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Miles couldn’t sleep.
Not after the events that happened at Headquarters in Nueva York.
He had already been struggling ever since Uncle Aaron, ever since his uncle had been killed before his very eyes. Even before Aaron had died, he had been having nightmares after Peter Parker, his Spider-Man, had been killed. Though, at least he had been getting some sleep in between the nightmares. Then the Spot, Miguel, the Spider Society, and Dimension 42 happened.
Miles couldn’t recall the last time he had slept. He knew he had been zoning out, maybe even disassociating, but he didn’t know of the last time he truly fell asleep and stayed asleep.
His Mami and Dad had caught on to his lack of sleeping, but Miles must have looked something awful enough that they haven’t yet commented on it. He could hear them whispering about what to do from down the halls, saying maybe we should pull him out from school for a week? Just to give him a break?
After Miles walked into a door frame hard enough to earn him a noticeable bruise on his shoulder and an aching cheekbone, his Mami called the school.
“Hello, my name is Rio Morales? …Mhm, yes, I’m calling about Miles. He isn’t feeling well, hasn’t been for a while. I’m calling to let you know that he’ll be out for this week. Thank you so much-”
It didn’t help.
The first day he was home, his Mami stayed with him, worriedly trying to help soothe him to sleep. He drank warm tea, did yoga with her, went on a jog around their neighborhood block, ate a snack, watched HGTV with her, ate another snack, and did more yoga. Though he was exhausted in a bone-deep, weary sort of way, none of that made him drowsy. Eventually, his Mami coaxed him into resting his head in her lap while she pressed careful fingers into his neck and carded her hands through his hair. His breathing grew lax, his eyelids slid shut, and yet he still didn’t (couldn’t) fall asleep.
Eventually, he must have zoned out enough for his Mami to believe he was asleep. He felt her oh-so-carefully slide out from under him, using one of the nice couch pillows to support his neck. She gently spread across one of their soft fleece blankets over him and pressed a lingering kiss to his temple.
He didn’t sleep a wink that night. His Mami had to go to work the next day but not before she made sure he ate real food for breakfast. He absentmindedly noticed her glancing at his wrists and he made a note to wear long sleeves next time. Ever since the whole… everything, Miles had been losing sleep and losing weight. He wasn’t making a conscious decision not to eat, however eating wasn’t really one of his top priorities. His wrists had gotten skinny enough that if he wrapped his other hand around it, he could touch his thumb to his pinky with a gap in between his fingers and his wrist.
It was probably good he hadn’t been going out as Spider-Man recently. He lost enough weight that he likely would have to get used to swinging again, ignoring the real possibility of his suit no longer fitting like it should. Just thinking about patrolling made his head spin.
Day two and three went by the same. Miles barely left his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling ‘til his eyes burned from lack of blinking.
He dragged himself out of bed periodically to drink water and shove some food down his throat. Dried cereal, cold empanadas, whatever he found in the fridge that was easy to eat before he burrowed back under his covers.
Day four, he didn’t quite know what happened. He must have dissociated for most of the day since he blinked and suddenly the sun was setting.
Day five, his Dad has taken off work for the day. They had sat on the couch together, watching highlight reels for the Brooklyn Dodgers until lunch time, where his Dad had ordered the smoothies. Neither Miles nor his Dad were allowed to use the blender after the Great Salsa Disaster of ‘19. The less said about the incident the better.
Somewhere in the hours-long baseball highlights watch, Miles felt something wet slip down his cheek. He brought up a hand to touch it, surprised to find himself crying.
“Oh, Miles. What’s wrong?” His Dad asked, concerned. Miles inhaled unsteadily, blinking hard. He didn’t know what to say, what to do .
“I-” His voice cracked. Strong arms drew him close, cradling him to his Dad’s broad chest. He curled into the warmth, burrowing his face into his Dad’s stomach.
“I can’t sleep,” he sobbed, too exhausted to try and regulate his emotions.
“Oh, kiddo. It’s going to be okay,” his Dad soothed, sweeping a hand across the back of his neck, pressing him impossibly closer. “You’re going to be okay.”
Held tight in his Dad's arms, Miles believed him.