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Jess delivers her report in quiet, terse tones, and then leaves Miguel without a parting word.
It’s been like this in the week since Miguel made his decision to give Miles a chance—a week since he learned that most of the Spiders in the society believed what he said about canon events enough to beat him up and throw him in containment while they went after Miles.
A dozen or so Spiders resigned; they called him a hypocrite at best and words that shouldn’t be repeated at worst. Some Spiders warmed up to him after—Peter B., though always friendly, had hugged Miguel. Hugged him. In public.
Miguel’s been keeping up with his work and looking for Spot across the multiverse in the time since. There hasn’t been any sign of him that Lyla can track, and Hobie and Gwen—taking turns to watch over Miles—report nothing on Earth-1610. It’s been quiet, and that more than anything has Miguel’s hackles up. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to know something is going to happen.
In the way it is wont to do, something does happen; it just isn’t the kid Miguel anticipates that ends up needing help.
“You have an incoming call from Prabhakar.“ Lyla says, blinking into existence over his shoulder. Miguel’s finger is on his watch before the thing even chirps at him; Pavitr’s face appears, jerking and whirling in the projection in a way that tells Miguel he’s moving through the air, and quickly.
“—help, Miguel!” Pavitr calls. He doesn’t sound panicked but his voice is tight and high. “I have no idea what it is—y’know that one movie, uh, Alien? With the xenomorph? I really don’t want anything putting babies in my chest—“
“I’m on my way, Pavitr,” Miguel says, and Lyla dutifully queues in a portal for Mumbattan. “Focus on containment and keeping civilians away. Minimize collateral damage.”
Pavitr yells an indistinguishable agreement and cuts the call, but by then Miguel is throwing himself off the edge of his platform and into the dizzying spirals over open space. Miguel really needs to talk to Lyla about appropriate portal departure locations.
Miguel is spit out—you guessed it—in open air, hundreds of yards above a sprawling green scape of a park and large pond. To his right he can see a path of webbing where Pavitr presumably steered the xenomorph from. Below him, Pavitr is throwing himself through the air with his characteristic grace; it’s almost mesmerizing, with the flash of gold and his fluid movements. He’s harrying and harassing a long, large life form that honestly does resemble a xenomorph from the old film; great big tail, grayscale skin, a set of huge jaws snapping after Pavitr.
Miguel drops through the air with his talons free and his fangs already growing, the taste of blood filling his mouth as his gums tear and repair themselves. Pavitr—noticing his arrival, or using his spider-sense—tangles the xenomorph’s muscular leg in a strip of web and hauls it up and over his shoulder, flinging it directly under Miguel’s path.
He’s pleased to find that his claws go through the xenomorph’s flesh, same as any other third-dimension life form.
“You sure got here fast, Miguel-ji!” Pavitr calls cheerfully. He twirls around Miguel and the flailing xenomorph in a flurry of webs and flashing metal; their fall through the air is halted a dozen yards from the ground in Pavitr’s net.
“I said I was on my way.” Miguel says testily, dodging a savage bite from the lifeform. It snarls and wiggles under him, its strength almost enough to dislodge him. Miguel snarls back and the creature howls, bucking so savagely Miguel is thrown free from it with a splatter of blood from its torn skin.
“I don’t want to make this your job, but it was glitching just before I called.” Pavitr says, tumbling through the air after Miguel before he catches himself on the side of the building on the edge of the park. Pavitr alights next to him and sticks to the wall.
“I expected a call to come from the problem child, not you.” Miguel grumbles. His inquiry through the dimensional watch registers as having no known home universe for the xenomorph, but the database is minuscule compared to what the Go Home Machine has available. They’ll just have to drag it back and hope.
“I’m so happy I’m not the problem child!” Pavitr cheers. “Is it Hobie? Is it Gwen? Ooh, it’s Miles, isn’t it?”
The xenomorph finishes thrashing itself free of the webbing and balances tremulously on the net Pavitr had strung underneath it. Its tail lashes with such violence that the entire web dips and bobs, prompting the creature to curl long, lethal looking nails around the thick strands. Great. Just great.
“Avoid the teeth, claws and tail.” Miguel says, and launches himself off the side of the building with enough force that it cracks under his feet.
“Why the tail?” Pavitr yells, following after him.
The xenomorph whirls around and, disregarding the long drop to the ground, flings itself from the webbing and directly into Miguel, teeth snapping wildly at his face. Miguel curls one hand around the lower jaw and shoves it up and away from him, shooting his other laser web to the ground. When it retracts it hurtles both of them downwards, and Miguel shoves a knee into its bony chest to drive it under him. They form a crater several feet deep when they land—
But it doesn’t seem to slow the creature down at all.
The long claws go for Miguel’s neck and he barely has time to jerk to the side, the meat of his shoulder tearing like butter. The xenomorph’s neck bunches and bulges oddly before twisting, a mouthful of teeth closing around his wrist and crunching the bones with a freakishly strong grip. Miguel’s hoarse shout is lost to the wind as he’s flung yards by the grip on his arm.
Mierda, mierda, mierda! Miguel scrambles to slow his tumble and comes up with a handful of dirt and a furrow left behind him. There’s an alarm ringing in his ears, his suit warning him about compromised integrity and tissue damage. Hijo de puta, that hurt. He can’t quite make a fist with his hand.
Pavitr is trying to keep the xenomorph down but it rips through his webbing with a chilling ease. He has the speed and agility all Spiders have but it’s dangerous for them to be on the ground; it limits maneuverability and their ability to react, and Miguel’s only just hauled himself up and towards the two when the xenomorph swings its heavy tail around like a battering ram and sends Pavitr flying. Miguel can hear the crack of the kid's ribs.
His vision tunnels.
If pressed, Miguel isn’t sure he’d be able to explain how much the spider DNA that replaced half of his human DNA changed him—there’s the obvious, like the fangs, claws, and organic webbing, but then sometimes this happens—the surge of fury, the urge to bite, an itch in his gums—
He’s slammed the xenomorph through two thick trees before he comes back to himself. It’s fighting injured, just like him, and it makes the creature all the more deadly; Miguel crushes the jaws together, bone fracturing under his grip, before a leg half the length of his body flies out and catches him in the hip.
Again, he’s thrown back, but he’s able to recover in a single roll and lunges upright. He collides with the xenomorph again, and then again—and the whole time Miguel is listening desperately for Pavitr, straining his ears—is the kid still breathing? Did he hear his spine breaking, instead of his ribs?
Claws as thick as his forearm rake down the side of his face as punishment for his distraction. His suit gives way, one eye immediately blinded by the spurt of blood. Miguel finds himself running out of options—the lifeform is clearly as strong as him, Pavitr is down and needs medical attention, and there’s a very real chance of Miguel losing a limb. A la mierda todo —he does not want to put his mouth on this thing—
Miguel locks his legs around the upper body and oddly-jointed forelimbs of the creature to keep its claws away and sinks his teeth into its neck.
It screams and shakes under him, stumbling backwards, tail cracking trees and uprooting bushes as it thrashes about. Miguel yanks his mouth free and goes to bite again when the xenomorph trips backwards and they fall.
It’s a few seconds of baffling free fall, and then they hit cold water.
Miguel inhales before he can help himself. He shoves himself free of the creature while sputtering and gagging on the water in his mouth. He’s not a strong swimmer—can barely swim at all—and the surface is already far, far above him as he kicks desperately.
Something coils around his ankle and squeezes, and Miguel is yanked back down to face the xenomorph.
It doesn’t seem to have any issues with the water; its tail climbs up his leg and then wraps around both knees, and Miguel finds himself trying to fend off strikes in the murky water with his lungs half-full of water and too empty of air.
He’s desperate—edging towards panicked, his blows slowed by the water, being pulled ever deeper by his combined weight with the creature. His organic webs will dissolve in the water too quickly to be of any use. His lazer webs can’t help him like this.
Miguel presses up against the chest of the xenomorph again and wedges his elbow in its disfigured mouth, the bones broken badly enough it can’t take his arm off. He barely manages to free his legs with desperate, adrenaline-fueled kicks. It’s like moving through molasses to pull them up and wrap them around its chest like earlier, ankles locked behind its back—this time, the forelimbs are free, and Miguel crushes his thighs together, tighter and tighter, until he feels the rib cage give under his muscles with a nauseating crunch and squish. The xenomorph goes limp. He drifts free of its grasp.
He’s not going to make it.
He’s not going to make it—the surface is too far, an insurmountable expanse of hazy blue between him and air—the water around him is murky with blood—Miguel’s chest aches, it’s on fire, but if he tries to breathe—
Like some kind of angel, a small hand wraps around his wrist and pulls, and Miguel hurtles up out of the water and into sweet, breathable air.
“—tell me you’re alright, please don’t be dying—please, please, please don't be dying—“ Pavitr is near tears, mask off and hair hanging limp in his face, tucked under Miguel’s bulk. He hauls Miguel farther away from the water as he hacks up water. “I’m sorry, Miguel-ji, you told me to watch the tail and I didn’t watch the tail— please be okay—“
“Breathe, Pavitr,” Miguel rasps, coughing with such force he gags. Pavitr lets out a little sob.
“You’re telling me to breathe? You just drowned!” He cries, and finally releases Miguel only to drop to his knees by his side. His hands flutter over the torn and bloodied wounds the xenomorph had left in Miguel’s suit.
“Your—your ribs—“ Miguel says, hoarse, and Pavitr wipes at his face messily, shaking his head. It does little to get rid of his tears.
“I’m fine—they’re already shifting back into place, but you—you’re—“ Pavitr inhales loudly, raggedly, and starts rocking back and forth. His arms go around himself.
It’s always so easy to forget how young other Spiders started out—Miguel was already an adult, already had a family when he gained his powers. Pavitr is barely fifteen. He’s been a Spider for a few meager months; he’s never seen a fellow Spider hurt like this.
“Cálmate, kid, it’s alright,” Miguel says, tries for the soothing tone Pavitr’s responded to before. “We’re alright. Easy now.”
Miguel hauls himself upright with a wheeze and pathetic cough. His lungs feel heavy and thick, his entire body waterlogged—is this what cats feel like, when they’re dropped in a bathtub? He tugs Pavitr closer—gently, gently with his broken ribs—and wraps an arm around his narrow shoulders.
“You’re good, kid, it’s all good.” He murmurs. Pavitr shoves himself closer and presses his forehead to the broad expanse of Miguel’s chest; the pressure is almost punishing to Miguel, but it seems to help. Pavitr’s heaving breaths slow down some.
“You kept it away from civilians, right? No one was hurt?” Miguel asks, and Pavitr sniffles and nods. Miguel squeezes him gently around the shoulders. “Good job. You did good.”
They sit in the quiet, both working on regulating their breathing and letting the adrenaline in their blood dissipate. Pavitr pulls back after a few minutes and scrubs wildly at his eyes. They’re red-rimmed and squinting in the evening light.
“That was—a lot, sure, but we handled it!” He says. The jovial tone to his voice is faked, and Miguel can tell, but he’s not going to push it. He has no idea how to handle this kind of emotional upheaval—he’ll mention it to Peter B., the next time he sees the man, or Brown. The two will be able to check on Pavitr.
“We did.” Miguel agrees, and he groans a little as he drags himself to his feet. Pavitr giggles tiredly.
“Was that an old-man sound?” He asks, and Miguel gives him a narrow-eyed look. “Aish, you’re always so intense! Why are you so intense?”
It takes them a few long minutes to fish the xenomorph body out of the pond, Pavitr prattling on about ‘vintage’ films and the old-fashioned projector he had just rebuilt for his uncle Bhim the day before. Miguel doesn’t admit it but it’s nice to listen to the kid infodump—Gabriella used to talk his ear off, telling him about what she was learning in school, or a recent national fútbol game. It’s soothing. Settling.
Every moment Miguel spends in the presence of one of the kids he finds himself feeling raw; it feels like something is picking at the old scars around his heart, debriding the irreparable tissue and opening up his vulnerable core. There’s a part of him that’s scared of it, but—
Pavitr grins up at him, eyes squinting and hair raked back into a haphazard mohawk, and Miguel finds himself helpless to keep the smile off his own face, small as it may be.