familia
Muffled whispers surrounded him, drawing Miguel back to consciousness as his brows scrunched at the scratchy fabric of the medbay. Fire still roared through his body, attacking every inch of him, barely tempered by what he assumed to be painkillers being pumped through his system, only serving to strengthen the fog in his mind. Blearily opening an eye, he met the gaze of Peter B., following his eyes to where he could distantly register contact.
He was met with four sleeping bodies, all curled around and on top of him. Their chests rose and fell slowly, warmth creeping into his heart as he watched Pavitr wiggle further into his side.
“They worry about you.”
Peter’s voice snapped him back to reality, dutifully clamping down the faint whisper of ours creeping from the spider crooning inside of him.
“They should be worrying about themselves. There’s already enough going on.”
“Miguel,” Peter started, one hand moving to grasp his shoulder, “you can’t honestly expect them to not care after what you did – what they saw. It’s not that-“
“They saw me?” Miguel interrupted, “they know?”
Nodding, Peter looked down, “they got in before I could make it back.”
Miguel let his head fall back against the pillow, exhaling sharply. Dread coursed through him at the thought of what had happened – what could have happened – if things had gone differently. Curling his talons, he cursed himself not for the first time, crimson eyes looking upon his form with poorly disguised hatred. Maybe he could–
“Miguel?”
He glanced up.
“Miguel, buddy, you gotta calm down. You’re hurting yourself,” Peter murmured, uncurling his talons from where they had pierced his palm, “what’s wrong?”
He tilted his head away, fighting the guilt welling up inside of him.
“Oh buddy… they’re okay now. If they hated you they wouldn’t be, y’know-“ Peter gestured to the four children plastered to his side “- doing that.”
“…”
With a huff, Miguel moved to sit upright, stilling as Gwen grunted in her sleep, grip tightening.
“I have to file the report,” he said stiffly.
Peter raised an eyebrow.
“Hobie already did it. Can you believe it? Hobie, filing a report? Those kids must adore you.”
Miguel stared.
“What.”
“…Jess was right, you are dense,” Peter uttered, eyes widening.
“Next time I will let you get crushed to death.”
“No you won’t,” he countered smugly, “you like me too much.”
Not deigning to answer that, Miguel let his eyes close, finally letting the exhaustion take hold, faintly registering Peter’s quiet “sleep well” before he drifted away, lulled by the warmth of those beside him.
Being stuck in his office had some upsides, Miguel mused. Orange pixels flashed through the area as he swiped through the screens, face creased with thought.
“Lyla?”
“Ya?”
“Start a separate file on Morales, Brown, Pavitr, and Gwen.”
“Aww, boss, are ya getting attached?”
“¡Ahora!”
Rolling her eyes, Lyla disappeared in a splash of color, casually sliding open the door to reveal the aforementioned teenagers.
“Ay, tio, we brought empanadas!”
Swinging up to his platform, Miles offered him the container, the others following soon after. With a sigh, Miguel took it, one hand moving to steady his crutch. They ate in silence, broken occasionally by Pavitr’s constant shifting and Gwen’s hands drumming against the desk. He felt oddly content, problems retreating to the bad of his mind.
“…So, do you also drink blood?”
“MILES!
No one dared to mention how after that day the group would break into the office more often to hang out while Miguel worked, scattered Spanish homework becoming a common sight. And no one dared to even touch the newly framed photo propped on the desk, four smiling faces beaming next to a picture of a young girl with brown hair.