Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

a’ight, a’ight, let’s start this one last time. 

hobie brown was bitten by a radioactive spider, blah blah blah . you already know the whole thing, don’t be daft. 

do you really need him to explain the whole process?

hobie’s adventures as spider-man — or spider-punk, as he likes to call himself — have certainly been… well, adventurous. hobie likes that, some fun danger sprinkled into the everyday danger. it makes everything much more tolerable in his dimension. 

let’s start this over, shall we?

for a multitude of reasons, hobie typically refuses for people to come by and visit his earth. 

a lump of shame always ends up in his throat whenever he has to mention his own dimension. it’s gotten to the point that he rarely allows for anyone else to deal with anomalies there — just him, and only him. 

so, of course, he’s glowering at miguel when he says that hobie and miles have a mission to complete on earth-138.

“no,” hobie snaps immediately, lips curling up to a snarl. he keeps miles behind him, his hand lightly grazing against miles’s — he doesn’t want for his li’l bro to see the effects of his world. “that ain’t what we agreed on.”

“i understand that,” miguel argues, the two of them ignoring miles’s curiosity. “however, this is a two person job. i figured you would prefer miles over me, or peter, or anyone else.”

hobie growls in frustration, clenching his fist. it’s not often that he shows such blatant displays of anger at miguel, but he can’t help it when miguel fucking suggested this. 

“miles, arañita, i’m going to give hobie a quick and deeper overview of the villain and its whereabouts, since it is his dimension,” miguel says, turning to miles. “step outside for a moment, if you will. feel free to bother lyla.”

miles nervously glances up at hobie, quietly intertwining his fingers with hobie’s and squeezing his hand twice. you good?

hobie sighs, and squeezes back twice. i’m good. 

miles nods, and he swings his way out of the office, casting one last glance behind him before the doors slide shut. 

as soon as he knows miles is gone, hobie whips his head around, snarling at miguel in distaste. “what the fuck is wrong wit’ you, you fuckin’ imbecile.”

“hobie.”

“i told you that all missions on my dimension are meant ta be done by me an’ me only! ” hobie shouts, eyes flashing with anger. “now you want me bringin’ li’l blud out there, too? the bloody fuck is your issue?”

“my issue,” miguel cuts in sternly, “is that i need you to be more open to accepting help.”

“you’re one ta fuckin’ talk,” hobie sneers, crossing his arms. “you ain’t even talkin’ ‘bout your problems to anyone. you like doin’ all the leader shit on ya own.”

“and i’ve begun to reach out, despite what you may believe,” miguel snaps, lips curling up to reveal his fangs. 

they stare at one another for a few seconds, each one refusing to back down, before miguel sighs, breaking eye contact and pinching the bridge of his nose. “hobie.”

“you’re not mi fuckin’ maa.”

it’s difficult to say what their specific relationship is like. to everyone else, it’s a work relationship fueled with hatred and barely-there tolerance, with only a hint of worry on either side. 

in actuality, which hobie hates to admit, miguel actually… cares. 

he confessed it to hobie one day, when he found hobie sitting on the rooftop of one of the many skyscrapers of nueva york. miguel quietly confided in hobie, after a rather rough mission that the two of them were on. that he disguises his worry in snarky comments and thinly veiled insults. 

and hobie, with amusement, admitted that he was the same. 

blegh. it still felt weird, admitting that he and miguel had similarities here and there. 

and miguel talked about his daughter, and how hobie and the other spider-kids made him feel more… alive, after that. 

now, hobie can’t help but soften ever so slightly at the look miguel gives him. he knows that it’s just… miguel trying to make sure he’s safe. 

especially after the other things that hobie had admitted, finally spoke aloud, even broke down over to miguel. 

he ain’t ever gonna admit that, though. 

“you shouldn’t be dealing with three anomalies on your own,” miguel says, and hobie grits his teeth, hating the fact that miguel’s right . fucking motherfucker. “and i know you trust miles most.”

“then you should know that i want him nowhere near the mess of my dimension,” hobie scoffs. “he ain’t gotta see all that. ‘s too much.”

“miles has kept an open mind with every single dimension he’s entered, and has had no serious negative qualms about any of them, unless it’s the most ridiculous thing,” miguel points out. “what will he do, point out how corrupt your system is? por dios, everyone knows that.”

hobie exhales deeply, playing with his lip ring in thought. miguel notices and sighs, adding quietly, “i am only doing this to help.”

“i don’ need ya fuckin’ help.”

“sure you don’t.”

hobie scoffs, shoving himself off of miguel’s desk that he realizes he’s been leaning against. “whatever. when are we meant to go?”

“i need them in hq by the end of the day.”

“i’ll bring ‘em in two days if i fuckin’ wanna,” hobie grumbles, stalking off. “we’ll be back later.”

“don’t cause too much damage.”

hobie rolls his eyes, flipping off miguel without turning around. 

“hobie.”

hobie sighs when he reaches the door, glancing back at miguel. 

“be safe.”

hobie clenches his jaw momentarily before he gives a swift nod and slips out of the room.

“so, blud,” hobie says cheerfully as he approaches miles. and he can tell that miles notices the slight edge in his tone, “ready ta go?”

“i’m excited to see your world for the first time,” miles admits, a bubbly smile on his face. 

hobie grimaces slightly, not sure how to let the boy down lightly. “i mean… it ain’t the best…”

“i know it’s got a fucked up government,” miles says with a shrug. “but it’s your world, and that alone is cool.”

hobie… his heart kinda swells at that, and he can’t help but smile softly as he opens a portal to his dimension. “well, don’t expect much, eh?”

hobie steps in first, breathing in the familiar air of his city. it’s a bit clearer than usual, and he’s pleased to see that there’s not much destruction as of yet, especially with three anomalies on the loose. 

he turns when he hears a soft gasp, ready to apologize to miles about how… grim his dimension looks. but he sees the look in miles’s eyes, and he stops. 

miles’s eyes are full of awe and wonder as he looks around, jaw dropped slightly as he takes in the view. hobie watches as he scans the skyline, childlike wonder on his face as he examines the constantly changing buildings.

he turns to hobie, a grin slowly forming on his face. hobie instinctively feels dread, anticipation for disappointment and disgust from miles—

“this place is so cool, ” miles breathes, eyes sparkling. “it’s gotta be one of my fave dimensions already.”

hobie relaxes, a small smile appearing on his face at miles’s excitement. “thanks, blud. c’mon, let’s have a li’l swing, i’ll show ya around.”

miles nods eagerly, and hobie immediately shoots off a web, swinging himself off the roof and around town. he hears a whoop of excitement and suddenly, miles is next to him, infectious laughter ringing through the air. 

hobie always enjoys being around miles — even when the darker thoughts attempt to cloud over his mind and judgment, miles’s presence always manages to push them away. 

and so he lands on a dock, casually approaching the huge canal boat he calls his home. miles sputters in shock as he lands next time, evidently confused as to why hobie’s just waltzing into some random boat. 

“well,” hobie drawls, shoving his hands in his pockets as he whirls around to grin at miles, “welcome to my pad.”

“you live here?” miles gasps, and hobie isn’t sure how it was possible, but miles’s eyes seem to sparkle even more. “holy fuck, dude. i thought you lived in an actual apartment! this is way cooler!”

“why, thanks, li’l blud,” hobie chuckles, leading miles further into the boat. “‘s my own version of hq too, actually.”

“what do you m—!”

miles gasps as they enter a part of the boat that looks so much like miguel’s own office at hq. hobie sits on a desk chair, rolling his way over to the desk and turning on the screens nonchalantly. “ya like?”

“dude,” miles breathes, looking around in awe. “how the fuck did you do this?”

“lotsa boredom,” hobie hums with a shrug. “and theft. but that part ain’t important.”

miles snickers, pulling up a chair and sitting next to hobie. “so… i’m gonna assume you’ll gimme a better rundown than miguel.”

“right you are, blud,” hobie smirks as information appears on the screens in front of them. “get ready to do things my way.”

Chapter Text

hobie’s hiding. 

he never likes to admit to hiding. it’s cowardly, in his eyes. 

it’s cowardly, in the eyes of the person he’s hiding from. 

he covers his mouth with his hand, attempting to quiet his breathing as he hears the yelling and crashing going around in the other rooms of the house. 

he’s alone. it’s just him … and mother.

mother isn’t the nicest. hobie may only be seven, but he knows that the way that mother acts isn’t right. he sees it in the bruises along his older siblings’ bodies, in the dried blood drops across the wall and the floor, in the ever growing pile of empty alcohol bottles. 

hobie’s alone, and he has no one to protect him from mother’s wrath. 

the door to the bedroom slams open, and hobie shrinks in on himself from his spot in the closet. he’d never admit to the tears that sprang into his eyes — no, he’ll never admit to such a show of weakness. 

there’s yelling, and hobie’s practically trembling at this point. he’s never been on his own like this before, and his brain malfunctions as he desperately attempts to remember what his siblings had told him to do in case this happened. 

the closet door is pulled open, and hobie stares up at the sneering face of mother in fear. 

“there ya are, ya fuckin’ brat,” mother hiccups, and hobie cries out when his arm is grabbed and he’s yanked out of the closet. “thought you could fuckin’ hide?”

hobie can’t even bring himself up to speak. he shakes his head frantically, clawing at her hand to try and get her to let go of him. 

instead, he’s dragged out of the room, mother sneering about how he reminds her too much of father. 

when they slip through the door, the scenery changes. 

hobie’s out on the streets, sitting in an alleyway with his head leaning against the brick wall. he had just been bitten by some strange irradiated spider a few days ago, and the things that have occurred afterwards are … strange. 

it’s been a few months since he’s been kicked out of the house. in some grim way, he’s thankful to be away from mother.

he’s young, only thirteen, and these weird spider powers are kinda freaking him out. sticking to walls and shit would be cool on a normal day, but when you’re a homeless teenager in a corrupt country — you’ll practically be locked up. 

the streets were certainly not for the weak. hobie’s learned to defend himself quickly, unfortunately. but he still aches from the bruises littered all over his body, the stinging cuts and irritating scabs over his arms and legs. 

there really isn’t a purpose to life, hobie thinks darkly as he rummages through his bag to grab a sandwich he had stolen earlier. what was the point for him, if he’s just a nobody?

no one cares. not one of his siblings have tried to find him. he has no one. 

he’s all alone again. 

now hobie stands in front of the crumbled, dead body of president osborn. 

the past year and a half has been insane, to put it lightly. hobie grew into the strange powers the spider bite gave him, dubbing himself ‘spider-punk’. with his new anonymous persona, he’s gone around, leasing riots and raising an ‘army’ of people to take down president osborn. 

their first attempt… well, it didn’t go perfectly in the long run. 

but now, after having released such a high voltage of electricity from his guitar, hobie can definitely say that osborn was dead. 

with the cheers all around him, hobie knows he should be celebrating the downfall of such a horrible leader. instead, his mind can’t help but wander to the fact that he has killed this man not once, but twice already. 

he killed someone. 

swallowing the bile that threatens to come up, he turns to the crowd and rips off his mask, revealing his identity to thousands. 

he stares down at the city from the heights of the skyscraper. 

his city has been exceptionally quiet as of late. it’s kinda nice, to see some form of peace. 

it makes up for the lack of peace in hobie’s mind. 

thoughts swirl around in hobie’s head, heavy and fast, to the point that he feels a headache coming. it doesn’t feel… worth it, in a way, to stick around. he’s gotten rid of osborn, so what point is there for him to stick around?

the reality of it is that hobie doesn’t know what the point is himself. there’s so much in hobie’s mind that he just wants it all to shut up . 

so he tries to.

by letting himself tip over the edge.

he’s black and blue, deep red pouring out of different wounds as he faces numerous different villains. 

his joints ache with reminders of years past, never having fully healed from his time out on the streets. 

the hands all over him, fuck , the stupid fuckin’ hands are making him nauseous, they’re climbing up all over his broken, bloody, bruised body, without a care in the world—

hobie wakes up. 

he desperately gasps for air as he sits up, eyes wide in his panic from the nightmare he just endured. 

fuck. fuck . 

he fucking hates these nightmares, the ones where his past is forcibly brought up. 

he tosses the covers off of him, staggering out of bed as he heaves and tries to catch his breath. he stumbles to the kitchen, and hobie grips the sink as soon as he’s there to steady himself. 

hobie attempts to get a glass of water, he truly does. but he’s trembling , and it’s so, so difficult to keep a proper hold of the glass. 

he barely manages to get a few sips before it’s slipping and falling to the ground. 

hobie frantically bends down, attempting to pick up all the pieces and toss them out. he barely notices all the nicks and cuts that he’s getting as he haphazardly picks them up, no regard for his own safety. 

an occasional wrong movement where something brushes against his arms —whether it be the cabinet, the dish towel, or anything else — makes him gag every time. it reminds him of the hands, and he wants the feeling off of him. 

once all the shards are in the trash (hobie couldn’t care less about the tiniest pieces), he shakily stands, stumbling over to the bathroom. 

he looks up where he had placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, and he violently gags at the sight of the bloody mess left behind, reminding him of the walls in her home. 

he manages to get to the bathroom, and he’s leaning over the sink, breathing heavily and trying so so desperately to not throw up everything in his system. his head’s swirling with flashes of faint memories, reminders of what he’s been through, and he wants them gone .

killing president osborn… it was something that had to be done. if it wasn’t hobie that was going to do it, then someone else would have, but much, much later in the future. but as proud and satisfied as hobie is for killing the man who ruined his place of living, there’s a small part that continues to be sickened by the fact that an almost fifteen year old was the one to murder him. 

murderer. 

is that all he’ll be known as? the reminder of the original prowler being an alternate version of himself dances around in his mind, and he grips the sink tightly in distress, looking at his reflection in the mirror. 

if he hadn’t been bit by that spider beforehand, would he have been the prowler when he killed osborn?

hobie lets out a yell, a loud and angry one, and swings his fist towards his reflection in the mirror. the mirror shatters, shards falling everywhere along the sink, and hobie can’t bring himself up to care anymore. 

he backs into the wall, sinking down and bringing his knees up to his chest. hobie buries his face in his hands, uncaring of the blood that he’s now smearing all over his face. 

he thinks of the pieces of memories he still has over his childhood and of his time on the streets. he thinks of the murder of president osborn. he thinks of those godforsaken hands crawling all over him. 

he thinks of the rush, the feeling of the air around him as he tipped over the edge. 

and he does something he hasn’t done in a long time. 

he sobs.

Chapter Text

“s’up, blud.”

hobie snickers when miles yelps, clutching his chest as he catches his breath. hobie hops into miles’s room, having come in through the window, and miles whines, “what is it with all of you and comin’ through my window!”

“‘s just fun,” hobie says with a shrug. he sits on miles’s desk chair while miles fidgets on his bed, and hobie raises an eyebrow. “whatcha doin’?”

“oh, just — just art.”

“mind if i see?”

“oh, um — not this one, this one’s my messy one,” miles chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “you can, uh — that blue one on my desk? you can look through that.”

hobie hums, swiveling around and picking up the sketchbook, quietly flipping through it. 

hobie has an appreciation for artists and their art — so of course, he loves to support miles and his art when he can. he does this often, coming by to just hang out with miles — swing around his city, admire his art, catch up with him.

“how’s life been treatin’ ya?” hobie asks, smiling a bit at a page where a drawing of him, gwen, and pavitr was present. “ain’t no big anomalies out there?”

“nah, not as of late.” miles shrugs, turning back to his sketchbook. “just an occasional villain here and there — haven’t really had time for a spider society mission as of late.”

“homework kickin’ your ass that bad?”

“bro, yes ,” miles groans, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “dude, i coulda graduated by now if i wanted to, but i didn’t outta respect for mamí! but these teachers keep thinkin’ that there’s no way i can keep up with all this curriculum. it’s so irritating.”

“sounds like fuckin’ racism to me,” hobie hums, snapping the sketchbook shut. “you’re one of the smartest blokes i’ve seen, better than miguel.”

“now you’re just bein’ a li’l shit,” miles scoffs, a playful smile on his face. “there’s no way—”

hobie’s spidey-sense goes off, and miles’s does too, as they both turn to the door right before it’s knocked on.

“miles? mijo, are you back?”

oh, fuck. 

hobie curses quietly, hurriedly putting away miles’s sketchbook. he hasn’t met miles’s parents yet, and he usually comes by when they’re not at home.  

“ papi’s home, so dinner will be soon—”

oh, double fuck. 

the door opens, and mrs. morales comes in, stopping at the entryway as she blinks in surprise at hobie. “… mijo, ¿quién es? ”

miles opens his mouth to answer, clearly just as surprised and not expecting for hobie’s first meeting with his parents to be like this. “um— well…”

hobie, ever the quick thinker, stands up from the chair, flashing mrs. morales a charming smile. he holds out his hand, and while maintaining eye contact, says, “ buenas noches, señora. my name is hobie brown — i’m one of miles’s spider buddies. i’ve heard lots of great things about you.”

mrs. morales lights up at that, eagerly taking hobie’s hand and smiling at him. “my, my, mijo , you’ve never mentioned such a sweet boy!”

hobie chuckles, ignoring miles’s shocked noise behind him. mrs. morales tilts her head as she lets go of hobie’s hand, asking, “may i ask where you’re from, in your world — your accent is certainly not from america!”

“ah, ‘s kinda like a london and new york mix,” hobie explains, subconsciously playing with his lip ring. 

“ay, no no, there’s something else there…” mrs. morales snaps her fingers as she attempts to figure it out. “it’s very caribbean…”

“oh.” hobie blinks in surprise — not many people tend to notice so quickly. “well, er, i’m actually jamaican as well.”

“ah, that’s it!” mrs. morales exclaims. “it’s so nice to see another caribbean person!”

hobie withholds a grimace as mrs. morales’s gaze scans over his outfit, but she doesn’t say anything about it. instead, she says, “why don’t you join us for dinner?”

“oh, i couldn’t impose—”

“oh shh, it’s perfectly alright! i make plenty anyway!”

hobie glances back at miles, who still appears rather shell-shocked at the situation. snorting in amusement, he turns back to mrs. morales, saying, “i would love to, ma’am.”

dinner is a bit — awkward. 

meeting mr. morales is a bit awkward, too. mr. morales had immediately taken note of hobie’s outfit and especially his laces, but fortunately made no comment about it. instead, he grunted out a greeting, albeit clearly appreciative of hobie’s politeness. 

but now — well…

“so, hobie,” mr. morales starts, and hobie looks over at him, “blue laces.”

miles groans at how blunt the question is while mrs. morales hisses ‘ jeff!’ to mr. morales. hobie, however, doesn’t mind, and he straightens up in his seat. “yes, an’ i am aware of lace code.”

mr. morales raises an eyebrow. “and you are aware you’re in the presence of a cop?”

“ ¡apá! ” miles hisses, glancing over at hobie nervously.

“yessir, i am,” hobie says defensively. “but my world an’ yours ain’t the same. in mine, the system is much, much more corrupt. the fascist regime is so prevalent that it kills far more than you would expect. i have killed more than one cop. i have even killed my president. but it had to be done.”

silence falls upon them heavily, and hobie inhales shakily, attempting to calm himself down. 

he never likes talking about his world too much. miles has already seen what types of destruction and corruption in it, and he certainly doesn’t want his parents to take this as an excuse to stop them from hanging out. 

in the past, he was ashamed of his actions in killing a cop. he was most certainly terrified and ashamed from killing president osborn. the label of murderer was horrifying to a young teenager, who was only a couple months shy of fifteen. it didn’t matter that he no longer cares for labels — being perceived by everyone he cares for as a murderer… it terrifies him. 

“i see,” mr. morales says after a moment, rolling his shoulders back. “and i’m assuming that the president was practically a dictator?”

“absolutely,” hobie says firmly. 

“in that case, i support you.”

hobie blinks while miles makes a noise of surprise. 

that was… a shock. 

usually, people sneer at him, or practically spit on him and demand he get away for being such a monster. he’s never really… heard an adult agree and sympathize. definitely not from a cop , either. 

“are you safe over there, cariño? ” mrs. morales asks worriedly. “i know that spider-people business is… a lot. but if your own world is like that—”

“i manage,” hobie says curtly. “it — it ain’t the best, but it’s home, ya know?”

mrs. morales nods, an understanding look in her eyes. in response, she merely adds another helping onto hobie’s plate, fixing him with a stern look that hobie can’t even attempt to dispute. 

“your cooking is very lovely, ma’am,” hobie compliments. and he’s not lying — fuck , he’d take so many containers of leftovers back with him if he could. eating nice, hot, homemade food after a long while is always heavenly. “miles’s brags ‘bout your food do no justice.”

“oh, you’re too sweet,” mrs. morales says bashfully, waving him off. “ si quieres, you can take as many leftovers as you want.”

“oh, i can’t—”

“you are a growing boy just like mijo, ” mrs. morales scolds, wagging her finger at him. “and you’re thin, cariño! you will take leftovers with you.”

hobie struggles to hide a smile, nodding at mrs. morales gratefully. “yes ma’am.”

when dinner’s over, hobie immediately jumps up, offering to do the dishes. he argues with mrs. morales about it, insisting that she get some rest, especially since she’s a nurse, and she relents, so long as she gets to pack him some leftovers.

hobie scrubs at the dishes, mind wandering as he cleans. it felt… nice to sit down for a home cooked meal. he hadn’t been to gwen or pavitr’s houses in a while, and he’s been eating from the hq cafeteria or whatever he can salvage back home. 

to be able to sit with people like him, who have similar-ish cultures and understand unsaid struggles… it felt — relieving. 

he perks up when he hears them talking out in the living room, heightened hearing picking up on the conversation.

“i didn’t really want you hangin’ around a punk,” mr. morales sighs, and hobie can imagine him shaking his head. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

hobie grimaces, carefully setting another plate in the drying rack. he … unfortunately understands where mr. morales is coming from. 

“ apá , he’s genuinely one of the super nice ones!” miles insists, and hobie can’t help but smile at that. “he’s the one that helped me out from the start.”

“see, i told you that he was a good kid, jeff!” mrs. morales says, chuckling when mr. morales starts grumbling. “c’mon papi, give him a chance.”

“i suppose i will.”

hobie jerks suddenly and hisses in pain, staring down at his bloody palm. he was working on autopilot, and apparently got so distracted that he cut himself on a rather sharp knife. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck ,” hobie whispers frantically, mind spinning. he shoves his hand back under the water, hissing at the sting as he washes off the blood.

“hobie?” miles calls out. “you good, man?”

“peachy!” hobie grits out, his other hand clenching the sink as his vision starts swimming. 

fuck. he can’t stand the sight of his hands being all bloody. it reminds him of all the shards of glass from broken alcohol bottles he had to clean up, the bloody, dragged handprints on the wall of mother’s house, bloody hands struggling to push people off of him—

hobie jerks violently when someone places their hand on his arm, and he whirls around to stare at miles, who now has his hands up placatingly as he says, “hey man, just tryna check on you—”

his gaze turns to hobie’s palm, and miles blanches slightly. “dude — holy fuck, that looks bad, how’d you even — mamí, ¡ayudame! ”

hobie takes a deep breath and manages to spare a glance at his palm. 

he immediately regrets it as he sees the long, jagged gash, immediately gagging and turning to the sink, dry heaving as he tries to not lose his dinner at the sight. 

“ay, that doesn’t look good,” mrs. morales says — when did she even get there? — and the next thing he knows, hobie’s on the couch, with mrs. morales finishing up patching up his hand. 

hobie blinks sluggishly, barely recognizing how wet his lashes feel. he turns to his left to see miles next to him, holding his other hand reassuringly with a concerned gaze. water in the kitchen is running — mr. morales must be finishing up the dishes. 

“are you back with us, cariño? ” mrs. morales asks gently, patting his palm after she finishes wrapping it up. “you were out for a bit…”

“i’m — yeah, i’m fine,” hobie chokes out, immediately bringing his hand up to wipe at his tear-stained cheeks. he laughs weakly, saying, “i apologize for ruinin’ your first impression of me.”

“oh, nonsense,” mrs. morales waves off. “any friend of miles is welcome and cared for under my roof. don't you dare apologize for that.”

hobie feels a pit of guilt in his stomach nonetheless. he never wishes to dissociate so heavily in front of others, and he hates the fact that he may have terrified miles. 

miles. however, doesn’t mention it, as he stands up and saying, “ mamí, hobie and i are gonna go out for a swing, get some fresh air. we’ll be back soon.”

“be back before midnight,” mrs. morales hums, standing up as well and going to the kitchen. she comes back with a rather large plastic bag, thrusting it at hobie. “leftovers for you, cariño. you’re always welcome back at the house, especially for dinner.”

“i appreciate it,” hobie whispers, standing up and taking the bag. he leans down, pressing his cheek against mrs. morales’s and giving her an air kiss. “ gracias, señora. goodnight — tell mr. morales i bid him g’night as well.”

mrs. morales nods with a soft smile, and miles leads him back to his room. he’s quick to change into his suit, and soon they’re both swinging up onto a nearby roof, sitting on the edge precariously.

“hobie,” miles starts quietly, and hobie’s blood runs cold. “why… what happened back there? are you okay?”

“somethin’ stupid,” hobie says with a shrug, attempting to brush it off. “ain’t nothin’.”

“it was somethin’ when you were heavily dissociating in my kitchen,” miles counters. “we trust each other. punk and sunflower, yeah? even if you don’t tell me now… i want you to feel safe no matter what.”

hobie falls silent, staring out at the skyline. it’s … strange, to try and trust someone with all of your deepest, well hidden secrets. it always lands in the potential of ruining the friendship, and hobie doesn’t want that to happen to miles.

unless…

“my pa was absent,” hobie whispers suddenly. “ma was a right ol’ cunt. always drinkin’ and shit.”

“oh, hobie,” miles says softly, visibly deflated at the comment. “i’m sorry…”

“her bad nights could be an absolute disaster,” honie chuckles bitterly. “… sorry. i don’t mean to dump it all on you.”

“nah man, i asked you to talk to me,” miles insists, tilting his head. “i’m here to listen, no matter what it is.”

and hobie — he trusts him.

so he does. he speaks and speaks, tells miles the whole story that he can remember — before the bite, around the time he got kicked, what he’s gone through.

miles tears up every so often, and by the end, he’s curled up against hobie, clinging to him tightly. hobie quietly runs miles’s shoulder, whispering, “i’m glad you’re still here despite all that.”

“can’t let my world fall into shambles,” hobie mumbles with amusement. “and i can’t exactly abandon my sunflower, huh?”

“yeah, yeah. i wouldn’t abandon you ever, too.”

“oh, you flatter me,” hobie dramatically says, swooning on the spot. 

“shut up ,” miles snickers, playing with hobie’s fingers. “you know what i mean.”

“i do,” hobie chuckles. “hey… thank you for listenin’, sunflower.”

“anytime, punk,” miles says, nudging hobie gently.

“‘ppreciate it, sunflower.”

“of course, punk.”

Chapter Text

people tend to think that since hobie’s so outspoken about his government and world, about how corrupt the system is, he’s certainly someone who can vocalize things for himself. 

however, that doesn’t always end up being the case. 

hobie’s been stiff this entire outing with the other three at miles’s house, with them being so touchy and cuddly. normally, he doesn’t mind this — in fact, he loves to tease them and trap them with cuddles, too. 

but right now — it was a bad day for hobie. touches were driving him up the damn wall. 

he resists the urge to flinch when pavitr leans against him, laying his head on hobie’s shoulder. hobie takes a big, deep breath, attempting to calm himself down at the feeling. 

“and so like, i told him off ‘cause obviously, why would he do such a thing!” pavitr exclaims as miles and gwen burst out laughing. hobie’s mouth twitches up into a smile as he carefully shifts himself a bit away from pavitr. 

“you’d think that peter would know how things work by now,” gwen says, rolling her eyes. “how is it that we’re the ones cleaning up behind him?”

“we’re finally understanding how miguel feels,” miles says solemnly, and the three of them burst into giggles. 

pavitr tilts his head up at hobie and furrows his brows at him. “hobie? you okay, man?”

“sure am,” hobie says with a strained smile, using this as an opportunity to attempt to stretch. pavitr understands and quickly sits up, giving hobie the space to stretch properly. “i’m a’ight. ima go to the bathroom real quick though, okay?”

he leaves before any of them can respond, slipping into the bathroom and quickly shutting the door behind him. 

he takes a deep breath. exhales slowly. approaches the sink, hands on the counter. looks up in the mirror. 

flinches at the haunted look in his eyes. 

he averts his gaze, opting to stare at the sink basin instead. 

the sensation of pavitr having leaned against him is gone. but now, phantom feelings of hands replace it, fluttering their way all around his body. he shudders violently, trying to catch his breath and not dissolve into a panic. 

the days where touch seems to make him violently ill are the worst. there’s nothing that can stop his mind from racing, to stop the phantom feelings from finding their ways around his skin. 

hobie groans quietly, leaning forward and placing his head in his hands. his head’s spinning, vision blurry, and he can’t get rid of the sickening feeling in his stomach. 

it’s the same as how it was years ago, when he was out on the streets. being so young, so vulnerable, it allowed people to take advantage no matter how much he struggled. 

it didn’t matter how hard he fought, how much he struggled to get out of their grips. they’d always go for him, laughing at his thrashing as he attempts to get out of their grips. 

he’s kicking, he’s biting, he’s snarling, he’s yelling, he’s crying out, he’s sobbing, the hands are everywhere yet nowhere, he can’t get them off of him, his skin’s becoming bloody and bruised, it’s becoming all too much—

hobie jolts when there’s a soft knock on the door, staring at it with wide eyes. “y— yeah?”

“you a’ight in there, punk?” he hears miles call out, and hobie curses under his breath, knowing that he can’t avoid telling miles what’s wrong. “you’ve been in there for a bit. and i could tell somethin’ was wrong.”

“i’m a’ight, flower,” hobie says back, trying to calm himself. “i’ll be out in a mo’.”

“nope.” he hears miles knock on the door, saying, “you will always respond with sunflower if i say punk. lemme in.”

“… is it just you?”

“yeah, gwen and pavi know that i’m checkin’ on you and won’t bother us.”

hobie sighs, unlocking the door and stepping aside as miles immediately enters. miles shuts and locks the door, turning to hobie and checking if he’s physically alright. once he’s made sure, he asks gently, “what’s up, hobes?”

hobie lets his back hit the wall, slowly sinking down to the floor and leaning his head against the wall with his knees up to his chest. miles joins him, sitting across from him.

hobie … can’t exactly lie to miles. both in the fact that it’s, well, miles — how could he even lie to him? — and that… hobie confided in miles about everything that one night. every single detail that he could remember, no matter how fuzzy it was or how choppy the memory was due to it being mostly blocked out — miles was aware and entrusted with that info. 

so hobie sighs, knowing that he can’t get out of this conversation. “i… touch is not good for me today.”

he expects miles to pry, to ask why like how everyone else does, but all he gets is miles shrugging and saying, “okay. i’ll let gwen and pavi know when we go back out there.”

“eh—?” hobie blinks at miles in surprise. “you… you don’t want to know, or ask?” 

“hobie, you essentially trauma dumped and gave me your life story that one night — which, i’m very glad you trusted me with,” miles says bluntly. “i can kinda infer what it’s due to. also if i think about it too hard, i’d want to go to your dimension and commit a few crimes that wouldn’t please apá. i’d only want you to talk about it if you want.”

hobie feels grateful for miles and his never-ending empathy. the fact that miles never falters in his ways of caring for others…

“it’s … from my time out on the streets,” hobie explains quietly. “you — you already know what ‘m talkin’ ‘bout. it just kept happenin’, over an’ over. i eventually learned how ta keep ‘em away — gettin’ the spider powers definitely helped.”

miles hums quietly, watching as hobie subconsciously rubs his arms, silently reassuring himself that nothing was touching him or restricting him. “is that why you hate bein’ physically restrained?”

“bingo,” hobie chuckles bitterly. “can’t fuckin’ stand that shit. drives me crazy. only time that i seen miguel be outwardly terrified of and for me.”

“really?”

“yeah.” hobie lolls his head over to look at miles. “went just ‘bout as feral as he does whenever he doesn’t get his weird dosage thing. told me he ain’t ever heard me scream that much an’ that he never wanted to hear it again.”

“damn,” miles whistles lowly. “if it’s got tío feelin’ like that…”

“first time i ever seen him go feral himself,” hobie snorts. “i blink an’ next thing i knew, they were all off of me an’ miguel had blood splatters all over ‘im. fuckin’ hypocrite on his ‘spider-man doesn’t harm people’ bs.”

miles hums, tilting his head curiously at hobie. “… the ones from your dimension … are they…?”

“dunno where they are, blud,” hobie admits. “wish i did — i’d let you at ‘em — hell, i’d let miguel at ‘em, if i were ta tell ‘im.”

“miguel would need to get in line,” miles says darkly, and hobie smirks at the display of protectiveness. how endearing. “i’ll protect you as much as you do with me.”

“how sweet of you,” hobie teases. he sighs, leaning his forehead against his knees, mumbling, “i’m just so tired of alla this. no reason for me ta keep dealin’ wit’ all this bullshit.”

“i wish i could take it away,” miles whispers. “but… i’m still here either way. and so are the others, even though they don’t know. all you gotta say is that you’re not doin’ the best, and they’d be up in arms for ya.”

“thanks, sunflower,” hobie chuckles, looking back up at him. 

“ay, there’s the hobie i know,” miles says with a grin. “no problem, punk. you know that i ain’t leavin’ you in the dust like that.”

hobie smiles at that, watching as miles gets up and accepting his offer to help him up. “‘ppreciate you, blud.”

“that’s what bros are for, huh?” miles says cheekily. “c’mon, we can all go out for a swing and get some shitty fast food.”

“sounds like a plan,” hobie says in amusement, watching as miles hurries out of the bathroom, calling out to gwen and pavitr about the new plan.

hobie glances at his reflection, grimacing at the fact that the look was still present in his eyes before slipping out of the bathroom, plastering a grin on his face. 

there’s a … strangely ominous and foreboding feeling that settled on him when they started talking about hobie’s reactions to restraint and what happened on the mission with miguel. he’s not sure what it is, but it … doesn’t feel right. 

he pushes it to the side, deliberately ignoring it. 

that can be a problem for future hobie to decipher. 

Chapter Text

let it be known that future-now-present hobie fucking despises past hobie right now. 

it’s a mission with hobie, miles, and miguel as the ones to get the anomalies. and of course, just their luck, they had to deal with all of the sinister six. 

great. fuckin’ fantastic. 

so far, they’ve managed to knock down four out of six. jess was on continuous standby to get the contained villains into hq immediately, so that they didn’t have to deal with the potential of them escaping. 

now, all they have to deal with are a doc ock and mysterio. 

lovely. hobie’s favorite villains.

(hobie wants to strangle past hobie right now.)

“why are these two so stubborn?!” miles shouts as he swings by, narrowly avoiding one of doc ock’s arms. “i feel like we’ve gotten them several times!”

“they’re chronic escapers,” miguel yells, attempting to web mysterio to the ground. “they’re our worst repeats!”

hobie frowns as he perches up on a nearby rooftop, furrowing his brows at the scene. he watches as miguel and miles try to get mysterio and doc ock contained, but something feels… off. 

hobie zeros in on miguel webbing up mysterio. his gaze darts around their figures, trying to figure out what about the scene was putting him off so much. 

he glances down at the webbing, frown deepening as he sees it… go through mysterio?

what?

hobie’s eyes suddenly widen in realization.

DANGER!!

hobie whirls around and comes face to face with mysterio, who’s grinning at him sinisterly. “hello, spider.”

“miguel! miles!” hobie calls out, keeping his eyes trained on mysterio. “a little help up here — you’re dealing with a fake mysterio—!”

hobie yelps as mysterio lashes out, barely managing to duck out the way. he brings his guitar up, grinning as mysterio covers his ears with a flinch when hobie strums a loud, pitchy tune. 

“i’m going to make you regret that, spider,” mysterio says darkly, and before hobie realizes what’s happening, he’s surrounded by a familiar green gas. 

no. no no no.

hobie turns around frantically, attempting to get a bearing on his surroundings. he’s fine — he can do this. he’s gotten through mysterio’s fear factor plenty of times before. 

but — that was all when he wasn’t in such an episode and spiral as of late. 

hobie freezes when he sees mother, shakily taking a step back as she sneers at him, saying, “look at you. fuckin’ filth — knew you’d turn out jus’ as bad as i thought ya would.”

hobie clenches his fists, trying to not let her words get under his skin. she’s — she’s fake . she’s not real. mother isn’t near him.

the air around him reeks of alcohol, and hobie gags at the smell, bringing a hand up to his mouth. he can faintly hear mother jeering and taunting him as he backs away until he bumps into someone. 

he turns, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of president osborn. but that isn’t what gets him — it’s the physical state of osborn. his head is horribly bashed in, practically deformed, with a massive gash slashed across his neck. he’s bleeding everywhere, and when he speaks, blood flows out his mouth and flies everywhere — “mr. brown, how lovely to see you again. third time may be the charm, eh?”

no — no. osborn’s dead. he’s dead . he’s gone. hobie killed him. this is — it’s just a hallucination. this isn’t real. 

hobie struggles to not empty his stomach at the sight and continue to dry heave afterwards, screwing his eyes shut to try and get the gruesome sight out of his mind. 

he can do this. he can get out. he’s fine—

“eh, look at that — the li’l one’s all grown up now!”

hobie freezes. 

he … recognizes that voice. 

“maybe he’ll be even more fun, huh?”

oh. oh, fuck no.

hobie starts to tremble violently, eyes now wide open as he tries to not turn around to see them . his breathing quickens, and he’s not getting enough air — his chest’s constricting, his vision’s blurring—

“aw, he’s still got the same shakin’ form!” one of them laughs, now a lot closer to hobie. “let’s try for old time’s sake, eh, hon’?”

hobie nearly vomits. 

at first, there’s nothing. 

and suddenly, hobie cries out in surprise when he feels hands all over him. he struggles, kicks, bites, scratches, mind reminding him of a much younger him who was in this exact predicament, more than once. 

“aw, look! same ol’ fight an’ everythin’!”

hobie’s thirteen, having only just been on the streets for a couple weeks when they first came by.

hobie lets out a sob when he feels the hands attempting to rip off his vest, too much in shock to fully struggle against them and get out of their grip.

hobie didn’t know what to do — he tried so so hard to get them away, but they just wouldn’t listen to his begging. 

“cryin’, too? damn, the whole package!”

no matter how much he cried and struggled, they seemed to find it amusing, and it would spur them on. 

he needs to get out, out, out . he can’t deal with this again — hobie feels as though he might break if he does. the hands are already driving him crazy, making him want to throw up.

it keeps happening, over and over, for weeks and months, maybe even a year or so. hobie’s stuck in a continuous cycle until he got his spider powers, where he finally, finally was able to fight back. 

with a newfound strength, hobie aggressively elbows the offenders behind him, kicking at them in an attempt to get away . 

he knows that he never got the original ones, the ones that stand before him now. but he’s beaten up the others until they were black and blue and red, wanting them to feel every bit of pain they made him endure. 

hobie stumbles away, gasping for breath as he tries to get out of the fog. 

they would still try every now and then. on a bad day, they’d manage to get hobie. 

where the fuck is he? where’s the next building? fuck, where’s miles and miguel?

it made him feel worse, that even with his newfound powers, he continues to occasionally be much too weak to get them off of him. what good was he as a spider-punk, as he dubbed himself, if he couldn’t even protect himself?

hobie’s foot hits the ledge of the rooftop, and suddenly he’s falling.

he’s tried many times to get it all to end. from minor measures to the extreme, like how he was right now, albeit on purpose — he’s done it all. and yet, he failed every time. 

he’s falling, falling, and he isn’t even quite sure where he is.

suddenly, he’s not falling.

but he isn’t caught by webs, or landing on another rooftop.

there’s long, metal arms wrapping around him, restricting his movement and restraining him.

everything bubbles up to hobie’s throat.

and he screams.

“oh god, we have to get hobie,” miles panics, staring at the cloud of gas that just engulfed hobie and mysterio. “ tío, what do we do?!”

miguel watches mysterio carefully, watching as he disappears from the rooftop. “track him. make sure he doesn’t escape.”

miles nods dutifully, doing the same as miguel and trying to keep an eye out for mysterio. 

and suddenly, miles is shooting a web in front of him, the two of them staring at a now visible mysterio that stands in front of them. 

immediately, the two begin webbing him up. they can’t risk him affecting one of them too — they needed him out as soon as possible. 

“i can’t believe doc ock escaped, too,” miles grumbles, glaring around the area. “where could he have gone…”

“i have no idea, arañita, ” miguel quietly admits. 

it’s only a few moments later that they see hobie’s form stumbling out of the cloud of gas, and miles immediately tries to call out for him. 

miguel, however, frowns. 

he watches hobie’s form carefully, noticing how he’s much more… uncomposed. he’s wide-eyed and frantic, and miguel’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees him fall off the rooftop.

before either of them can get to him, metal arms shoot out and wrap themselves around hobie’s figure. 

miles gasps, and miguel realizes they both know what’s coming.

hobie screams. 

it’s a heartbreaking and gut wrenching sound. hobie’s never one to scream unless with joy or at one of his concerts. 

but this?

hobie’s screams are agonizing, clearly from someone who’s been through so, so much and yet continues to go through more. the screams are piercing, telling them that he’s been hurt and is still being hurt, to come help him.

miguel’s only seen this thrashing, sobbing, screaming version of hobie once. he knows miles has heard of it, but never seen it. 

he promised himself that he’d never let hobie get to that state again.

and all miguel can see is red .

hobie’s screaming. 

hobie… never screams. 

miles stares in horror as doc ock’s metal arms wrap around hobie, mind ringing with the words hobie once said to him—

‘can’t fuckin’ stand that shit. drives me crazy. only time that i seen miguel be outwardly terrified of and for me. ’

miguel. 

miles turns to miguel with wide eyes when he hears the loud, ferociously angry growl that came deep within miguel’s chest. 

next thing miles knew, miguel’s lunging at the doc ock like a feral mother lion whose kids have just been threatened. 

within mere seconds, hobie’s released from doc ock’s grip, and miles immediately swings over, catching hobie and bringing him onto a safe, solid surface. 

he sets them both down, and when he attempts to place his hand on hobie’s shoulder, hobie flinches violently, immediately scrambling away fearfully. 

miles’s heart aches at the sight. he’s never seen hobie look so fearful and dissociated since the knife incident that one night. it’s a horrifyingly haunting sight, especially as miles can see the broken look in hobie’s eyes as he stares unseeingly at miles. 

miles deliberately ignores all the sounds going on behind him, refusing to turn his head and see what miguel’s doing to doc ock. based on what hobie said before, he isn’t sure he even wants to look. 

“hey, hobie,” he whispers, bending down in front of hobie. “it’s just me. it’s miles — sunflower. i promise you’re safe.”

hobie’s hyperventilating, practically clawing at the skin of his arms, and miles can only imagine the phantom feelings haunting him right now. “i — g-get ‘em off of me — i can’t — sunflower—”

“nothing’s there, it’s just me here,” miles attempts to soothe. in a split second decision, he reaches out to gently pry hobie’s hands away from his arms, wincing at the rips in hobie’s suit. “promise. miguel is dealing with doc ock right now.”

“couldn’t — couldn’t breathe,” hobie gasps, squeezing miles’s hands to try and ground himself. “it — they were all there — tried ta — they, they tried —”

“no need to explain,” miles says softly, trying to blink back the tears pooling in his eyes that threatened to spill over. “i know. i understand. but they ain’t here.”

“promise. promise.”

“i promise.”

hobie finally slumps over, and he lets out a broken sob. 

miles hesitantly reaches for hobie, and when he doesn’t reject his touch, miles immediately pulls him in for a hug, the two of them burying their faces in each other’s shoulders. hobie’s form wracks with sobs, hiccuping and coughing and dry heaving the whole time. 

miles continues to hold him, attempting to keep the tears in his eyes at bay. he never wants to see hobie in such a broken, vulnerable state again — the sight’s breaking miles’s heart. 

someone lands next to the two of them, and miles relaxes in the familiar presence of miguel. he can hear the quiet growls deep in miguel’s chest as he tries to keep his emotions in check. “is — is he gone?”

“jess picked them both up, we can go back whenever you’re both ready,” miguel whispers, rubbing the back of hobie’s neck gently. 

the display reminds miles — although he never needs such a reminder — that hobie’s barely a year or so older than him. they’re both in their mid-teens, and for hobie to already be so hurt…

miles can’t stop the tears from spilling over this time, quietly hiccuping as he hides his face. he feels him and hobie getting gently pulled in one direction, and suddenly, miguel’s arms awkwardly wrap around them both. it takes a moment, but miguel fully relaxes, letting himself hold the two kids reassuringly. 

with hobie’s sobs echoing through the rooftops and miles’s quiet sniffles and hiccups, miguel quietly beats himself up for not noticing and helping hobie in time, for not being able to get to the kid — one of his kids — fast enough. 

he leans his head back, staring up at the sky. and without either of the kids noticing, he allows the silent tears to slowly slide down his face as he thinks of how brutal the worlds have been to his kids. 

Chapter Text

asking for help isn’t … one of hobie’s favorite things. 

it isn’t his thing at all, really. he hates it, horribly so. it makes him feel … weak. 

the disgust that fills him afterwards is enough to make him refuse to ask for help.

but, sometimes — he concedes, reluctantly, knowing that he has no choice. 

now is one of those times.

hobie shakily taps his watch, not caring of the blood smearing all over it as he dials for earth-1610. in an instant, a hologram of miles pops up, concern on his face as he asks, “hobie? what’s up, man?”

“can—” hobie’s voice is raspy, making him wince. “need — need ta come over. please.”

“of course,” miles says, appearing to be getting up. “get here now.”

hobie sighs with relief as the connection cuts out, a portal replacing the hologram’s place instead. it’s not like he thought that miles wouldn’t let him come — no, he knew that he would. 

hobie struggles to get himself up, stumbling through his portal and stepping into miles’s dimension. 

once he does, he makes eye contact with miles, whose eyes are widening in shock and horror at the state of hobie. “hobie—? i — holy fuck. mamí, apá, ¡ayúdame! ”

hobie manages a weak, smirk-chuckle-smile-thing (cut him some slack, he’s actively losing blood). “s’up, blud.”

and he promptly collapses.

miles immediately lunges for hobie, catching him before hobie can hit his head on the ground. “ ¡mamí! ”

“ qué pasa, ¿mijo? ” mamí says, hurrying into the living room. her eyes land on hobie’s form and her eyes widen. “ dios mio —  jeff! get my kit!”

miles shakily lays hobie down with mamí’ s instructions, attempting to keep down the bile that threatens to come up as he looks closely at hobie’s injuries. 

his hands are smeared with blood, from having held pressure at the wound in his stomach. miles can’t exactly tell what it is yet, but there’s so much blood that it makes miles nauseous. 

mamí ’s immediately tugging hobie’s suit out of the way as soon as apá joins them, and miles, despite his trembling, moves to help. 

as soon as it’s off and apá’ s applying immediate pressure, miles can’t help but gag. the gash on hobie’s stomach is huge — miles can see where it’s already beginning to heal. but it’s deep, enough that if miles looks closely, he can — he can see —

“ mijo, focus,” mamí says sternly, and miles looks up at her. despite her firm tone, miles can see the fear and worry in her eyes as well. “does hobie heal as fast as you?”

“i — um, yeah, i think so, if not faster,” miles stammers, glancing down at hobie’s ashen expression. “i — i’m not totally sure.”

mamí nods. “i’m going to clean him up — mi amor, can you help keep him down in case he moves too much in his sleep?”

too late, miles realizes what’s happening. he reaches out as apá carefully holds hobie down, gasping, “no, wait—!”

hobie’s eyes shoot open.

there’s hands on him.

there’s hands on him, pinning him down, restricting his movement. they’re roaming everywhere, and it’s making him feel ill. 

there’s a shout as he’s being held down.

they’re laughing, jeering, shouting to one another about what they could do.

hobie screams. 

there’s a searing pain in his abdomen, but he ignores it in favor for thrashing and kicking the mystery person off of him. 

he gasps, gagging at the pain shooting up, and he feels bile rising up in his throat. there’s a loud swear from — someone — and he feels himself being turned onto his side and lifted up a bit before he vomits. 

he’s subconsciously grateful for the fact that there’s a trashcan thrust in front of him, and that it catches all of his vomit, as opposed to it being everywhere on the floor. he heaves and gags, coughing to get the burning sensation out of his throat. 

hobie’s not quite sure who’s speaking, and if any of the words are being spoken to him. he can feel a hand on his back and he flinches violently, still unaware of his surroundings and who’s with him. 

he blinks, attempting to figure out where he’s at. he remembers the fight with a green goblin variant, and then he was calling someone on his watch… who was it? he hates asking for help. who could he have possibly called for—

“ miles, ” hobie rasps, finally recognizing the morales family’s apartment. “miles — where—?”

“i’m here, hobie,” miles whispers, gently turning hobie back onto his back. hobie’s body relaxes in relief at the sight of miles being safe. “i’m sorry, apá didn’t mean to freak you out. mamí just needs you to stay still.”

hobie inhales shakily, looking over at mr. morales and nodding in understanding. “i— can ya — only do it if i really can’t, an’ tell me before you do so?”

“of course,” mr. morales immediately agrees as mrs. morales begins to clean up around his wound again. 

hobie’s eyes slip shut as he grits his teeth in pain, hearing murmured apologies from mrs. morales and quiet reassurances from mr. morales. he feels miles leaning his forehead against his shoulder, just rambling about anything to keep hobie awake. 

hobie feels a strange mix of panic and calm. the calmness washes over his panic in an occasional wave, reminding him that he’s surrounded by safe people, that miles is here, until the panic and paranoia settle back in.

“ cariño ,” mrs. morales whispers, and hobie makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “are you alright with me stitching this up? i know you have healing powers, but…”

“do what you need to, ma’am.”

miles immediately grips hobie’s hand when he hisses at the initial sting, gritting his teeth. miles lets out a small noise of distress at his reaction, and hobie opens his eyes, sluggishly blinking at miles as he says, “ay, don’tcha cry over me. you think i’ma die from this silly li’l cut?”

“well!” miles protests. “it’s — it’s scary!”

hobie can’t help but feel bad that he put miles in this predicament. before he can lament over it too much, he hisses when mrs. morales finishes off the stitching. he blinks at her handiwork — bless her being a nurse, how in the world did she do that so quickly?

“i’m sure you know how to take care of wounds,” mrs. morales says, packing away her supplies. “so i better not see you coming back in here with it infected!”

“yes, ma’am,” hobie chuckles weakly. he struggles to sit up, wincing at the pain. “i’ll — i’ll be gettin’ outta your hairs now— whoa—!”

hobie slumps back down as a wave of dizziness hits him, and miles carefully helps him up onto the couch. “hey, now — i’m a’ight, no reason for you ta put me up here. i’ll be headin’ back—”

“absolutely not,” miles and mrs. morales say at the same time, making hobie blink in surprise. 

oh. okay.

“miles, amor, can you two help me get hobie some snacks and medicine from the kitchen?” mrs. morales says sweetly, gaze set intently on hobie. “since hobie will not be going away as soon as he’s out of our line of sight.”

“no, ma’am.”

“good.”

hobie watches as the three of them head into the kitchen, and he throws an arm up to cover his eyes, sighing deeply as his abdomen aches while it heals.

in the kitchen, mamí y apá are staring down miles, who, quite frankly, feels a little offended that they’re looking at him like it’s his fault. but mamí sighs eventually, pinching the bridge of her nose and saying, “we can’t let him go back.”

“agreed,” apá says. “he’ll get hurt again too soon, knowing how you guys work.”

“he’s gonna be too stubborn for that,” miles says quietly, staring off into the living room. “but… i think we can convince him.”

“i hate seeing you boys get hurt,” mamí whispers. “he… he’s essentially become part of la familia. i can’t risk all three of you getting so hurt that you…”

miles, despite the underlying message, can’t help but smile a bit at hearing that mamí sees hobie like a son. they already perceive each other in a big bro-li’l bro way. “i know, mamí . we really do try to be careful. things just… happen. and hobie’s someone that hates asking for help, or even allowing anyone else to help him with anomalies in his own dimension.”

“he’s just as bad as the two of you,” mamí mumbles. “fine — fine, so long as he stays tonight and tomorrow. i’m going to heat up some food for him.”

miles and apá share a look before miles slips out of the kitchen, quietly going back to hobie. 

he… looks better than he did when he first came in. hobie’s no longer stained with blood, and his wound looks as though it’s healing up nicely. miles sits by his legs carefully, whispering, “hey, punk.”

“s’up, sunflower?” hobie mumbles, moving his arm to raise an eyebrow at miles. “need somethin’?”

“just making sure you know that mamí isn’t gonna let you leave for at least two days,” miles says cheerfully, snorting when hobie groans playfully. “but seriously — you're not going back yet. you stay here — we care for you, and want you to be okay.”

hobie bites his lip, and miles can practically see the gears turning in his head. he knows that hobie doesn’t really have anyone to consider family anymore, and to be so readily accepted into this one is… a lot, for him. it makes him nervous, that he’ll somehow lose them without a moment’s notice. 

but miles also knows that hobie, despite never saying it, yearns for such a relationship. he’s seen the way he looks at miles when he and his parents interact. he’s seen the look of surprise that turns into glee whenever mamí o apá give him just as much attention as he gets. 

so he’s not surprised when hobie sighs, relaxing into the couch and relenting. “i suppose. but not ‘cause ya said so.”

“but because mamí said so.”

“i ain’t ever goin’ up against the missus.”

miles snorts, shaking his head fondly. he drums his fingers on top of hobie’s hand. “hobes?”

“mm.”

“i’m really glad — and proud — that you asked for help.”

“… ah.”

“and i’m really sorry that we accidentally triggered you in the process.”

“it’s nothin’. ya tried to stop ‘em. i’m a’ight, blud, promise.”

“if you say so,” miles sighs. “but just so you know, mamí’s gonna be on you about it and make sure you’re feelin’ okay.”

hobie stifles a smile, turning his head away. “yeah, a’ight.”

“and hobie?”

“what?”

“… i’m glad to have you as a part of this family.”

hobie freezes at that, eyes wide as it repeats in his head. 

i’m glad to have you as a part of this family. 

they… consider him family? he knows that he and miles practically established the brotherly-relationship they now have. but, mrs. and mr. morales, too…?

hobie can’t lie — as much as he will never admit it, he’s always wished that he could have some parental figure to care for him. the closest he’s gotten before now was with peter, but it just… wasn’t right. 

but now, with mrs. and mr. morales… hobie can’t help but smile a bit wider at that. that means they think of him as, at minimum, a nephew, or even their son. 

they care for him. they want him as part of the family.

he takes a deep breath, blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears that appear in his eyes before looking at miles. 

“i’m — i’m glad ta have alla you guys, too.”

miles’s blinding grin that he receives in response, followed by mrs. morales’s doting and mr. morales’s fretting, is one of the best things that hobie could ever ask for. 

and despite the events from earlier, the ache in his abdomen, and how harsh these past few weeks have been on him,

hobie finally feels … content.