Chapter Text
Miles hardly ever gets sick. That’s just a fact.
Even before becoming Spider-Man and being gifted enhanced healing and a heightened immune system, Miles could count on one hand the number of times he’d gotten sick enough to have to stay home from school. And since being bit, Miles hasn't even had a sniffle, even after long nights of swinging in pouring rain or freezing cold.
So, when he wakes up, head unusually heavy and shivering, he knows immediately something is wrong.
“Ugh,” he groans, shifting so he could tighten his blankets around his body. Usually his dorm room was way too hot, but this morning it was as if someone had plunged it into the middle of the Arctic Circle. “Fuck.”
“You good, dude?” Ganke's voice rises to meet him, voice muffled. That was strange, Ganke was never awake before him. “Are you hungover or something?”
“I am not hungover,” he argues, gagging as the words rasp out of his throat like sandpaper.
“Really? Because you sound hungover.”
“Nah, I think I’m sick.” Miles presses his face against his pillow and then grumbles in frustration as searing heat radiates off of it. He flips it over, pressing his cheek to it, and the blessed cool feels so good against his skin, even as he actively shivers.
He’s about to doze off again when the distant shot of gunfire slaps him out of his daze. His eyes fly open, heart jumping in his chest before he realizes stupidly that it’s one of Ganke’s games.
He hisses at how bright it is this morning.
“Why are you even awake?” Miles manages to ask. “It’s way too early for you, dude.”
“Early?” There’s a quip at the edge of Miles’ tongue, but he can’t manage to get his words to work before Ganke continues. “Bro. It’s noon.”
He blinks, slow and stickily. Well. That explained why it was so bright and why Ganke was even awake.
It takes him a full minute for him to register the fact that it’s the afternoon.
His stomach drops. “Crap, I need to get to class!” If he was late to Snapish again his parents would kill him! He fights against his blankets, kicking and struggling as he tries to claw his way out of his self-made trap.
When he manages to get free and falls out of his bed (only saved from landing on his face by his feet hooking around the bed frame), Ganke looks at him, headphones wrapped around his neck and controller in hand.
“You’re blocking my game.” Miles drops to the floor. He doesn’t have the strength to pull himself off of it. “It’s the weekend dude. No school. So chill.”
“You couldn’t have told me that before I crawled out of bed?”
“Nah.”
If Miles’s head wasn’t throbbing, he’d probably slam it against the floor out of sheer frustration. But he doesn’t want to add anything to the pulsing ache, so he refrains.
Instead, he shakily pushes himself to his feet.
The sudden change in elevation leaves his head spinning and his body tilting on its axis. He has to grip the desk to stay steady. Nausea, a familiar friend, writhes in his stomach as he pants, struggling to regain his bearings.
“Definitely hung over,” Ganke snickers before resuming the game. The bullet fire pierces through Miles’ eardrums and directly into his brain.
“Shut the fuck up man,” Miles snaps, and immediately regrets it as bile rises to his throat. He swallows it down. “I’m going back to bed.”
And really, he's determined to make it back up there, even if the idea of having to climb up the rungs of the wooden ladder makes him want to die.
But he doesn't even make it a step before Ganke so helpfully asks, “Didn't you have a thing today?”
Miles stares. Ganke isn’t even looking at him, too focused on the (stupid, stupid, loud) game.
“A thing?”
He waves a hand but still manages to keep playing. “Y’know. Some Spider-Man thing. I wasn't really paying attention when you told me about it.”
Miles tries to rack his brain for what Ganke could be talking about, but everything is too foggy and he can‘t even remember what he had for dinner last night. Nevertheless some random thing. He wishes he had some sort of reminder, just something to jog his memory.
His wish is granted, unfortunately.
Around his wrist, the Gizmo that Miles doesn't even remember putting on buzzes.
The memories come flooding back.
“Oh shit.” He had a training session today with the gang. How could he forget?!
Ganke looks up, eyes flicking to the watch. “Yeah, you mentioned that—”
Miles whirls away from him, letting go of the desk and immediately regretting it as he almost collapses again. Once he’s firm on his feet, he accepts the call.
Thankfully it’s Lyla that pops into existence, radiant and shimmering like an angel. He sighs in relief, grateful that it wasn't Miguel O’Hara because he would have died. He can't face the man’s wrath, not right now.
“Heyyy Miles,” Lyla stretches out, and he winces as her voice grates against his ears. “So, the big guy was just, y’know, wondering what’s taking you so long?”
“Sorry, I slept in, and—” He flinches as a muttered Spanish curse filters in through the background. He falters slightly. “Sorry.”
Lyla waves a hand, ignoring whatever was happening on her side of the line. “You’re all good, bud!” she tries to reassure him even as another string of curses reaches his ears. “Well— if you could just head on over here, that’d be just peachy. Your friends ended up having to go on a mission, so the training session will be just you and Miguel today.”
Oh great. That was perfect! Couldn’t have been better!
“Alright.” The word comes out weak.
“See you in a tic,” Lyla says cheerfully before holding up a peace sign and vanishing in a mist of golden zeros and ones.
Miles rubs his face. Then grimaces at the burning touch. Ugh.
When he turns to grab his suit, Ganke is squinting at him, game paused. He looks Miles up and down. “Dude, do you really think it’s a good idea for you to be training right now?” A rare moment of genuine concern for Miles.
“I don’t exactly have much of a choice, do I?”
A pause. Then Ganke shrugs. Any care he had for Miles is whisked away as he resumes his game, all focus drawn to it. Miles sighs.
He doesn't even realize he forgot to grab his suit as he activates the Gizmo and tumbles into Earth-928B.