Chapter Text
Miles wakes to an unusual stillness. No horns blaring or people yelling or music blasting from cars down below. Only birds chirping. A single car drives down the road near the window.
A steady heart beats under his ear.
Hobie murmurs, “Miles?”
He holds Prowler tighter around the middle, his eyes still shut and head heavy on the other’s chest. There’s a sharp hiss of pain, before it cuts off.
“You’re hurting him, love.”
“Don’t tell him that.”
“You’re in pain.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does, actually.”
“Shut up, you’ll wake him.”
“Too late for that. Trust me.”
Miles whispers through a scratchy voice, screamed raw, “Hobes?”
His hand is taken and squeezed in a larger, warm one. Hobie kisses the back of it. “Morning.”
Miles opens his eyes slowly and registers pain burning in his eyes, throat and lungs, like he survived drowning. “Hurts.”
It’s morning, with light streaming in through the gauzy curtains of the windows. Hobie is in a chair pulled up next to the bed, elbows resting on the edge. His suit is replaced with a surprisingly soft outfit; a beige crew neck rolled to his elbows, black sweats, and thick socks. There’s deep circles around his eyes. He plays with Miles’ fingers, frowning in sympathy. “Would you like some tea?”
Miles nods.
He kisses his hand again. “You got it. Keep ‘im company in the meantime.” He juts his chin at Prowler, then slips out the bedroom door.
Miles looks up and finds Prowler already looking down at him.
“Oh my God!” Miles jerks up in shock, effectively shoving against Prowler’s front and making him cry out in pain. “Sorry! Shit, shit, I’m sorry! Y-You’re awake! How did you wake up before me?”
Prowler is wheezing, curled in fetal position. Miles’ hands linger above him.
“I’m so sorry!”
“...s’fine…”
“You sure?”
Prowler nods slowly as he carefully unfurls and pulls himself up against the headboard. Miles gently helps him, propping pillows behind his back and neck. At the end, Prowler settles with a little sigh of relief.
This bed looks vaguely familiar. Miles looks around the room. Baby pictures of Mayday are everywhere. The room is all neutral colors, with white walls and pale beige wood floors and blue-gray bedding. Tall, leafy plants sit in each corner. They’re in Aunt May’s old house, in the guest bedroom.
Miles looks back at Prowler, at the large white bandage wrapped repeatedly around his bare torso, and fights the urge to rest his hand over Prowler’s beating heart again. He also fights the threatening swell of relieved tears. “...Hi.”
Prowler stares back at him, brow furrowed like he’s thinking too hard. Filtering through what to say. His face is still a few shades too pale. “I’m… sorry I called you.”
Miles winces and shrinks back until Prowler snatches his wrist.
“Wait. That came out wrong. I meant,” he sighs, “Sorry for scaring the shit out of you. I didn’t know you had PTSD.”
“I don’t have…” Miles looks away. “I mean… I didn’t know either.”
“Listen, I don’t remember a lot of what I said, but—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I’m going to, so just let me apologize.” He looks at Miles straight-on and says, “I’m sorry. I was terrified and kind of delirious from blood loss.”
“Yeah, dude, you had every right to be. I was pretty useless.”
Prowler’s eyes narrow. “Did I call you that?”
“The point is, I don’t blame you.”
“You’re not useless. Or whatever other shit I said. You’re grieving.”
“For years.”
“There’s no end date, Miles, come on.”
Miles nods, looking away. They both know that.
“So I’ll be more mindful next time.”
“There won’t be a next time. Right?” His voice raises. “Because you are smart and not stupid and will not get shot again.” He leans in. “Understand?”
Prowler half-smiles. “Right.”
“Right. Thank you.” He leans away. “And since you’re on a break, I’ll take a look at your suit later. Your bulletproof tech needs some work.”
Prowler immediately opens his mouth to disagree but closes it. Good. Miles would’ve slapped him if he did, bedridden or not.
Hobie returns suspiciously on time with two mugs in his hand. “Here’s your tea. Chamomile for you, Miles, not too hot to drink.” He hands it to him. “And you, forty-two, are on a strict diet from here on out. Get used to Chinese green tea.”
Prowler takes the mug. “Can I have my phone now?”
“No. You’re also on a stress-free diet.”
“Let me at least text Mamí that I’m okay.”
Hobie concedes, pulling Prowler’s phone from his pocket and handing it over. “There. What’s on your mind, Miles?” He sits in his chair again.
Miles is sipping his tea. “Pav.”
Hobie winces. “Ah.”
Miles winces too. “That bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
“I have to do something.”
“You absolutely do not. You’re healing too.”
“From what?”
“Losing your shit,” Prowler mutters and sips his tea.
Miles says, “Tell me he isn’t alone.”
“He’s not. I called Gwendy and she’s with him right now. Heads up, she’s hurt you didn’t call her to help. And Peter B.’s on his way. Wanted me to text when you woke up.”
Prowler rubs his bandage with a sheepish look. “Jeez, I uh, didn’t mean to ruin your little friend group last night.”
Miles says firmly, “You didn’t. We’ve been through more.”
And there’s one more person he has yet to check on.
He looks at Hobie, guilty. “And… you? How have you been?” He searches Hobie’s face again. “You look exhausted. And you sounded exhausted when I called.”
Prowler says, already halfway done with his tea, “Don’t bother. I already tried asking.”
Hobie says, leaning back in his seat, “I am exhausted.”
Prowler huffs. “But apparently he likes you more.” He sips more tea.
Hobie chuckles. “Miles won’t rest until he gets an answer. I’ll admit that patrol was difficult and the night got longer with your call. I eventually called Peter B. for help and he came right over. Got you both to his universe and in this room.”
Hobie trails off. There’s more. He feels it like his spider-sense behind his neck. Miles asks, “And?”
“And… we cleaned up all the blood before your mother got home.” Hobie looks away, his jaw working. He looks haunted. “There was… a lot.”
Miles winces. “Mi amor, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to trigger you.”
“Peter helped. More than I’ll admit. And I made sure you both stayed alive through the night to open your eyes this mornin’ and…” Hobie shrugs. “Yeah I’m tired. But I’d do it all again.” He looks at the forgotten mug in Miles’ hand. “Stop worrying about everyone else and drink your tea, love.”
“I’m sorry you had to do all that.”
Hobie takes his hand again. “Don’t be. I just told you I’d do it all again, no questions asked. Thank you for trusting me to help you.”
Miles reaches out and holds the side of his face. His thumb grazes his tense jaw and the tension in Hobie expression slowly loosens.
Prowler clears his throat. “Do not kiss over my broken body.”
Miles settles back into Prowler’s side. “So what do we do now?”
“Rest. That’s all. Fuck school, or work. Heal. Peter said you can stay as long as you want.”
Miles’ spider sense goes off as there’s a knock at the open bedroom door.
He throws his arm over Prowler’s body and looks up. Oh. “Peter!”
Peter is in a suit. A work suit. His tie is skewed and his hair is windblown. Red and blue fabric peeks out beneath his wrist cuffs. He’s wearing his permanent tired smile. “Hey, bud. How you feeling?”
Miles shrugs as that old ache in his chest returns. Peter was there when it happened. “Hanging in there.”
Peter nods sympathetically, then looks at Prowler. “Hello. Wish we could’ve met under better circumstances.”
Prowler says nothing, wide-eyed. He’s never done well with new people.
Peter tries again. “Miles doesn’t say much about you. Neither does Hobie. I guess you like your privacy, huh?”
Prowler glances at Miles, unsure.
Miles saves him. “Thanks again for letting us crash here, man.”
“Not a problem. Stay as long as you need.” He looks at Prowler. “That goes for you too, bud.”
This time, Prowler mumbles, looking at the bedding, “I mean, I don’t want to burden you so—”
“Nope.” Peter throws his hand up. “Nope! I knew it. Being selfless is a universal trait for you guys. Just relax, alright? No one’s chasing you out. Su casa es mi casa. Right?”
Prowler looks down, biting back a smile. Miles whispers, “So close.”
Peter looks at Hobie.
Hobie frowns, looking back in clear defiance.
Peter crosses his arms.
Hobie scoots his arm chair back and kicks his feet up on the bed. “No.”
“Hobart Brown, you have not slept properly in twenty six hours. Go to sleep.”
“Twenty-six?” Miles cries.
Hobie doesn’t look at him. “Don’t want to, don’t need it, I’m above it.”
“You are not above sleeping. The twins are both awake now like you wanted, and they’re fine. I’ve taken the rest of the day off to watch them. So now you get to sleep. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Sounds awful.”
“Come on, I've got this great Spotify playlist that puts Mayday right to bed, you’ll love it.” Peter waves his phone in the air like candy. “Huh? What do you think? Let’s give it a go.”
“Yeah, uh, if you don’t want me disturbing the peace and what not then I’ll have to stay awake.”
“You think I’m afraid of a little screaming?”
Hobie looks startled.
Peter says, seriously, “I know, Hobie. If you have a nightmare then I’ll wake you up. That easy.”
Hobie snaps, “Yeah? What about a night terror?”
“Then I’ll wait it out unless you’re a threat to yourself or anyone else.” Peter’s voice gentles again. “Okay? Did I pass your test?”
Hobie scowls. The silence is answer enough.
“Okay. Now let’s go. Your suit should be finished washing by the time you wake up. The couch is all fluffed with extra pillows and a blanket is waiting for you.” Peter pauses. “Unless you want me to set up an aero-bed in here—”
“No.” Hobie still looks pissed off. His sharp, dark eyes focus on Miles. By now, Miles recognizes a once-over when he sees it, especially from his partner. And he’s known Hobie long enough that he’s become an expert in determining the type of anger. This anger is stemming from embarrassment.
Miles says, “It’s fine, mi amor. I can handle it. You know that.”
“You two just had the night of your lives. No need to add dealing with me on the list.”
Miles holds his icy gaze. “You had a hard night too. And you are not gonna convince me to let you stay awake. And if you want to stay in here, then please, by all means, stay in here.”
Hobie’s glare slowly melts into begrudging agreement. He takes his feet off the bed and stands with a loud sigh. “Fine, I’ll sleep. But I’m going downstairs.”
Miles says, “I’m right up here if you need me.”
Hobie leans over the bed and kisses Miles’ cheek. “I know. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Hobie points at the mug in Prowler’s hands. “Finish that whole thing, alright?”
“I will.”
“And don’t let Peter touch the kettle. Yell at him for me if he does.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t get up. Those stitches were a work of art, you hear?”
“I'm not moving.”
“And…” Hobie looks at him a little longer, then sighs. “Alright then.” He walks to the door and Peter firmly pats his back as he stalks past. Miles listens as he walks down the hallway and shuffles down the stairs.
Peter looks at them and scores a little bow. Miles gives an impressed nod.
Out loud, Peter says, “Alright. Yell if you need anything. Not you, Prowler, use your phone. Rest that diaphragm.”
Prowler says, “Miles needs to rest his throat.”
“Alright, then both of you call. Technology. Just the best, isn’t it?” He grabs the doorknob and firmly shuts the door.
Prowler sighs and tips his head back against the pillows, closing his eyes. “Your people are… soft.”
Miles tucks his face back into his upright chest, and curls his legs. “Hobie’s gonna be okay, right?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll be okay. We’ll all be okay.” Prowler sighs again, longer this time like he’s already falling back asleep.
The silence draws out. Miles stares at the ceiling, wide awake now.
“Stop thinking so loudly. And drink your tea, you’re starting to sound like a smoker.”
Miles sips his tea.
“You should be down there with him. Be a good boyfriend and all that shit.”
“He needs space right now. And he knows where I am. I just… worry about him.” What he wouldn’t give to wrap his arms around Hobie right now and hold him tight. “But Peter’s more than capable.”
“Alright, then.” Prowler wraps his arm over Miles’ back. It’s grounding. Miles relaxes in increments. “I’m going back to sleep. Don’t feel stuck up here with me. And I wanted to give this to you.”
Miles’ eyes grow wide as Prowler presses the bullet into his own hand. It’s a dull gold. “Dude, no. You should have this.”
“Hold it for now. Relax.” Prowler holds him a little tighter. “I’m alive, okay?”
Miles lays his head over his chest again and closes his eyes as he listens to Prowler’s strong, steady heartbeat, with tea in one hand and the unsuccessful bullet in the other.