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The air was cold, frigid even, as the sun began to set. Miles huddled against the wall in search of warmth, but there hadn’t been any. Just stone-cold rock that created the foundation of the makeshift prison cell. Not even a bed was in the corner, which he found more disappointing than the fact he was imprisoned in the first place.
His arm ached slightly from the large gash ingrained into it.
Oh right.
He kinda forgot he had that.
Miles’ reminder of his injury brought painful mini spasms from within the muscles that were in the “splash zone” for a cool breeze. He grit his teeth and shut his eyes to will the pain away. It didn’t help that much.
He tried to turn his mind to something else. He thought of tall, foreboding towers lining the horizon of another world. Or the comfy sounds of a busy street that echoed behind him while he was drawing. He would draw various things from the city that inspired him. Like the streetlamps that never worked, or the sometimes questionable clothing New Yorkers would wear,
… and Gwen.
He could picture his parents' disappointment at the fact that he was thinking about girls when his arm literally felt like it would fall off. Considering he was in some random dimension with no familiarity in sight, Miles thought he could get a pass. Another breeze caused his shoulders to shake, and his eyes to well up.
Yeah, he was definitely deserving of using that excuse.
Miles shifted once more since the unpolished shards of stone dug into his back. He was probably getting scratches all over his back from it. When his parents would ask, he would say it was just an injury he got from school. But then they’d go and demand reparations. So, he would just hide it.
(Oh, he could just see the incredulous face Peter would make if he could hear Miles right now. But he can’t. And he won’t because he won’t find Miles.)
He sighed. He was beginning to realize how quickly he was losing hope. How quickly he lost it, he meant.
Miles grunted at the slight relief of the previously unrelenting gusts of air. The most annoying part wasn’t even how it caused his injury to feel like blood was bubbling to the surface and being shocked with voltage so high it’d be considered a war crime. What was annoying was how it was cold and not warm. Seriously, he didn’t think he could ever catch a break.
Silence which was what Miles was used to filling the room at this point was no more. He could hear the sharp snap of footsteps slapping across the floor as the source came closer. He would brace himself so no fear would fill him, but Miles was so done at this point.
And he didn’t mean done as in exhausted and defeated. He was just irked at this point.
The footsteps flitted past his room and a deep breath was released. He would never admit he was scared because he wasn’t. He was strong. He had proven it a million times before when he saw all those people die. When he tried to prevent death. When he did.
Because Miles was Spiderman, and that meant he was among the best people of all. (That’s why he was a member in the first place.
But, he didn’t think that the best Spiderpeople were stupid enough to get in a situation like this. They would have been able to escape right now.
Though they changed their minds, Miles’ would always be tainted.)
He tried to snap out of it by leaning his head against the wall. His arm felt hot all over, like it was perpetually itching. Burning as well, although the two had become indistinguishable at this point. That also wasn’t a good sign. Probably.
The stone wall had provided a mix of fatigue at the cold, but also relief of the increasing temperature of his arm. He couldn’t hold it up directly to the wall. He did that earlier, stupidly, of course, and that just caused more irritation. So his only choice was to huddle his entire body against it no matter how much the rest of him protested against it.
An image of Miguel sparked within his mind: the awful way he would stand whenever a situation became awkward. He did that anytime that someone was injured which was quite often. Miles could laugh at how non-empathetic the man was. Not on purpose, and Miles didn’t blame him for that. He cared for others in his own way rather than just feeling for the purpose.
Gwen wasn’t like that. She wasn’t like that at all. She was so incredibly nice and was perfect at comforting people. Miles appreciated how she could just sit next to him, and yet he could start to feel better nonetheless.
Pav and Hobie would say he was biased, but he didn’t care. He could say the same about Pav, anyway.
His friends- oh, how he missed them. His gaze turned to the left to look at the window, whose frame was enclosed. The sun peaked through and cast a small rainbow on the floor.
He smiled to himself, thinking of how beautiful it was. If only it wasn’t so, so cold. His hands felt like he had pulled a Captain America, but he could actually feel every nerve being frozen over. Then everything would be completely fine. He wouldn’t even mind the gash on his arm if he could look out the window to see the view. To see the green grass he captured before stepping foot inside this horrid place.
He wouldn’t mind if the sounds he heard were his friends, and were real. He would be satisfied- content- even.
Just like the footsteps, however, the sound washed over him like a wave before silence returned once more. If he had one last thing to wish for, it was that he could see his parents again. He wouldn’t want them to fret like they always did. He would just go and reassure them that he was fine before crossing the river into Elysium if he even deserved that, that is.
He could even hear the boat ride right now: the gentle sway of a ship as it caressed the river it was loved by; the sickly sweet smell of salt that filled the water that blessed him with a peaceful mind; the soft murmurs of his loved ones passing through his memory as he passes through now; the hard press of gold into his hand, clutched once before but not anymore, a mere fare in the grand scheme of things.
His eyes opened once again, no longer in a room with one singular window and one singular passageway out that he couldn’t even reach because of his arm. Which was now restricted by a tightly wrapped band covering any tiny molecule of air that would have been able to slip in. It hurt but it was more like a dull ache than straight pulsing.
Miles tried to sit up but a pair of heavy hands pushed him down. Not that he was aware he was even lying down in the first place. His vision was still incredibly blurry.
However, he could make out the bright red webbing that added to the hands pushing him into a lying position. Ah. He knew who this was.
His vision began to waver slightly, causing his head to loll to the side. Miles jerked it back to lick parallel to the rest of his body. A hand, Peter, possibly, gently guided it into its original position much less aggressively as Miles’ attempt.
A few hard blinks cleared the remaining bleariness- at least enough so that he could make out the two figures standing before him. He peered at his elders, despite the slight feeling of discomfort peering in. Peter, as he guessed, stood off to the side while Miguel was directly in front of him.
Next thing Miles knew, a bright light was being shone into his eyes. He cried out in surprise, only hearing a slight mumble that may have been an attempt at apologizing. His head was carried upward by Peter, and his mouth was pried open by Miguel, who had somehow scooted closer during the few moments.
Had he been blacking out in between?
He tried to voice his concern, but it came out more like, “vvvrmm.”
The two men exchanged a look before Miguel opened his mouth, being able to speak properly too:
“Well, you’re finally up, Miles.”
Miles would have cocked an eyebrow had he had at least some control over his body. He felt so sleazy, like one of those inflatable balloon guys that attempted to coerce you into their gas stations. At least, based on all the media he’s seen.
He continued, “You probably feel weak right now, but that is okay. Your gash in your side- that caused you a decent amount of blood loss. You are so incredibly lucky we caught you when we did.”
Peter grinned cheekily and elbowed Miguel softly. “More like you’re so lucky that Miguel has all these really cool enhanced senses of his.”
Miles looked at the two, confusion written all over his face.
“Big guy over here went absolutely feral trying to find you. He just won’t admit it, but really, what more do we expect?” He leaned into the aforementioned man, hugging him from the side.
He’d admit, it was weird seeing the mentor and the man who had some (questionable) decisions being together. But if they were happy, he’d just shrug it off because it wasn’t his business anyway. Well, he would internally brush it away since he felt like he was a cushion on his grandmama’s house.
(And despite Miguel looking like he was doing it begrudgingly, he didn’t even try to lean away.)
“Anyway, Miles. Miguel tracked you down- we just followed. We as in the entire group of kids, which- geez, I hadn’t even realized you guys were getting so big!” He turned to Miguel. “Is that too much of a Dad thing to say?”
He shrugged.
Peter turned back to the younger boy. “You should have seen him. He carried you out himself! And he did that really cool thing where he unhinges his jaw really really wide. Perks of being part spider, right?”
“Okay, Peter. We get the idea. You can stop now.”
Peter rolled his eyes in amusement. “We said we’d tell the others when you’d wake up, but we wanted to make sure you were completely functioning first. How are you, kid?”
Miles watched the interaction in bewilderment at how quickly the two went back and forth. Mainly how quickly Peter could switch the topic and then go back to it right away. He didn’t know how Miguel was putting up with it considering how easily he got annoyed at Miles, himself.
Oh the things you do for love.
Then he realized who he was talking about so he ceased the thought immediately.
His mouth was parched so he reached out his hand. The comfort of being able to stretch it out and flex his fingers was so… he didn’t even have to word for it. Relief? No, that wasn’t quite right.
Peter turned around a grabbed the bottle of water perched next to him before handing it off to Miles. He seemed to realize that wasn’t a very good idea, but let him try to drink it anyway. “Try and lift that to your mouth as a muscle test.”
His face fell from the toothy grin he always wore and changed to something more grave. “Listen, Miles. Despite how quickly you can heal, you have to stop getting into these situations. It’s been happening a lot lately. A lot.”
Miles opened his mouth and attempted to speak again. “It’s not like- like- like- fuck! It’s not as if I try on purpose. Ugh.” He groaned at how whenever his vocal cords stretched, he felt like they were being ripped from his throat one by one.
“Obviously,” Miguel interjected. “If you were doing this on purpose we’d have a lot more to talk about.”
Miles took another sip from the bottle. The static feeling was fading away and he could work his arm a lot more. The one not so restricted, that is. “What do you- oh my gosh- what are you asking, then- then, agh.” His head throbbed slightly, a clear sign he had an encroaching headache.
“We’re thinking of taking- preventative measures.”
His head snapped towards Peter. “What?”
“You heard him,” Miguel said. Miles turned once again, but if he had to keep jerking his head like this, blood loss would not be the only problem he’d be having. “You are a kid, Miles. You should not be getting into incidents where you are chained to a medical bed every week.”
Miles frowned again. “Not fair.”
“What?” Miguel’s eyebrow raised as if inticing him to argue back. His eyes weren’t gleaming so he wasn’t actually getting mad. But his jaw did seem to be shifting down like he was unhinging it to make room for fangs.
“Please don’t bite me,” Miles whispered.
Silence. Absolute silence. It reminded him of the cold, cold room just a few moments prior. He hated it.
“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I’m not gonna endanger myself.” He began speaking in rapid fire, pure adrenaline fueled by fear allowing him to speak so quickly without mistake. Had he not been so panicked, he may have been excited.
“Woah, Miles. He’s not- no one here is going to hurt you.”
Miles cried out, squeezing his eyes shut. “His jaw,” he mumbled.
Peter looked confused and made an acompinant sound. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”
His head shook, and he wanted to curl into a ball. He failed to notice Miguel backing away, despite the way his arm reached forward as if his body was his heart.
Miles opened his eyes and saw the distance created between the three of them. He scanned over Miguel with a trembling lip to see any signs. Anything.
His hands weren’t curled, they were relaxed and straight as if he just knew what the younger was thinking. His jaw was also set back into place. Miles hated how he couldn’t tell. He hated how he let paranoia push coherence.
“I’m sorry.”
Peter began to fill his arms with the space of Miles, but hesitated slightly. Miles didn’t flinch or try to back away when he slowly closed the distance.
“It’s okay, Miles. You’re okay. We’re not gonna hurt you. Miguel was just gearing into protective mode- you know what he’s like whenever one of you guys are distressed.”
Said man made a noise of protest from where he was.
Peter chuckled, “You’re right, I’m sorry. When one of his kids is distressed.”
Miles’ shoulders shook slightly in slight laughter, but it was muffled by his head pushed into Peter’s own shoulder. They stayed like that until the silence was broken once again by the man who was apparently so protective over Miles.
“Please be more careful, Miles. It’s not good-” he abruptly cut himself off. A few echoes bounced off the floor and a hand was set on his shoulder. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”
“Okay,” Miles took a breath in. “Okay.”
He took a breath out.