Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Spiders were no strangers to pain. It was just something that came with the job.

Almost every day entailed getting tossed around like a ragdoll, slammed into roads and buildings, pierced by claws and blades, smacked by flying objects, and everything and anything in-between.

Thankfully, the development of the Spider Society Headquarters had taken this multiversal truth into account during construction and included a medbay in its design. More often than not, healing factors handled the brunt of the work, so much so that the medbay didn’t see many visitors. 

Still, it didn’t hurt to have it in case of emergencies. Sometimes a spider was injured far beyond the usual capacities of their advanced healing and required some more extensive or traditional methods. Some had healing factors that worked at a much slower or less effective rate than normal. A small handful of spiders had no healing factor at all, even.

Miles Morales happened to fall into the category of having a healing factor, though it was slower and less effective if not supplemented with proper attention and care. He supposed it was a minor catch in exchange for having an additional power set compared to the average spider. 

His injuries healed faster than a regular human, but pretty slowly for a spider. And the recovery usually didn’t kick in until after he was patched up, which meant that Miles couldn’t leave his wounds unattended if he wanted to be in top shape for crime-fighting on any given day.

But when Miles gets hurt, he doesn’t go to the medbay. Because going to medbay would mean going to HQ, and going to HQ would mean dealing with Miguel O’Hara. 

And even three months after what he had personally dubbed as “The Spot Incident”, the man had been nothing but downright cruel to him. Miles was sure that if it weren’t for his friends making sure that Miguel stayed off him for the most part, he’d be getting it much worse, but it still wasn’t all that great.

It bothers him, the way Miguel speaks to him, as if he finds it physically painful to dislodge the words from his mouth. Unless he’s insulting him, then the words come out as smoothly as butter. Like secrets he’d been wanting to tell for years before finally being given the opportunity to let it all out.

His mistakes were highlighted far more often than anyone else’s. He was blamed for missions going wrong, even if it wasn’t his fault or out of his control. He received glares of rage, sighs of impatience, shouts of fury. He even got full legal named a handful of times, which was somehow worse than anything else the man could possibly throw at him.

Where everyone else was treated with tolerable indifference, Miles was regarded like something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of Miguel’s shoe.

He could only imagine how much worse the man would treat him if he was a regular patient at the medbay.

Injured again, Morales? No puedes hacer nada solo, eh? When will you start acting like you deserve to be here?

Miles just didn’t understand, if he was being honest. He hadn’t done anything unwarranted towards Miguel, aside from being an anomaly, he supposed. But that wasn’t really something he could control.

And truthfully, a part of him was still petrified of the guy. It’s not easy to forget the sharp talons tearing into his delicate skin, the rough hands slamming him down onto the hard steel roof of a train, the red eyes desperate to reach him, to hunt him down until he couldn’t run any longer.

When Miles looked at Miguel, that was all he could see. 

So, he avoided him at all costs, even if it meant putting in lopsided stitches in his bathroom at two in the morning, or freezing 6 ice packs at once to combat any full body pains or, on the occasion when he isn’t able to outsmart and hide away from his nurse of a mother (a feat in and of itself), being patched back up with lectures on saving the world more carefully next time.

Besides, he’d spent a year and four months on his own, as 1610 Brooklyn's one and only Spiderman. He’d already had plenty of experience patching up his own messes. 

So he didn’t need the medbay. And he didn’t need to risk anything with Miguel if he didn’t need to.

———————————

It was a Friday when everything had started to change.

When his parents left for their weekend anniversary trip that morning, he had been excited at the prospect of having the place to himself for a few days. As much as he loved his mom and dad, their helicopter parenting had increased tenfold after they found out he was Spider-Man, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. 

He’d never stayed home alone for more than a day before. Sure, he spent the weekdays at Visions, but he had Ganke to room with, plus the administration was there to keep all students in check. Also, on the rare occasion that his parents would leave for a multi-day trip, he usually stayed with Uncle Aaron before he…

This was the first time he’d be completely on his own.

After getting through a painfully boring day at school, he planned on taking it easy for the night, knowing he had a mission with his friends to look forward to tomorrow. In the meantime, he was hoping he’d be able to breeze through patrol and spend some extra time working on his sketches. Of course, things could never be that easy for Miles.

It was a silly thing too, a situation that could’ve been easily handled had he just been a bit more careful and a lot less overconfident.

While his patrol that night had been pretty uneventful for the most part, towards the end he could hear the sounds of a woman screaming loudly in the distance. Immediately, he began swinging in the direction of the noise.

He flew high above the cars lining the streets, New York lights surrounding him as he swung. It had been ingrained in him a long time ago; he didn’t need to look where to aim anymore. He knew the skyline would carry him no matter what.

Miles sped up, allowing the wind to blow past him in a rush. He noticed that as he followed the noise, he was being led further away from the heart of the city. There were less cars and people wandering about. A lot less lights were on as well.

The sound eventually took him to a secluded alley near a small park. 

He opted to stay invisible while he checked out the situation to make sure he didn’t draw attention before getting the full picture. The alley was dimly lit, by just two measly lighting fixtures that were mounted on either side of the butcher’s shop side doors. Still, Miles could tell as he crept closer to the altercation, that it was between a woman and a very large man.

The man had the lady pressed up against the wall, a knife in his hands as he drunkenly stuttered, “You never should have left, bitch.”

The woman whispered in broken pleas, begging for her assaulter to let her go. She was dressed in wrinkled pajamas, as if she had just gotten out of bed mere minutes ago.

Domestic abuse? Miles guessed as he surveyed the man’s actions. He was covered almost completely by the black trench coat he wore in an attempt to conceal his identity. Miles studied him carefully to ensure there were no more weapons he had to take into account, but it appeared that the knife was all the man had on him. This wouldn’t be too hard.

Before the man could raise his knife and hurt the woman, Miles shot out a quick web, grabbing the weapon and pulling it back into his own hands before revealing himself to the pair. He threw the knife up against the brick alley wall, shooting out another web to hold it in place and keep it out of anyone’s reach.

“Spider-Man!” The two shouted, the man’s voice filled with anger while the woman sounded relieved. Miles’ main priority was ensuring her safety and making sure she had an opening to get away. He sent out a third stream of silky webs, this time, to pull the man off the woman and throw him against the wall, giving her plenty of room to make a run for it.

“Quick!” He shouted to her, “Get somewhere safe and call the police!”

She nodded breathlessly, giving one last look to her assailant before breaking into a run out of the alleyway. Miles watched her get away and into a nearby shop filled with customers. He let out an exhale of reassurance, now all that was left was to…

A sharp slash cut deeply across his left side, sending white hot pain through his body. He barely had time to process what had happened before a heavy weight tackled him from behind, causing him to fall harshly onto the grimy concrete floor.

Faintly, Miles thought to himself that he should’ve checked to make sure his webs were more secure. It turns out the man did have a second knife. Who knew?

Adrenaline flooded his system, giving him the strength to push his pain to the back of his mind momentarily. He once again shot a web against the knife, knocking it out of the man’s hands. Before the big guy had the chance to reach for it once more, Miles was already gearing up for a venom strike.

When he was focused, Miles didn’t have a problem finishing up the job. After the man was immobilized by his electricity, he simply webbed him up (securely this time) and left as he heard the incoming police sirens from down the street.

Though he felt himself weakening by the second, Miles willed himself to turn invisible once more as he carefully scaled the brick walls. His side was starting to hurt badly again now that the fight was over. When he neared the rooftop, black spots started to dance in his vision and he felt himself losing grip on the wall.

In a quick moment of panic, he shot a web upward and swung himself the final distance up to the roof before he could risk falling back down into the alleyway, back to where the man and the police officers stood. The rapid movement tore at his side, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from his mouth. He landed roughly on the building’s roof, curling into himself on his side and placing both hands onto his wound.

Somewhere during the ascent, his invisibility turned off and he had squeezed his eyes tightly shut without realizing. Slowly, he opened them once more, looking down to assess the damage. The dark color of his suit hid the blood well, but Miles could still tell that it was quite a lot. The cut must be pretty deep. He needed to get home right away.

Cuidate, papá, his mom had told him before they left. So much for that.

He knew he needed to get home as soon as possible, but lifting his heavy body seemed like an impossible task at the moment. He didn’t let himself roll his head back onto the concrete; he couldn’t risk falling asleep in such a vulnerable position.

Slowly, he propped himself onto his right arm, biting back a whine at the searing pain that erupted from his wound. He stayed still for a moment, waiting for it to dull slightly before moving again, but the hurt persisted with no signs of lowering in intensity. Miles had no choice but to push through it and hope he’d be able to stay awake until he got home.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself forward and onto his feet. Almost immediately, he doubled over, falling onto all fours and clutching onto his side desperately. His vision nearly whited out completely. He gasped in pain and clenched his teeth. Shit. Shit. Shit. This was not good.

Miles forced his eyes open. The world was a blurry array of colors and bright lights. He blinked rapidly to shake away the fuzziness. When his sight cleared up, he took notice of the rooftop’s ledge just a few feet away, right where he had just come from.

He crawled to the ledge at a snail’s pace, planning to use it as leverage to stand himself up. His movements were sluggish and clumsy, knees dragging roughly against the concrete. He swung his arm that wasn’t cradling his side on top of the ledge and pushed, leaning all his weight onto the concrete fixture. His legs shook madly as he stood, but the support helped keep him upright well enough. 

Okay, Miles, think. Where are we right now? If he was currently standing on the building that held Anthony’s Butchery, that meant that he was about…18 blocks from home. That wasn’t too bad. He could clear that distance in no time.

Right?

Miles wasn’t sure if swinging with an injury this debilitating was the best idea he’s ever had, but it sure beat walking all the way back. He stumbled to the edge of the rooftop, using his hand to pull him along. Thankfully, his vision was already starting to clear up a tad. 

Unthankfully, swinging was just as painful as Miles figured it would be.

The trip passed by in a pain-filled haze, and by the time he landed outside his bedroom window, pushed it open, and fell inside, he was very ready to pass out right where he had thrown himself unceremoniously onto the floor.

The wound. He needed to check the wound.

Miles pulled himself over and onto his bed, disregarding the blood that smeared across his comforter and sheets. Taking off the suit was a struggle, especially with trying not to stretch his side as much as possible. Biting his lip, he peeled his arms out of the sleeves, trying not to cry out with every little movement. The upper-half of the spandex material gathered at his hips, leaving his torso exposed for inspection. 

Miles nearly gagged at what he saw.

He knew the knife had cut deep, but this was much worse than he anticipated. It was hard to tell exactly where the cut started and ended; there was so much blood. A lot. Way too much. And he could easily see the divide in the chunk of flesh.

He felt himself get lightheaded the longer he stared at it. Shakily, he got to his feet and stumbled to his bathroom, gripping onto the wall to support himself. He located the first-aid kit that his mamí had placed in every bathroom’ bottom drawer and pulled it out.

First, he grabbed a clean bathroom towel and pressed it against his side, stifling a groan into the crook of his arm. He’d have to throw this towel away later, seeing how the bright red bloomed through the fluffy, white material; hopefully no one would notice if it magically went missing. The pressure was agonizing, even worse when Miles pulled the towel off the wound to check it.

His mess of flesh was frankly disgusting, and this time, he couldn’t resist a gag at the sight. Instead, he tried focusing on the kit in front of him, but his vision was going dark pretty quickly. He was forgetting what to do.

He grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and messily poured a splash of the liquid over the cut. Instantly, his flesh began to sting unbearably, and he couldn’t help but yelp loudly at the pain. He tried clenching his teeth together to ease it but he still felt the burn rippling through his side in all its intensity.

His shaking arm grabbed the towel again, wiping off all the excess blood and alcohol spread over his skin. He was having a hard time seeing straight. The bathroom was tilting, even though he was sitting on the floor with his back braced against the wall.

Blindly, he reached for the first plaster or bandage he could find. The one he grabbed was a bit smaller than he thought would suffice, but he didn’t have the energy to search for his good bandages. As quickly as he could manage, he unpeeled the bandage from its paper sheet and pasted it over his wound. Almost immediately, blood started seeping its way through the white cloth, but Miles didn’t care anymore.

He didn’t bother cleaning up his mess in the bathroom. His parents weren’t there to worry over him anyway, so it didn’t really matter to him. He crawled back to his bedroom on all fours, trying his best not to fall over or into the walls. As his knees dragged across the floor, his spider suit started coming further down. He practically rolled the suit off his legs, leaving him in only his boxers.

Finally back in his room, he pulled himself onto his bed once more. His side strained and he felt a horrible gush of liquid. Looking down, he saw that his plaster was almost completely bled through already. He knew he should be more concerned than he felt, but he just couldn’t lift the fog that was consuming him.

He used the last of his strength to put on the hoodie that sat next to him in bed, deliriously hoping that the extra fabric would help stifle the bleeding a bit more. Then, he pulled his sheets over himself and fell limp against the mattress, letting the darkness win.

———————————

“Miggy! Hey–hate to do this to ya, bud–but we need some serious back up over here!”

Peter B.’s voice rang from the monitor, sounding like its usual, good-natured self, but with small hints of anxiety hidden in-between. Miguel had been monitoring anomalies through his electronic screens when the call from the seasoned hero came in.

If Miguel recalled correctly (which he did, he has a fantastic memory), the man was supposed to be on Earth-6623 today, babysitting his little group of ragtag spider-teens as they took down a rogue, overpowered Electro who had escaped his home dimension.

This better be worth my time, Miguel thought to himself. He didn’t like distractions, especially unnecessary ones. He was a busy man after all, running an entire society of spider-people. 

He started swiping away at his screens 

“What did Morales do this time?” He drawled, knowing that the disappointed look Peter’s face would adopt couldn’t bother him through their call.

Instead of defending the teen, however, the man faltered, not quite sure knowing what to say. “Um, about that…”

A thousand thoughts ran through Miguel’s head at once, all of different scenarios filled with Morales somehow screwing everything up as usual. Had he been injured in a hare-brained attempt at sacrificing himself for the team? Foolishly gone against the plan and decided to “do his own thing”? Ay por dios he was going to kill that kid if –

“He never showed up.”

Oh. Miguel blinked slowly, most definitely not expecting that answer. But his confusion quickly morphed into anger. He felt his hands tense up, talons squeezing into his palms to release the internal pressure he now faced.

Missing a mission wasn’t an unheard of event in the society. It was actually a pretty common occurrence. Sometimes spiders were too wrapped up in their own dimension’s shenanigans to show up. Miguel knew this. But hearing Miles’ name attached to the issue made his blood start to boil automatically. 

“Now listen, Miguel, I know what you’re thinking, but the kid probably has a good reason for–”

“I’ll call him now. Keep Electro busy in the meantime.”

“Wait–”

Miguel didn’t.

He hung up the call, not wasting a second before punching in Miles’ contact on his watch. Good reason? We’ll see about that…

His watch began its familiar ring as Miguel waited not so patiently for the kid to pick up. One ring…two rings…three rings.

After a few more rings, the watch stopped, signaling that he was unavailable.

Miguel pinched his nose in between his fingers and started pacing. It seemed that if he wanted the job done, it’d be easiest to just head over and do it himself. It was a shame the kid was too busy doing god knows what to help out. He could admit that Miles’ ability to absorb electricity would prove extremely useful for this particular mission, despite his odd feelings about him.

Did Miguel hate the kid? He wasn’t sure, if he was being honest. All he knew was that the young spider brought out some intense emotions within him, and whether they were good or bad, he’d rather not feel them anyway. Except anger, of course. That was the easiest thing to feel. Ten times easier than guilt.

Because part of him knew he was being cruel and unfair. All in all, Morales was a good kid with a good heart. But everytime he pulled his little stunts, his reckless plans, Miguel felt something uncomfortable in his chest. So uncomfortable, in fact, the back of his mind had no choice but to give the feeling a name. Worry.

Miguel shook his head. Right now was not the time to deal with his unimportant internal dilemmas. He had an anomaly to capture. Sighing heavily, he punched 6623 into his watch and opened up a portal, letting it take him away…

———————————

Miguel was able to finish off Electro pretty quickly. It was easy when the villain hadn’t been expecting him to launch himself out of an interdimensional portal and sink his teeth into the guy’s exposed flesh. It was enough venom to keep him down for a minimum of a few hours, which was more than enough time for Miguel to call Ben and get him to pick up this mess.

He had Lyla scan the area for anything else that may be out of order, anything that he missed, but her scan came back completely clean. Just as he was about to open a portal and head back to his office, he was approached by the mission group. Led by none other than Stacy.

The girl’s face was serious, mask lenses scrunched in a thin line as she marched up to Miguel. Peter, Hobie, and Pavitir followed, all looking a bit worse for wear with their suits slightly scorched in some areas, but nothing major. If Miguel was being honest, he really didn’t want to talk to them right now, but there was no use in trying to get away, not when Gwen planted herself right in front of him, arms crossed and all.  

“What happened with Miles?” She demanded, straight to the point.

“How would I know? He didn’t pick up my call.” 

Pavitir pitched in, “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? For him to not respond twice in a row? He must really be caught up in something.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, then began punching a very familiar dimension code into his watch.

“What’re you doing there, Miguel?” Peter noticed immediately. 

“I’m going to look for Morales.”

“What–”

“I’ll have to see his excuse for missing a mission myself.”

A look of indignation was clear on Gwen’s face, even through the mask. “That’s not fair! What if he’s busy with something super important?”

“This mission wasn’t last-minute. You all knew about it for a few days already. There isn’t an excuse, unless he’s bleeding out–”

“So? Just because-”

“Gwen.” Peter lifted his hands calmingly, always acting as the mediator. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed slightly, though she was still glaring daggers at Miguel.

“Mig, c’mon, why don’t you just leave the kid be? The mission is already over and completed, there’s no use getting upset now.”

Miguel didn’t say anything to him, just continued to fiddle with his watch.

“I’m going with you.” Gwen declared loudly, leaving no room in her tone for disagreement. Finally, he looked up, meeting the teen’s challenging glare. The others murmured in agreement, backing their friend up. It was clear that this wasn’t a winning battle for him, and it most certainly wasn’t a hill he was willing to die on. 

“Fine, be my guest. It makes no difference to me either way.”

Miguel opened the portal to Earth-1610 and wasted no time stepping through. He didn’t bother looking back to make sure that the rest followed. Like he said, it didn't make a difference to him. 

The portal opened up in a secluded alley behind Miles’ apartment building, away from the prying eyes of any stray New Yorkers. Knowing it was the weekend in this world, Miguel figured the kid wouldn’t be at school, instead, in the comfort of his own home. 

The afternoon sun beamed down on him harshly, a sign of the incoming summer this dimension faced. Footsteps sounded behind him, the other spiders making their way through the hexagonal gateway and into the alley.

Gwen wasted no time shooting a web up the aged brick of the complex, swinging herself up to the window she knew to be a direct access into Miles’ room. The others quickly followed, having visited their friend enough times to know exactly where to go by heart. Secretly, Miguel was a bit glad they had come along, knowing he would’ve had to check multiple windows before remembering the right one, having only been to the apartment once.

He webbed after the group, ascending up to Miles’ bedroom. They all lingered outside his window, pulling off their masks, sticking to the walls, and squinting into the glass pane. To Miguel’s unsurprise and anger, they could clearly see the kid’s head poking out of his bedsheets, comfortably fast asleep without a care in the world.

He growled out loud, ignoring the fear that crossed the faces of the teens around him. Was sleeping in really more important to the kid than his responsibilities? He would show him…

His taloned hands reached out to push the window open, only to be held back by Peter’s firm grip.

“Peter.”

“Miguel, look, I know you’re upset at the kid, but-”

“Why are you defending him?” Miguel seethed furiously. “While all of you were struggling and in need of help, your friend was sleeping . He obviously doesn’t value your time or efforts. Shock, I’ve never seen such a lazy-”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare say those things about Miles!” Gwen shouted angrily.

Pavitir nodded in agreement, the usually cheerful teen’s expression taking on a scowl. Hobie’s eyes stayed fixated on Miles through the window, squinting as if trying to make out something.

“He needs a dose of reality, and clearly, you all aren’t going to be the ones to give it to him.”

“Oh yeah? Well, why don’t you go fu-”

“Guys.” Hobie suddenly interrupted the argument, his tone serious with no sign of his usual sarcasticness or attitude. “He’s bleeding.”

Everyone’s heads immediately snapped back towards the window, Gwen in particular most likely giving herself whiplash. Sure enough, upon closer inspection, Miguel could make out a dark blooming patch on Miles’ sheets, right in the same spot as his midsection area. Instantaneously, he felt his own blood run cold.

“Miles!” Gwen exclaimed frantically. Her blue eyes were shot wide with concern, her fingers wildly gripping at the window frame and pushing it open. She practically threw herself inside, rushing to Miles’ bedside. Everyone was quick to follow behind, faces all tight with worry. Miguel was last to enter, electing to stand back a little as the rest crowded around the kid. Still, the man could feel his heart racing, that little uncomfortable feeling he hated so much creeping up his throat.

“Miles…” Gwen breathed, her voice cracking. She knelt on the floor in front of him, pulling the red-stained sheets off his sweat-drenched body. 

Miles’ face was pale. Paler than Miguel had ever seen on the kid. It contrasted the rosy pink of his cheeks, searing hot with fever. His breath came out in small, pained puffs of air, and even in his sleep he looked extremely uncomfortable, with the way his eyebrows were furrowed. The kid was wearing an oversized gray hoodie, with blood soaking all through the front and smearing the sheets beneath him.

Peter went to kneel beside Gwen, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face as he lifted the clothing to expose Miles’ stomach. Covering his left side was a puny little bandage, bled through completely with a horrifying amount of streaks leaking out from the edges. Peter's lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes looking glossy with unshed tears as he inspected Miles’ botched first aid job.

Pavitir’s hands were in his hair, pulling stressfully at the sight of all the blood. Gwen’s quivering hand was pressed against her mouth in disbelief, trying not to gag. Even Hobie's usually cool facade was broken through, his eyes looking emotional with worry.

“Miles, buddy, wake up,” Peter grasped the kid’s shoulder, shaking him frantically. Miles' expression tensed uncomfortably underneath the movement, but he didn’t wake up. Miguel could feel his own panic rising. He could only wonder how long the kid had been like this. Alone. He clearly knew he was injured, given the rather poor attempt at patching up his wound. Why hadn’t he just gone to the medbay if it was this bad?

“Fuck, he’s not waking up,” Gwen whined anxiously. “Miles! Miles!” She tapped his cheeks, wincing at the heat that radiated off his skin. “Oh my God, he’s burning up a lot.”

She looked desperately to Peter, but the man looked just as lost as she did. He kept shaking Miles’ shoulder, repeating his name louder and louder, more frantically each time. Finally, the teen let out a noise of discomfort, long and drawn out. He scrunched his eyes tighter shut, before hesitantly cracking them open to survey his surroundings. His big, brown eyes were dull and foggy, filled with a haze of pain. They darted between the concerned faces of his friends, looking confused and disoriented. 

“Good, Miles! You’re awake!” Pav exclaimed, breathing out in relief.

Miles, however, didn’t share his friend’s attitude. His breathing was picking up, sounding raspy. To Miguel, he looked overwhelmed, to be waking up to the group hovering and their hands all over his body. Then, he looked down at his exposed stomach, just below his rolled up hoodie. His eyes widened in panic, a distressed, garbled sound rolling out of his throat. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Miles. It’s okay. It’s okay, we’re here to help.” Peter put on his best voice of reassurance and rubbed the kid’s back. “Don’t look at it, just look at us.”

But Miles didn’t seem to process his words. His eyes darted back to his mentor’s face, but he looked more scared than ever. He was struggling to draw in a breath and he grabbed at his chest desperately. The more the hands around him hovered, the smaller he tried to make himself.

“Guys,” Hobie finally cut in, placing a hand on both Gwen and Peter’s shoulders, pulling them back slightly. “All this panic ain’t helpin’. You’re freakin’ ‘im out, you see?”

“Right,” Gwen breathed out, “Right, sorry, I just, I-”

“Take a breather, love. S’alright.”

Seeing Hobie take charge reminded Miguel of his own responsibilities as the other adult in the room. They needed to get the kid back to HQ as soon as possible so that he could get treated quickly. First, he wanted to monitor the kid’s fever to know exactly how high it was.

“Lyla”, Miguel called from his position in the back, “Scan his temperature, now.”

Out of thin air, Lyla appeared, with no trace of any teasing or goofing off in her expression. She immediately followed orders, performing a scan on Miles as quickly as she could. Her digital screening ran over Miles’ body, collecting his data.

“101.2.”

“Oh that’s not good,” Pav said nervously. The teen rushed out of the room, the sound of a faucet turning on filled the hallway moments later. He came back with a damp rag and sped over to Miles’s side.

“Here,” he offered Gwen, who took the rag immediately. Gently, she began wiping at Miles’s face, her other hand rubbing back his sweaty curls. He gasped at the cold chill that the cloth left on the side of his cheek and retracted further into himself. 

Miguel stepped forward. “We need to get him to the medbay. They’ll take care of him there.”

The others nodded affirmatively, except for Miles, who seemed to finally notice Miguel’s presence for the first time since he woke up. Weakly, he lifted a shaking hand and wrapped it around Gwen’s wrist. “N-no, you can’t,” he whispered.

They could all see Gwen’s heart breaking in her eyes. She rubbed his hand tenderly, trying to calm him down. “Miles, it’s okay. We’re getting you help. You’re gonna be fine,” her voice cracked. “Peter, can you lift him?”

“No!” Miles yelped out, his feverish eyes pleading desperately with her. She was at a loss, torn between wanting to get him the help that he needed and not wanting to betray him again. The conflict was clear in her expression.

“Miles, there’s nothing to worry about, it’s going to be just fine,” Pav chimed in.

Miles shook his head, squeezing on Gwen’s wrist tighter. “Please, I don’t-I don’t want-I can’t go back.” His voice cracked on every word, almost hysterical. He buried his face into his pillow, like he was trying to hide away from them. He was starting to tremble harder, no matter how gentle Peter’s back rubs were, or how Gwen’s fingers rubbed over the delicate skin of his hand.

“Right then, I guess that’s settled it,” Hobie said in a deciding tone. The older teen crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Miguel and almost daring him to argue against it.

“Hobie,” Miguel grit out, pinching his nose in between his fingers. “Right now is not the time for your little games. Miles needs serious medical attention.”

“And you’re gonna force ‘im to go? He clearly doesn’t want to.”

“The kid doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s delirious.”

“So if he doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s alright then? For you to ignore what he wants?”

God, this kid was infuriating. “"This isn't about what he wants right now," Miguel retorted, his voice firm. "He's injured, he's feverish, and he needs medical attention. What part of that do you not understand ?"

“What part of ‘im being scared do you not understand? I’m just sayin’, there’s a reason why he don’t wanna be there, especially when he’s not in a state to defend ‘imself.”

Before he could even begin to process the implications behind Hobie’s argument, Peter spoke up. “Miguel, I think he’s right.”

And Miguel had to try so hard to keep his composure. “Is that so? I’m surprised at you, Peter. I thought you had better judgment than this. Are we really just going to let him go without proper care?”

“We can take care of ‘im wherever he feels most comfortable. And we'll do a bloody good job, too.”

“Miguel, please. If he gets worse, we’ll take him in, okay? I just, I don’t wanna break his trust again, not if I can help it.”

The tension in the room was thick; only the sounds of Miles’ labored breathing filled the silence that plagued the air. Miguel could feel his blood boiling, but he could tell he was outnumbered. The faces of the others were set, Hobie’s especially challenging him to keep insisting. He let out a sigh, raising his hands in defeat. 

“Suit yourselves.” If they had personal insecurities regarding their relationship with Miles, that was their problem. He ignored the twinge in his heart at that thought. Though he was sure they would’ve listened to Miles, regardless of what Miguel thought, his permission had them jumping fast into action. 

“Right, we’re gonna need a first aid kit then,” Hobie declared as he and Gwen went to sit on the bed with Miles. He took a spot by Miles’ feet while Gwen sat by his head, allowing him to rest it in her criss-crossed lap. “Pav, can you check around and see what there is?”

“He had one open on the bathroom floor already. I’ll bring that one over.”

Once again, the teen dashed out of the room to collect the supplies. Peter remained in his crouched position, eyeing Miles’ bandaged wound hesitantly. “Alright, buddy, listen,” he started gently, “I’m gonna need to take that bandage off your side, and it’s gonna hurt. A lot. But I need to take a better look at what’s going on under there, okay?”

Miles looked up at Peter with big watery eyes, but nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

The whole room watched with bated breath as the older man reached for the bandage. Peter’s face already had regret written all over it, but he knew that this was necessary. He pulled the plaster off quickly, but not harsh, knowing that going slowly would only make it hurt more. Still, Miles let out a loud whine of pain, curling himself further into Gwen’s lap. She continued stroking his hair comfortingly, wincing at the bloodied gauze that Peter held up.

The wound was bad, much worse than Miguel had been expecting. He watched as the others came to a similar realization, three pairs of eyes widening at the cut on Miles’ side. It was clearly infected, only barely starting to scab, thanks to the work of Miles' meager healing factor. The skin around it was pure red, and they could easily see the large divide in his flesh where the cut ran deep. The cut was a clean line; Miguel figured the injury must’ve been from a sharp blade or knife.

“Shit,” Hobie whispered.

Pavitir then came barreling into the room, multiple strings of webs woven together helping him carry all the supplies he had gathered. A stuffed first aid kit, a small bowl of water, fresh bathroom towels, a water bottle, and a bunch of brightly colored medicine bottles.

“Okay, so I found-wow that looks really bad,” he trailed off, stuttering at the gaping wound.

“Pav, focus ,” Gwen reminded him.

“Right, sorry!” With a quick swipe, he cleared Miles' desk of its clutter, giving him room to sit down the things he brought. “Here’s the first aid kit, Peter. And the water and towels.”

“Thanks, kid.” Peter took the first aid kit, immediately opening it and rummaging through the box.

“I also brought some medicine, I’m not sure which ones are the right ones to use but I figured I’d just bring them all. Oh, and some water so that he can swallow it down.”

“That’s perfect, thanks Pav.”

Pavitir nodded, taking a seat next to Gwen, and starting to sort through the medicine he brought. Meanwhile, as Peter sifted through the first aid kit to locate the needle and thread for the stitches, Hobie worked on dipping the towels into water from the bowl.

Miles hissed through clenched teeth as soon as the lukewarm water came into contact with his skin. Hobie tried to be as gentle as possible while he cleaned up the remaining blood, but it was impossible to make it painless for Miles. Worse was the antiseptic. His whines were growing louder, more delirious as the older teen cleaned his wound thoroughly, apologizing every couple of seconds for causing him pain. Somewhere in the process, he began to cry, hot tears running down his cheeks, faster than Gwen could wipe them all away. “I-It hurts!”

“Miles, I know,” Gwen soothed, cupping his cheeks and using her thumbs to rub his tear tracks away, “I know, but it’s going to feel better soon. Promise.”

“I wanna go back t’ sleep…”

When Hobie finished cleaning the wound, it was time for the hardest part. Peter sat before Miles with a threaded needle pinched between his thumb and index finger. His hand was shaking slightly, obviously dreading having to be the one to stick the needle into the flesh of a kid who he saw as a son. “We’re almost done patching you up, bud. This next part is gonna hurt a lot, but I promise once we’re done, you can go back to sleep, ‘k?”

Miles flinched away from the sharp point that hovered just inches over his exposed skin. “What…what ‘r you doing?”

“I need to give you stitches. To close up your wound. I’ll try to go as fast as I can.”

“Miles.” The teen’s head snapped up to meet Gwen’s emotional eyes. She looked scared, but she was swallowing her fear down, for Miles’ sake. “Hold on to me as tight as you need. When it hurts really bad, just squeeze r-real tight, okay? You won’t hurt me, it’ll be okay.”

Miles nodded slowly, then brought his arms up to wrap around her waist in a weak hug. Gwen’s face melted as she welcomed the hug, extending one arm to rub his back while the other cradled his head closer. She frowned at the trembles that ran through his body, looking up to Peter so that he’d get started. Hobie scooted closer to Miles’ legs and rested his own over the top of them, also giving the older man a nod.

Peter sucked in a deep breath as he carefully pressed the needle into the skin, guiding it through with precision. Miles tensed and let out a choked sound, his grip on Gwen tightening significantly. He tried squirming away and kicking his legs, but both Gwen and Hobie leaned their weight on him slightly to keep him steady for Peter.

Miguel watched the scene from the kid’s desk chair, finding it harder to keep his pretense of emotional indifference. He kept feeling a tugging in his chest, begging him to spring himself out of the chair and join the others by Miles’ side. The feeling worsened as Miles' pained cries filled the room, the skin of his knuckles becoming whiter with tension.

Peter carefully pulled the thread through the skin, his hands steadying themselves despite the obvious distress in his eyes. Each stitch brought forth a new wave of pain for the kid, and Gwen was clearly struggling with every pained noise that escaped Miles' lips. More beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and his grip on her waist was almost painful in its intensity.

“Gwendy, keep talking to ‘im,” Hobie encouraged, his own voice thick with empathy. He reached down and grabbed Miles’ ankle, rubbing it tenderly to quiet the twitches that wracked his limbs. Miles let out another strangled noise, a muffled mix of pain and distress, his grip on Gwen threatening to leave imprints on her skin. Hobie had to place more weight on his legs to keep him still.

“Remember to keep breathing, Miles, okay?” Miles' breaths were ragged, coming in short bursts as he fought to manage the pain. He nodded weakly to Gwen, his face contorted in discomfort. “You’re doing a great job so far, just keep it up.”

Peter worked as swiftly and delicately as he could, his brows furrowed in concentration as he navigated the needle through the layers of skin. However, there was only so fast he could go without sacrificing a neat, tight stitching job. Especially with a wound as deep as Miles’, he was sure that if the cut was even a centimeter deeper, he would’ve needed serious surgery. Each puncture was met with more whimpers from Miles, his eyes squeezed shut as he clung to Gwen as if she were his lifeline. The anxiety in the room was strong as Peter got close to finishing the stitches.

“M’ parents ‘r gonna be so mad…” Miles blurted suddenly.

“Hm?” Hobie questioned, trying to keep him distracted from the lingering pain. Peter was finally tying up the last stitch, relieved that it was finally over. Miles’ eyes were starting to droop and the tension was leaving his body, leaving him drooped against Gwen’s stomach.

“They wen’ on a trip n’ they’re gonna come back n’ they’re gonna b’ so mad…”

“They’re not gonna be mad at you, Miles. It’s not your fault that you got hurt,” Peter reassured him, snipping off the excess thread.

“But wha’ ‘appen to the dude who ‘tabbed me?”

Immediately, the energy of the room went cold.

So did Miguel’s insides.

“Somone fuckin’ stabbed ya’?” Hobie asked, his voice tight with restrained anger.

Miles nodded sleepily in confirmation, letting Gwen hold him impossibly closer. Peter looked like he wanted to fling himself out of the window and hunt down the sorry man who dared to hurt his kid. Pav had a sympathetic frown on his face while looking like he wanted to throw something at the same time.

And Miguel felt absolute rage. Rage at everything, rage at the man who did this, but, as per usual, his rage at Miles was the most easily identifiable. Because how on Earth-1610 did the kid get shocking stabbed, yet he thought the best course of action was to just go home and go to sleep. It was unbelievable, this kid. He was extraordinarily lucky that they all decided to visit, otherwise who knew how long he would’ve laid here, slowly bleeding out on his bed.

It made him wonder if this was a common occurrence. It must be; the kid had next to zero medbay visit files, and considering the amount of missions he went on, combined with his recklessness and lackluster healing abilities, there was no possible way he never got injured. Just how many times was the kid left patching his own self up, without any professional help? It seemed like it finally caught up to him, this time. 

Miguel knew that he should maybe wait till the kid was better to lecture him, at the very least. He’d just gotten his whole side stitched up, after all. But what Miguel knew and what he did were two very different things. And when the rage inside him boiled over, it was just too hard to contain it.

He stood from where he’d been sitting in the desk chair the entire time, folding his arms over his chest as he did so. “MILES!”

He watched as everyone in the room jumped at his booming voice, Miles in particular suddenly losing the tired, drowsy look he had in his eyes. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about his presence until now, but once everyone got over their surprise, they glared straight at him.

Miguel didn’t care.

"What the shock were you thinking? You got stabbed, Miles! And you just decided to come home and... what, sleep it off?”

Peter tried cutting him off. “Miguel-”

“I gave you a watch for a reason, kid, to have access to all the resources that prevent things like this from happening! No puedo más con tigo-”

“Oi!” Hobie jumped up from his spot on the bed, marching over to Miguel, not afraid to plant himself right in front of the furious man. He jutted his jaw defiantly and lifted a firm finger to poke at Miguel’s chest. “You need to back off, man, you ‘ear me?”

Miguel felt his anger rise as glared down at Hobie, his dark eyes practically aflame. "Oh, I’ve just about had it with you , too. You need to learn some respect, kid. This isn't some game ."

"Hey, back off him," Pavitir interjected, stepping forward to try and get himself between the two.

"Nah, Pav, let ‘im continue," Hobie snapped back without missing a beat, his eyes locked onto Miguel's with unwavering opposition. 

"He got himself stabbed , and instead of seeking proper medical attention, he just decided to nap it off. It’s irresponsible and you guys are just okay with it ?" 

"Miguel, calm down," Peter also stood with Pavitir, trying to diffuse the fight. "Yelling at him isn't going to help."

"I’m not yelling! I'm trying to get it through his incredibly thick skull that he can't keep acting like a reckless child!"

“ Guys, stop!” Gwen screamed desperately.

The sound of her voice was frantic enough to have everyone spinning their heads. She was still wrapped protectively around Miles, who was hyperventilating and trembling in her arms. His eyes were wide with fear and vulnerability as he watched Miguel carefully, almost waiting for the man to continue his tirade. Then, Miguel looked at the kid. Really, looked at him. 

Miles looked downright terrified of him. Not just a little scared of discipline or being yelled at. No, more like he was in danger of being ripped apart at any second by his sharp talons, just another wound to add to his beaten body. Miles doesn’t trust him. Not in the slightest.

Miguel has never felt like more of an asshole than he did in this moment.

Hobie also looked ashamed at himself for letting his temper with Miguel distract him from his friend, though he quickly recovered and dashed back to Miles’ side. Miguel watched numbly as the spider teens tried desperately to calm the kid down and get his breathing back to normal. Gwen’s cheeks even went noticeably pink as she made soft cooing noises and stroked his face gently.

Miguel almost didn’t notice Peter, who stayed by his side, grab his arm, his face neutral as he gestured his head in the direction of the door. “Come with me.”

He allowed himself to be pulled away by the man, giving one last glance at Miles before the door was gently closed shut. Peter took him further down the hallway, stopping at the end before turning back around to face him. With how often the man goofed around, it was unnerving to see him look so somber, yet contemplative.

“Do you know why Miles is scared of you?” He asked plainly. The question was accusatory in nature, but Peter allowed the words to leave his lips with zero judgment in his tone.

“Because I yelled at him and he’s sick.”

Peter gave him a look.

Ay dios, he felt like a child in the principal’s office.

“Because I yell at him all the time, even when he’s not sick.”

“You, do a lot more than that, Mig,” he said with a dry chuckle, “You tear the kid down. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I have.”

“So why do you do it, then? Everytime we come back from a mission it’s always ‘Miles this; Miles that; Miles, do better; Miles, you messed up again’. Hell, there was even a mission where I screwed up, and you still yelled at him for it, even after I told you it was all on me. He begs us to cover for him on mission reports so he doesn’t have to go to HQ to see you. He’s terrified of you, and you haven’t really given him a reason to feel anything otherwise.”

Miguel sighed, uncomfortably aware of how it felt like all his organs just collectively stopped working. It was easier to ignore the naive, bashful words of Gwen, or the disobedient drawls from Hobie, who he couldn’t even take seriously on a regular day, anyway. However, Peter's brutally honest, yet non-malicious words were like a punch to the gut, and he had to look away, his jaw clenched as he succumbed to the intense rush of guilt that overcame him. All the feelings he so expertly shoved away came at him in full force, like a dam wall breaking. 

There would never be a good enough excuse to justify his behavior, but he tried to answer Peter’s question as honestly as he could. “I…I think I was just worried. I know, it sounds…stupid now, but I think I was worried about him and I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. I still don’t. And he’s paying the price for it.”

Miguel pinched his nose, not in annoyance, but in shame.

“Is that why he refuses to go to the bay? Because I scared him away from HQ?”

“Well, none of us knew that he’s been avoiding professional treatment like this, so I don’t really know the true answer to that. We’ll have to ask Miles once he’s better. But I know the kid well enough to guess that he was probably scared that you’d see his slow healing factor as a weakness, so he patched himself up on his own so that you wouldn’t know when he got injured.”

Miguel sighed again. “I messed up.”

“You did,” Peter agreed, “But there’s always time to change.”

“How? I don’t think the kid will ever want to look at me again after this.” Miguel was surprised at how easy the admissions were coming out of him, now that he felt as though Peter was looking at him like he was an open book.

“It’s not really about the forgiveness, though. It’s more about changing for yourself and your future. I mean, you should apologize to Miles once he’s better again, whether he forgives you or not is his choice. Though, knowing him, I think he will.” Peter smiled, swinging an arm around Miguel’s shoulder to pull him closer. 

Miguel couldn’t resist a smile, even if he wanted to. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Parker, but I appreciate you. A lot.”

Peter cackled, slapping his knee with an energy Miguel hadn’t seen in the man for the past hour. “Oh, I knew you did! I never thought I’d hear you admit it!”

“Try not to get used to it,” he retorted good-naturedly.

But there was one more thing bothering him…

His smile faded a bit, replaced with a much more vulnerable expression. “I don’t know why you still have faith in me. You should hate me for the way I treated Miles all this time. Why don’t you?”

Peter gave him a meaningful look, placing both his hands on Miguel’s shoulders. His eyes twinkled, filled with raw emotion. Miguel knew he wouldn’t be prepared for what the man said next.

“Because Miles was the first person in a long time to have genuine faith in me. Something tells me you need someone to be that person for you, too.”

Miguel was correct. 

Tears sprung into his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall in front of the other man. He wasn’t quite ready for that level of emotional vulnerability just yet. Hopefully, one day he would be. For now, he nodded, a show of gratitude for Peter.

“So, you ready to get back in there, champ?” Peter punched Miguel’s arm playfully, already striding back towards Miles’ room.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Together, they walked back to the others, taking note of the silence as they entered through the door. Miguel would have to make things right with the rest of the teens as well, he realized, seeing how they all glowered at him upon entry. They were all sitting on Miles’ bed, and it looked like they’d gotten the kid to go to sleep, his head still comfortable in Gwen’s lap.

“You ready to start actin’ like you care ‘bout ‘im now?” Hobie snapped at Miguel, crossing his arms and regarding him with disgust. Miguel side glanced at Peter, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“I am. And Hobie, I apologize for arguing with you earlier, it wasn’t very…professional of me. And I also apologize to you all and Miles, for treating you poorly all this time. I’ll try my best to do better, moving forward.”

The apology sounded foreign to his ear, coming from his lips, but he did it. And he watched as their eyebrows raised in surprise, Gwen and Pav sharing an incredulous look while Hobie looked him up and down, as if trying to find any hint of artifice in the man’s words. Finally, he shrugged, but he dropped the angry look in exchange for something more neutral. “It’s wha’ever, man. I don’ need an apology from you.”

And quite frankly, he thinks that's the best he could ever get out of Hobie.

———————————

It was dark outside now.

After Miles had fallen asleep and Miguel made up with the others, the energy in the room was rather awkward. There wasn’t much to do, and nobody was in the mood to talk, so they all tried finding random tasks to keep themselves occupied for the time being. Gwen was stuck acting as a pillow for Miles, too worried that moving around would wake him up, but she had no qualms about keeping the rag on his forehead consistently cool and damp.

Pavitir went about cleaning the bathroom, wiping up the blood left behind by Miles and putting away the medical supplies that he’d grabbed. Hobie had taken it upon himself to sew up Miles’ suit that was left bunched up in the hallway, closing the gap in the side where he’d been stabbed. Peter went to clean the kitchen, doing dishes and wiping down the countertops. Miguel stayed seated at Miles’ desk, catching up on any reports coming through while he was gone from his office.

However, after a couple of hours, everyone had run out of things to do, so they all went back to Miles’ room and decided to try and get some sleep. The idea was that at least one person would have to be awake, and they would take turns keeping an eye on Miles. But truthfully, the events and stress of the day had worn them all out. So, they all ended up falling asleep anyway. It wasn’t until the shrill sound of Gwen’s voice in panic woke them up.

“Guys, I think there’s something wrong with Miles!”

Miguel woke from his light doze on high alert. Everyone was in a similar state, jerking up and immediately snapping their eyes to where Gwen was sitting rigid, her breathing quick and expression full of horror. Miguel's heart pounded as he registered the urgency in her tone. The spiders didn't waste a second, pushing themselves to their feet and rushing towards Miles' bed, crowding around the kid.

Gwen's trembling hands were cradling Miles, who was tangled in his sheets and very deep in distress. His face was flushed with high fever, his brow glistening with sweat, and his chest rising and falling erratically as he gasped for air. The sight was enough to send a chill down Miguel's spine. Something was wrong .

Peter checked Miles' pulse, his eyebrows furrowing as he felt the rapid, uneven rhythm beating through the kid’s skin. "Miles, buddy, can you hear me?" he pleaded, his voice laced with concern. “God, he’s super warm.”

“Lyla,” Miguel called out urgently, “check his temperature.”

“On it.” She appeared into the room once again, scanning his body quickly and efficiently. Her face was grim as she reported, “ 105.3 .”

Miguel could feel the color draining out of his face. “Shock.”

“I-I don’t understand!” Pavitir exclaimed miserably. “We gave him the right medicine, didn’t we? What happened??”

“Don’ know, but we gotta get ‘is temp down, fast.”

“We need to start a cold bath.”

Everyone looked at Miguel, whose face hardened into an expression of determination. 

"But he's already so weak. Will it be safe for him?" Gwen’s voice cracked as she raised her worry.

“It's a risk,” Miguel admitted, “but we don't have much choice. If we don’t get his fever down fast, Miles will be in a pretty bad position.” He tried not to sound too negative, but he could tell that Gwen understood the implications, with the way her face noticeably darkened.

“I’ll start the bath!” Pavitir hopped up determinedly, running to the bathroom to start the cold water.

“Don’ fill it up too much, Pav,” Hobie ran after to help him.

Meanwhile, Miguel quickly punched in his dimension’s code into his watch, a plan forming quickly in his head.

“Mig, where are you going?”

“To get some ice. Be ready to transport him when I get back.”

With that, he allowed himself to rush into the hexagonal portals that planted him right back into his office. He ignored the screens of alerts that popped up beside him, rushing towards the back room where he kept his freezer of ice. Miguel was no stranger to ice baths, taking them frequently after long workouts to cool down his muscles. He grabbed two bags and hefted them over his shoulders, running back to where the portal was still open in the center of his office.

He went back through the portal, not missing a beat as he found himself in Miles’ bedroom once again. Gwen and Peter’s faces greeted him with anticipatory looks. Peter had stripped Miles down to his boxers, the kid’s gray hoodie tossed off to the side. He’d kept a towel wrapped around him, though, for some semblance of privacy until the bath. “Okay, let’s take him now.”

The two nodded, Peter lifting Miles gently into a bridal carry, keeping his arms wrapped protectively around the kid. Miles let out a low, keening wail, weak fingers grabbing onto the fabric of Peter’s suit. “Mom!”

“Shh, Miles it’s okay,” Peter soothed as he and Gwen followed Miguel out into the hallway. “You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

Miguel ignored how the other man’s voice sounded tight with tears. The kid was going to be fine. He had to be.

In the bathroom, Pav and Hobie had just about finished filling the tub about halfway with cold water. They also set out some towels, ready for when they would take Miles out. The two teens moved off to the side to give Miguel room to carry the ice bags through and set them down at the tub’s edge. A sharp slice from his talons was more than enough to break the bag open, ice spilling out as he turned it over and dumped it into the water.

He repeated the same with the second bag, then stirred the ice around with his hand, creating a little space with no ice in the center for Miles to sit. It was cold, and Miguel felt a fresh surge of guilt rushing through him. The kid wasn’t going to take it well, but they needed to cool him off, or they’d have to end up rushing him to the medbay.

“Okay, Peter, put him in. He’s going to struggle, but you need to keep him steady. Try to make sure he doesn’t pull his stitches.”

“Right,” the man nodded, looking down at the whimpering kid in his arms. “Miles, buddy, I’m really sorry about this…”

He stepped forward, kneeling in front of the tub as he slowly lowered Miles into the water. The kid’s toes barely grazed the water before he jerked up in Peter’s arms, holding onto the man impossibly tighter. He screamed, voice raw and pained and making Miguel’s heart ache.

Peter’s lip wobbled, face looking conflicted as he held Miles steady, his grip unwavering despite the kid's distress. "I know, I know, it's cold. But it’s going to help you, Miles, I swear.”

He tried again, setting Miles down into the tub. His feverish face contorted in panic as he screeched, trying to stand but his legs being too weak to support him. Water splashed around him and onto the tile floor as he resorted to kicking feebly, his arms flinging around and attempting to use Peter’s chest to pull himself away from the icy cold. “It hurts! It hurts! Mom!”

Gwen started to sob, leaning into Hobie’s shoulder while tears flowed down her face. The older teen held her comfortingly, while Pav rubbed her back, both boys looking on with tension in their eyes. Peter looked just as guilty as Miguel felt, but he used his strong arms to keep Miles steady, no matter how frantically he splashed around the tub.

“Miles, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, kid.” Miles’ heart-wrenching cries continued despite the comfort, his body trembling violently and small fingers clutching desperately at Peter. His brown, foggy eyes finally opened wide as a particularly brutal shiver ran down his spine. His breath hitched as he looked at Peter’s wet face in front of him. “P-Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter said softly, placing his hand over Miles’, “Yeah, it’s me, kid.”

“It’s c-cold,” Miles whined, punctuated by another shiver.

“I know. But you’re almost done, just a couple more minutes.”

Miguel called for Lyla again to check the progress on his temperature. The AI reappeared promptly, “He’s down to 104.9.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a good sign that it was going down at the very least. The kid’s panic probably wasn’t helping. “Thank you, Lyla. Stand by for more updates.”

“Roger that.”

Miles started to cry, thick tears mixing with the water on his cheeks, but he wasn’t fighting anymore, most likely already using up all his energy. Instead, he let Peter hold him in a hug, his large hand running over his back in an attempt to soothe the shivers. “P-Peter, please! I can’t-”

“Shhh, I’m sorry, Miles. Just breathe.”

Miguel listened to the younger spider as he sobbed, making little whimpering noises in-between each one. He’d been holding back, letting Peter handle the kid, but he suddenly felt an itch in his arm, to reach out and help comfort Miles. He doesn’t want you touching him, a little voice in his head nagged. He hates you. He doesn’t need you.

It might be true. It probably is. But he tried to listen to Peter’s voice instead. The one that said, there’s always time to change .

Hesitantly, he crouched down, slowly lifting his hand to hold Miles’ cheek. Peter looked surprised for a second, before smiling at Miguel and nodding for him to continue. 

Miles startled, his eyes darting over to Miguel as his hand made contact. The man’s mind was racing, regret filling the forefront of his mind. Ay, what was I thinking? I’m scaring him. I shouldn’t be touching him. I’m probably going to make it worse. I should stop-

The kid relaxed, leaning further into the touch of Miguel’s palm. His heart swelled.

The weight of Miles’ cheek cupped comfortably in his hand felt so right. So much better than yelling curses and names at the kid. Miguel couldn’t believe it took him so long to come to his senses. And maybe once Miles wasn’t so delirious anymore, he’d be flinching away from the touch, face full of disgust at the idea of Miguel comforting him. But for now, he rested his head in Miguel’s palm, as if the man was his anchor in the sea of tremors he found himself in.

The two men continued to hold Miles, listening with relief as his whimpers quieted down and his shivers weren’t as violent. After what felt like an eternity, Lyla appeared again, a much more pleasant expression on her face. “His temperature is now at 103.7. Still needs to be monitored, but you should be fine to take him out now.”

The whole room sighed with relief. Peter and Miguel didn’t waste a second, pulling Miles out of the tub, setting him on the toilet seat, and wrapping him with a big, fluffy towel. His teeth still chattered, but he was starting to grow drowsy again. Miguel had to keep him from falling over while Peter rubbed him dry.

“Wait, Miles! You can’t fall asleep yet!” Pavitir insisted, a glass of water and a few pills in his hand. “Here, give him these. Hopefully this time they work better.”

Miguel took the medicine gratefully. “Alright kid, here, open up.”

“Okay, mamí…” Miles murmured, opening his mouth for Miguel to deposit the pills in. He swallowed them, along with a sip of water, obediently. The intense tension in the room was finally winding down as he started to drift off, falling asleep against the arms that were holding him upright.

“Fuck, that was so scary…” Gwen whined, wiping at her stray tears while also clutching at her racing heart.

“S’alright now, Gwendy. Miles is tough.”

“Is it still alright if I yell at him again tomorrow?” Miguel joked.

“Nah, too soon, mate.”

“Noted.”

They all chuckled, especially Peter, whose face was slowly returning to its usual good-natured self. He patted Miguel on the back, waiting as the other teens began to head back to Miles’ room to change his bed into fresh sheets and look for as many comfortable pillows as they could. As they piled out, he whispered, “I’m proud of you, man.”

Miguel grinned back. It still felt unnatural on his face, but he didn’t think Peter cared all that much if it looked a bit lopsided. “Thank you, Peter.”

“Ahh, it was nothing. Now, whaddya say we get this little sucker back in bed, huh?”

———————————

Miles felt so heavy.

Like, unbearably heavy.

What happened?

He tried opening his eyes, but they wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t remember gluing his eyelids shut before he went to bed. In fact, he couldn’t remember much of anything. His mind felt foggy and warped, none of which he could make sense of.

He distantly registered the fact that he felt quite warm, but he was far enough away from it that it didn’t really matter to him. There was also some pain in the mix but, again, it was too far removed to be of much importance to him.

Miles tried to speak, to say anything, like hello, maybe. All he found he was able to produce was a garbled moan, He felt something shifting.

“Miles, you’re alright. We’re all here with you. Go back to sleep.”

Miles recognized the voice. It was Miguel O’Hara. His heart immediately tensed at the realization. It was instinct. Why was Miguel with him while he was sleeping? And why did he sound so soft? 

But Miles could already feel himself relaxing, inexplicably. It didn’t make sense, he was supposed to be on high alert, right? What if Miguel decided to-?

He won’t, his unconscious mind whispered back to him. Not this time. Not anymore.

And somehow, that was enough for Miles.

He went back to sleep.