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Rule #1: No climbing on the ceiling after patrol.
“Miles! Get your dirty feet off of the ceiling!”
Miles flinched where he was crouched on the upper surface, looking down to where Peter stood in his pajamas, a frown on his face. His hair was disheveled, and he looked like he just stepped out of the shower.
“Uhh…hey, Pete.”
Peter raised one of his eyebrows. “Get off the ceiling, buddy. Last warning.”
Miles took off his mask with a grin. “Oh, come on. I’m not that dirty.”
He was lying. He knew that he was covered in sewage, fresh lawn clippings from when he was accidentally slammed into a freshly cut lawn, and a little bit of wood chips from being thrown into a bunch of trees. He knew it was bad, but for his first time fighting solo, he was proud that he even survived. A little dirt was nothing.
Peter didn’t seem impressed. “Have you ever tried mopping the ceiling? It’s a lot harder than the floor, let me tell you. And the last thing I want is to be relaxing on the couch, watching the latest Star Trek episode, and get a clump of grass fall on me from above.”
Miles snickered, but obeyed, lowering himself down from the ceiling. “Your spider-senses wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Maybe not. It would still suck.” Peter scrunched up his nose. “You reek, Miles. But after you have a shower you’re cleaning the ceiling.”
“Come on! Really?”
Miles could tell that Peter wasn’t budging. Peter gave him a wide grin, one that seemed full of mischief. “Do you want to clean it tomorrow, when it’s all dried? And if you do wait, I might want some ceiling time after the Goblin no doubt throws me into a dumpster.”
“Alright, fine, you win.” Miles said, laughing, and Peter broke out into laughter, too.
Rule #2: Fix your Spider-Man suit before watching Star Wars
Miles woke up to a soft murmuring. He shifted, cracking open his eyes, and saw the fourth Star Wars movie playing on the television. Right. He and Peter were having a Friday night movie marathon. He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch.
Looking around the living room, Miles saw Peter slowly make his way into the apartment through the window, fully dressed in his Spider-Man suit.
“Miles, dude, sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.” Peter said, finally making his way in, and closing the widow and curtain behind him. “You were out of it.”
“What happened? Doc Ock?”
Peter shook his head. “Nope, Chameleon robbing the jewelry store again.”
“Again? That’s the third time this month!”
“He’s either trying to impress a lady friend, or can’t seem to let those necklaces go.” Peter wandered over to the television, taking his mask off. “Drat. I missed my favorite part.”
Miles reached over to the remote. “I can rewind it. Where do you want it, when Luke meets Obi-Wan?”
“Sure. I’ll go have a quick shower.”
Miles nodded, watching the television, but couldn’t help but notice something bright blue in the corner of his eye. He turned, and burst out laughing.
“What?” Peter asked, turning to him. “Miles, what is it?”
Miles was howling, clutching his stomach, barely able to breath. Peaking through the ripped backside of Peter’s suit was bright blue underwear, covered in Captain America shields. So much of it was visible, and clearly, Peter had just shown it off to all of New York City.
“You…you…” Miles couldn’t talk, wheezing through the hysterical laughs that escaped him. “Your underwear!”
“Wha….” Peter twisted his head as far as he could, struggling to look at his backside, and Miles could tell the instant Peter saw it. His brown eyes went comically wide, and Peter went pale.
“No. This is not happening. This…no! Did I just go patrolling like this?!”
Miles nodded, rolling on the ground, laughing harder than he ever had. Peter continued to panic, gripping his hair, and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around his waist.
“Too late, dude! New York saw it all!” Miles exclaimed.
“I was supposed to fix my suit, but then Star Wars distracted me!” Peter cried out, nearly whining. “How could I be so stupid? I won’t be able to show my face again!”
The next day, the Internet went crazy, dozens of photos of Spider-Man with Captain America underwear spreading like wildfire on all socials. Spidey swinging through the streets, underwear exposed. Taking down criminals gracefully while displaying his boxers for all to see. The sale of Captain America underwear grew by over 400 percent, and news outlets were picking the story up every moment they could. Villains talked about it during battles, and even fellow heroes poked fun at Peter for it.
Peter still couldn’t laugh about it for months after, embarrassed beyond belief, but Miles did enough laughing for him.
Rule #3: Always be ready to bathe a dog. Always.
“Peter, I found another one!”
Miles stumbled into the apartment, holding a dirty American bulldog in his hands. The dog was medium sized, sitting awkwardly in Miles’ grip, covered in mud and cuts, yet still so handsome. Peter didn’t waste a moment coming to the door, taking one look at the situation and nodding understandingly.
“I’ll get the bath ready.”
Miles carried the dog to the bathroom, following Peter, and set the dog in the bath. Peter was already running the water, making sure it wasn’t too warm, and grabbed the dog shampoo bottle that lived on the floor.
“Hey, buddy. We’re gonna get you all cleaned up.” Peter said, smiling, and Miles knew that he wasn’t talking to him. “You hungry?”
The dog didn’t seem to be phased by his new situation, and licked Peter’s face lovingly. Peter chuckled, petting him.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Miles, could you grab the dog food?”
“On it.”
Miles made quick work of grabbing a plate from the kitchen and pouring some dry dog food into it, returning to Peter’s side within a minute. Peter had already begun to put shampoo on the dog's head, whispering soft words to comfort it.
“Where’d you find him?” Peter asked, and Miles frowned as the dog ate the food quickly.
“By the dumpster behind the chinese food place. Digging through trash.”
Peter sighed sadly, petting the wet dog once more, ruffling his ears and making the dog beam. “Poor guy. We’ll get you all cleaned up and into a good home soon, okay?”
“Could we keep him, Pete?” Miles asked, nearly begging. “We save so many dogs off of the streets, but we’ve never had our own.”
“I don’t know if our lifestyle works for a dog.”
“Please? I’ll feed him, take him for walks, he’ll be so loved.”
Peter gave Miles a small smile. “Look…I don’t know…”
Miles pet the dog’s head, scratching his soap-covered ears. “We’ll manage? Please?”
Peter shook his head. “I just, I don’t think I’m ready for one yet, you know?”
Miles did know. Peter was still adjusting to being a parent, having a full time job, and balancing Spider-Man on top of it all. Miles was a bit disappointed that he couldn’t have a dog yet, but he understood exactly where Peter was coming from.
“I get it. We can wait.”
“Thanks, Miles.” Peter said with a smile. “In the meantime, we’ll make sure this guy gets adopted, and keep bringing them in from the streets. Sounds like a plan?”
Miles nodded, turning his eyes back to the bulldog, who was already looking much happier. “I’m holding you to it.”
Rule #4: Be honest, especially on Bad Days.
Peter broke an egg into a frying pan, glancing at the time worriedly. Miles was usually awake at this time. He would miss the bus at this rate, which would mean he would swing to school. If he saw any criminal activity along the way, he would stop and help, making him even more late. Peter knew the drill. He had been in high school when he was Spider-Man, too. He didn’t want Miles to get as many late slips as Peter had.
Peter was just about to call for Miles, hopefully waking him up, when the calendar on the far wall caught his eye. Oh. Oh no. Today was the anniversary of Officer Davis’ death. Miles’ father. No wonder Miles was having a rough time getting up. Peter allowed himself a moment to mourn the loss of a good man, remembering Davis’ heart of gold, and his dedication to do good. He finished cooking his eggs, pushing down a bit of guilt that swelled within him, and turned off the stove.
He walked to Miles’ room, grabbing one of their comfiest blankets, and knocked on the door.
“Miles?”
“Come in.” The reply was weak, soft, and Peter entered slowly. Miles was sitting up on his bed, still in his pajamas, eyes rimmed with tears. He looked exhausted, and broken. He looked up at Peter, as if pleading, his body shaking with a suppressed sob. Peter sat beside him carefully, wrapping the blanket around Miles’ shoulders.
“I…It’s a really bad day.” Miles muttered, curling in on himself, and Peter nodded. He rubbed Miles’ back soothingly.
“You can stay home. It’s been a while since we’ve had a movie marathon. Or do you just want to be alone?”
Tears fell down Miles’ cheeks, and he turned into Peter’s shoulder. Peter hugged him, holding him tightly, rocking the kid back and forth.
“Can you just stay? Please?”
“Always.”
Peter had spent too many Bad Days alone, unable to tell anyone what he needed because no one was there. He was thankful, so thankful, that Miles felt safe enough here to tell him when he was struggling. No one was meant to suffer through Bad Days by themselves. So Peter held onto Miles, reassuring him that Peter would always be here for him, no matter what.