lighting his heart aflame in a flurry of fireworks. He doesn’t contain his smile as he says, “No problem.”

FIve.

The fifth time he tries, it’s the closest he’s ever got. 

At this stage, Peter is sure they’re friends. They’re in each other's company more often than not, so much so that even people in the Spider Society notice. Jess was a little shocked by it at first but now her eyes glance knowingly at Peter’s as if she saw something he didn’t. 

Miguel even seeks him out sometimes, mostly during lunch when Peter brings Mayday to work with him. She loves him and Peter’s secretly trying to get her to call him ‘Miggy’ but she never budges, just babbles which causes him to melt and give up.

This time Peter doesn’t have Mayday as he’s transported to an Earth that wasn’t his, mainly to help clean up the mess. Miguel was with him too, except he’s clawing open a portal instead of using a watch. 

The mutant was tied to a tree, slumped unconscious as cartoonish black and white birds twitter around his head. Some of the crew prepare to set him in the cage to send him home whilst others focus on cleaning up the debris. 

“Don’t you think he’s sort of built like the yellow bird in Sesame Street?” Peter whispers to Miguel. The villain’s feathers are a musty sort of yellow, the type that looks like expired mustard. 

There’s a soft huff of laughter that sends his head snapping over Miguel.

It’s gone as quick as it came and Peter would have thought he imagined it if not for the faint amusement glimmering behind his eyes like varnished andesine. 

“Did you find that funny? Is that what you’re humor is? Sesame Street?” Peter teases, eyes squinting in a grin.

Miguel ignores him but Peter continues, even going so far as to nudge at his shoulder. Miguel doesn’t even budge and he doesn’t get very far before his arm is being batted away. 

Still, he doesn’t move further beyond that point, staying close to Peter as he watches over the rest of the Spider Society. 

There’s something light flitting in his chest at their interaction. Something that’s been building for the past few weeks and sends his stomach flipping. Every past moment with Miguel twists at his heartstrings like an old feeling resurfacing and-

Ah. 

Peter gets it now and he’s not sure whether he should be scared. 

When he stares at Miguel, he can’t help but notice a thousand other things he hadn’t noticed before; the swoop of his hair, styled in a way that seemed halfhearted and rushed; some strands curled at his high cheekbones while others splayed carelessly across his head. His eyes blaze like a splint on fire and Peter wonders if half of Miguel’s life was actually in his eyes because the way it gleams seemed like it was brimming with life,  more bright and ferocious than any others he’s seen.

When Miguel meets his gaze, there’s a buzz that sparks in his skin and travels like electricity across wires. Briefly, he considers offing himself because he was way too old to be feeling this way.

The heat from his eyes burns at his skin, leaving Peter open and vulnerable for his eyes.

“What?” Miguel’s voice pours out from his height and straight into his ears. It’s saturated with confusion and as deep as the bottom of the ocean. It’s raspy in a pleasant sort of way, the type that tugs at Peter’s heartstrings like a soothing melody. 

“Nothing,” Peter says, lying straight through his teeth. It’s not nothing. It’s everything. 

Miguel’s eyes don’t leave him, searching until it relents like beach waves curling back into the sea. When Miguel leaves to help, Peter watches, frozen to his feet, his eyes tracking the stretch of his muscles. 

+ One.

By now, Peter had gotten a few amused smirks that disappear in the blink of his eye and maybe two quiet huffs of laughter that were barely noticeable even in pin-drop silence. At this point, he gives up, conceding in defeat to his impossible task. 

Now, he’s in Miguel’s office, showing off Mayday’s brand-new wrist clasps. It’s the same as his and shoots out identical webs made from the same material he creates his out of. There’s something else lingering deep within Mayday’s baby bag, the original reason he was here in the first place but he’s still trying to build up the courage to ask.

Hanging from the roof, May’s having a blast with the web slingers. She’s swinging from one end of the office to the other whilst Miguel watches vigilantly and there’s a toothy grin plastered on her face. 

She’s upside down, dangling in the air as she observes the world with wonder. Then she lets go and Miguel appears underneath like a strike of red thunder, catching her in his arms. 

He sets her down carefully and then massages the temples on his forehead. 

“Problem child,” he murmurs. It makes Peter grin. 

Then, Mayday stares at him, an impish look suffusing her expression.

Sticky web strings shoot to his face, covering the entirety of his cheek. A surprised yelp leaves him as he’s startled by the cold, stringy sensation, and Mayday bubbles with laughter, finding amusement in his shock. Her eyes light up in delight, gleaming like polished sapphire stones but underneath all that child-like wonder lurked something mischievous that unsettles the dad-senses in him.

A second passed and he was proven right when she tugs. Hard. His spidey senses didn’t register her as a threat and he falls flat to the ground with a thud that was quickly accompanied by an explosion of hurt. 

As he lands face first to the floor, he groans in pain, his nose smashing against hard metal tiles. His wails of agony are muffled by the floor and he’s almost too distracted by the throbbing pain pulsing in his nose to register a laugh, deeper and more sonorous than May’s.

Almost.

His head shoots upwards, cutting into the air so fast it nearly gave him vertigo. His vision shakes and stutters but he forces his eyes to refocus because Miguel O’Hara is laughing.

Laughing. Not just smiling but laughing.

His shoulders shake in full-blown amusement as a beautiful smile graces his lips. It’s gorgeous and Peter’s drawn in by the sharp tips of his fangs, peeking at the edge of his bottom lips. 

The sound that leaves his throat might as well be wedding bells to Peter's ears. It’s a pleasant sound that sends an even more pleasant buzz in his mind and makes his gut light up in flames. He did that, Peter thinks, elated. Well, Mayday did that but Peter helped. 

How do I do that again? 

The fact that Miguel is laughing at Peter and not with Peter doesn’t deter him in the slightest, more than content with becoming the butt of the joke if it meant he gets to witness the sight again. His heart stutters as he continues to watch, silent and determined to remember this day, entranced by the beauty that is Miguel O’Hara. 

He is so, so gone.

Once Miguel’s laughter dies down into a single huff, he raises a brow at Peter as if he hadn’t just caused him to fangirl in his mind like a lovesick teen. 

“You- You can laugh?” 

Peter cringes the second the words left the confinements of his mouth. Briefly, he considers whether it was too late to escape into an unknown universe.

That was certainly not his best moment.

He braces himself for the familiar scowl, already mourning the loss of that dreamy smile. It may take months for him to see it again and Peter’s not so sure he could live without it. 

What happened next though is the surprise of a century. Scratch that, it's the biggest surprise since the creation of the multiverse. 

Miguel grabs May from where she was sitting on the floor, pressing her close to his chest. His eyes grow fond, the devil-red color softening into a flickering flame that seeps out into Peter’s heart. It enters his system with the same warmth a hearth would, reminiscent of Christmas memories with May and MJ as they cuddled together by the fireplace.

“Mayday is funnier than you. Take notes, Parker.” 

Mayday giggles and for a moment, Peter is envious of his own daughter. Offense flares in his chest but it’s half-hearted and quickly simmers down. 

“You’re just a sadist, Miguel.” Peter makes a display of just how offended he was; a dramatic motion of hands clutching painfully at his chest followed by a gasp of mock indignation. It’s ridiculous enough to send Mayday into a fit of laughter and she makes grabby hands at him. As observant as ever, Miguel passes her to his waiting arms.

Once she was settled, Peter unclasps the wristbands, pocketing them away, safe from her reach. His face still throbs, most likely bruised red but it’s nothing an icepack can’t fix.

It’s only when the clock chimes, signaling a brand new hour that he realizes he has to go. He fumbles around May’s baby bag, scrounging blindly for the invitation letter he was so sure he left inside. Sharp edges of paper scratching at his fingers notifies him of his success and he fishes it out. It's slightly crumpled, the edges creased and wrinkled but he throws it to Miguel, where it slits perfectly between two awaiting fingers. 

The effortless display is sort of attractive.

Miguel skims over the invitation, his expression on full display for Peter’s eager eyes. It started off with a curious look, then a slight furrow between his brows, and finally wide eyes, blown open in shock.

“Mayday’s birthday party,” he reads aloud, sounding somewhat confused towards to end. “Parker, what is this?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, Miguel. You just read it out loud yourself.” Peter continues on before Miguel could even think about growling. “Anyways, you better be there. You’re Mayday’s best pal. After me and MJ, of course.” 

He looked to be at a loss for words but Peter waits patiently with a kind smile. He knows Miguel isn’t used to this — invitations to parties, social events, and whatnot. His ice-carved personality had deterred nearly everyone away from him, cowed by the idea of deadly laser-like webs and sharp, gleaming fangs 

Everyone except Peter and a handful of others. Peter who’s determined to soften the tough edges and become a pillar of comfort in the midst of all his tragedy. 

Miguel coughs, trying to hide his disbelief. “I’ll see if I can make room for it in my schedule.” 

Joy explodes in his chest, overwhelming and threatening to burst at his ribs. 

It’s not a flat-out yes, but Miguel has never been very flat-out when it comes to the more positive aspects of emotions. It’s the best confirmation he’ll ever get so Peter doesn’t bother to state his case, only pumping his hands in victory. 

“See you at the party! Mayday, say bye to Miguel. Come on, don’t pout, you’ll see him again soon, right? See! Miguel just nodded-“

“I did not just nod-“

“Shh. Yes, he did May. You’ll see him during your birthday party.” 

“Parker-“

Peter ignores him, drowning his denials out by speaking even louder. He taps the coordinates of home into his watch and then jumps into the appearing portal. May waves at Miguel, babbling what Peter is convinced was supposed to be a ‘See you!’ before they’re sucked into the tunnels and dropped back home.