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There was chaos everywhere. If that had been Spot’s plan, he succeeded wonderfully. Get everyone panicked and cause enough destruction that the people only do more. Spot’s attacks seem to have slowed to a stop. There weren’t any new portals opening up and dropping sections of buildings on top of other buildings, or moving parts of the street to different parts. Despite that, there were enough people running and screaming that it seemed to only be the beginning. There were people on the ground, crying or dead from being trampled. Cars were crushed or torn by Spot’s actions, and he clearly didn’t care if there were people in them or not.
It was slowing down, though. The first responders were finally getting the situation under control enough that they could start moving the unharmed civilians to a secondary location, away from all the damage. Miles was trying to do a bit of damage control, get things back to where they were supposed to be, try to help anyone he could.
But Miles knew better. He knew that this wasn’t the end, he knew better than to even consider getting his hopes up.
He knew because he could see his dad. He refused to let the man out of his sight for even a moment after he had finally made it back to his universe in the middle of all the chaos. Miles didn’t want anyone to get suspicious, so he kept a bit of distance. If he could have it his way, his dad would be back at home, preferably webbed to the ceiling so that there was no chance of him getting caught in all of this.
But Miles wasn’t stupid. He could see how many people had been hurt, how many people were going to continue being hurt, and they needed all the help they could get. A police captain couldn’t just stand aside because some kid said that he might die. And so Miles kept his father within his sights at all times.
Until, of course, Spot made a reappearance, and Miles did the only logical thing. He went to try and stop him before he could hurt more people, before he could kill anyone else. Before this villain could take his father away from him.
There were other Spiders from different universes that were all showing up to help, of course, and they all had their attention on Spot. Miles tried not to think about the buildings being destroyed, the fear that was being brought on all of these innocent people who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he thought about it too much, he would never be able to focus on his goal.
He couldn’t make sure that Spot would never threaten his family again.
After enough time had passed, Miles could feel his electricity buzzing in his bones and sparking in his joints painfully, he saw another Spiderman across the alley that could barely stick to the wall anymore, a few others that he was sure he recognized somehow but couldn’t think about it now had run out of web and had to get refills brought by a support Spider, only then had they managed to get spot into one of those electric cages that Miguel liked so much.
Spot had gotten a watch put on him by someone that did almost the exact opposite of what the other watches did, making it so that he was confined to this dimension. Since his portals, his Spots, worked by transporting things through different dimensions back into a different area in this dimension, it stopped him from creating any more destruction.
It took nearly a full minute for Miles to back up and walking again, but once he did, he made his way over to Spot’s makeshift cage.
“You won’t be hurting any more people,” Miles said, relief spilling through his voice despite how hard he tried to sound intimidating.
“Maybe not” Spot replied, his voice having only become more distorted as he had gained more power “But I made good on my promise to you”
And suddenly Miles couldn’t see anything, and could see everything all at once. He turned away from Spot and searched the area for his father. He could see people, he could see police uniforms but he couldn’t make out any faces from afar. He began running through the streets, his exhaustion far from forgotten but the pain only pushing him further as he nearly crashed into every uniformed police officer he saw, glancing quickly at their face before moving onto the next.
He didn’t stop until he heard screaming.
A child crying wouldn’t be anything he would stop for or even think about in this situation typically. In mass destruction like this, there was bound to be children scared and hurt.
But Miguel told him what would happen. That his father would die, pushing a child out of the way of falling rubble.
Miles turned and saw a kid sitting at the base of a large pile of rubble, crying as they saw blood spilling out from underneath, mixing with the dust to make a dark clay. He ran over, not sparing the kid a second glance as he began pulling up pieces of concrete. He had never been more grateful for his inhuman strength than he was at this moment. The bone aching, muscle gnawing tiredness was nothing compared to the desperate hope that was driving him to find someone, anyone under this rubble that wasn’t his father.
A small voice in the back of his head told him that he shouldn’t be wanting that. He shouldn’t be wanting to find someone else dead, to find someone else that was taken away from their life and their family too early.
That voice was disregarded when Miles found a gnarled hand. The fingers looked like they had too many joints in them with how broken they were, the skin was all scraped up, but Miles knew those calluses. He knew that hand, and the arm they were attached to, and every other part that he uncovered. He couldn’t tell who was crying anymore, if it was him or the kid just a dozen feet away.
When Miles finally managed to pull his father from the ruins of what was once a building, he didn’t notice his own torn flesh, his fingers sore and bleeding from moving the rough concrete. He only touched his father's face, searched desperately for a pulse. He began CPR, not even noticing that he wasn’t breaking any ribs because they were already snapped.
The mangled, broken body of the man that meant so much to him was underneath him and there was nothing Miles could do but wish that it was different, wish that everything he had done had actually made a difference. He wished that his one semester of first aid training in high school would be helpful and that with just a few bandages his father would be pulling Miles into a hug, telling him it was alright.
Instead, he just felt the warm blood pooling further underneath him, eventually steadying to a stop, and the body underneath his hands grew so much colder.
Miles was pulled away by some other Spider, and paramedics swooped in. Within the minute, Miles saw his father get zipped up into a body bag and he was left with nothing but the mixture of his father’s lifeblood mixing with his own blood of effort, of desperation.