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Lunch that day, is an awkward affair.
Miguel is seated with Miles’ group – the Spider-Gang as they liked to call themselves – but they’re deep in conversation. Surprisingly, about something so inane and subjective as who the strongest Spiderman was. They’re taking the topic seriously, quickly rebutting and suggesting alternatives to one another’s opinions.
He doesn’t care much about it, which he finds only amplifies his feeling of being an outsider.
Which he is, in a way. It wasn’t so long ago since he did target one of their own.
It had only been through Peter’s insistence and Miguel’s own guilt that made him accept their invitation. Even Lyla seemed supportive, assuring him that she’d handle all his work for the thirty long minutes he would be with them. Nevermind that it seemed like a waste of time, even if it were a very important thing to him to be forgiven and accepted by this specific group of people.
By one person in particular, most of all, who is currently sitting beside Miguel himself – quiet unlike the others.
Which brings him… here.
Pav asks. “Do my bangle web-slingers count?”
“As much as the hood on Gwen’s costume counts,” Peter snorts back, stuffing his face full of hotdog. Miguel is used to the unfortunate sight; the rest of the group winces at the obscene way Peter chews. It makes Mayday squeal in laughter, though. Peter beams at her.
Gwen scoffs indignantly at the dig. “Almost as much as your pink, fluffy bathrobe counts?”
A finger is pointed at her. “Hey, I’ll have you know my pink, fluffy bathrobe keeps me perfectly insulated!” Mayday tugs at the soft material, with awe on her face, as her father drones on. “And I’m cushioned from enemy attacks!”
Mayday sticks her head inside the vee of pink fabric over the chest of his Spidersuit. It’s really, really cute.
“Still not a power,” Hobie says, merciless.
“Okay, okay, mister anarchy man. Is that your special power? Anarchy?”
Hobie inclines his head in consideration. “That is a power within all of us.”
“You’re so real for that,” Pav nods solemnly.
“Pav, come on, man. You’re too baby to be agreeing with that,” Miles finally chimes in, and Miguel hates how hyper-aware he is of him.
He’s been paying close attention to every action Miles took – or the lack thereof – knowing full well this has been the first Miles has said since they all sat down to eat. Which was fifteen minutes ago. It’s a far cry from the Miles he’d first met, the one who’d confidently approached him and talked to him in botched Spanish.
Maybe Miles is feeling just as self-conscious, hyper-aware of Miguel beside him as well.
Pav fixes Miles with an expression that looks genuinely affronted. He does so with an ease Miguel envies. “Bro, you don’t know me. You don’t know what goes on in this head.”
“I second the motion,” Gwen chuckles. “Pav can be… wild.”
“Really.” Miles looks unimpressed.
“Stick around and find out yourself,” Pav blinks his eyes coquettishly.
Miles reels back, embarrassed. Miguel surprisingly does the same.
“He’s pulling your leg,” Hobie reassures Miles, just as Peter puts his hand over Mayday’s eyes and says, “Save it for off-duty, guys.”
“Oh, shut up, Peter, you know it’s a joke. He has…” Gwen looks up theatrically, eyes enlightening and growing ecstatic as if seeing an angel before her, invisible to everyone else. “...Gayatri.”
They all laugh at the display. As it is, Miguel has no idea who they’re talking about.
“His girlfriend,” Peter helpfully whispers to him at his confused look.
“I’m sure Pavitr doesn’t… do that when he talks about her,” Miguel attempts, defending Pav from the teasing.
Pav himself corrects him, smiling, genuinely shy. “No, I do.”
“Does she know you’re wild like that, though,” Peter asks.
“Everything about the Man minus the Spider,” Hobie murmurs, and Pav winces at the truth of it.
“Do you think she’ll be cool with it, though?” Gwen looks sympathetic. Miguel, at least, knows it’s coming from something personal. “When you finally tell her?”
“Oh, uh –” Pav looks put on the spot. Like he’d been thinking about it a lot but hasn’t ever had the avenue to talk about it, with so big an audience to boot. “I… hope? I know she doesn’t agree with everything Inspector Singh does, but I can’t really be sure how she would take it if her boyfriend was a vigilante.”
“But don’t you work with the cops?” Miles asks.
“Don’t all Spidermen?”
“It doesn’t change anything about the way they see us, though,” Gwen says – and Miguel thinks she looks almost heated now. Angry but restrained. “Fascists at heart, but we’ll only ever be as good as anarchist to them.”
“That’s my girl,” Hobie praises the amateur assessment. At Peter’s pointed look, he shrugs. “I’ve been planting the seeds.”
“I know you have… hang-ups about your dad, Gwen,” Peter gently says. “But you really don’t have to put yourself down with all these, you know… words?”
“It’s literally just two words,” Pav shoots back.
Peter glances at him briefly but turns his eyes back to Gwen. “Being Spiderman…” Pav quietly corrects, Spiderwoman, “It’s not as clear cut a job as two words can summarize with justice. You’re not evil for working with the police. You’re not evil for working outside the police, either. We were just doing what we had to do. What we thought was right.”
“I know, I know, it’s just –” Gwen’s face crumples. Mayday, blessed as she is, crawls on the table over to her, putting her tiny fingers on Gwen’s outstretched hand in a gesture of solidarity.
It’s a sweet tag-team – and a very surprisingly mature insight from Peter, who Miguel considers to be the most unserious adult he knows.
Hobie, for his part, backs Peter up.
“Look, Gwendy. I know I told you about those words in the first place,” he looks at Peter when he says ‘words’, “and I told you about my world, but it’s different with yours. My world was fucked, the cops were actual pigs, and if it pushed me toward a certain direction, then that’s just the way it was for me. It doesn’t have to be the same for you. It doesn’t have to mean the same thing for you.”
Miguel is genuinely amazed to be hearing this from Spider-Punk, of all people. He didn’t think he were capable of being so soft and so yielding, considering all the shit Hobie liked to rub on Miguel’s face. But then again, he was no Gwen Stacy. Maybe he deserved the shit.
Hobie continues. “If you can be the best of both worlds, then why not?” He puts a palm on Gwen’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, babe.”
Miguel, at that moment, feels every bit out of place with how blatantly it’s displayed to him how amazingly they get along, like well-greased cogs working together. Just bouncing off each other’s energies effortlessly. Reassuring, comforting, and forgiving one another so easily, without hesitance.
Gwen’s head tilts down, but her eyes trail up to Miles. Miles notices, clears his throat, looks very briefly to Miguel’s direction as if afraid to be heard, but tries to say something for Gwen anyway. “It’s a leap of faith, you know. Doing the right thing.” Miles taps his fingers on the table. “It’s trial and error. Maybe even harder for us with cop parents.”
At the reminder of their similarity, Gwen smiles slowly. “The horror we live through.”
Miles has always been Gwen’s favorite person and it shows.
He winks at her. “They wouldn’t know.”
Miguel snorts at the exclusivity they pretend to have, reacting before he can assess how appropriate it would be. “269 other Spidermen would know it.”
He catches himself too late, looking at each of them with wide eyes. They’re all looking back at him incredulously – Miles most especially. Pav’s drink is dribbling out of his slack-jawed mouth.
It makes his cheeks flush. “I – I mean, 269 Spidermen are going through the same parental situation as you – the both of you, so.”
He feels so lame, so embarrassed for himself for the slip-up, but his mouth doesn’t stop running.
“If you want to talk to them about it, see what they think, it could help – maybe you can make a support group –?”
“Nice save,” Peter coughs into his elbow.
It’s a few beats of silence before Gwen actually, honest-to-God, laughs. At him or at the others’ reactions, he doesn’t know – he’s just thankful it seems to make everyone else breathe easier, dispersing some of the tension in the group. “That’s a good idea, Miguel,” and she truly does look appreciative. “Thank you.”
Pav quickly wipes at his chin, hesitantly laughing along.
Miguel smiles at her weakly, feeling so out of his element to be kind, but the easy out they afford him makes his effort worthwhile, he thinks. “You’re welcome. I can, uh,” he goes one step further while he’s at it. “I can set the group up if you need it, Gwen. Or if you need it,” his eyes dart quickly toward the person beside him.
Miles stiffens.
Miguel looks away, feeling terrible all over.
“That’s a sweet offer from our resident fascist,” Hobie bluntly says, and Miguel can see Miles pull a face at his periphery. He doesn’t see what expression is there – wills himself not to look at him any more than he needs to, afraid to scare Miles away again – trying instead to make himself as small as possible, shoulders hunching, gaze fixing on his plate.
Pav, however, pinches Hobie for his words. “Oi –!”
Pav forces out a laugh. “Dude, what’s all this talk about fascism, anyway, it’s not even a word where I’m from, it’s not even a word in most dimensions, I don’t even know what it means, haha, Hobie,” he whispers viciously at his side, “cut it out, this is not the time –”
“I’ll have you know, I was taking the piss –”
“Piss on your own time –”
The two whisper-fight, but Miguel tunes it out, too taken with imagining how strained Miles might look. He feels so guilty to be the cause of it.
“Okay, guys,” Peter’s voice booms over them all, loud and commanding as he takes control of the situation. “The heart-to-heart was good, but we’re getting off-topic. We still don’t know who the best Spiderman is.”
Miguel has to thank the stars for the King of Interruptions finally interrupting something in a productive, wanted way. Pav echoes his thoughts with a, “Good idea!” and a sharp clap of the hands.
Gwen whispers to Peter, teasing. “Smooth segue.”
“That’s me, Peter B. Parker,” Peter rizzes himself up. “Smooth is my middle name.”
Miles’ face finally breaks out to a smile. “You just said it starts with a B.”
“Peter Sbooth Parker,” Peter says, just as Hobie rolls his eyes, “It wouldn’t be B if it’s ‘Sbooth’.”
“Well, the B is silent.”
“Then that’s still S.”
“Beter S. Barker,” Pav suggests wrongly.
“No –”
“Oh, really. You think you can do better, Bobie?”
Miguel suddenly feels like he’s having an aneurysm. It was a good save from Peter but at what cost.
Hobie smirks. “Better than Bwen, honestly.”
“As long as I’m not as bad as him.” Gwen tips her head over to Pav’s direction.
Pav makes an exaggerated scoff, eyes turning to Miles. “You’re just going to let her talk to me like that, Biles?”
“I mean, she got you, Bav, you better up your game.” Miles shrugs, but he seems more humored now, more relaxed with the idiocy playing out.
“That’s cold, bro. I thought we were briends.”
Hobie takes a look at the growing discomfort on Miguel’s face.
Maybe he understands how inaccessible that level of camaraderie is to him, to be making those kinds of stupid jokes with people who were more strangers than friends.
Hobie liked to give him grief for a lot of things – his so-called fascism within Spider-Society, for one – but the boy wasn’t heartless, he’s seen proof of that enough today.
So Miguel just might call it mercy, the thing that inspires Hobie to change the topic.
“Let’s be real for a minute, alright,” he says. “Strongest Spiderman? Miles is the best one of us.”
“WHAT.” Peter’s head swivels to him.
“Think about it. He has invisibility and electricity going for him. That’s two more exclusive powers than the usual Spiderman.”
Miles, shocked and a little embarrassed by the generous assessment, tries to interject. “Hobie, you have your guitar –”
“Not a power,” Hobie’s quick to point out.
“We’re worms, is what you’re saying,” Gwen says.
“We are.”
“No –”
“Look, Hobes, I see what you’re slinging, I really do,” Peter cuts off. “But –” and at that, he points a finger toward Miguel with one hand and tries to hide the very gesture with the other hand.
“You know I can see what you’re doing, there’s no point hiding it,” Miguel sighs.
It only makes Peter more impassioned. “See? He has a sixth sense for the stupidity around him, mostly the vibes I put out, if we’re being honest – which kind of makes up for the missing Spider-sense. Plus he has talons, and he has fangs, that – mind you – can release a venom that paralyzes anyone he bites.”
“And he has beautiful hair,” Pav adds, ever the appreciator of those finer things. Miguel flushes, not knowing how to respond to the compliment.
“You’re neck to neck on that,” Gwen mumbles to Pav, to which Pav giggles in elation. “Don’t tell him.”
“I’ve never seen the venom thing in action, though, is it true?”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to demonstrate,” Peter waves off. “On us, after this lunch break is over, am I right?”
“Peter –!” Miguel hisses, no longer wanting to be portrayed as an antagonist.
“Alright, points taken,” Hobie says to Peter, “but here’s a counterpoint.”
“Go on.”
“Miles versus Miguel. Who won the last time?”
“Oh,” Peter coughs.
Everyone else grows silent.
It seems they’ve reached another wall with the mention of last time.
He may have… overreacted, really. Sending out Spider-Society after him, pursuing Miles, pulling no punches on a fifteen year-old – okay, overreaction is an understatement. He was crazy. He has so much to answer for, so much to apologize and make amends for, but he hasn’t even so much as done anything out of his own volition to set things right.
Since that incident with Spot – he’s only accepted an invitation, for crying out loud. To lunch.
A lunch he’s spent avoiding Miles’ eyes. A lunch he’s spent trying to pretend he isn’t even here, making himself as unassuming but as unknown as possible. How was Miles supposed to know he was sorry? How was Miles supposed to know he was okay?
A lunch that’s almost over, too.
When will the next lunch invitation come? Will it even, after this rousing failure of a first?
Does he have to keep waiting for them to reach out to him?
Miguel tries to steady his voice. “Miles won,” He answers in Peter’s stead. He can see Miles’ head perk up at the edge of his vision, but he trains his sight square on Hobie. “He outsmarted me, and then he kicked my ass.”
The Spider-Gang kids gasp at the bad word as soon as it leaves his mouth.
Then they erupt into chaos.
Shouting, screaming, palms smacking against the table. In the mayhem of it all, Miguel tries to look at Miles again, and finds him already staring back. Meeting his eyes directly, something like awe in his face.
“Uh,” Miles looks taken aback.
Miguel tries to look as calm and reassuring as possible. “Yes?”
“I… uh,” Miles truly looks at a loss for words. “Thanks…?”
“For what? I was just saying what happened,” Miguel says, and he wants to smack himself on the head for his callousness.
Fortunately, it doesn’t deter Miles – only makes his cheeks heat. “Well, yeah, I just thought –”
“What?”
“I thought you’d be more angry with me,” comes the quiet admission.
It’s a shocking thing to hear.
“Me? After everything I put you through, I thought you’d be more angry with me!”
“Well, I was, but, y’know. You were just doing what you thought was right.”
Miguel must look absolutely incredulous. “Miles. I asked you to let your dad die.”
“And he’s not,” Miles smiles at that. “It’s a leap of faith,” he repeats his words from earlier. “Doing the right thing.”
Miguel certainly remembers the rest. “In my case, it really was trial and error.”
Miles shrugs nonchalantly. “Faith isn’t always rewarded,” he says. “But I want to think it can be fixed.”
They look at each other for some moments, before Miles delivers the final blow.
“I don’t hate you, you know.”
It’s the very thing Miguel’s been wanting to hear. Since he sat down for lunch today. Since he started immersing himself back to Spider work weeks ago. Since the Earth-1610 fight with Spot two months ago.
He’s still on the fence on whether he deserves it, though.
It must show on his face, because Miles’ gaze softens. “I know I should. I’m shocked, too. But I don’t.”
Miguel swallows. “I’m –”
He needs Miles to know. Needs Miles to understand how – how soothing it is to hear. How guilty he felt, how guilty he’s been feeling – how badly he’d projected his own sins on a boy whose greatest mistake was to love so fervently and so powerfully. A mistake he surely relates to, on a deeply personal level.
He needs him to know how heartrending it is to be forgiven, for his faults to be overlooked – how much it means to him, to not be hated by the person he’s wronged the most.
It’s more than he can explain. Words fail him.
Moreso now that he’s suddenly aware of the five pairs of eyes fixed on him and Miles, watching silently.
“Jesus,” he swears again. He feels ashamed to be caught in such a vulnerable moment, and it flares the combatant in him. “You guys mind?”
“No,” Hobie replies for them. “We do not mind.”
He rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Hobart.”
“You’re welcome, Miggy.”
“Aaand Hobie will be the first recipient of Miguel’s deadly bite,” Peter jokes, but Mayday puts a hand on his mouth, eyes earnestly watching the two.
They all shut up again.
“We will obviously have words about this, in the future, without an audience,” Miguel says, clearing his throat. “If you’re amenable,” he adds.
“As many words as you need,” Miles agrees.
He makes it sound like it’s Miguel in need - and as much as it’s true, as much as he needs the air cleared between them, he doesn’t want it to be just for his peace of mind.
“You’re welcome to… berate me, also,” Miguel generously offers. “As often and as hard as you need. I won’t fight.”
Miles almost chokes at the unfortunate wording but he reins it in. “I don’t think I’ll need to.”
“Don't count it out too early. I'll keep the offer on the table.”
“Yeah, Miles, zap him,” Hobie mumbles.
Miguel glances wearily at him, before he turns back to Miles. “But no audience if you did,” he negotiates.
“I really don’t think I’ll need to,” Miles says, but ponders more on it. “But if I did… No audience, okay.”
“Aw,” Pav says for Hobie’s sake.
Miguel ignores them. “Does… lunch tomorrow sound feasible?”
Miles snorts at the formality of the request, but relents. “Yeah, I can do tomorrow.”
Miguel can sense the budding smiles on everyone else’s faces – even Hobie’s – and it’s stupid, honestly. Peter just might be right about the stupidity sense he has. This whole fucking thing was stupid.
But he thinks he can stomach it. He may even grow to like it – this stupid, sentimental bunch, and their stupid, sentimental antics. Reassuring, comforting, and forgiving as they are.
He hopes he doesn’t become as stupid. As sentimental. As reassuring, or as comforting, or as forgiving – of others and of himself.
“Thank you," he murmurs. "Biles." Even allows a small smile to form on his face.
It won’t kill him to be happy.
Miles’ head tips back when he laughs.
“You’re welcome, Biguel.”