Chapter Text
A scream rang out into the sky like fireworks. It was a scream no one should ever have to hear. The sound of someone's world crashing, the sound of their heart breaking into two, the sound of a piece of them dying.
Miles exhausted his vocal cords. He felt a tsunami of motions hitting him in the face but he couldn’t feel anything at all. Ears ringing, the last thing he remembered before his eyes were covered by Gwens white gloved fingers was the sight of his dad’s cracked open skull stained on concrete and rubble.
“He’s moving,” Miles shifted in what seemed to be his room's bed.
“Don’t wake him yet,” He heard someone else hiss sharply. The two voices sounded gurgly as if his eardrums were filled with water. He shifted again, uncomfortably.
Miles slowly pushed himself up using his arms. He was so fatigued he nearly slid back down but persisted and two figures came up beside him to support him.
“Miles, Miles!” Gwen never had a way with manners even now. Her voice was loud and unruly but in it was woven worriedness and relief. She bent down to help Miles get into a more comfortable position on the bed. The other figure, who he could now see was Parker, moved the blankets around to make the process easier.
“Miles, we were so worried,” Parker whispered and his voice sounded like he was on the verge of crying. He went in to hug Miles and stroked his back. Miles felt repulsed at the hug but his face remained blank, unmoving.
“How’s my mom,” Miles' voice came out like nails on a chalkboard and he winced as he rubbed his sore throat. Parker pulled away and he and Gwen shared a look as if they were hiding something.
“Miguel isn’t breathing down your necks and my cannon event happened like how all of you wanted so there’s no reason to hide stuff from me like you guys have been doing all this time anymore.” Miles' words came out like venom and the two flinched as if they had been slapped, guilt sprouting on their faces. Gwen bent down again to look at miles and she grabbed his hand which shook roughly every time he breathed.
“Listen, Miles, I’m really so sorry. I didn’t want to–”Miles slapped her hand away and shifted his head as if he was listening to something vile. Gwen bit her mouth hard as tears came running down like rain and she ran out the room with thick sobs.
“She’s serious, Miles. We didn’t have a choice. We would’ve told you.”
“How long? How long would you wait to tell me? Until he was dead? Well, you got what you wanted! He’s dead! My dad is dead. He’s gone Parker,” Miles shook his head as he looked at Parker with hurt.
“If you aren’t gonna tell me about my Mom then fuck off.” He spat and pointed a shaking finger at Parker then turned to face the wall once again. He only turned his head back around when Parker groaned and closed the door behind him.
His window was open, even now, and a cold chill came in with it. He wanted to move the blankets around him tighter but he couldn’t lift a finger. His whole world was spinning with thoughts and regrets and the sound of his own soul crushing when he saw his dad.
Another voice appeared and he groaned at the thought of another rushed apology, “Lil harsh, innit. This spiderman stuff I mean.”
That deep accent that only one Spiderman could have. Miles turned his body slowly to stare at Hobie who moved the blankets around Miles then went to close the window as if reading his mind.
Miles held back a sob and ran his fingers through his coarse hair then down his face, “Yeah.”
Hobie came back and sat on Miles' desk chair. He passed him glances then said, “I’m okay to be in here, yeah?” When Miles replied a gruff yes his shoulders relaxed. He himself was confused even now how he wasn’t sent out the door like the other two had been.
“I want to apologize too. For not telling you the full truth I mean,” Hobie began to say and he pat Miles back.
“Nah man. You helped me out. I wouldn’t even be here right now if not for you,” Miles forced a smile and made the palm motion Hobie had done prior to him.
Hobie glanced as if he wanted to say more but bit held back, “‘S all good mate.” And he pushed his long lanky legs on the ground as he rocketed to one corner of the room then the next.
“You alright? I mean, don’t deep it too much; this whole situation.” Hobie said when the silence got suffocating and Miles looked through him as if he wasn’t there.
“Is my Mom okay,” Miles answered with another question and Hobie looked away quickly before clicking his tongue. He pushed himself off the chair and stumbled as he sat on the edge of Miles’ bed.
“It’s almost like she already knew you—or we were spiderman, because when we came in she wasn’t fazed. Or more like she knew but she was too worried about you and your dad to care. She legged it then, when we told her and she ran to the crime scene, she still isn’t back.”
Miles let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in and let the tension fade from his face.
“Did you... are you only helping me because of your ideals or because you see something in me that the others don’t?” Silence filled the room again. Though, this time it was less suffocating, the tense air between the two of them dissipated.
“Miles, love, is that even a question? When I looked at you I could tell you were different from the other lot of them. I don’t care what Miguel says, you are Spiderman and you aren’t a bloody mistake.” Hobie cursed under his tongue when he had realized he let the pet name slip from his mouth and Miles' ears burnt.
As his head processed and broke down the sentences his eyes began to water and with a shuddery whimper sniffled through tears. Hobie wasn’t one to comfort but came closer and held his hand out for Miles to take stiffly. Miles took it and gripped as if his world was crumbling and Hobie was the last person left he could trust. Which in a way, was right.
“Hobie, I don’t know what to do anymore. How can I be Spiderman when I can’t even save my family,” Miles asked into the quietness of the room and his voice shook with vulnerability.
Miles' door opened again as Hobie began to ready a response revealing Gwen. Her eyes were red and puffy and she held her gloved hands nervously looking down at the floor. When she noticed Hobie her eyes lit up as if maybe there was still a chance she could apologize.
“If you had told me earlier my dad would still be here,” Miles said matter of factly wasting no time and his voice shed the vulnerability it had moments earlier with Hobie.
Miles continued, “No amount of apologies or gifts will fix what happened. He’s gone!” His voice came out thick with tears and he broke the grasp he had on Hobie’s hand to throw both of them up in rage.
“Gwen, I trusted you. For the past year I’ve thought of you as the only person who could understand me, my only friend. I’d put my life on the line for you. But this…?”
Gwen put her head further down in shame and defeat, guilt racking her brain and Hobie went quiet as it wasn’t his place to intervene.
“Miles,” She began desperately, her mouth opening and closing as she paused to run after the fleeting words in her head. She was terrified that they wouldn’t come out and she’d be left looking a fool.
“I’ll carry this guilt forever, Miles. I was selfish, I wanted to stay with my family I found within the Spider-verse. I didn’t want to be left alone. But I should’ve known that even if I left them I’d still always have you.” She stuttered and continued through tears.
“You can hate me, curse me, never forgive me, but please Miles, don’t leave me. I care for you too much! I tried to have you and a family, but now I know that I can’t be that greedy!”
The way her voice raised in desperation made Miles heartache. His head was spinning again and he attempted to stand out of the bed only to stumble back down in nausea.
“Woah mate, no getting up for you yet,” Hobie gently pushed him back onto the bed.
“I– I need time to think Gwen. Both of you get out please,” Gwen nodded quickly but repeatedly turned around hoping he would change his mind and Hobie rubbed his calloused fingers onto Miles hand in comfort before also exiting the room.
By himself the silence was much more scary. His thoughts sounded ten times louder and a pounding headache began to thrum at the back of his head. When he couldn’t think straight he drew. So he reached under his bed grabbing a familiar sketchbook and fished for a mechanical pencil.
The texture of the sketchbook slid against his fingertips comfortably and for the first time in a while he felt order in his life; something that wouldn’t change. He opened to a blank page and zoned out letting his fingers take control.
He filled the page with sketches of his dad. His dad hugging him, his dad staring out of the page as if he was still there, his dad pulling a smile that stretched ear to ear. Miles would never be able to see one of those smiles again. One of those smiles that were contagious and made him burst out laughing.
He slammed the sketchbook on the floor then kicked it under his bed and rubbed his temples as his ears began to ring.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but the blinding day light faded to night and it was another reminder of how the world would keep going despite the loss of his dad. With a hiss he forced himself up and began pacing across the floor of his room, pausing when he got a look at the collectable figurine Gwen had ripped out of its packaging oblivious. The sides of his mouth twitched at the memory.
He racked his brain rolling through Gwens apology and he rubbed frustration out of his tense forehead. Yes, she had withheld the truth from him but she had a good reason and even though he wouldn’t do the same he could see where she was coming from. Plus, from how it looked she didn’t know the situation would escalate so much.
Miles was a very forgiving person.
But he was so afraid to forgive her. The pain he’d felt when he found out she betrayed him was worse than being slammed against concrete or falling from buildings stories high. Because he could always trust her, and that day she broke it.
He fell back to the ground deep in thought when his Mom walked through his door with hushed whispers of “Lo siento mucho”’s and her motherly hugs that always worked like magic. He wasn’t sure how long the two sat on the hardwood floor crying into each other's embrace. All he knew is he felt a little lighter after.
Hours merged together like glue and Miles wasn’t aware of the last time water or food had entered his mouth. But, his appetite was long gone, replaced by the guilt and grief of losing his father. Glued to the same spot on his bed he’d be unmoving for hours of the day thinking about what he could’ve done or said to save his father. At the end of the day it all came down to it being his fault. If he had never been bitten his dad wouldn't have died. If he was never born his uncle and dad would still be alive.
The thoughts ran through his head like venom and over the hours they multiplied; weighing him down and making his head ache. Or, maybe it was because he was severely dehydrated. At the thought he licked his dry, cracked lips and went back to picking at a spot on his skin he had since he was left to himself.
His mom came in of course from time to time to check on him and ask how he was. But, after his and her crying session he hadn’t said a word. As if he wasn’t even there anymore he’d stare right through her.
“None of this would’ve happened,” Scratch.
“You don’t belong here,” Scratch.
“You never did,” Scratch.
He wasn’t aware of the skin on his arm beginning to crack; red slowly surfacing in small red dots because of his picking that he sensed another spider in his room.
“I can sense you,” Miles let go of his arm as he called out to his quiet room. His back was turned to where he knew someone sat upside down on his ceiling wall. He couldn’t bother to turn as he didn’t sense malice or danger from them and continued to stare holes in the wall from his bed.
“Mate, you seriously need to eat. I can go get you something if that’d fancy you,” Hobie unstuck himself from the ceiling and landed on his feet. His boots were loud against the ground and Miles turned around to face him.
Miles snapped through closed teeth, “And you seriously need to leave me alone. I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine!”
“Love, you look knackered. Your complexion needs color and some sleep, food, and a laugh or two will bring it back.” The pet name had Miles' internal system-thingy going insane and he felt more emotion than he had in awhile but he was quick to gather himself together.
Hobie walked towards Miles' bedframe and leaned his tall figure against it. If it was anyone else he’d be pointing towards the door but through the whole ordeal as some spiders lost Miles' trust, Hobie gained it instead.
“I’m not hungry, and I don’t need to sleep. I’ve slept great these past–” Miles looked downwards and stuttered, he had lost track of his hours, his days, he didn’t know how much time had passed and he knew the second he slipped up Hobie wouldn’t take no for an answer. Though, his lie was half true because when he wasn’t hating himself to the ground rotting in his bed he was asleep.
“I’d argue different. You don’t look exactly ace, you look as if you hadn’t ate since me and Pav washed you up in the loo–”
“YOU DID WHAT!?”
“Whoops,” Hobie said and looked away almost as if he was ashamed. But he was an anarchist, they didn’t know what shame meant!
“How else do you think you got from your suit to those clothes? You were covered head to toe in scratches and wounds. You looked rough. Don’t worry, we had our eyes closed the whole time so we didn’t see you starkers and Parker came in to help you get changed,” Hobie grinned as he looked down in amusement at Miles' expression.
His shocked expression grew wider as Hobie continued to assure him they hadn’t seen his “naughty bits” at least three times before Miles let out an embarrassed whine and stuffed his face into his pillow.
“Fuck…God, strike me down NOW,” he yelled into his pillow and the embarrassment continued to grow on his face. He could feel his whole body growing hot and while he wouldn’t care if Pav washed him up and Peter helped clothe him, Hobie was an entirely different story.
“I’m glad I can see more expression on your face than the last three days, but you really still need to eat,” Hobie whispered in a softer voice, completely glossing over the fact that Miles was still collecting himself.
“Three days? It felt like eternity,” Miles answered gruffly and Hobie clicked his tongue in agreement.
“It’s felt like eternity watching you waste away in your bed, I won’t let that go on for any longer though. Thought I was about to join you in that bed with how down in the dumps you were,” Hobie snickered and yanked Miles' blanket off of him.
“Miles, you have to get up. And as fucking cliche as this is gonna bloody sound— it’s because you’re Spiderman. I ne– the world needs you. And I know you can get up because no matter how many times we fall we’ll always get up,” The way Hobie said it was if he had read off a script, it didn’t sound like him. Nonetheless it made Miles bust out in a fit of bubbly laughter.
“My god, who put you up to that dude,” Miles slid his hand over his stomach as he continued to laugh.
Hobie groaned loudly, “Wow, you’re full of beans now.” And Miles noticed that when Hobie was flustered his British accent was stronger so he struggled to depict what he was saying.
“Gwens and Pav. We stayed up all night making it but I knew it wouldn’t sound right coming from me. That motivational bs is not my cup of tea.”
“Still, it means a lot to me,” Miles jabbed Hobie’s side playfully with his foot and sat up straight. As his laughter died down they both sat in silence for what seemed to last forever before Hobie broke it.
“Come on, I’m sure theres something to eat in your kitchen,” Hobie stretched out a hand to Miles but he hesitated, biting his lip.
Miles felt as if he didn’t deserve to eat. He was a murderer because of the fact he was Spiderman. Murderers didn’t deserve to eat. However, as if Hobie was reading his mind he grabbed Miles’ hand and yanked him right out of the bed with ease.
“Warn me atleast–,” but the look of mischief on Hobie’s was enough to tell that he found Miles’ reaction funny.
“Miles, I won’t leave until I see you’ve put some grub in your mouth, yeah? No saying no, I meant it.”
“But–”
“But a sock in it,” Hobie took Miles hand and led them from his room to the kitchen. All of the physical touch was making his head go fuzzy and Hobie’s slender fingers were slipping into his hand so easily he felt like puzzle pieces had just clicked.
“Miles? Miles,” Hobie had long broken their fingers apart and now he was waving a hand in Miles face. His expression was the same but from his tone he could sense worriedness in it.
“Oh,” Miles nodded towards Hobie to signify that he was listening and sat on a stool, too drained to stand any longer. Despite his super human abilities Miles was still human, and the toll of not eating for days had caught up to him the second he was on his feet. A throbbing headache resurfaced and the pain was so extreme he dryheaved.
“Woah mate, you okay,” Hobie asked as he looked through the refrigerator. He sifted through foil-covered tupperware for any type of edible food but all of it seemed to be days old, at least three. When he came up with nothing he sighed at the idea of cooking as he certainly wasn’t a chef and focused instead on finding something to eat in the cabinets that would be light on Miles' stomach.
When he found a can of soup he stabbed the can top off with a knife and emptied all of it into a bowl then popped it in the microwave.
He then walked back to where Miles was sitting and leaned against the counter to face him in the eyes, his face unreadable.
“Why are you looking at me like that,” Miles questioned slowly and a light smile quirked at the edges of his lips.
“Like what,” Hobie asked and moved his face closer. From there he could see the scrunches of stress on Miles’ face and his beautiful eyelashes. His eyes still had sparkles of hope in them as if the sparkles had been plucked from the night sky. He was so handsome, Hobie whispered in his head and he wanted to kiss him.
Miles followed Hobie’s eyes which scaled his whole face, “Dude, seriously, are you like, sizing me up?” He joked and halted when he heard sounds of the soup popping and bubbling in the microwave.
“Hobie! The soup,” Miles pointed to the microwave and that bubbly laughter came again. It was like music to Hobies ears.
“Bloody hell,” He cursed as he pinched the burning hot bowl with 2 fingers and nearly dropped it on the counter. The soup was nearly overcooked, well he wasn’t a chef.
Miles watched as Hobie blew on a spoonful of and slid the spoon close to his mouth. Confused, he cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes.
“Come on mate, I haven’t got all day,” Hobie nudged the spoon closer and Miles’ face felt the same temperature as the warm soup that he swallowed in spoonfuls. Miles pushed back tears as the guilt got to him every time a new spoonful of soup appeared. But, he remembered that Hobie was right there to support him and he would keep Miles safe.
Is that what you think?
What about when he leaves?
Murderers don’t deserve to live.
The three venomous sentences looped in Miles' head as he chewed through bits of thinly sliced chicken and swallowed the thick warming soup. He managed to push them to the back of his head and focused on the boy in front of him who hummed what seemed to be a punk song. He was too tired to lift a finger so he didn’t mind that he was being fed.
As his stomach was filled and the headache dulled Mile’s found himself falling asleep to the sound of Hobie’s humming.
When Miles awoke he didn’t feel Hobie’s body heat next to him like he did when he spoon-fed him, all he felt was the familiar coldness of his room and his bed which he had overgrown years ago.
It’s better like this, it’s what I deserve. But the loneliness was suffocating and it was eating Miles from the inside out. With a groan he flipped on his side when a bright looking sticky note caught his eye. It hung from the window which Miles would always leave from, diving below and hoisting himself into the sky with his webs.
He stood and walked towards the bright note, taking in the elaborate lines and doodles and dots on it. The font of the handwriting was hard to read but he managed to decrypt what was written on it. “Something came up, I’ll b back in a day or 2 - Hobie Brown,” And Miles let out a deep disappointed sigh.
He sat down on his bed and stared at the note. At the rushed strokes and how the letters kept changing fonts throughout the note. He thought it was cool– Hobie’s whole “thing” was.
He grabbed his sketchbook from under his bed and flipped to begin a new page behind the sketches of his dad, a pang running through his head as he stared at the sketches drawn in desperation and sadness. Even now he felt the same but he was so exhausted that another breakdown like that would knock him out and he was tired of fading in and out of consciousness.
On the new page he filled it with colors and ever-changing patterns just how Hobie had with his note. Then, in the middle he drew Hobie himself. He wouldn’t let anyone see his sketchbook because it was like a diary where he drew himself and thoughts onto pages. And drawing Hobie meant something– he just couldn’t figure out what.
The activity allowed him distraction from his thoughts of self-loathing and guilt but soon enough he knew he’d have to face them, he couldn’t run forever.
“¿Miles? ¿Estás en tu cuarto,” He heard shuffling outside of his room and his Mom walked in. He had realized how she looked so gone, so detached, and so tired. She looked worn as she squeezed herself onto Miles’ small bed and criss-crossed her legs to face him. Before she spoke she put a comforting hand onto his own and rubbed circles on it.
“The– the funeral is in 2 days,” She choked on her words like they were resisting and Miles’ world shattered again. The pit he had just managed to claw himself up from became an even deeper one and dragged him right down. He tuned the rest of her words out and thought about how he didn’t deserve the soft spoken words and apologies his mom kept repeating; he was a murderer after all.
After a quick nod from him she stood by the door frame for a few minutes staring at her boy as if she understood every trouble he was going through and then left, keeping the door cracked in case he needed her to come fast. With a deep sigh he rubbed his temples and breathed greedy gulps of air as if they were the last he’d ever get.
He needed a change of scenery before he went insane. As he slipped his original suit on– not the one that was “bleeding from his armpits,” for a second he was back to himself 1 year and 4 months ago. Miles who was confident and clumsy.
With a quick glance back to his room he jumped from his window feeling the familiar feeling of air whipping through his thick hair and the feeling of his gut falling before he used his web shooters to glide through the sky.
Miles whacked and kicked robbers and thugs, but it didn’t feel the same. It felt like he was doing it for a distraction, like he was doing it to redeem himself. In a way he was, and as he tied another robber up for the night in his sticky webs he felt a wave of dizziness course throughout his body.
Finding a high-up building he sat and took a deep breath for the first time in hours and Gwen came rushing back to his memory. He thought he was ready to talk to her. To accept her apology but he had no way to reach her.
“What if I never see them again,” He asked the shadows of the night and he knew no one would answer so he slid his head back against the hard concrete of the building thinking of all possible answers and questions he’d say when he saw Gwen.
The way back home was quiet because Mile’s didn’t shout his usual excited screams of glee as he glided through Brooklyn or stopped to talk to people– he was disconnected and the joy of being Spiderman was gone. When he slid through his window he took off his suit and put on pajamas. He was cautious and quiet so as to not wake his mom who, if he was lucky, was sleeping.
He unlocked his phone for the first time in days and went through texts of peoples condolences and, his mom reassuring him that she’d be home soon sent days prior, and a single text from Ganke composed of pictures of Miles’ late work. He ignored the rumbling feeling in his stomach and laid down on his bed quickly falling asleep due to him being worn out.