Angelito
Miles yawned, the lingering remnants of sleep clinging to him like a stubborn fog.
His scalp throbbed, a dull ache that served as a vivid reminder of the previous day's… experiment.
His Dominican classmate, Yahira, enrolled in cosmetology classes after a phone-related incident with her mom, and Miles, unfortunately, had become her willing (or perhaps slightly coerced) canvas.
He glanced in the mirror, bracing himself for the worst.
The reflection staring back wasn't drastically different, thankfully.
A few small, almost imperceptible marks dotted his chocolate-colored skin, like tiny constellations.
A smattering of band-aids adorned his face, casualties of some over-enthusiastic styling.
But his hair… His hair was magnificent.
He had to admit, despite the discomfort, Yahira’s spite-fueled foray into the world of hair care had yielded impressive results.
He remembered watching her, a mix of fascination and apprehension swirling within him.
He’d seen her twirl and stretch a strand of his hair, the dark coils springing back with an almost playful bounce.
She’d gently pulled the strand down, twisting it meticulously around her finger, her movements precise and surprisingly gentle considering the circumstances.
The twisting continued, from root to tip, a rhythmic dance of fingers and hair.
He’d endured a world of minor pain, a constant tugging and pulling that he’d tried to ignore, focusing instead on the final product.
Now, surveying the results, he had to concede: those coils were gorgeous.
With a groan, Miles pushed aside the lingering stiffness and pulled on a pair of baggy black cargo pants.
He paired them with an oversized Bad Bunny t-shirt, its vibrant colors a stark contrast to the lingering shadows of sleep in his eyes.
Grabbing a black cropped bomber jacket, he slung it over his shoulder, deciding it was warm enough to carry rather than wear.
Stepping out of his room, he was immediately met with the familiar cacophony of the common room.
It was a scene of utter chaos.
Thor and Loki were locked in a heated debate, their voices booming as they argued over the merits of some obscure show.
Natasha, her expression a dangerous mix of exasperation and simmering rage, looked ready to unleash her full arsenal of fighting skills on Bucky, who stubbornly refused to assist with breakfast preparations.
Scott, meanwhile, seemed on the verge of tears, an expression of utter bewilderment plastered across his face as Clint and Phil engaged in their usual flirtatious banter.
Bruce, ever the calming presence, spoke softly to Pepper, a gentle smile gracing his lips.
And, of course, Tony, never one to miss an opportunity for amusement (or a wager), was trying to convince Steve to place a bet on which brother, Thor or Loki, would emerge victorious from their television-fueled feud.
"Morning," Miles mumbled, stifling another yawn as he navigated the chaotic scene and headed towards the kitchen.
Opening the refrigerator, he peered inside, searching for something to contribute to the already burgeoning breakfast fiasco.
"I'll help Aunt Nat," he announced, grabbing a carton of eggs.
He tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair, ready to dive into the fray.
Miles was greeted by the boisterous energy of the common room, a whirlwind of chatter and playful jabs.
Tony, ever the showman, offered a wide, mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Looking rather dashing this morning, Miles," he quipped, gesturing towards Miles's newly styled hair.
The rest of the room erupted in a chorus of teasing remarks, their voices a mix of genuine admiration and playful ribbing.
"Someone's been hitting the salon," Natasha teased, a smirk playing on her lips.
Even Steve Rogers, usually the picture of stoic composure, couldn't suppress a small smile.
Miles rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a faint blush creeping up his neck.
He knew they were just having fun, but the attention was still a little overwhelming.
Just then, Peter Parker bounded into the room, his usual exuberance amplified tenfold.
"Whoa, Miles! Digging the new look," he exclaimed, a laugh bubbling up from his chest.
He circled Miles, pretending to examine his hair with exaggerated curiosity.
"Looking like you just stepped out of a shampoo commercial!" he declared, earning a playful shove from Miles.
"Mean, Peter," Miles retorted, a mock glare on his face.
"Now your pancakes are gonna be flat."
He playfully mimicked a flattening motion with his hand, causing Peter to groan dramatically.
"No! Not the pancakes!" he cried, clutching his chest in mock despair.
The playful banter continued, a comfortable rhythm established between the friends.
Even amidst the chaos of the morning, there was a sense of camaraderie, a shared bond that made their unusual living situation feel less like a dorm and more like a family.
Miles chuckled, shaking his head at Peter's antics, but a genuine smile spread across his face.
He was glad to be surrounded by these people, even if they did relentlessly tease him about his hair.
The aroma of sizzling bacon and fluffy pancakes filled the air, a testament to the combined (and somewhat chaotic) culinary efforts of the Avengers.
Despite the earlier squabbles and near-fisticuffs, a sense of harmony had settled over the breakfast table, fueled by good food and the shared experience of surviving another morning in the Avengers compound.
Even Thor and Loki had called a truce, their competitive spirits now focused on consuming the largest stack of pancakes.
Natasha and Bucky, their earlier animosity forgotten, shared a quiet laugh as they recounted a particularly disastrous attempt at flipping an omelet.
Scott, his earlier distress replaced by a contented smile, chatted animatedly with Clint and Phil, the remnants of their flirtatious banter lingering in the air.
Bruce and Pepper discussed some complex scientific theory, their voices a low murmur amidst the general din.
And Tony, still chuckling over some prank he’d pulled on Steve earlier, regaled the group with a (highly embellished) tale of his latest invention.
Finally, with stomachs full and goodbyes exchanged, Miles and Peter grabbed their backpacks and headed out the door.
They waved to the assembled Avengers, a chorus of "See ya later!" and "Have a good day!" echoing after them.
As they walked down the street, the sounds of the city replacing the boisterous energy of the compound, Peter couldn't resist nudging Miles playfully.
"So," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "about those pancakes…" Miles groaned, but a smile played on his lips.
He knew Peter wouldn't let it go, but he also knew that their friendly banter was just another part of their routine, a comfortable rhythm in their friendship.
They continued walking, the imposing facade of Stuyvesant High School looming in the distance.
The thought of classes and homework loomed, but for now, they were content to bask in the afterglow of a chaotic but ultimately enjoyable morning with the Avengers.
They approached the school gates, ready to face whatever the day might bring, together.
The walk to Stuyvesant was a familiar one, a well-trodden path through the bustling city streets.
Miles and Peter fell into their usual easy conversation, discussing everything from the latest superhero gossip to the upcoming science fair.
As they navigated the crowded hallways of Stuyvesant, the energy of the school swirling around them, they spotted Addie near the entrance to their second period class.
She was slightly out of breath, her backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder, a telltale sign of a rushed morning.
"Hey guys!" she called out, a sheepish grin spreading across her face.
"Overslept… again."
Miles and Peter exchanged knowing glances.
Addie's tendency to hit the snooze button was legendary.
They waited for her, falling into step as they headed towards their shared AP Chemistry class.
Addie's eyes immediately fell on Miles's hair, now perfectly styled after Yahira's ministrations.
She burst out laughing, a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed through the hallway.
"Dude, seriously? You actually kept it?" she asked, her voice filled with amusement. "
I thought for sure you'd be rocking a buzz cut after yesterday's… experiment."
Miles chuckled, running a hand through his perfectly coiled hair.
"Yeah, well, it's not so bad," he admitted.
"Actually, it's kind of… awesome."
He shot a playful glare at Peter, who was trying to stifle his own laughter.
"Besides," Miles added, "someone has to keep Peter grounded.
His ego needs a counter-balance."
Peter feigned offense, but he couldn't help but grin.
"Hey! My ego is perfectly reasonable," he protested.
"Unlike some people's sleeping habits," he added, glancing pointedly at Addie.
Addie rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
"Alright, alright, you got me," she conceded.
"But seriously, Miles, that hair is on point. You're going to be breaking hearts in chem today."
She winked, nudging him playfully.
They continued down the hallway, their laughter echoing through the corridors, the prospect of AP Chemistry class suddenly a little less daunting.
Even the complexities of stoichiometry and equilibrium seemed a little more manageable with friends by their side.
.
.
.
Miles felt a genuine sense of contentment as he walked with Addie and Peter towards the bustling subway station.
The energy of the city seemed to vibrate around them, a palpable buzz of hurried footsteps, car horns, and the distant murmur of conversations.
The three friends fell into comfortable step, their easy camaraderie a welcome respite from the pressures of school and superheroics.
They chatted about everything and nothing, their laughter echoing through the station as they navigated the crowds.
They boarded the train, finding a relatively empty car where they could continue their conversation without shouting over the rumble of the tracks.
Their destination: Soho, a vibrant neighborhood known for its trendy boutiques, art galleries, and eclectic atmosphere.
Stepping off the train, they were immediately immersed in the unique Soho vibe.
The streets were a mix of cobblestone and sleek pavement, lined with cast-iron buildings that housed everything from high-end fashion houses to independent shops.
They wandered through the streets, window shopping, occasionally popping into a store that caught their eye.
Addie, ever the dedicated student, was on a mission.
She needed to replenish her dwindling supply of art materials for her various school projects. They browsed through a small art supply store, Addie carefully selecting brushes, paints, and sketching pencils, her brow furrowed in concentration as she weighed the merits of different brands and shades. Miles and Peter offered their (mostly uninformed) opinions, teasing her gently about her artistic obsession.
It was a strange but wonderful feeling, this sense of normalcy.
For a few hours, they could almost forget about the extraordinary lives they led, the secret identities and world-saving responsibilities.
They were just three friends, enjoying a day out in the city.
It seemed like all of them had somehow skipped a grade, a quirk of their accelerated academic paths.
Addie, despite being only sixteen, was a brand new junior, her intelligence and dedication having propelled her forward.
Miles, likewise, found himself in the same grade, a testament to his own academic prowess.
And Peter, the oldest of the trio, was a senior who had just recently turned seventeen.
The age differences were slight, almost negligible, but they added another layer to their bond, a shared experience of navigating the complexities of high school life at a slightly accelerated pace.
As they continued their wanderings, stopping for a slice of pizza and some people-watching in a small park, Miles couldn't help but appreciate these moments of normalcy, these precious slices of ordinary life amidst the extraordinary.
As the day wound down, Addie and Peter decided to head back to the Avengers Tower, the familiar pull of home and the promise of a warm meal drawing them back.
Miles, however, had other plans.
He peeled off from his friends, a different destination in mind.
He was meeting up with Clayton, his British friend, someone he was incredibly close to.
Their bond was a unique one, forged through shared experiences, late-night conversations, and a mutual appreciation for all things nerdy.
Clayton, who had recently moved to the city, had quickly become an important part of Miles's life, a confidant and a source of unwavering support.
Miles navigated the city streets, a sense of anticipation bubbling within him.
He hadn't seen Clayton in a few days, and he was eager to catch up, to share stories of his day and hear about Clayton's own adventures in the bustling metropolis.
He thought about all the things they would talk about, from the latest comic book releases to their shared passion for obscure science fiction films.
He imagined them grabbing some late-night food at their favorite diner, dissecting the plot holes of some superhero movie, and laughing until their sides hurt.
As he approached their designated meeting spot, a small, unassuming coffee shop tucked away on a quiet side street, Miles's pace quickened.
He spotted Clayton sitting at a corner table, engrossed in a book, a steaming mug of coffee beside him.
A smile spread across Miles's face as he approached, a feeling of warmth and genuine affection filling him.
He was glad to have Clayton in his life, a friend who understood him, who accepted him for who he was, the ordinary Miles .
He knew that whatever challenges life threw their way, they would face them together, their friendship a constant source of strength and support.
"Hi, Clay," Miles said, a warm smile spreading across his face as he slid into the booth opposite his friend.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of conversation filled the cozy little coffee shop, a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of the city streets outside.
Clayton looked up from his book, a matching smile lighting up his face.
"Miles! You made it. I was starting to think you'd gotten caught up saving the world or something."
Miles chuckled, tossing his backpack onto the seat beside him.
"Nah, just a little bit of Soho wandering with Peter and Addie. You know, the usual teenage shenanigans."
He pulled out a thick textbook, its pages filled with highlighted passages and dog-eared corners.
"Speaking of which, I've got a chemistry test coming up, and I'm seriously struggling with stoichiometry. Think you can lend a brain?"
Clayton nodded, closing his book and setting it aside.
"Stoichiometry, huh? My old nemesis. But sure, I can try. Where are you getting stuck?"
He leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as Miles pointed to a particularly complex equation.
"Alright, so the key here is to balance the equation first..."
As they delved into the intricacies of chemical reactions and molar masses, their conversation flowed easily, weaving between academic discussions and casual banter.
"So, how was your day?" Miles asked, pausing between explaining the concept of limiting reactants.
"Pretty good," Clayton replied.
"I finally managed to find a decent bookstore that carries British literature. I picked up the first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray."
His eyes lit up as he spoke about his literary passion.
"You should check it out. It's fantastic."
"Ooh, I've heard of that one," Miles said.
"Isn't it, like, super dark?"
"Oh, it's deliciously dark," Clayton confirmed.
"Deals with themes of vanity, morality, and the corrupting influence of beauty. It's right up your alley."
He grinned mischievously.
Miles rolled his eyes playfully.
"Hey, I'm not that dark," he protested.
"I just appreciate a good story with complex characters."
Their conversation drifted back to chemistry, but it was punctuated with these little side discussions, these shared moments of connection that made their friendship so special.
They debated the merits of different superheroes, argued about the best pizza toppings, and laughed at each other's terrible puns.
"Wait, so if we have this much of reactant A and this much of reactant B," Miles said, pointing to the equation, "then we can only make this much of product C, right?"
Clayton nodded.
"Exactly. That's the limiting reactant. It determines how much product you can actually form."
He picked up a pen and started scribbling on a napkin, explaining the concept in more detail.
Hours passed, the coffee shop gradually emptying out as the evening progressed.
Miles and Clayton, oblivious to the time, were completely engrossed in their studies and their conversation.
They had managed to conquer stoichiometry, at least for the time being, and had moved on to discussing the finer points of quantum mechanics, a topic that always fascinated them both.
"You know," Miles said, stretching and yawning, "I should probably head back to the tower. Aunt Nat will kill me if I'm out too late."
Clayton checked his watch.
"Wow, it's already that late? Time flies when you're having fun, I guess."
He gathered his books and stood up.
"I'll walk you to the subway."
As they walked, their conversation continued, the easy rhythm of their friendship filling the silence.
They talked about their plans for the weekend, their hopes and dreams for the future, and the challenges they faced as teenagers navigating the complexities of life.
They reached the subway station, and after a quick goodbye, Miles descended the stairs, a feeling of warmth and contentment settling over him.
He knew that no matter what happened, he could always count on Clayton, his friend, his confidant, his partner in nerdy pursuits.
And that was a feeling worth more than all the superpowers in the world.
When Miles arrived back at the Avengers Tower, an unusual quiet hung in the air.
The usual sounds of clanging dishes, boisterous laughter, and the occasional explosion were conspicuously absent.
He sighed, a mix of relief and slight unease settling over him.
He appreciated the peace and quiet after a long day, but something felt… off.
He shrugged it off, heading straight to his room.
He dropped his backpack with a thump, quickly changed into more comfortable house clothes, and then headed towards the meeting room.
He had a gut feeling that's where the Avengers would be, and he was right.
As he entered, a cheerful "Hi guys—" died in his throat.
His eyes widened, taking in the scene before him.
It wasn't the usual Avengers meeting.
Seated around the large table were Miguel, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, and… a holographic image of Spider-Girl.
"What the hell, Tony?" Miles exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. He instinctively ducked behind Steve Rogers, using the Captain's broad shoulders as a shield.
This was definitely not what he had expected to come home to.
He peeked out from behind Steve, trying to make sense of the situation.
What were all these Spider-People doing here? And why was there a hologram of Spider-Girl?
The questions swirled in his mind, a mixture of excitement and confusion.
"Are you okay, Miles?" Steve asked, his voice laced with concern as he turned to look at the younger hero.
Miles, still slightly stunned, managed a small nod, his eyes darting between the assembled Spider-People and the Avengers.
He cautiously stepped out from behind Steve and, seeking a different shield, sidled over to Bucky, who offered a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Calm down, kid," Bucky murmured, his tone gruff but gentle.
"It'll be okay."
He'd seen Miles through plenty of tough situations, and he recognized the look of unease in the young hero's eyes.
The Avengers, gathered around the table, all gave Miles a look that was a mixture of sympathy and understanding.
They knew what he’d been through, the pain and the trauma that still lingered beneath the surface.
It was Loki, surprisingly, who finally broke the tense silence. He stood up abruptly, his usually cool demeanor replaced by a flash of anger.
"I'm taking a break," he declared, his voice ringing with conviction.
"This is ridiculous.
They think they have the right to just show up here? After what they put Monty through?"
The mention of "Monty," Miles's childhood nickname, sent a shiver down his spine.
It was a name only a select few used, a reminder of a time before the suit, before the responsibility, before the pain.
His stomach clenched, a wave of nausea washing over him as the memories, carefully compartmentalized, threatened to resurface.
He flinched, a small, involuntary movement that didn't go unnoticed by those around him.
The nickname, combined with Loki's outburst, painted a clear picture for the Avengers.
This wasn't just a friendly visit from other Spider-People; this was something much more complicated, something deeply personal for Miles.
The air in the room crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of the past pressing down on them all.
"No," Miles said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the tense atmosphere.
He met Miguel's gaze, his own eyes hardening with a resolve that surprised even himself.
"Whatever they need, the answer is fuck no."
He sighed, a heavy breath escaping his lips as he nervously played with the coils of his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't quite outgrown.
The memories, the pain, it was all bubbling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him.
He wasn't going to let them.
Not again.
"I'm better here," he continued, his voice gaining strength with each word.
He lifted his chin, meeting Miguel's gaze head-on.
"Go fuck yourself, Miguel."
The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, a stark contrast to the usual polite demeanor Miles displayed.
He breathed heavily, trying to control the tremor in his voice, the anger that was rising within him.
He could feel the eyes of the other Spider-People on him, their expressions a mixture of shock and confusion.
He didn't care.
He wouldn't back down.
He wouldn't let them dictate his life, his choices, his healing.
Tony, to his credit, didn't interrupt.
He simply watched, his expression unreadable, as Miles unleashed his pent-up emotions.
He knew better than to interfere.
This was something Miles needed to do, to face, on his own terms.
The other Avengers remained silent as well, understanding the unspoken history, the deep-seated hurt that fueled Miles's outburst.
They knew this wasn't just about a disagreement; it was about something much bigger, something that cut to the core of who Miles was.
The Spider-People stared, their initial shock giving way to a mixture of understanding and perhaps a flicker of guilt.
They had clearly touched a raw nerve, reopened a wound that hadn't fully healed.
Miles stood his ground, arms crossed, his posture defiant.
He wasn't the scared kid anymore.
He was Spider-Man, and he wouldn't be bullied, manipulated, or forced into anything he didn't want to do.
He had found his place, his family, his strength, and he wasn't about to let anyone take that away from him.
"Pete, get your ass over here," Miles called out, his voice still rough with emotion but tinged with a hint of exasperation.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the lingering sting of tears.
"Yahira needs to do makeup, and Addie won't comply."
He gestured towards the door with a weary sigh.
This was just the kind of chaotic situation he needed after the emotional confrontation with Miguel.
Leave it to his friends to create another layer of drama.
Peter, ever eager to escape the tense atmosphere of the meeting room, nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"On it!" he exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face.
He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, and gave Miles a quick, reassuring pat on the arm.
"Don't worry, Miles. We'll handle this. Addie can be… persuasive when she wants to be."
He winked, a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly anticipating the coming spectacle.
As they exited the meeting room, Miles's eyes were still full of unshed tears.
The encounter with Miguel had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions, and he was still processing everything that had been said.
He blinked, trying to compose himself, to push the pain back down where it belonged.
He knew he couldn't let it consume him.
He had friends to support, a life to live, and a city to protect.
He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, to regain his composure.
He was Spider-Man. He could handle anything.
Even Addie's stubborn refusal to cooperate with Yahira's makeup artistry.
He just needed a moment to gather himself, to push the hurt aside, and focus on the task at hand.
He could deal with the emotional fallout later.
Right now, there was a makeup emergency to resolve.
.
.
.
The meeting dragged on, the air thick with tension and unspoken words.
The Avengers debated the merits of involving the other Spider-People, weighing the potential benefits against the risk of further upsetting Miles.
They discussed logistics, strategy, and the delicate balance between teamwork and respecting Miles's boundaries.
Miles remained a silent observer, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the walls of the conference room.
He felt like he was watching a play unfold, a drama in which he was both a character and a reluctant audience member.
He contributed nothing to the discussion, his silence a stark contrast to the usual lively participation he brought to Avengers meetings.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a conclusion.
It was decided that only the "Spider-Teenagers," as Tony had dubbed them – Gwen, Hobie, and Pavitr – would stay at the tower, and only temporarily.
They would provide support and assistance where needed, but their presence would be minimal, and they would be kept separate from Miles as much as possible.
It was a compromise, a fragile truce designed to address the immediate situation while minimizing further friction.
As the meeting adjourned, Miles stood up, his expression unreadable.
He looked directly at the Spider-Teenagers, his eyes conveying a message that was clear and unequivocal.
"I won't be their friend," he stated, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth.
"And I don't want any missions with them. End of it."
He turned and walked out of the conference room, leaving the others to process his words.
He didn't care if he sounded harsh or unreasonable.
He had made his feelings perfectly clear, and he wasn't going to pretend otherwise.
He had been hurt, betrayed, and he needed space, time to heal, and the freedom to set his own boundaries.
He wasn't going to force himself to be friendly, to play nice, for the sake of team unity.
He had learned a valuable lesson: sometimes, the best way to protect yourself is to draw a line in the sand and refuse to budge.
The next morning, Miles woke up with a sense of quiet determination.
He pulled on a compression long-sleeved shirt, a comfortable and practical choice for a day that promised to be busy.
He paired it with low-rise baggy jeans, a style he favored for its comfort and effortless cool, and his trusty Jordans, ready for whatever the day might bring.
He emerged from his room and entered the kitchen, his expression neutral, his focus solely on the task at hand.
He deliberately ignored the scattered Avengers, some of whom tried to engage him in conversation.
He wasn't in the mood for small talk, not after the emotional turmoil of the previous day.
"Loki. Loki. Loki," he whined playfully, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier seriousness.
He tugged on the sleeve of Loki's ornate robe, knowing exactly how to get under the god of mischief's skin.
Loki, who was clearly in a foul mood, glared at Miles.
"Take us shopping," Miles continued, his whine escalating into a full-blown plea.
"We want the cool uncle!" Thor's eyes widened at the suggestion, a flicker of excitement igniting within him.
Miles laughed, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that chased away some of the lingering shadows from the previous night.
Peter and Addie, who had just entered the kitchen, nodded enthusiastically in agreement, their faces mirroring Thor's excitement.
Miles, despite his earlier standoffishness, couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm.
He grabbed an apron from a nearby hook and tied it around his waist, transforming into kitchen mode.
He began pulling out ingredients, his movements efficient and practiced.
He was making breakfast for his friends, a small gesture of affection and a way to bring a little bit of normalcy back into their lives.
He set the table, carefully arranging plates and cutlery, his mind already planning the day ahead.
"Right, Tony," he said, turning to address the resident billionaire, "I'm going to stay at Clayton's tonight."
Tony's eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in what was clearly going to be a protest.
Before he could utter a word, however, Bruce, ever the voice of reason, intervened.
"Go ahead, Miles," he said gently, offering a warm smile.
Miles returned the smile, a genuine expression of gratitude.
"Thank you, Brucie," he said, his voice softening.
He turned back to his friends, his earlier reserve melting away.
"Eat up, fiends," he instructed, a playful glint in his eyes.
"I've got to get to school and then see Clay!"
He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, a sense of anticipation bubbling within him.
He was looking forward to seeing Clayton, to catching up, to escaping the pressures of the tower and the lingering tension with the other Spider-People.
He knew that spending time with his friend would help him to process everything that had happened, to heal, and to move forward.
"Gwen, Hobie, and Pavitr will also be going to school with you guys," Tony announced, his voice casual, as if he were simply mentioning the weather.
Miles's head snapped up, his earlier good humor evaporating instantly.
He glared at Tony, his eyes narrowing, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
He opened his mouth to speak, his voice a low growl.
"They stay away from me," he emphasized each word, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding, "and I won't say anything."
He stretched, the movement stiff and deliberate, a physical manifestation of his simmering anger.
He wasn't going to cause a scene, not here, not now.
But he wasn't going to pretend that everything was okay either.
Peter, sensing the rising tension, nodded in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a look of quiet solidarity.
"Same here," he said, his voice firm and unwavering.
"I'm with Mi."
He placed a hand on Miles's shoulder, a silent show of support.
He knew how much this situation was affecting his friend, and he wasn't going to let him face it alone.
He understood Miles's need for space, his desire to distance himself from the other Spider-People.
He felt the same way, to be honest. The whole situation was awkward, uncomfortable, and he just wanted it to be over with.
The air in the kitchen crackled with unspoken tension.
The other Avengers, sensing the shift in mood, remained silent, their eyes darting between Miles, Peter, and the Spider-Teenagers.
They knew better than to interfere.
This was a matter best left to those directly involved.
Tony, ever the pragmatist, simply nodded, acknowledging Miles's statement.
He understood the unspoken message: keep the Spider-Teenagers away from Miles and Peter, and there wouldn't be any trouble.
It was a fragile truce, a delicate balance that could be shattered with a single wrong word or action.
The breakfast atmosphere, which had been so light and cheerful just moments before, was now heavy with unspoken emotions.
Miles, Peter, and the Spider-Teenagers finished their breakfast in relative silence, the unspoken tension hanging over them like a thick fog.
The unspoken agreement was clear: separate spheres, minimal interaction, and hopefully, no explosions.
"I'll drive Miles, Addie, and Peter to school today," Bucky announced, his voice cutting through the lingering tension in the kitchen.
He finished his coffee, setting the mug down on the counter with a decisive clink. He glanced at the trio, his expression softening slightly.
"Pack your stuff, little tyrants," he instructed, a hint of amusement in his voice despite the gruffness of his tone.
He knew they weren't truly tyrants, just teenagers trying to navigate the complexities of high school, superheroics, and, in this particular instance, a rather awkward living situation.
He'd become fond of them, in his own gruff, uncle-like way, and he was happy to offer them a ride, a small gesture of support amidst the ongoing drama.
Miles, Addie, and Peter exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.
They grabbed their backpacks, which were conveniently stashed near the door, a testament to their well-honed routine.
They knew that when Bucky offered a ride, it was best not to question it.
He was notoriously impatient, and lingering would only earn them a stern lecture about punctuality.
Besides, a ride in Bucky's car was always an adventure, a mix of classic rock, questionable driving maneuvers, and the occasional (unsolicited) life lesson.
They filed out of the kitchen, their footsteps echoing through the quiet hallway.
The atmosphere was still thick with unspoken tension, but the simple act of leaving for school offered a sense of normalcy, a return to the familiar rhythm of their daily lives.
They knew that the issues with the other Spider-People wouldn't simply disappear, but for now, they could focus on their classes, their friends, and the challenges of being teenagers.
They piled into Bucky's car, a beat-up but reliable sedan that had seen its fair share of action.
Bucky started the engine, the roar of the powerful engine filling the air, and they pulled out of the driveway, heading towards Stuyvesant High School.
The ride was mostly quiet, punctuated by the occasional song on the radio and Bucky's muttered commentary on the other drivers.
But even in the silence, there was a sense of camaraderie, a shared understanding that they were in this together, whatever "this" might be.