Chapter Text
He looks scared.
Uncle Aaron must’ve done his intimidation thing. Damnit. I told him to hold off, we need to know more.
This kid is me, flesh and blood, we share the same face.
He doesn’t know that, Aaron had already been a shock to him, I wonder what’ll happen when my mask comes off. Will he be scared? Excited?
Judging by the way he’s shaking in his restraints, I’d guess the former.
He’s young, bright eyed and flush with life. I wonder what sent him here. If he stays too long, soon enough he’ll be fully drained of that vibrancy. I wonder if he knows that.
Doesn’t seem like it.
He could be dangerous, like Aaron seems to think, but my gut is telling me he’s not. I’ve already made up my mind by the time I swing down from the rafters, sleek and agile.
Aaron won’t let him go till we interrogate him, he’s overprotective like that. The kid’s breathing hitches as I walk closer, into the neon light shining in from the windows.
He tilts his head to the side, brows furrowed.
Expressive. I know exactly what he’s thinking just by looking at his face, he’s scared, confused, exhausted. Again, I wonder what sent him here, why it- whatever it was- decided this cold, dangerous place was a good fit for someone so young. Someone so expressive.
If I was half that expressive I’d’ve died already. I look into his wide, golden eyes and I don’t hate him for it. Maybe I should, but I don’t.
Aaron always said life was too short to harbor hate in your heart. Let yourself feel it, let it course through you, but don’t hold onto it. It’s poison.
He asks me who I am, voice breaking between words as I approach. God he sounds young, too.
I brace myself for the terror and hatred I’m about to find in his eyes. Once the mask is off he’ll realize we’re each other; he’ll wonder if he’s going to end up like me and he’ll hate the idea of it. A couple of years ago and I would have thought the same.
I trigger the retracting mechanism and the prowler mask crawls back into its sheath. I tilt my head to get a better look at him, and I tell him my name.
“I’m Miles Morales.”
As expected, his eyes widen in a mix of shock and horror, jaw dropping at the sight of his face on someone else. Someone worse. There’s a despair there and I don’t have the heart to tell him it’ll be okay. I can’t promise that, and he wouldn’t believe it.
Aaron is giving me a look over his shoulder, I want to roll my eyes but I don’t, just push my claw against the bag, right next to his ear.
I try to be less threatening than usual. His breath quickens ever so slightly, his eyes dart once to the claw before settling back on my face, wide, so fuckin’ wide. Guess I failed at that, huh.
He recovers admirably, launching straight into a run-down of his situation. He mentions that our father is in trouble and something inside me cracks.
“Your father.” It comes out harsh, cold, but that’s all I am these days. Memories of Papá tucking me in, taking me to school, of brighter, better days flash through my mind and I can’t stand it. Because I can’t go back. And even implying that I could, that this “Dad” Miles speaks of could somehow be ours, instead of his- I can’t let it happen. His father is not my Papá.
We stare at each other for a long moment, his eyes dart over my expression like he’s reading. Whatever he finds there, he doesn’t like.
His expression sets into something I recognize, something I’ve seen all too many times in the mirror. Finally found his nerve.
I pull my arm back.
“M’ not gonna hurt you. Tío, help me get him down?”
Aaron sighs, looks a few seconds from protesting before he gets a good look at my face.
He’s the only person who has been able to read me, Mami does a good job of it but doesn’t always catch everything. Not like he does.
We lock eyes and something in him softens as he approaches this other Miles. I go to start unwrapping the chains- a bit overkill, Aaron- but something bites at me once I touch the metal.
“AY! Pinche-“
“Miles!” Miles and I turn toward where Aaron is standing, eyebrow raised in disappointment. I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t even say nothin’.” I ignore the sigh this elicits.
It felt like a live wire, touching that chain, and I’m twitchy for a second before I shake my hand enough to recover. Miles has this sheepish look on his face that tells me he’s responsible. Again, expressive.
“Am I going to get shocked again if I try to untangle you?” He shakes his head.
“No! No, I’m sorry I thought I was going to have to get myself out.” He’s young, soft in ways I’m not but he’s still me. Resourceful til the end. I tilt my chin in approval.
“Good thinking. Thankfully, you don’t have to do that. Turned off now?” He nods. I wonder if this electricity thing he’s got going on has anything to do with the strange, spider-themed spandex suit he’s wearing, or the claw marks in his shoulder. Speaking of, I turn towards Aaron.
“Could you grab the medkit? I think I’ve got him from here.” I gesture to the few remaining chains. The closer Miles gets to being free, the more I notice just how much the restraints were keeping him up. I’m not sure he’ll be able to hold himself once I get him out of them.
I’ve only known him for an hour but I can’t stop the surge of anger and protectiveness from welling in my chest. He’s so young, he’s scared, who could hurt him like this? Who could want to?
The last chain drops to the floor with a clang. Miles drops with a thump.
I catch him before he can hit the ground, thank God for my reflexes.
“Ten cuidado. Take it easy.”
Miles smiles at me as I bring us gently to the floor.
“You sound like mom.” Again, without the qualifier. I sound like his mom. My Mami is different, she’s mine. And the best mom I could ever ask for, better than I deserve most of the time.
I can’t bring myself to deny it, to say anything that might remove the smile from his face. I wonder if I would look like that if I smiled more. Part of me likes the idea of it, most of me knows I’ll never find out.
He’s smiling when he finally succumbs to the exhaustion I saw in his eyes, and the injuries still carved into his skin. Unconscious he looks even younger than before, he’s still got baby fat in his cheeks.
I know I can’t carry him, so I wait for Aaron to walk over.
“He looks like you, Miles.” A hand settles on my shoulder as he crouches beside us, handing over the medkit. I open it- still fairly well stocked, but after this we’ll need to go out and refill it.
I shake my head, we may share the same face, but the differences between us are striking. I look much older than he does; bags under my eyes, a hollowness to my cheeks despite Mami’s best efforts.
“Lying is a sin, Tío.” Mami takes us to church on Sundays, says it helps keep her sane after the horrors she sees at work. I wonder if she knows her son is a sinner. More than that I wonder if she truly believes in God, that he would let the world get like this. That he’s watching even now and choosing to do nothing. Humans aren’t perfect but I look around and have a hard time believing we deserved what happened here.
I don’t think Aaron believes, but he goes to church every Sunday in a nice shirt and shiny shoes. The congregation is dwindling, but we show up like clockwork.
“So is kidnapping a fifteen-year-old, and you had nothin’ to say about that.” I huff a ghost of a laugh.
“C’mon, help me move him. Need to get these wounds checked out.”
Together, we move Miles to the couch, Aaron is kind enough to peel his shirt down enough so I can do stitches.
I watch how he approaches Miles, he’s slow, almost like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, for him to jump up and start fighting. Then- as he lifts the spandex down and away from skin- his touches are gentle and feather-light, afraid to hurt him.
His eyes flit across the injuries, concerned and conflicted. I can tell he’s seeing me in this other Miles. Small, vulnerable, hurt. He’s the only one who’s seen me like that, and I know it hurts him every time. I can’t imagine what must be going through his head right now.
I gather the chains into a neat pile underneath the punching bag before walking over, allowing Aaron a few moments with the other Miles. I don’t look at him as I approach, he’s good at reading me but I’m just as good at reading him. And, unlike this other Miles, it seems, I know when I’m beat. Aaron’s already lost a brother and half a nephew. I don’t pretend to be the same as I used to be, and I know he misses it. This Miles is the closest he’s ever gonna get.
Aaron’s been good to Mami and I, he deserves this. He deserves to feel happy and I know most of the time I can’t give that to him. I hope he’s found some solace in this Miles. I hope it doesn’t grow into resentment for me, if it hasn’t already.
That’s unfair. Aaron loves me and he proves it every day. It’s just- every day it gets harder to believe.
And with the appearance of such a nice, shiny and young Miles, I just don’t understand how he can still bear to look at me.
“Alright, quítate.” I shoo him to the side. Aaron wipes at his face and I pretend not to see it. Tuck away the knowledge for later, when I’m alone and can think on it and cry in peace.
The claw marks are deep gouges in this Miles’ shoulder, but a closer look reveals that the wounds have already started healing. When I knocked him out they were still actively bleeding. No human heals this fast.
I don’t say anything about it aloud, if Aaron had any reason to distrust him he’d just tie him up again. He’d probably also have a deep and profound sadness about him as he did it. I wouldn’t be able to handle that, I don’t think.
As I inspect his injuries I find that they’re mostly healed, only the claw marks really need any bandaging so I set to work. I run a cloth soaked in antiseptic across the marks, his brows furrow in his unconsciousness but he doesn’t wake. I apologize under my breath anyway.
He doesn’t have scars, which I find strange given his whole spider suit and grave injury thing he has going on. But he has quite a few stretch marks in places I wouldn’t normally expect them to be. His shoulder, bicep, there are a few on his back.
I find myself wondering, once again, what happened to him?
It’s not difficult to smear some neosporin on the already healing wounds and then slap a few bandages on top. Miles is snoring softly by the time I’m finished.
“Here, I’d feel weird having him sleep without a blanket.” Aaron hands me part of the quilt he keeps in the living room for movie nights and together we lay it over Miles.
“He really does look just like you, Miles.” Aaron is looking at him as he says this, eyes soft and gaze warm. Part of me wants to make him look at me, see if the emotion stays.
“Tonterías, he’s all big eyes and baby fat. S’ been years since I looked like that.”
Aaron opens his mouth, then clenches it shut. I know what he wants to say. But you did, you did look like that, once.
The operative word being “once”. Meaning not any-fucking-more.
I let the silence hang. Let him sit with it. I’m glad for whatever this Miles is able to give him, but he can’t expect it from me. We are not the same.
I take a seat on the couch, next to other Miles’ head. At the very least this short reprieve will give me some time to think about what he’s told me, try to figure out a plan.
His dad’s in trouble, he’s already lost his uncle and he’s scared. He’s alone in an entirely different universe.
I’m gonna help him. It’s not even a question, really. The more pressing issue is how. I have no idea how we’re going to get him home in time to save his dad.
I know what losing him would do to him. I don’t want that. I want him to turn out better than I did.
I got colder after Papa died, retreated into myself as the world fell apart around me. I wouldn’t talk to Mami, not about anything important, anyways. And I could never sleep.
It wasn’t until Aaron found out about my insomnia, the feelings of helplessness as the bills piled up and the neighborhood got rougher, that things changed. He made me the Prowler, stepped down and took me under his wing so that I could do something.
Bills are paid, food’s on the table, every so often I’ll steal medicine from price gouging pharmaceutical companies and drop it off at the hospital. I’m doing good. I’m helping.
I’ve always wondered if Papa would see it that way. He taught me to do things by the book, Aaron says he didn’t approve of him being the prowler. I can’t imagine I’d be any different.
I always rationalize it, I did what I had to. The world is different than it was when he was a cop. It never stops feeling like platitudes. Like cop-outs.
The truth is he would hate the prowler, and I have to make peace with that. Haven’t quite gotten to that last part yet.
Miles stirs beside me, he curls tightly into himself before suddenly starfishing.
He yawns and his jaw pops, mine does the same when I catch it from him.
He looks over at the movement, and we smile at each other.
“Alright, kids. Let’s figure this out.” Aaron walks in toting three glasses of water and catches the yawn from me. Miles chuckles at the display, sitting up.
I can’t get over how young he looks, wrapped in a blanket, cradling a glass of tap water, still hazy from sleep.
“Hey man, before we talk about your whole thing- you need a shirt or something?” I gesture to his peeled-back, torn-up suit.
He seems shocked, when he looks down at himself. Shocked enough that for a moment, I think I’ve missed some sort of head trauma.
“Oh! Dude, thanks for patching me up.” He smiles at me and I shrug. S’ the decent thing to do. I say as much.
He laughs. “Sure, but still.” Then, switching gears, he takes a swig from his water and nods.
“And I’d super appreciate it if you let me borrow a shirt. Kinda uncomfortable that I’m shirtless.” I take the opportunity to leave the room for a few minutes and grab him said shirt. He’s so… energetic. Even after getting beat up and kidnapped. How?
I still don’t have an answer figured out when I return to the living room, shirt in hand.
“Dude!!” He lights up at the sight of me, or rather, the shirt. “You guys have Daddy Yankee in this universe, too? I love his stuff!” Then, in good Spanish, but pronunciation that makes me cringe he goes, “Zúmbale mambo pa' que mi gata prenda lo' motore'! That one, right? They always play that at reunions.”
“Yeah, gotta love good ol’ DY.” I imitate the song’s cadence for ‘DY’ and it makes him laugh. Aaron is smiling at us from where he’s pretending to be busy in the kitchen.
“Now come on. Put that on, we need a plan.”
He pulls the shirt on and I settle beside him on the couch, sliding a coaster underneath his water and my own as I do so.
He gives me a look, I shrug. Aaron likes this table, condensation could ruin the wood. Seems pretty straightforward to me.
“Ok… so do you guys have an Alchemax facility here? Anything like that?” I shake my head.
“They spent millions on a project that just disappeared one day, or so the head scientist said. Couldn’t get investors after that and tanked. There are abandoned facilities but not anything helpful.” I remember that headline, it was the start of things going south. Not even a year later the same newspaper ran the story of my father’s death.
Something seems to click in his head, a puzzle piece settling into place. It seems to devastate him, so I don’t ask. His eyes dim, brows furrow, mouth pulls down into a frown. I don’t like the look on him, can’t have him stealing my vibe and all.
“Right… Ok… well we should still take a look, right? There might be something useful there anyway.” I shake my head.
“I’ve been there, it’s a wasteland. Anything remotely useful has already been looted. Sorry, man.” And I really am, he looks downtrodden, hopeless. I feel similarly. If he- probably the only person in this universe who knows about the multiverse- doesn’t know what to do, I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to help.
After a few seconds of tense silence, his breathing picks up. Not a great sign.
“Right. Okay. That’s okay, that’s fine. I’m sure there are other ways to travel the multiverse, right? Because otherwise I’m gonna be stuck here forever, and my dad is going to die, and it’s gonna be my fault, and-“
“Calmate, te vas a hacer daño.” I place a careful hand on his shoulder as I speak and he nods, dogged, a bit distressed. He opens his mouth to respond but before he can, a loud thrum fills the air.
Miles looks up, eyes bright with fear.
“Get down!” I whisper, covering him in the blanket and hoping it’s enough (It’s probably not, but it’s the best I can do at the moment).
Some sort of portal has opened in Aaron’s living room, its loud and bright solely in the visual sense. Seems to be made of an amalgamation of magazine clippings and several neon colors. Somehow, when I imagined multiverse hopping, this is not what I had in mind.
It just looks so… DIY…
Before I can even move there are nine people running full tilt into Aaron’s living room. One of them- tall, colorful, and donning a spiked mask- catches sight of me and stops. Stares.
On instinct, I’d taken one of my claws out and positioned myself in front of the couch, in front of the Miles I’m assuming they’re after. There’s too many of them, but he’d looked so scared, so lost. I can’t not help him.
“What the hell are you doing in my house.” I spit, practically snarling at spiky-head. He puts his hands up, placating, and walks forward.
I jab my claw at him, and he stops. The rest have gathered behind and around him, they’re all giving me strange looks. Like they don’t quite recognize me. Like I’m ‘their’ Miles, but off, wrong.
I sneer at the thought. “Ay, lambón, talk.” He tilts his head.
The wide, blank eyes of his mask bore into mine and I don’t dare blink. Blink and he could take advantage, blink and other Miles could get hurt.
Eventually, finally, he looks away, down, and dips his head to pull his mask off.
Puñeta, es hermoso.
Big, dark eyes, a lip piercing that draws my eye, and the coolest fucking hair ever. How does it fit into the mask?
His lips curl into a smile and I’m already looking, watching as they part for him to speak.
“Easy, big man. We don’t want no trouble. Lookin’ for a friend of ours, bout your height, weight, and, well, everything else too. ‘Cept the hair.” He gestures to my braids and chuckles. Sure, he’s hot, and british, and really fucking cool, but Miles was running away from him, hurt, terrified.
“Haven’t seen him.” At this point in my life I’m pretty damn good at lying, better than I used to be, at least, as a wide-eyed teen. Something tells me their Miles is about as good as I used to be.
Cool guy gives me a look and we have a staring contest for a minute before he nods, begrudging. Someone in a white suit steps up and pulls their mask down, a girl, this time. She’s pretty, too, but I’m distracted by the watch on her wrist. It looks just like the portal. If I can somehow get it off her, Miles can get home, save his dad.
My eyes flicker back to hers.
“Please. We just want to help.”
Now that, that almost makes me want to laugh. Help? Did they see the condition he was in?
“Help? Help? Vete pa’l carajo. You’re not getting near him.” I bare my teeth in another snarl as I speak the words. Cool guy raises his eyebrows but doesn’t try to intervene. Cool girl tilts her head.
“We’re his friends, if we could just-“
“Friends? Cabrón, if I had friends like you, I would be dead by now. I’m not letting you hurt him again. If you really want to ‘help’” I spit the word, “give me that watch.” Aaron is watching from the sink and I know he’s got a hand on the emergency tazer we keep in the kitchen towel drawer.
The words, as powerfully as I speak them, don’t quite have the desired affect, in fact, it only seems to confuse these masked spider-people more. They look around at each other, bewildered for a moment, before the barefoot one with nice hair steps up.
“Um… Miles- no that feels weird- Miles #2! I think you’ve got the wrong idea about us. We didn’t hurt him. We’re here to help him so that the person who did doesn’t stop him from saving his dad.” Somehow the blank eyes of the costume seem to get even bigger as he attempts to reason with me. I chuckle, low and mean.
“And I’m supposed to just take your word? I’m not stupid.”
This time it’s a man who steps forward, tall, a little soft around the edges, with a baby strapped to his chest. I’m immediately wary of him. Who brings a child, an infant to a fight?
“Alright, okay, let’s start over.” He pulls his mask off to reveal a middle-aged white guy, “Hi, I’m Peter, and Miles is our friend. We just want to help him get back home.” He spreads his arms placatingly. I’m kind of sick of being placated.
“Yeah. He mentioned.” I gesture to Mr. Great-Hair. “You’re still not gonna see your Miles until you can prove to me you weren’t the ones who left those gashes in his shoulder. Or the bruises all over his body.” A wave of pure, unadulterated rage swells in my chest as I speak, thinking of their Miles, so young and terrified as he stared into my eyes, Peter opens his mouth to respond but before he even gets the chance, I’m shouting, “He’s just a kid!” Something in me pulls taught and snaps; I advance, bringing my claw up to his throat, carefully avoiding the mess of red hair laying on his chest.
“And if I find out that any of you, had any part in hurting him like that…” My voice has gone low, dangerous. It’s the way I speak when I go out in the prowler suit.
“Te voy a dar una hostia que te vas a morir de hambre en el aire.” A moment’s silence.
“Queda claro?”
Just as I feel the bobbing of Peter’s adam’s apple against the tip of my claw, there’s a rustling behind me. Miles.
I whip around, forgetting about the very real threat beside me and shout, “Miles!” It comes out chastising.
His face is visible now, the rest of him still wrapped in blankets; it’s a bit drawn and tired but he’s smiling something fond. “You really do sound like mom when you do that.” His voice is quiet as he speaks, and I have to actively fight against the urge to grab him more water.
Again, he’s talking about his mom. Not mine. He keeps forgetting the qualifier.
“Mano, I told you to stay hidden.”
Miles rolls his eyes, “As I recall, you only said ‘get down’… which I did!” He gives me a cheeky smile before turning to the others, eyes wide and just the slightest bit glassy.
It’s quiet for a minute, two, “You guys came…”
Cool girl steps forward, eyebrows furrowed as she reaches for him; she seems almost pained as she moves, “Of course- of course we did, Miles. I’m so sorry, we- I- should have seen through Miguel’s ‘canon’ bullshit before you got hurt.” Her eyes move quickly over what little of Miles she can see, searching, cataloguing any injuries that might still remain.
I stand to the side, weight firmly resting on the balls of my feet in case I need to move to intervene. I don’t know who this Miguel is, but he could be here, and he needs to be kept far, far away from Miles.
There’s something churning in my gut, getting caught in my throat as this all plays out in front of me. I don’t know anyone in this room, besides Miles and Aaron. I have no idea what’s going on, or what even happened. All I know is that Miles was hurt, and he looked terrified at the sound of the portal opening.
I hate not being in the loop.
Makes me jumpy, and anxious. I can feel the adrenaline in my veins, making my heart beat twice as fast, making my eyes dart around the room over and over again. Waiting for a threat. Preparing.
There are a few moments of tense silence as they stare at each other, eyes searching, before Miles sighs. Slumps.
“Thanks for coming to get me. I was really worried that I wouldn’t have a way back, Miles,” He nods his head towards me and I twitch a little bit at all of the stares I receive in return, “told me that the Alchemax here is broken down and ransacked. Completely useless.” I nod my agreement.
“Look. I don’t know you people, and I definitely don’t know anything about multiverse travel, but if you can get him home to help his dad, and he trusts you… Do it.” I look over at Miles and he’s giving me a look, all big-eyed deer in the headlights like. I sigh, “Seems like your only shot, Mano. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” He shakes his head.
“Come with us! You’re strong and capable, we could use all the manpower we can get. And…” He pauses, seems to consider his next words very carefully. “You could see dad again… I lost my Uncle Aaron, but seeing him here was… It hurt. But in a good way.”
I have to remind myself that he’s still a kid, still young and naïve. Because he keeps. Forgetting. The. Fucking. Qualifier.
“Your dad. Miles. Yours. I’ll help but you need to remember that.” It comes out a little cold, a little mean, and the others in the room stiffen at the sound of my voice. Good. It would do them well to remember that I am not their Miles, either.
Cool guy, who had previously been leaning against the wall, watching with that deep, lidded gaze of his, speaks. “Clock’s ticking, mate. We need to get you home fast if we wanna catch Spot.” Miles nods and I move to grab my Prowler go-bag. Aaron stops me just as I grab the handles.
“You’re not going to another universe alone, Miles.” I roll my eyes and give him a look.
“I can’t not help him, did you see his face? He’s terrified. I’m going.” I shake his hand off from where it had been resting lightly on my shoulder.
“Miles.” His hand comes back, rougher, clutching my wrist and his voice comes out ragged. “I can’t lose you, too.” It’s quiet, he moves through the words slowly, as if it’s a struggle to get them out into the air. It hurts, aches a little in my sternum.
I smile, it’s probably awkward. Wrong. But it’s all I can offer him. “You wont.” It’s the gentlest my voice has been in years and still, it sounds almost like a threat. Why do I try, really. Ugh.
“Fine.” Aaron gives me a look, firm and disapproving as he grabs the bag right next to mine, the one holding his old prowler suit. This is going to be a whole thing isn’t it.
I sigh and walk back over to the others. “Tio won’t stop fretting. Is it ok if he tags along?” I direct the question at Miles, still not fully trusting the others. He nods, dogged, almost too eager.
“Of course! I appreciate you coming to help. We really could use all the help we could get. This Spot guy is really powerful.”
There it is again, that name, ‘spot’, I tilt my head, “What happened?”
Miles tilts his head back, and for a moment we are perfect mirrors of each other before he slaps a hand to his forehead and groans. “I forgot! All I told you was that my dad was in trouble.”
I nod, he’s remembering the qualifier now, I notice. “You were pretty frazzled the first time you gave me a run down.”
He groans, “Yeah, ok well…” and begins to explain the situation in further detail. Every so often one of the others will interject with more information and it’s not long before I’m completely filled in, and introduced to the other spider-people. There’s Peni, the girl standing next to the giant mech; Noir, the guy in the black and white 1920s detective cosplay; Ham, el pinche cerdo… CERDO; Gwen, AKA cool girl; Peter, as was previously established, and his daughter, Mayday (I’m still incredibly dubious about him bringing her, and I say so. He cringes.); Margo, who is apparently not actually here, but using some sort of projection of herself? Her hair is really cool though. Pavitr, AKA Mr. Great-Hair; and Hobie… AKA Cool guy.
I can’t stop looking at him, no matter how many times I berate myself, cursing my own sick mind for what it’s doing…. Dad would never approve. He always talked about the girls in my class, who I was ‘spittin’ game’ to. And there were some, just… Not all of them were girls.
But then again, he wouldn’t approve of most of what I do these days.
Hobie’s just so pretty, and suave; he walks like he knows exactly where he’s going all the time, talks in a slow sweet lilt that lets you know he’s in no hurry to get his point across, ever. Unflappable. Steadfast.
Everything I wish I was and more.
Doesn’t help that he keeps glancing back at me, gaze coolly disinterested as always. Every so often he’ll raise a pierced eyebrow and it really shouldn’t cause butterflies but… Here we are.
He’s probably just intrigued because you look like his Miles. I tell myself. Like a weird, off version of his Miles…
I press the side of my retracted prowler mask to escape his gaze just as Miles speaks. “Ok, we ready?” He receives a chorus of “Yeah!” and a smattering of nods in response.
“Great, then let’s go! Gwen?” Gwen pulls her mask down and presses a button on her watch. The rest of the Spiders mask up as a loud thrum fills the room and the portal appears once more. A shifting, moving void of magazine and newspaper clippings pushed together into something clashing and colorful.
Reminds me of Hobie. Wonder if he’s the one who built it.
God, if he’s smart too I’m absolutely fucked.
The spiders enter the portal one-by-one until it’s just me, Aaron and Hobie left. He turns to me.
“Might feel a bit dizzy after, luv. Don’t worry s’ perfectly normal…” The masks are surprisingly expressive, and I swear he winks as he speaks, “Sides, I’ll catch ya if ya stumble.”
And with that, he jumps into the portal, chortling to himself.
If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t be able to perceive my flush beneath the helmet. But it’s Aaron. He smirks and elbows my side.
“Always did wonder when you’d bring someone home. Looks like he brought himself, though.” He chuckles and jumps into the portal before I can retort.
“Ay, Por Dios, he didn’t mean it like that!” I shout, fruitlessly, at the rapidly closing portal.
I sigh as I jump after them, but I’m smiling when the collage swallows me whole.