Chapter Text
“As more details pour in about the harrowing situation in Brooklyn, we turn to Sam on the scene. Sam, what can you tell us?”
“...Yes, hi Jen. As we’ve been standing here for the last hour, there's been a steady trickle of minors coming out of this horrific scene. Noticeably, one of them had wings, another horns and there was even one with scaly skin. The theory at the moment seems to be that whatever they were brought here for, it was to do with these extra features.
“Notably, an insider revealed to us that all the files they’ve found so far on these minors have revealed that they had latent genetic mutations giving them these additions, except for one.
“As we get more details, we’ll be sure to let everyone know. Back to you, Jen.”
Turns out starving yourself to near death was a bigger deal to fix than he had known. Miles found himself attached to various bags of slowly dripping liquids replenishing his minerals and vitamins, while a team of dieticians worked on a plan to ‘introduce food back into his system’.
Through the closed door, he had overheard someone talking about how he was in worse condition than most of the kids they had rescued, despite his stay being shorter than most. He tried not to overhear any more of that conversation.
He suspected his advanced metabolism played a large role in his poor state. He had been way hungrier since getting bit by that spider than before it. Starving himself on top of that had probably worked quickly to eat through his muscle and fat reserves.
He forced himself to relax into the pillows provided. The Spider-Man side of him wanted to heal up as quickly as possible and find out who did this, and the Miles side of him wanted to smother that urge and just be normal for a change. That was never going to happen, though, and whoever kidnapped him had so much information on him now. He had to keep it out of the bad guys’ hands.
There was a light knock on the door and he idly turned his head to look. One of the nurses, Rebecca, opened the door to reveal his friend. Ganke.
“Miles!” Ganke exclaimed, throwing his hands out wide.
“Ganke,” he replied, attempting to give him a big smile.
Ganke hurried to his bedside, throwing his Star Wars backpack to the ground and quickly sitting down on his bed - though he made sure Miles’s legs weren’t in the way first.
“Oh my god, Miles. I didn’t even know what to think when you disappeared for like, two months. I knew you weren’t dead, you’re you-know-who, but, um, I couldn’t wait to hear about the crazy stories that would come out of it. What happened? The news hasn’t said anything useful, and your parents weren’t saying anything either!” Ganke blurted.
Miles couldn’t help but pick at a loose thread on his bedsheets. “It, uh, wasn’t all that exciting. No… no great stories to tell.”
Ganke looked puzzled. “No daring escapes? No ‘sticking it to the man?’”
“Um, not really.” His thoughts flashed to holding the stolen gun in his hands, desperation making pulling a trigger easier than he would have thought. If Daredevil hadn’t been there…
He wiped his eyes with his good hand, willing the thoughts away. The thoughts stuck anyway. “It’s, uh, well, maybe don’t think of it as a ‘spidey’ adventure?”
Lying on the cold metal, staring at the food with the shame of knowing it had all been useless. His body wasn’t his anymore, just an experiment to keep alive until they were satisfied-
His chest felt tighter, like he couldn’t breathe properly. “I-”
Ganke grabbed his non-casted hand, squeezing it gently. “Hey, breathe. Follow mine. In…” he exaggerated a big, slow breath which Miles struggled to replicate. “And out… Try again, in…. And out…. Here.”
Ganke dug into one of his pockets, pulling out a handkerchief and putting it in his hands. Miles absently wiped at his cheeks, suddenly feeling so much more exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” Ganke said quietly, “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything.” He looked lost, wringing his fingers together. “Um, okay, let me tell you instead about how I’ve been doing.”
Miles nodded, still loosely holding onto the handkerchief.
“So, school has been weird. They, um, pulled me into counseling when you disappeared. It was nice? But, they’re not that great at, like, actually helping? But they did give me extra time on assignments and stuff which was cool. In history we’ve been learning about World War Two, and in English we’ve been doing The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s, like, really messed up. I bet - if you ask - you could totally get them to give you another book to study-” Ganke rattled on, eyes occasionally straying to all the monitors and equipment around him before darting away.
It was clear enough that they were both wildly uncomfortable and unsure. No one had bothered to give him a mirror, not that he would want one, but he knew how gaunt he would look. How pale and sharp his face would be, with sunken in eyes and marks around his mouth and nose from the struggle to fend off the feeding tube. He wouldn’t want to look at him either.
Ganke was trying, he was trying so hard. Miles couldn’t wait for when things were more normal again.
Eventually, they were interrupted by one of the nurses, telling Ganke it was time to go. After Ganke signed his cast (something he insisted he had to do before going) and promised to share his Disney+ password, he was gone.
As the door closed, the lights dimming, a cold, hollow emptiness enveloped him.
A week later he was discharged from the hospital with strict instructions to keep to light food in small amounts. Just walking to the car proved to be a long process, as his muscles refused to work properly despite the work with the physio. Without danger to drive him, walking with shrunken muscles was painful.
Despite being offered a wheelchair, he couldn’t bring himself to sit in it.
He spent a lot of the walk leaning on his Dad. Thankfully, Dad didn’t mention it.
Dad opened the car door for him, revealing the softest blanket and plushiest pillow already waiting for him on the car seat. His chest squeezed, and tears threatened to spill before he blinked them away. He got in.
Before he could reach around himself to grab the seatbelt, Dad had already leaned across him and strapped him in. He was six the last time Dad had done that. Dad squeezed his knee before closing the passenger door and getting into his own seat.
Driving home, Dad put on some soft music to distract them both. A few minutes in, Dad spoke up. “Just so you know, I’ve been taken off the case. They think I’m too close to it to stay level-headed,” he said, resolutely looking forward.
“Oh, okay.” Miles looked at him, studying his forcibly relaxed shoulders. “Did you, um… want to stay on it?”
“...It was going to be a chance to advance my career. Move to more office work than fieldwork. And I want to know what happened to you - so I can help you better. But your privacy is important and you can tell us in your own time.” Dad took one of his hands off the wheel to put it on his knee. He glanced over at Miles. “You’ve already been through so much.”
Suddenly meeting his eyes was a lot harder. More skeletons seemed to accumulate in his closet by the day, all hidden away with his Spider-Man suit. Mamá and Dad would never know the extent of what he had been through, and he planned to keep it that way.
“I guess so,” he mumbled, watching familiar streets go by.
There was a pause and then Dad had both his hands back on the steering wheel.
It didn’t take long for them to roll up to the house. Before he could move to get out Dad had already hurried around to his side and opened the door for him. He accepted his offered hand of help without complaint.
One thing he was grateful for was that no one was around. It was a weekday and everyone was at school or work. No old classmates to pity him as he struggled up every step.
With a click of the lock, they were inside. The smell of home hit him first, and he felt his shoulders relax for the first time in months. Dad went ahead into the kitchen after putting his shoes neatly on the shoe rack.
Miles followed along, fingers trailing the wallpaper. “I’m going to message Ganke,” he spoke up, forcing his hand to come down to his side. He could feel his watchful gaze following him as he shuffled towards his room.
“Alright, well, you tell him I say hi,” Dad replied, turning the kettle on and preparing some coffee. “I’ll get some soup ready for you.”
He wandered into his room, softly clicking the lock. He moved further in, sitting on the edge of his neatly made bed. His desk was neater than the last time he had been here, everything lined up straight and no stray papers to be seen. His floor was spotless, and nothing was out of line.
Mum had probably swept through here multiple times while stress cleaning. Worrying if he was okay. Trying to find evidence of why he was gone. It was only luck that his spare Spider-Man suit was back at the dorm and not in his room.
It… didn’t smell like his room anymore. It wasn’t… his. It was too soft, too bright, too open. The window couldn’t quite lock right after a careless accident trying to get to someone shouting in distress a week into being Spider-Man. He could see fresh paint on the edge of the metal lock from an unsteady hand. It was fixed.
He slowly sunk to the carpeted floor, wrapping his arms around himself. He forced himself to take a deep breath.
He had to… message Ganke. Right. Then find out how many messages had been sent… see how many times people tried to call him. The panic when they realized he was gone. He had to-
Miles wiped away a stray tear, his chest growing tighter. He couldn’t. Why couldn’t he? He could get up.
But it was too hard. Everything was too hard. He was weak. Would stay weak for weeks. He couldn’t protect himself. He couldn’t-
He brought his knees up to his chest, buried his head in them, and let himself quietly fall apart.
Two weeks of almost complete bed rest dragged. Catch-up schoolwork was the only thing that could distract him from his own mind, in the times that he wasn’t too numb to even move.
Yet it was over before he was ready. The first day back at school was already here and he dreaded facing it.
The comforting words of his Mamá and Dad did nothing to soothe the tension in his shoulders, the nauseous feeling in his throat. Only the looming threat of losing his incredibly important scholarship kept him getting ready that morning.
Dad drove him to school and for the first time, that was a small relief.
When they were pulled over in the drop-off area, Miles couldn’t move. His fingers refused to budge from their resting position on his lap. All he could see was the swarming movement of the crowd, the crowd that would look at him. See the bruise still lingering on his cheek, the paleness of his skin, the thinness of his hair. The cast on his arm from the broken wrist that should have healed already. How he couldn’t hold a pen steady yet. The haunted look in his eyes.
“We can postpone this until next week, but I don’t think that will help you Miles,” his Dad softly said as a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. They were worlds away from the embarrassment of being ordered to say ‘I love you’ on these very steps. His heart ached to go back.
“...They’ll stare.”
Dad’s other hand came to rest on his knee, finally drawing his eyes from the crowd back to him. “Who cares, they don’t know what you’ve been through.”
Neither do you. His eyes darted back to the crowd before studying the pitying look on his face. It was what finally got him to grab the handle and open it.
“Remember, call if you need to come home. My boss will understand.”
No, he won’t. “Okay.”
He got out of the car, delaying the inevitable by putting his hands through both straps. He needed his hands free anyway to prevent a bad fall. He wasn’t even out of his cast yet, despite similar injuries having healed in days before.
“I’ll see you at the end of the day, okay? I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay. Love you,” Miles said, eyes darting up to meet his Dad’s eyes before closing the door. He stepped back and watched the car disappear into New York’s traffic.
When he turned back to look at the thinning crowd, he could see a few kids studying him. He swallowed and quietly thanked his decision to not use the cane he had been offered by the physiotherapist.
He regretted it when he struggled up the handful of stairs, wincing as he heard someone snicker and start whispering to their friend next to them.
The bell rang for his first class and he struggled to pick up the pace to get to his first class.
This was going to be a long day.
“Miles, stay behind for me please.”
Miles winced, giving them a nod but otherwise refusing to look up. People’s eyes bore into him as they filtered out of the class. His nerves were frayed at the edges already and it was only lunch time.
Miss Calleros sat down at the desk in front of him and he made himself look at her. She had a softer look on her face than he was used to. The urge to flee the conversation was almost unbearable.
“I’ve had a chance to look over your catch-up work and I’m impressed you were able to do so much. I want you to understand that none of us expects you to be where your classmates are. You’ve got blanket permission from all your teachers to ask for extensions,” she said softly, giving him an encouraging smile.
“I… appreciate it. Thanks,” he managed to say, eyes flicking to the door. He spotted two shadows in the doorway, peering in at him, before they moved away.
He blinked. Instead of the warm summer sunshine blanketing the room with light, it was cold and artificial. Miss Calleros was replaced with a scientist, lab coat stained with his blood and pus.
He stopped breathing, his good hand tensed into a fist.
“Miles?” It took a moment for her voice to snap him out of the moment. The energy drained out of him and he leaned back in his chair, eyes on the cars outside.
“Can I go now?” he murmured.
Her eyes swept over him, examining him. He felt like a bug under a microscope. He shifted uncomfortably, leaning back and folding his arms. “Would you like to have your lunch here?” She gently suggested.
He hesitated. It would be better than out there. But he knew his Dad was right - time wouldn’t make facing the other kids any better. “I’m okay. I should find Ganke.”
She clearly didn’t believe him, but allowed him to get up, grab his bags and walk out the door.
Finding Ganke in his normal spot was easy enough, what he didn’t expect was for the seat across from him - his seat - to be taken up by some girl. Fighting down the waves of jealousy, he came and sat next to Ganke instead.
“Miles!” Ganke excitedly exclaimed, pulling him into a side hug. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Meet Jasmine.”
Jasmine extended her hand towards him to shake. “Hey Miles, good to finally know your name.”
He could only stare at her. In the light of day, without adrenaline pumping through his body keeping him tunnel visioned on surviving, he finally got a chance to get a good look at her. She was taller than him, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. A few freckles dotted her face, four on each cheek loosely in the shape of a diamond.
He accepted the hand shake, but when she went to let go he kept a hold of her. She made a noise of protest and he squeezed.
“Don’t tell anyone what Daredevil revealed about me,” he hissed, frantic eyes searing into her.
“I-I won’t,” she gasped out and he let go.
He heard Ganke nervously swallow, eyes lingering on him. He was definitely going to ask about this later. “Um, she’s… she’s from my math class.”
A silence descended on the little group before Miles forced himself to lean back and relax. “You look better than when I saw you last. How are you catching up with classes?”
Jasmine gave him a sympathetic look - it made his skin itch. “Uh, it wasn’t an issue. I only needed a, uh, ‘sick-day’ from all that. I was only gone over the weekend. Not that long.”
The exhaustion from earlier with Miss Calleros threatened to overwhelm him. He had forgotten that detail. The closest thing to someone who would understand wasn’t there. That hope was extinguished. “Right.”
She wrung her hands together, “I wanted to thank you, as well. I… wouldn’t have gotten out of there without you. If you could keep my involvement on the down-low too, I would appreciate it.”
He gave her a simple nod and for the first time he saw her relax. “Awesome. Well, I’ll leave you two to it and see you around.”
He turned towards Ganke, glad to actually have time with his friend now, only to find him staring at him like he was a stranger. He shifted uncomfortably and turned to his sandwich - it was the one excuse he had not to talk.
Second-to-last class of the day and his hand was shaking. All his senses were on fire for no reason and to add the cherry on top -
“What power do you think he has? ‘Cause Ronny heard from Jessica who said Tim told her that he had been part of that thing in Brooklyn, but I don’t believe it, ‘cause, what power would he even have?” he heard one of the kids at the back of the room whisper.
“I don’t believe it - I mean look at him. What power could he possibly have that would make him look this crappy afterwards? I think he didn’t have what they wanted and just neglected him,” a male voice muttered.
He heard their neighbor flick them and the male voice hissed in pain. “Don’t be an idiot. If you can keep a powerful prisoner weak by starving them, you’d do it. I reckon he has super strength or something.”
A female voice huffed disbelievingly, “Even before he disappeared he was basically a twig. He couldn’t lift me - let alone a car. Maybe he can, I don’t know, control fire or something?”
“But that’s so lame,” the male voice said, dragging out the last word.
“Wait, why don’t we just ask him?” another voice pitched in and he heard furious writing before something hit his back and slid onto the seat.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and ignored them.
“What? He didn’t even look at it,” the note writer whined.
“Let me,” the female voice assured. More writing and then this rolled-up note hit his cast and rolled down on top of the book he had been failing to read.
He took another deep breath, willing himself to have patience he didn’t have, and opened the scrunched bit of paper.
What superpower do you have? :D
He finally looked back at the group of four. They were staring at him expectantly. He made the note visible to them, looked one of them straight in the eye, and crumpled it before stuffing the remains in his pocket. He turned back to his book.
“What the hell! It’s just a question,” the male voice sneered.
“I bet he wasn’t even captured. It’s all just a coincidence. He’s just anorexic and letting us all believe he was bloody kidnapped,” the female voice declared.
He was out of his chair and in their face before he had even realised he had moved, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I fucking starved myself on purpose so they wouldn’t tie me down and cut me open. Was that what you wanted to know?! Are you happy?!”
“Miles!” his teacher yelled, making him snap out of his rage.
The group of kids were looking at him with terrified looks like they expected him to start beating them up any second. Chest heaving, he looked back to see the whole class staring at him. His adrenaline quickly faded to be replaced with cold shame.
He caught himself on the desk just as his legs threatened to collapse. He swallowed, determinedly looking the teacher in the eye.
“I’m going to the nurse,” he muttered, forcing his legs to move one step in front of the other until he was out the door. Only when he had turned the corner did he allow himself to buckle completely, falling to his knees hard enough to jar his whole body.
Every breath was hindered by the weight on his chest. His heart pounded so loud it overwhelmed everything else, racing like a rabbit’s. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t protect himself, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t…
The sound of a door opening was the only thing that got him moving towards the nurses office. He didn’t want anyone else to see him like this. He didn’t need any more questions. He didn’t want any more pity.
The door to Miles and Ganke’s shared room slowly creaked open, spilling light into the darkened room. Miles stiffened, but settled when he heard the familiar footsteps of his friend coming in. He rolled over, back to the door.
“Miles?” Ganke called.
“What?” He snapped then regretted it, curling into a tighter ball.
There was a pause before Ganke closed the door, snapping the lock into place. There was the sound of two things being put down on the ground. Ganke must have had the bag that Miles had left behind. He stepped onto the ladder, head popping up into his peripheral vision.
“Do you want to talk about it?” his friend gently suggested.
Miles took a deep breath, wiping away a stray tear. “Why is this so hard?” he asked miserably, voice wavering.
Ganke invited himself onto the top bunk, kicking his shoes off on the way up, and laid down next to him, face to face.
“No one exactly has a frame of reference, y’know? People don’t know how to help you,” Ganke explained, shifting so he was on his back staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at him.
“Everyone is treating me like I’m some- some…” he lost the words to explain it, balling his hands into fists.
Ganke glanced over at him, “Cornered animal? ‘Cause you’ve been acting like one. I really think you should talk to someone about what you went through.”
“What? Like you?” Miles hesitated, closing his eyes for a moment. “I just… don’t want to relive it. I don’t want to… be that person again.”
“What do you mean?” Ganke asked quietly.
Miles pursued his lips. “Hopeless,” he finally admitted.
He knew how draining this would be, but the borderline interrogation from Detective Smith was taking everything out of him. Especially as he avoided admitting anything about his powers and how his kidnappees knew about them.
“So you’re saying they did some sort of surgery on your wrists? Can you explain more about that?” Smith asked, thin glasses basically falling off of his nose as he looked down on Miles.
“I figured it out after this, but they drugged my food so I was knocked out when they would come to take me. I had something to eat and fell asleep pretty quickly afterwards. When I woke up next both wrists had a line of stitches on them,” Miles explained numbly, eyes staring into nothingness.
“And they did this regularly? Every dish was drugged?”
He crossed his hands even tighter. “I don’t know. I stopped eating anything they gave me after that.”
Smith hummed, scribbling something down. “You were gone two months, there is physically no way you’d be alive if you hadn’t had anything since then.”
Miles’s breath hitched, struggling not to relive the force feedings. Every time wide awake, the tube stuck halfway down his throat, cold and- “They forced it on me,” he choked out, hunching in on himself. There was a weight on his chest- in his chest, he couldn’t breathe around it-
Smith dropped his pen, the noise enough to startle him out of the phantom sensations. “We’re not getting anywhere. We’ll try again another day.”
Miles swallowed the bile in his throat. “Ok.”
Smith got up, taking his notes with him and opened the interview room door. The noise of the busy office was like nails on a chalkboard, making the urge to throw up increase tenfold. He struggled to unfold himself, blindly reaching out for the water they had poured for him.
The cool water helped to ease the weight on his chest, the phantom feeling going back to being a memory. He closed his eyes, putting down the empty cup before rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Watching…
Miles snapped his head up, searching for what his spider-sense was going on about. He found someone standing by the water cooler, folder in hand, looking straight at him. He was tempted to dismiss his spider-sense as overreacting - responding to frayed nerves - before they held the folder up and then dropped it into the bin behind them. Still watching him.
They moved away, unhurried, until they turned a corner and were out of sight.
He grabbed the cup on the table and moved quickly towards the water cooler. Crouching down, with one hand he added water to the cup at the same moment he stuffed the folder under his hoodie.
Throwing the cup back and swallowing the last of the cold water, he dropped the plastic cup into the bin and hurried out of the police station.
Case #: O92786 Date: xx/xx/xxxx
Reporting Officer: Dave
Incident:
Anonymous tip filed about bug spray smell at 1st and 43rd. Found large, Caucasian person sitting near fence. Incoherent mutterings about “owls” and “hurt.” Pupils visibily misaligned.
Officer Dave called paramedics. Victim became unconscious before paramedics arrived and was declared dead by paramedics upon arrival.
Miles leaned back, chewing absently on his pen. Why did that want him to have this? Obviously, they wanted him to investigate - but why him? They must know that he was Spider-Man…
His eyes flicked over to his wardrobe, knowing that a half-repaired spare suit was waiting for him in his sewing box. He hadn’t added the zip to the back, having not wanted to go through the annoying process of adding the U-shaped zipper. He could probably finish it and add his half-finished air filtration system he had been tinkering with before - it had been intended to make fighting in sewers easier but maybe it could mute the effects of the ‘bug spray’ he was now all too familiar with.
He studied the cast on his left arm. Six weeks had passed from the worst time of his life and this was all that was left to show of it. He wasn’t skin and bones anymore - all his stitches had scarred over. Even the cast was basically redundant: he knew that the bones had stitched themselves together by now.
He was ready to go back to being Spider-Man.
The job that had landed him in the worst time of his life.
Glancing at the folder again didn’t give him any more clarity. Did he really want to go back to his 'second job?'
He got up, giving into the restless urge to pace. He had to at least find out the people behind it, right? Erase any information they had on him, figure out why they had done all that to him. Right?
They could come right after him, again. He had to take them down. Even if the mere thought of confronting it all made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Decision reluctantly made, he spent the next hour carefully sewing the suit together, adding the filters into the mask.
Halfway through, Ganke came back from his after-school tech club and flopped down on his bed. Noticeably, he didn’t comment, only moving to put on some music.
As he went to put it on he quickly figured out his oversight. His cast. He couldn’t put his arm in without tearing the seams of his costume. Mumbling to himself, he pulled out an extra zipper from his supplies and made the arm detachable. One webshooter would just have to do.
Costume finally on he approached the mirror on the back of the door. Far from making him elated, instead, he struggled to swallow the bile building at the back of his throat.
“I was wondering when you would finally put it back on,” Ganke finally spoke up, sitting up and leaning against the wall.
Miles hesitated to answer. “I didn’t think I would at all.”
He saw Ganke give him a knowing smile in the reflection of the mirror. “‘Great Power, Great Responsibility’ would have made you do it eventually.”
With Ganke covering for him back at the dorm, Miles bussed as close as he could to the intersection in the report before swinging onto a nearby roof and pulling off his civilian clothes and stuffing them into his backpack.
This was it: he was really going to be Spider-Man again. Dragging his eyes from the backpack tucked into the corner, he walked to the edge of the roof and crouched down.
Ok, game face on.
There was nothing that immediately stood out to him about this intersection. It was warehouse after warehouse stretching all around. If someone was doing something shifty this would be an ideal place.
He closed his eyes, taking a calming deep breath before stretching his awareness out - tapping into his spider-sense to try to find a lead. He waited in the cool night air, listening to a rat skittering down a grate, the dripping of a leaky faucet two streets down, the breeze rustling a trash bag on the curb, and then…
There. A door opening and closing, a whirring sound following close behind. Narrowing in on it, he took a running start and jumped over to the next building, following the direction of the sound until he was on a barely standing warehouse, skylights pouring the moonlight into the otherwise dusty interior.
Instinct told him to hold back and wait, so he crouched lower and slunk into the shadows. Muscles tense, quickly growing sore from lack of practice, he closed his eyes and willed himself to be patient.
It paid off. A rattling truck quickly approached the warehouse, boots dropped to the ground and a garage door was hauled open. The truck reversed in, parking close to the door as it was closed again.
In a flurry of activity the back was open and goods were hauled out, including a bedraggled man wearing clothes with noticeable rips and holes. They were tied up on a stretcher with a cloth gag in their mouth.
Fingers twitching to move, he knew he had to remain still and wait for the right moment. The whirring sound started up again and in front of his disbelieving eyes, the once-empty space of concrete floor cracked apart, being pulled apart so a platform underneath could be lifted up into place.
The platform had several lab scientists, a tube big enough to fit a person, and a massive control board. The wide-eyed person was untied and, despite flailing arms and a brief attempt to get away, they were quickly manhandled into the tube.
He shifted closer, a weight on his chest. Miles’s eyes kept on darting between the scientists, intently focused on them. He could hardly breathe - his whole body so tense his muscles began to protest.
One of the scientists dismissively flicked their hand towards one of the crew at the control panel, and all of a sudden the room lit up with a bright light, forcing him to close his eyes. That's when the screaming began.
Blood curdling, wretched screams from the person he should have saved - why didn’t he save them? His own throat ached in sympathy. Then the screaming began to gurgle, before it tapered off and was replaced with clawing.
The room went dark again and he finally looked around again. The tube was filled with a dark shape, and in horror, he realized that whatever was in the tube wasn’t human anymore. It had multiple limbs sprouting erratically across its body, half-formed. Its clothes had been ripped off and were replaced with a thick layer of dark brown hair. Lying on the floor of the tube it twitched once, twice, then fell deathly still.
The scientist who had ordered this gave a frustrated sigh. “Get another one in here,” she ordered.
Not allowing himself the time to second guess, Miles smashed through the skylight and landed directly on the control panel. He raised his fist, blue electricity lighting up the otherwise dark room. It crumpled, smashing in two with a single punch.
He stood back up, facing the goons, chest heaving and fists clenched. “I’m back,” he hissed, fury making what was meant to be lighthearted impossible to say any other way.
Guns were raised, glinting in the moonlight, but he was quicker. There were only ten of them: hardly an issue.
Webs trapped the first. He jump-kicked into the next, using them like a launching platform to handspring and smash the guy behind him into the ground. Grabbing the muzzle of the nearest goon’s gun, he ripped it out of their hand and swung it into the person on his left, letting the guy and the gun clatter to the ground.
The goon he had taken the gun from reared back to punch him but he simply grabbed their other arm and used them like a battering ram. Three were toppled into the ground and he webbed them up. Seven down.
In the time it had taken for them to go down, the last three had backed away and finally had their guns ready. He turned invisible just as the first of the muzzle flashes lit up the room.
He danced through the bullet fire, gleefully putting all his trust into his spider-sense to keep him from getting hurt. At the same moment he webbed one goon’s chest and arms to their truck, he sucker punched another into the wall. The goon slumped down, head lolling in unconsciousness.
He turned to the last goon, teeth bared in a grin he knew they couldn’t see. “Your turn.”
Instead of dropping the gun, putting their hands up in surrender, or anything like that, they smiled like they knew something he didn’t.
Watch out!
He was too late - something hit his neck and wrapped around it, not even letting him fall to the ground before he was lifted into the air. He grabbed at the cold metal, wedging a space between it and his throat so he could breathe.
Still recovering from the sudden lack of air, it took him a moment too long to realize he was being floated closer to the scientists.
The head scientist lifted her hand, and he stopped in midair. “At least we’ve had one success tonight,” she remarked.
His eyes darted around until he found the source of his problem. Like she had been dragged out of The Ring, a lady was standing off to the side with one hand extended towards him. She was barefoot and wearing a matching white cotton shirt and pants. Her hair was untied and falling in front of her face but he could still see her glowing blue eyes through them. Yet she held herself like she was about to fall, shaking with exhaustion.
She was using telekinesis… They were using Jasmine’s power…
Understanding dawned on him all at once. He knew what they were trying to do.
“It won’t work,” he choked out, “you’ll never figure out my powers.”
The scientist lady scowled. “I have all the resources I need, I will bend it to my will. I just need time. And the source.”
Miles didn’t need to hear anything more. He couldn’t let that happen. A web shot to the chest was all the distraction needed for the Ring lady to drop him.
He wrenched the metal around his neck in half, tucking into a roll to avoid the bullets from the lone guard. With all his might he threw the scrap at them but didn’t wait to see the result. He smashed through the closest window and took off running towards his backpack.
He webbed himself up on to the nearest building and took off sprinting, easily leaping between buildings until he was there.
As he went to grab the bag something cold was pressed into the small of his back. He froze.
“If you know what’s good for you,” the gravelly voice whispered into his ear, “you’ll take off that silly little costume and give up being Spider-Man.”
It was a sword-- there was a sword being pressed into his back. Yet his spider-sense was quiet. They weren’t planning on hurting him.
“Or what?” He challenged.
“Or Jefferson Davis and Rio Morales will each get a bullet to the head.”
Miles wrenched himself around, not caring that he cut his suit in the move, and reared back to punch them. Instead, pain exploded from his cheek and he collapsed to the ground. He grabbed the boot just as it stomped onto his stomach, muting the force of the blow.
The man above him had a skeleton mask, a white cape, and black armor with yellow highlights. “Who are you?” he gasped out.
“A warning.” The Skeleton Guy grabbed something off their belt and dropped it. His vision was obscured in a cloud of smoke and at the same moment, the weight on his stomach was lifted.
When the smoke was finally cleared, the skeleton man was gone.
Despite the weight being gone, Miles still struggled to breathe through his overwhelming panic.
Miles carefully slid the window open before climbing inside. He put his bag down and locked the window, leaning his head against it for a long moment.
His Mamá and Dad were fine. He had stopped by and watched them sleeping for almost five minutes before he was able to tear himself away and head home. He knew it was creepy, but it was the only thing that had calmed his racing heart.
“Miles?” Ganke sleepily called out, the sheets rustling as he sat up in bed.
His mouth went dry. “Go back to sleep Ganke, I’m fine.” Physically. Physically he was fine.
There was more rustling and Miles finally looked over at Ganke. He had propped his pillow up and was rubbing at his eyes. “No, I’ve got to know how it went,” he yawned.
His fists curled in on themselves, gritting his teeth.
“... I found some scientists experimenting on someone and I destroyed some of their equipment, then came home,” he finally explained, straightening up and closing the curtains. “Not much to talk about.”
“Oh, I get it. Yeah, that must have rattled you. Have you thought more about seeing one of the school counselors?”
Miles climbed up the ladder to his bunker. “I’m not going to see them - I can’t tell them anything about my life.”
“They are bound by, like, laws and stuff, so they can’t tell anyone else,” Ganke protested.
Miles couldn’t help his huff of disbelief. “Sure, like that will do much. It’s not like they would try to stop me being Spider-Man or anything even if I did tell them since I’d be ‘recklessly endangering’ myself. Look, I’m tired and we’ve got school.”
Ganke made a murmur of protest but settled back to sleep anyway. Miles stared unblinking at the ceiling, things he wanted to spill to his friend bubbling away in his chest but knowing he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t explain all the conflicting emotions, conflicting thoughts, and everything that had happened to him without him really knowing why it had happened. Or how he just wanted to throw the towel in.
It would all be too much for his friend, who idealized the idea of what Spider-Man was.
He turned onto his side, balling up tightly. He couldn’t tell anyone about the threats on his parents' lives, and he couldn’t stop being Spider-Man now. Not when he knew what they were doing to people. He couldn’t let other people suffer through what he had.
He couldn’t fail another stranger like he had that man.
With his cast finally off, Miles was free to fidget with his hands at his next 'interview.'
“Okay, so you tried to escape and failed. You’re saying they then did another surgery on your legs?” Smith probed.
“Before you ask, I didn’t even take the dressings off. I don’t know what they did but after it, I couldn’t even stand.” Miles cut Smith off before he could question it further.
Smith hummed. “Trying to prevent you from breaking out again?”
He shrugged.
Smith scribbled something down and leaned back in his chair. “But you said last time you began starving yourself after this?”
“Yeah. When my legs got infected it was… easier to not eat when I was so nauseous. Kept them from probing at me.” Miles blinked a few times, struggling to keep away the feverish memories of that week. “Can we… can we come back to this later? I’m done for today.”
He saw Smith roll his eyes from the corner of his eyes and felt a wave of righteous anger threaten to swallow him. The fact he was here at all was a miracle. He just hoped Amy, with how young she was, had a different Detective interviewing her then insensitive asshole here.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll schedule a time for you to come back in,” Smith said with a deep sigh. He stood up and left the room, leaving the door open like last time.
Miles finally let himself relax, lounging back against the chair. He studied the office, eyes dancing between the various people.
Sure enough, his spider-sense began to perk up and he took the time to study the person with the folders. She had her hair up in a neat bun, pencil skirt falling to just above her knees and a button-up shirt. She gave him a smile he couldn’t read and dropped a new folder in the water cooler’s bin.
Miles picked it up on the way out.
Goons and scientists webbed up, data on a spare USB, all the machines smashed, Miles took vicious satisfaction as he dialed 911 for police to come around. No one got turned into a spider amalgamation and he wasn’t almost captured.
All that done, he stepped out into the twilight of Midtown New York. A cool breeze drifted around him, allowing him a moment to regroup himself. Whoever these people were, the USB would get him one step closer to taking them down.
A shrill alarm snapped him to attention.
As he took off swinging towards the sound, he realized with a start that this would be his first official public outing as Spider-Man since his kidnapping. The thought thrilled him, but the bubble of nerves surrounding the safety of his parents grew in turn.
It was a bank robbery, because of course it was. Already there were police cars stationed outside, and an ambulance.
He swung in, flipping onto the nearest cruiser. The thump drew the attention of the nearest police officer who was ducked behind it for safety.
“Spider-Man,” he exclaimed, tone hinting on wondrous.
“How can I help?” Miles asked, doing his best to survey the scene.
The police officer shook himself to attention, “There are at least four robbers in there, all armed. They’ve shot one of us, but he’s okay. It was just in the foot.”
“Any hostages?”
“No, they were allowed to flee.”
Miles nodded to him, “Thanks for the information. I’ll make-”
His eyes drifted to the ambulance and realized who exactly was being treated.
Dad. Dad was hurt. Was this part of the Skeleton Guy’s threat or-?
Car!
Miles dived for the helpful police officer, bodily hoisting him out of the way as a car rammed into the cruiser, flipping it onto its side, and with screeching tires took off down the road.
Dropping the stunned police officer, he turned and sprinted down the road, taking a running start before he started webbing after the car. Every arch got him closer and closer to the car, so close he prepared to jump onto it.
Look out!
Glancing to the side earned him a boot to the face. He hurtled towards the closest building, tucking into a ball in time to smash through the glass. Crashing through almost a dozen desks, he narrowly missed the stunned office workers in the process.
Skidding to a stop, he didn’t give himself time to take in the pain from the glass embedded in him as he hoisted himself up onto his elbows. His attacker's confident strides echoed around the office which had gone dead silent.
Miles rolled himself into a crouch, defensively preparing for a fight. Only for the blood to drain from his face as he recognized the figure. It was Skeleton Guy.
“Did- Did the swords come with the mask at Spirit Halloween? Gotta say, you’re way too early for Halloween,” Miles managed to joke, all too aware of the recovering office workers who were peering out to watch.
“I thought my message was clear last time,” the Skeleton Guy said, unholstering the swords on his back and confidently swinging them around. They were as long as his torso and glinted in the office lighting.
“Whoever you’re working for, you can tell them it isn’t going to happen,” Miles declared.
In a flurry of movement, Skeleton Guy dove towards Miles. Miles ducked under the first sword swing and jumped out of the way of the second. He turned around and attempted to web one to the wall, but missed.
Skeleton Guy attempted to slice him again but he managed to sidestep it, twisting the movement into a kick to the torso. Instead, his leg was grabbed and he was thrown into the nearest cubicle wall.
Miles attempted to dive out of the way of his next attack but didn’t have the room - he was too slow.
Searing pain lit up his left arm as he was kicked onto the ground, the cubicle he was on being flattened to the floor. A crunching sound made him nauseous but he didn’t dare look over to see what was wrong. His left arm was out of the fight: that was all he needed to know.
Miles balled his right arm into a fist and attempted to punch him but Skeleton Guy caught his fist like it was nothing. He curled his feet towards himself, managing to kick him across the room despite the awkward position.
Miles attempted to get up but vicious pain made him stop.
The sword had been driven through his hand. Shit.
He grabbed for the sword, desperately trying to dislodge it in the second he had, but he couldn’t. All he succeeded in was cutting his other hand on the sharp edge of the blade.
Too late. Skeleton Guy was over him, easily grabbing his legs and pinning them to his chest when he attempted to fight back. He reared back for another punch but only earned himself a boot pinning that down too.
“You will listen to me, Miles Morales,” Skeleton Guy hissed, thankfully only loud enough for him to hear, leaning on the sword and driving it further down. He blinked through the tears of pain, refusing to let himself so much as whimper.
“It’s Spider-Man while I’m on the job,” he spat back, chest heaving.
“Jefferson’s foot is strike two. There won't be a third. Stay out of OWL’s business, or I’ll personally make sure he’s six feet under,” Skeleton Guy threatened, before dropping his feet ungraciously.
In one smooth motion, the sword was pulled out of his hand and the floor. Miles almost gagged at the feeling of his bones shifting back. But he didn’t dare look anywhere else but his adversary.
“Hope we don’t meet again,” Skeleton Guy said louder before he was striding across the office and jumped out of the smashed window.
With a woozy head, Miles sat up, cradling his hand and watched as ink-red blood pooled on the ground. His web shooter was smashed to pieces, pieces of it embedded in the hole left behind. He would have to replace that.
“Spider-Man?” a voice gently called, the words laced with concern. It snapped him back to attention. Right, he was in an office. The office he had crashed into. Which had people who worked there for a living.
He swallowed and got to the process of webbing his injury as well as he could before he could get it treated. “I’m okay,” he reassured, grateful for the mask that hid his face. “‘Tis but a flesh wound.”
When he looked up at the speaker, he found a curly-haired man in office-casual crouched down in front of him. They clearly didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe him either.
“Do you need an ambulance?” they offered. Miles shook his head, growing increasingly nervous as he spotted how many phones were out. Filming him.
“No, I’ll be fine. I, uh, have some robbers to stop. I’ll see myself out,” Miles stood up, the kind office worker standing in turn. As he went to walk away, they put a hand on his shoulder and he froze.
“We all missed you, you know. It’s good to have you back, Spidey.” Then the hand let him go and he immediately missed the small comfort.
“Thanks,” he choked out, then determinedly walked forward and jumped out of the window.
His injured hand tucked close to his body, he swung in the direction the car had been going. He found the car smashed into a light pole halfway down the block, police officers surrounding it.
Miles landed on the nearest cruiser that had a police officer next to it. They startled before realizing who it was. “Oh, Spider-Man.”
It was the police officer he had saved. “Sorry for scaring you… and for not stopping the thieves. I was, uh, preoccupied.”
“Wish you hadn’t been - by the time we got down here they had all fled. It was almost like they crashed on purpose,” the police officer hummed.
Miles studied the officer’s face closely. He took a deep breath before asking, “They didn’t happen to have, I don’t know, any owl insignia on them?”
They frowned. “Yeah. Why? Do you know something?”
“Just a hunch,” Miles admitted, proud of how his voice didn’t waver. He shifted and immediately regretted it when excruciating pain reminded him of his newest injury. He winced and tucked the hand closer to his body.
“Spidey? Are you okay?”
“Just fine. I’m going to go now, thanks for your help,” he bit out before webbing himself onto the nearest rooftop. He took off running until he found his bag two blocks away,
As he crouched down next to it, his phone started ringing shrilly. Digging it out, he lifted his mask and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello Miles Morales, you have an appointment to see Mr. Fisk.”