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It wasn’t that Hobie hated staying the night in Miles’ dimension, it’s just that he didn’t like it.
The man had been short of a sheet since thirteen, okay? It was a tough transition to go back to living in a flat with parents and rules and a copper, no less. But Hobie would brave the awkward dinners and disapproving stares if it meant he got to see Miles’ with sleep in his eyes and his hair in a bonnet more often.
This was another one of those awkward meals. Hobie knew better than to turn down fresh food and some good company. He knew how to sit up straight even if he tried to pretend he didn’t and he know how to smile when it was appropriate and avoid delicate topics. Especially with the copper around. Hobie had come to Miles’ dimension to watch a movie that wasn’t being released in New London due to its director “mysteriously” going missing, but Rio insisted on them having dinner in their flat before they went to the showing. She liked Hobie, for some reason, and now he was sitting at the Morales dinner table accepting a plate of pasteles and mofongo.
“So, Hobie, where do you go to school?” Rio asked. She gave Miles his plate and started serving herself. Mr. Morales was evidently missing from the table. Something at work, Hobie had overheard.
“Self taught.” Hobie said. “School ain’t cheap where I’m from.”
Rio knew the jist of it. Both of Miles’ parents did, now, the whole Spiderman thing, and then Spiderman turning into Spidermen, and women, and people. She could see it just as Miles could, the way Hobie’s outline pulsed in this dimension, the strange ink that came and went on his skin. He knew the second Miles introduced them that there was no way he could lie to this woman, even about the small things.
“I hear Visions is great.” He said before the conversation turned sour. He elbowed Miles, smiled. “Almost your final year, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Miles sighed, looking a little stressed at the prospect.
“And you’ll do great, mijo.”
“Miles told me you’re a nurse.” Hobie said. Rio smiled. She definitely had the look of a nurse. Tired eyes, kind smile, calm demeanor.
“Haha, ten years!” Rio grinned. “Jeff and I- I went to school while Miles was little. It was hard but. Worth it. I’m proud of what I do.”
“Should be. Proper hero, you are.” Hobie nodded. Rio beamed.
The door creaked, keys clattered, a new voice rang through the flat. Rio stood to greet her husband at the door while Miles looked at Hobie with his mouth full of food. It was the kind of the look to say “good job!” and also maybe a bit of “tone it down.” Hobie smiled back.
“Hey, dad.” Miles said as Jefferson approached the table.
“Hey Miles. Hobie.” Jefferson said. He had a worn smile as he sat at the table, thanking Rio as she filled his plate. “I’m sorry I’m late, mi amor. I had to approve some plans and it got away from me.”
“You’re here now.” Rio said sweetly.
Hobie put a forkful of mofongo in his mouth. His eyes widened. He hadn’t had food like this in years.
“Everything alright, Hobie?” Jefferson asked, giving him a look like the answer was going to be a resounding no and he was already upset by it.
“Everything is solid, actually.” Hobie said quickly, not wanting to offend. “Your cooking is mint, Mrs. Morales. I ‘aven’t had food like this in years. Thank you.”
“Aw, you’re too sweet.” Rio said, leveling Miles with a playful glare. “Maybe it will rub off.”
“I’m thankful!” Miles squeaked. Hobie laughed, grabbed his thigh under the table. He wasn’t sure where he fit in this mix yet, but Hobie knew he was willing to suffer through the awkwardness if it meant he got to see Miles’ face get dark like that every day. It was worth it, it was so so worth it, especially when mofongo and pasteles were involved.
Then his spider sense started ringing. A distant scratching that made his eyes feel sore. One glance and Hobie could tell Miles was feeling it too. His leg was stiff under Hobie’s hand, eyes going wide.
Rio looked between the two of them. Scowled. Pointed a manicured nail between them. “What’s this?”
“Uh.” Hobie saw it every time it came up. The way Miles hesitated when talking about spider stuff with his parents. Rio and Jefferson loved Miles unconditionally, Hobie could see that, but Hobie was there when Miles returned from World-42, saved his dad, and spilled his guts about everything he had been keeping secret. It was hard to watch. What was harder, though, was watching Jefferson struggle between thankfulness and the betrayal of being lied to for years. Rio took it a bit easier, but not by much. She wanted nothing to do with Miles’ suit, complained she didn’t know how to clean it, but Hobie knew what was up. She didn’t want to admit what having Spiderman’s suit in her laundry meant for her family. Her only son. Miles cleared his throat and knocked Hobie’s wandering thoughts back to the steadily increasing urgency of his spidey sense. “Spiderman stuff.”
“At the dinner table?” Jefferson asked.
“I can’t turn it off, dad!”
“I got this, Miles.” Hobie stood up. “Thank you for the food, Mrs. Morales, really. I won’t cop a flowerpot and I’ll be back before the film.” He kissed Miles’ forehead, started towards his room.
“Woah, woah, you’re not going without me!” Miles leapt up from his chair.
“And you are not ignoring this dinner your mother made you!” Protested Jefferson.
“But, dad, c’mon!”
“Let your friend go.”
“He’s more than my friend dad.”
“Can we not get into this right now?”
“I don’t know what to tell you! I have a spider sense going off, something bad is happening, and I can’t eat dinner while something bad is happening!”
Hobie shut the door to Miles’ room. He took a second to rub his face, shake off the feeling of being stared at. God, he thought, sometimes being cared for was a little too much. Hobie didn’t want to be present for the “they’re just good friends” conversation. He wanted to go punch something. He suited up as Miles’ muffled voice buffeted against Jefferson and Rio’s. If Hobie was quick enough, he could probably get out there and fix the problem before the argument was even over.
He slid open Miles’ window, made sure no one was watching, and leapt out with his guitar. As Hobie swung down the street towards the source of his headache, he used a web to shut Miles’ window and a second to pin it shut. Miles would be able to tear through it in seconds, that much he knew, but a deterrent is a deterrent.
Spider sense was strange, in a way. Sometimes, it was a feeling, a chill down the spine, like you were being watched. Sometimes it was a headache so severe you needed a second to breathe through the pain before being able to react to it. Spider sense didn’t always have a direction, but in a case like this, it did. Hobie could feel it, that scratching getting stronger as he swung through the streets of New York.
He liked New York, he did. The air was a little easier to breathe and the streets were much more colourful. The buildings still had some character to them and the graffiti was really good, not to mention the commissioned murals. But it wasn’t time for Hobie to evaluate the city’s art scene, it was time for him to find the bad guy that was making his head hurt and save the day.
And there it was. Hobie could feel it more clearly, even hear it rumbling in the distance. A shaking that moved the streets. The sound of something heavy being moved. He steeled himself for the worst: an alien invasion or some richie with armoured tech, but when he turned the corner, there was nothing. Hobie perched on the nearest building’s roof to look around. His spidey sense was triggering in waves, getting worse each time the offending rumble shook through the city. At least the New Yorkers didn’t seem bothered by it or bothered by him.
Hobie was on the edge of the water, overlooking a shipyard. A crane was loading large storage containers onto a boat. Hobie scowled- why was this setting off his spidey sense? The irrational part of him said all capitalism was dangerous, but the rational part of him said that a particularly nefarious type of transaction was occurring. After a quick scan for guards of any sort, Hobie hopped onto the roof of the shipyard’s main building and found a way in through a skylight. He stayed crouched on the rafters, looking down below.
The floor was solid cement, littered with storage containers like those being moved. Two large trucks were parked inside and there was a little metal table to the right there two men were talking. Hobie strained to listen, but all he could hear was the occasional bad-guy laugh. All Hobie could tell was he needed to stop what was being moved from getting out of the harbour, whatever it was.
Back up into the shadows of the ceiling, Hobie carefully and quietly swung over to the shipment containers. Other people were talking about moving them, the logistics of aiming the crane and getting the trucks in place, stuff Hobie didn’t quite care about. He knew that if he could disable the crane in a way and stop those trucks from driving off, what was in the yard would be stuck in the yard. The boat and it’s already loaded containers were a problem, but that was for later Hobie. He swung back outside through a different skylight. Looked at the crane box for an operator, saw a shockingly OSHA compliant woman with a hardhat and everything carefully lowering the crane arm. Her door was open though. Rookie mistake.
Swinging from the crane’s arm itself, Hobie lowered himself onto the crane box. He stuck his feet to the top and folded over himself. Right before the operator could panic, he webbed her mouth shut.
“Sorry love.” He grinned, webbing her hands to her chest and spinning the seat to affix her to it. “It’s for the greater good, and all.”
He reached past her and tried to take the keys out of the crane, but he had no idea what to do with the controls, and the keys refused to come out with the hydraulics in their half-extended state. With a noise of frustration, Hobie was scaling the crane arm, trying to find a way to gunk up the cording enough that it wouldn’t be able to move if someone set her free or took over.
Hobie regretted praising himself for his stealth the second the thought popped into his head.
“Hey! You!”
And then Hobie was diving headfirst into a group of henchmen. He head butt one, whacked the other with his guitar. A simple punch took out a third before Hobie swung out of the reach of the two left. He webbed their legs as he swung away, but the lot were still shouting, bringing attention to him. The mission just got a whole lot harder.
“HEY!” A new voice shouted. It was heavily accented, thick and angry. Hobie pulled himself into the rafters, tried to hide in the shadows, but he had been spotted.
An absolute tank of a man stood on the concrete floor below. He was shredded, easily three times Hobie’s size if not a bit shorter. He had silver grills and was covered in black ink tattoos on his face, his neck, his arms. Hobie guessed his chest, too, but they were hidden under a white wife beater. What really had Hobie worried was the thick length of chain wrapped around his arm and trailing behind him, ending with a meat hook that looked capable of impaling an elephant.
The Scorpion, Hobie sighed. Great.
“You come down and fight like real man.” He snarled.
“I find that comment antiquated, mate.” Hobie retorted. He shot a web into the Scorpion’s face and swung away when he shouted and began trying to pick it off.
The trucks were starting up as people tried to escape. Hobie cursed under his breath, aimed for the tires in hope to get them stuck. Suddenly, the rafter he was hanging from had a meat hook around it, and a strong tug from the Scorpion sent it and Hobie tumbling. He caught himself before hitting the ground at least, but he needed to be more careful where he was placing his webs.
“Hello New York!” Miles shouted as he swung through the garage door.
“Spiderman!” Hobie complained.
“There is two!” The Scorpion scoffed. “More fun for me.”
“What’s this guy’s deal?” Miles asked.
“Big chain!” Hobie shouted back. He swung over to where Miles had perched himself on top of the highest stacked shipping containers. “Some sort of smuggling operation going on. I’m trying to stop those trucks, that crane, and that ship.”
“While fighting this guy?” Miles asked.
“It’s multitasking, innit? Crane’s stuck for now.”
“I’ll get the trucks; you distract the big guy?”
“I’m not doing it cause you told me to. I was already gonna.” Hobie grunted, jumping off of the storage container right when the meat hook sunk into the metal where he had been crouched.
“You’re doing it because you like me!” Miles shouted, but he swung the other way.
Hobie quickly found that getting close to the Scorpion was harder than he expected. Each time he landed to try and get a new angle, the meat hook came down on him. Each time he swung from a rafter, it was torn down. The man wasn’t the brightest, Hobie thought, but it didn’t matter if his fighting style would bring down the ceiling while Hobie and Miles were under it too. If Hobie tried to approach dead on, the Scorpion would swing his “tail” around like the world’s most dangerous lasso and aim for the head. Hobie was trying to think of a clever way to web him up or get that hook stuck.
“I am Scorpion.” The Scorpion said, taking another deep breath to rattle off his bad guy rep.
“Yeah yeah.” Hobie said. He tossed out a web aimlessly, jumped to a new beam for a different angle, and then reconnected the thrown web to a new one to create a noose around the hook and pull. “Another New York gangster with a gimmick!”
The Scorpion stumbled a step but yanked back on the chain and Hobie’s webs snapped. So much for that. He snarled as he swung the hook in Hobie’s direction. Hobie thought he could pull a fast one, suddenly swing the other way, but the Scorpion caught on and pulled the chain in a way that sent it right into Hobie’s stomach.
He hit the ground hard. Groaned as his stomach cramped something fierce and his head swam. Black spots flit through Hobie’s vision and his back ached from landing on his guitar, but still he tried to stand. The Scorpion was approaching him, hook dragging on the ground with a horrible scratching sound.
“Now the spider is in my web.” He grinned.
“’at’s all you got?” Hobie scoffed. He could feel blood pooling in his mask against his left ear. Not good. He shuffled, tried to get his legs underneath himself, but got caught on his guitar strap.
The Scorpion wrapped the chain around his forearm, his palm, sneered down at Hobie. “Bye bye, little bug.”
Hobie closed his eyes. Heard the rattling of the chain. Then, Miles straining.
Hobie’s eyes snapped back open. Miles was standing on a rafter beam, holding a handful of webs in each hand that were attached to the hook. Hobie took his chance- webbed the Scorpion’s legs together and scrambled away, disappearing into the shadows of the warehouse while spots still danced through his vision. His head hurt like a bitch.
Miles let go of his webs, the Scorpion tumbled, tripped over his webbed-up ankles and fell backwards. Hobie wanted to celebrate, wanted to web him down entirely and, ugh, call the police or whatever, but he heard the revving of a truck engine.
“I thought you ‘ad the trucks!” He shouted.
“I had one of them before I noticed you needed help!” Miles responded. He had gone invisible, Hobie realized, his voice displaced but a web crackling with electricity splatting onto the windshield of the truck beginning to peel away and towards the open garage doors.
“I didn’t need your help!” Hobie shot back before he even realized what he was saying. Damnit, Hobie, he chided, and when he looked back at the Scorpion, his window had closed and he big bad guy was back on his feet. Damnit, Hobie.
“I will get you, Spider Punk!”
“See, five months ago that would ‘ave given me the run around!” Hobie shouted. He shot two webs in opposite directions. Leapt to a new beam when that damn claw came crashing down. He could see it piecing together then, what he needed to do. “I’m a changed man!”
Three more webs. Another beam came down. Hobie started becoming more purposeful with where he landed, watching in glee as this idiot did exactly what he expected him too. Each time a beam came down, the warehouse ceiling groaned a little louder. Each time Hobie shot another web, a growing mosaic was forming around the Scorpion, pinning him right where the ceilings supports were at their weakest. Hobie swung in a big arch on the outside of his little web, grabbed the end of it, and pulled. Like a bag zipping shut, the individual strands collapsed inwards, creating a giant intersecting mass of web that closed around the hook mid-air and surrounded the Scorpion at the base.
No matter which way he tugged, the claw was stuck. Hobie was mighty proud of his little trap. The Scorpion snarled, a vein popping from his forehead as Hobie webbed his legs once more, from foot to hip, and got to work on his arms too. Another great day of saving the city. Even if it wasn’t his city.
“And spiders aren’t bugs. They’re arachnids, mate. Scorpions are too, you know.”
The Scorpion met Hobie with a fire in his eyes that was actually kind of shocking from such a low-level villain. He put the chain over his shoulder, dug his feet into the floor, and started to pull towards the floor. The ceiling, which some of the webs were still connected to, groaned. Without the rafters, it didn’t have nearly the same amount of structural support.
“Are you mental!?” Hobie shouted. He started to back away, look for an exit. He was pinned in the back of the warehouse and using one of the skylights wasn’t an option with the structural integrity of the ceiling so poor. “You’ll bring the place down on you too, mate!”
“Spiderman!” Miles’ voice called out, way too close for comfort.
“Get out of here!” Hobie shouted, looking around for a sign of Miles desperately. An empty web, a shadow, a bent rafter, anything. As the metal of the ceiling split, a high sound echoed through the warehouse. The wood of the column supports started cracking now, buckling under the pressure, and Hobie’s spider sense was vibrating in his skull as the ceiling started to fall.
A body hit his. Hobie let out a surprised shout as he was shoved aside. He hit the floor again shoulder first, skidded a few feet, and instinctively covered his head as the world came down around him. His head was reeling between the repeated impacts and the sound of grinding metal and the screaming of his spidey sense. For ten, heart wrenching seconds, all Hobie could do was fucking lay there, pray he wasn’t struck by falling debris, because whenever he opened his eyes all he could see was stars and he knew he was in no state to do any swinging.
Hobie got up when the screeching metal stopped. He struggled to get to his feet, dizzy and out of breath. He heaved in the dust filled air, looked around the scene. “Spiderman!” He shouted into the quiet warehouse. “Spiderman!”
His blood was roaring in his ears. Did Miles stay invisible if he was knocked out? Hobie ran to where he had been standing, leaping over rebar and splintered wood and bent metal. He reached for a part of metal slat, pulled and threw it to the side. “Spiderman!” He shouted, and his voice sounded pleading, even to him. Begging, begging Miles to respond. No, no, no no no no.
In the corner of Hobie’s vision, he spotted it. A mangled hand sticking from the rubble. Black suit stretched over familiar skin and Hobie was going to throw up. He grabbed hold of the metal covering Miles. Strained. It was pinned down by the supports that had fallen on top of it, and some wood too. Hobie grit his teeth, tried to get a different angle, he was Spiderman for fucks sake, why couldn’t he lift a little metal?
He heard gasping breaths lost under the mess of it all. Hobie’s heart clenched, part relieved Miles was alive, part horrified that he was too trapped to help. He pulled the metal harder, feeling it begin to bend under his fingers before it moved up. With a shout, Hobie gave it one more try, and finally, the metal gave away, sloughing off to the side with a dangerous groan. The rubble around them shifted, telling Hobie he didn’t have long.
One of Miles’ lens was cracked. The suit over his stomach was torn and he was bleeding. His legs were still buried under rubble and Hobie feared what he would find underneath. One of his arms was bent in the wrong direction, but now that he was freed, he was reaching for his chest, tapping at it as he took quick, gasping breaths.
“Miles, Miles, Miles,” Hobie said, reaching in and putting his hand to Miles’ pulse. “Deep breaths, c’mon love, take a deep breath for me. Fuck, Miles!”
The panicked look in Miles’ eye said I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying. Hobie went through all the worst scenarios. A punctured lung- a broken spine- shattered ribs. All injuries that Hobie knew if he moved Miles, it would only make it worse. The rubble groaned again. Pebbles rained on them.
“I need to move you, Miles. It’s gon’ hurt, it’s gon hurt like nothin’s ever hurt before.”
Miles made a high, reedy sound. He looked terrified. One his hands tried to grab onto Hobie, but his fingers were shaking so bad that he couldn’t get a grip.
“You’re going to hold onto me, okay?” Hobie said. Tears were welling in his eyes and he was so, so thankful that Miles couldn’t see behind the mask. “Hold on for me, Miles.”
Hobie grabbed at the spikes on the shoulder of his war vest and ripped them out. He reached down, grabbed Miles as gingerly as he could, and put him over that shoulder. Miles made a pathetic sound deep in his chest and Hobie felt like he was having a heart attack at the thought of adding to Miles’ pain. For the greater good, he told himself, for the greater good. It’s going to be okay. It has to be okay. For once, Hobie was thankful for Spider Society for training him on how to carry an incapacitated person safely. Unfortunately, they didn’t have lessons for how to carry an incapacitated person that was bleeding out with a broken back. Hobie ran out of the rubble, peered into the sunny sky above, and shot a web at the nearest building.
Holding onto Miles as firmly as he could, Hobie landed on the building’s roof and started hurriedly fighting with his watch. He couldn’t go to a hospital without them finding out about Miles’ identity, so HQ it was. God, Miles would never forgive Hobie for bringing him to HQ. Miles wasn’t making noise anymore, wasn’t even moving, and Hobie could feel his vest soaked with the blood of Miles’ stomach wound. He yanked off Miles’ mask, blanched at the distant look in his eye and the blood running from his mouth. Stuck on autopilot, Hobie was speaking into his watch.
“Gwendy, Gwendy, I need a medbay.”
“Hobie! Are you okay?”
“It’s- it’s Miles, Gwen! I need a fucking medbay!”
He shut down the line of communication to focus on opening a portal. While the watch did it’s thing, Hobie was on top of Miles, searching for a pulse, ear pressed to his mouth to listen for breathing. Hobie couldn’t hear fucking anything over the staccato of his heart and knew, just knew that the headache he felt coming on was his spidey sense warning him that something was deeply, deeply wrong.
The portal was open. Hobie leapt to his feet, pulled Miles up into his arms as gingerly as he could, and jumped through.
Stumbling into the HQ lobby dripping blood was too common an occurrence. Not as much anymore now that HQ’s operations had been severely limited. But the spiders who were there, there was no need to panic, because Miles Morales bleeding all over the polished white floors was nothing exciting. There were ten more spideys like him. But to Hobie, to Hobie, the world was ending.
Then Gwen was there, with her stupid ballet hands, holding onto Hobie with a gentility he had reserved for Miles. Miles was being pulled from his arms, and part of Hobie wanted to fight it, but part of him knew it needed to happen- that he couldn’t hold onto Miles forever and that these people were there to help him. As much as previous action may suggest otherwise.
“Hobie.” Gwen said. He was going to black out. “What happened?”
“Building collapse.” He gasped. His knees were weak. Gwen was pulling him somewhere then, trying to get him out of the lobby and away from prying eyes. “He- he pushed me Gwendy, I was ‘posed to take it, I was supposed to be the one hurt.”
“Hobie, I need to you take some deep breaths. I can barely understand you.”
It took Hobie, a long, long time to calm down. Next thing he remembered was sitting in the universes most awkwardly shaped chairs with a shock blanket curled around his shoulders and a water bottle clenched in his hand. Pav was there, sitting on the floor in patient vigil, head leaning against the chair’s cushion while Hobie curled his knees to his chest. Gwen paced in the background, her ballet-soft steps ricocheting like the tick of a clock in Hobie’s head. Peter B. Parker was on his way, and Noir, Penny, and Ham had been alerted too.
He was holding his breath. Had been, for the last three hours. He would hold it until he couldn’t take it anymore, let it out in a raspy exhale, and then take another, deep breath, and hold it there. Hobie thought that by counting the seconds like that, he could make time pass faster. It just made him lightheaded.
The scrapes on his arm were already healing. The spots were out of his eyes even though his headache was still roaring and Gwen demanded they stay in a darkened room in case he had a concussion. But Miles, there had been no word on Miles except for the extent of his injuries. A lung impaled by a broken rib. His left arm, shattered. Something was wrong with one of his knees and he had serious trauma to his neck and head. Hobie felt himself beginning to rock back and forth, desperate to comfort himself, as he remembered that was supposed to be him.
“Are you okay, Hobie?” Pavitr asked.
He couldn’t find it in himself to answer.
“They should have more news by now.” Gwen hissed.
“They are doing their best.” Pav said, solemn.
The door opened. Peter B stood, backlit, with the worry lines in his face deeper than ever. “Where is he?”
“Medbay.” Gwen said. “They’re trying to give his healing something to work with. Putting everything back in place, you know?”
Hobie covered his head with his arms. He couldn’t bare to listen to it. One of them noticed, because their conversation dropped to a whisper that scratched at the top of Hobie’s spine.
“How you holding up, sport?” Peter B asked. Hobie looked up over his arm, scowled. Peter tried to smile. “That bad, huh?”
“He was with him.” Gwen explained. “Miles pushed Hobie out of the way.”
Just because it was true didn’t mean that it stung any less to hear it spoken. Peter B sucked on his teeth. “Sounds like Miles.”
“Sounds like stupid fucking Miles.” Hobie scowled.
“You would have done the same for him.” Pav said from below.
“Don’ matter.” Hobie snorted. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “Fuck, an’ I told ‘im I didn’t need his help.”
“It’s okay Hobie, we’ve all gone through this and come out the other side better for it.” Peter B said.
“You all went through this and came the other side missing a half of ya!” Hobie slammed his legs down, nearly stomped on Pav. “I’ve already lost people in my own dimension, and I don’ need you tellin’ me how to feel about losing another!”
“Hobie, he’s just trying to help-” Gwen pleaded.
“Well he ain’t, issie!? He’s already cut and carried, tryin’ to give me a lump of ice over how I should feel! I can’t-“
Hobie thought about Rio. That look in her eye when Miles mentioned his spider sense. She was so afraid for him. Jefferson, too, though Hobie didn’t want to admit it.
“I can’t tell his mum I wunt able to help him, Gwendy.”
Their watches beeped. Hobie was sprinting down the hallway without even checking the notification. Maybe the darkened room had been a good idea, because the second Hobie was out in the blaring white of HQ the spots were back in his eyes. No matter. He knew the way to medbay.
He pushed past the doctors. Gwen could deal with them, or Peter B for all he cared. One tried to grab him but he just shrugged them off. There were more important things in the world than safety precautions, and one of them was seeing Miles alive and breathing.
He was intubated. He had a black eye that was completely swollen shut and a little bib on. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, leaving Hobie’s overactive imagination to wonder what his stomach looked like underneath. Torn up, probably. Bleeding through the bandages already, he worried. One of Miles’ arms were in a sling and the other was laying on the bed with an IV stuck into the back of his hand. He didn’t have his bonnet on, or a sleepy smile, or that warm glow to his skin.
Hobie hunkered down next to the bed. Leaned on the bedside table and reached up to hold Miles’ hand on the hospital bed.
“At least use a chair, bro.” Pav chided when he caught up. He came back a moment later with a chair for Hobie, sat him upright, pat his shoulder. “He’s here, see? Breathing.”
Gwen and Peter B walked in. Hobie laid his forehead on the blanket and shut his eyes to avoid the stinging of the bright lights. Gwen turned them off, but he stayed there, shaking every so slightly. He didn’t want to hold Miles’ hand too tightly, but it was oh so tempting to grip whatever there was for Hobie to hold onto. Pav’s hand was warm on his back, petting him like a spooked animal.
“Do you want to hear it?” Gwen asked gingerly.
Hobie hated this. Hated that he let Miles get hurt. Hated that he was so affected by it. Hated that he was making Gwen and Pav and Peter put on brave faces for him when they were just as upset about Miles being hurt. He nodded, took a deep, shuddering breath.
“He’s going to be okay.”
Hobie’s eyes stung.
“The head trauma wasn’t as bad as they thought. It was mostly his stomach and lung. They suspect, with the medicine, and his healing factor- Miles should wake up in a few hours. A day, at most.”
“You should really get checked out, Hobie.”
“Mozzle and brocha.”
“We don’t know what that means, Hobie.”
“He’s having a stroke. Is he having a stroke?”
“I’m on the knocker.”
“Hobie, bro.”
“I’m fine.”
“You have a concussion, kid.” Peter B sighed. Hobie held in the outburst he wanted to have at being called a kid, like his feelings didn’t matter, like his work didn’t matter, like all this didn’t fucking matter because he was some stupid kid. Rationally, he knew head injuries took the longest to heal. Even with elevated healing, brains were complicated, and there was nothing superpowers could do to fix bruising to something so precious in the way it could patch up a bruised elbow.
“Give it up.” Pav said, and Hobie was never so thankful for this idiot.
“I’m stayin’ till he wakes up.” Hobie agreed.
“Might as well get comfortable then.”
And Hobie did. He very, very carefully made room for himself on the hospital bed. He laid on his side on top of the covers, forehead oh so lightly pressed to Miles’ good shoulder. He kept his eyes shut, maybe even slept, Miles’ hand cradled in his. Gwen stayed for as long as she could, until her watch was beeping, needing her some place else. Peter B had a baby to look after. Pavitr was still trying to keep his Spiderman status on the down low which meant Aunt Maya expected him home for breakfast. God. It was breakfast time already. Noir visited once and let Hobie know that Penny and Ham were both on missions. So, it was just him. Just Hobie. Curled up against Miles’ side, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, rehearsing what he was going to say.
They were just supposed to see a movie.
Of course, being Spiderman got in the way. It always got in the way. Hobie had hoped that maybe, maybe being around people like him would take the edge off. Being friends with those who understood the good fight, who knew the loneliness, who could cope with the responsibility would be a little easier. But it wasn’t. Miles had a family, parents who worried about him. So did Pav, and Gwen, and Peter B. For Hobie, Miles was all he had. And he had let himself get so attached that he was curled up on a hospital bed in the Spider Society HQ after swearing to Miles that they would never, ever step foot in that establishment again.
And then, Miles was moving. Shifting, coughing, his clammy hand shooting out of Hobie’s to reach for the intubation tube.
“Miles, Miles,” Hobie gasped. His eyes were stinging. His knees hurt as he tried to sit up. “Miles, love, relax. You’re okay.”
Miles coughed harder, grabbed onto the tube with his available hand. Hobie tried to stop him, but Miles was determined to breathe on his own. He nearly hacked up the lung he just healed. Hobie sat back in shock, holding Miles by the good shoulder as the colour returned to his face.
“You’re okay.” Hobie said quietly. He wrapped Miles up in a hug, felt him sag against his chest. Hobie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You’re okay.”
“Hobie.” Miles groaned. His voice cracked around the syllables, throat dry.
“Let me, let me get you water.”
“Stay.” Miles said it like it was urgent, fingers curling and finally finding purchase in Hobie’s shirt.
“Let me call Gwen, then.”
Miles nodded, exhausted, and relaxed into Hobie’s chest again.
Gwen was stuck elsewhere, but she regrettably alerted the doctors Hobie would have happily left in the dark. They came to check Miles over, explained what had happened and the procedures he had done. Hobie winced at the scared look on Miles’ face when they told him he was in HQ. It all happened so fast that Hobie felt like he was dreaming, curled up in the corner as his world moved around him instead of with him in it.
“Can I go?” Miles asked, voice small.
“Well-” The doctor began. Hobie stood up.
“If we wants to go, we’re going. ‘is mum’s a nurse. ‘e’s in good hands.”
“I really can’t recommend-”
“I don’ recall asking, love.”
“Hobie, c’mon.” Miles complained.
“Where’s his suit, yeah?”
Once they had Miles’ suit in hand and he was in some slightly better clothing, Hobie opened up the portal with his watch. Miles’ arm was still in a sling, but apparently whatever was up with his knee had healed to a small limp and his stomach wound was stitching itself shut. Hobie still wrapped an arm around him though, kept him close just to feel him breathing.
They stumbled through the portal both thoroughly exhausted. Miles sat down on his bed, bleary eyed and disoriented. He looked up at Hobie, looking so tired. It pulled at his heart strings.
Hobie stood in front of Miles. Cupped his face. Pressed a long, long kiss to his forehead. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“No promises.” Miles croaked.
Hobie hugged Miles, sighed when Miles wrapped his good arm around him and buried his face in his stomach. He pet Miles’ hair like he was precious, because he was. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.” Miles murmured.
“Let me get you some proper clothes, yeah?” Hobie smiled. Miles nodded, and so Hobie went searching through Miles’ wardrobe for a big sweater and some sweats.
“Mijo? Is that you?” Rio asked through the door.
“Ay, mami.” Miles sighed. Hobie knew he couldn’t hide his arm in a sling forever. It would probably be another day or two.
Rio opened the door. Her eyes widened, she rushed to Miles’ side. Her sentences came in a flurry of Spanglish that Hobie was too tired to try to decipher. Miles tried to keep up when he could, respond when she took breaths between words. She embraced him the same way Hobie did moments before, pressing tears out of her eyes. Awkwardly, Hobie held up the sweater and the sweats. When Rio took them from him, she grabbed his hand, too, held tight and squeezed.
“Thank you, mijo, for bringing him back to me.”
Hobie was a little taken aback by that. Felt something deep within his chest start to open up.
“Of course, Mrs. Morales.”
“Rio.”
Hobie still didn’t know where he fit in this equation. Part of him was screaming to go back to New London and never look back. But part of him was telling him to stay and let this blossom, let himself call Mrs. Morales Rio and be the one to make sure Miles made it home safe.
So he stayed for breakfast. And lunch too. Being Spiderman got in the way, because it always did, but Hobie let himself believe it was worth it because he got to call Mrs. Morales Rio and was the one who made sure Miles made it home safe.