Chapter 6
Wrapping tired fingers around the final cuff around Miles’ arm, Hobie barely had the energy to pull. The metal began to cave the moment the portal opened up like a big yellow eye promising safety and approximately eighteen hours of sleep. Hobie made a noise of exasperation and the metal finally hit its breaking point, harshly bending one way and allowing Hobie to pull Miles’ hand through. Being Spiderman was a busy gig and Hobie hadn’t had a chance to replace the spikes on his shoulder since the last time he carried Miles while he was unconscious, so Miles was slung over that shoulder without much preamble.
Hobie made sure to fetch his guitar and then they were out. He didn’t want to spend another second in that building. His heart lurched as he hoped the damage done to Miles was reversible. He clutched onto Miles as the portal whooshed them across worlds before spinning right back around to Miles’ watch. Hobie could hear it opening on the other side and stumbled out with Miles still slung over his shoulder.
They were in Miles’ room. Rio and Jefferson had cleared out and closed the door, but Miles’ watch sat abandoned on the nightstand. It was dark in the apartment, it was dark outside, and Hobie realized that it must have taken longer to wander down the halls of Roxxon than he expected.
“Right, Miles.” Hobie grunted, dropping his guitar. He let Miles slide from his shoulder until he was seated on the bed. Hobie cupped the back Miles’ neck as he gently laid him on the immaculately made bed before lifting his legs onto the mattress as well. Carefully, Hobie pushed Miles’ mask up his face. He was still asleep. Hobie took the mask off all the way and cupped Miles’ jaw. “Miles, darling. Are you with me?”
Kneeling by the side of the bed, Hobie truly took Miles in. His lips were dry and chapped. A little pale looking. There were purple marks along his neck and when Hobie checked, there were matching ones on his stomach where the sensors had been connected. Hobie was so, so thankful that the bruises appeared to be Miles’ only wounds. Gingerly, Hobie peeled off Miles’ gloves and placed them on the nightstand with his mask. His hands were cold. He wanted to do more, get Miles out of his sweaty suit because he knew Rio hated the sight of it, but Hobie didn’t want to invade Miles’ privacy like that.
“Don’ make me get your mum, Miles.” Hobie laughed. He didn’t know what to feel in that moment. He cared so viscerally for Miles, but he knew the second that he woke up Hobie would have to leave lest Miles threw a fit. Hobie wanted to be there, he did, he wanted to make sure that Miles was okay, but Hobie knew that Miles didn’t want to see him all the same. He gave himself the moment of quiet to scan over Miles’ tired features and commit them to memory. Hobie distantly wondered if this would be the last time he ever saw him. If the fight and the embarrassment of needing to be rescued afterwards would have Miles shut him out forever.
“I love you.” Hobie whispered, spreading his hand flat over Miles’ chest to feel his heartbeat.
He took a second to collect himself and stood up. “I’ll get your mum, yeah?”
Hobie opened up Miles’ bedroom door and peaked into the larger apartment. Rio was standing in the kitchen stirring a big pot of stew. Jefferson was leaning against the counter next to her, engaged in a quiet, solemn conversation. The ceiling lights were off, leaving nothing but the stove light to illuminate the kitchen and their scared faces. Jefferson looked up at Hobie with big, hopeful eyes. Rio whipped around and gave him the same look. Hobie shuffled awkwardly. “’e’s sleeping, right now.”
“Oh-” Rio made a torn noise and quickly turned the burner down low before rushing past Hobie and into Miles’ bedroom. Hobie just stepped to the side to give her room. Jefferson jogged over next, giving Hobie an appreciative nod before squeezing into the small room with her. Rio was sat on the bed, her hand against Miles’ cheek, crooning as she thumbed over the angry purple marks on his skin. Jefferson let out a shaky sigh of relief as he leaned over her to see Miles’ sleeping face.
He turned to Hobie. “What happened?”
Hobie swallowed. Shuffled. How was he meant to explain it?
“I think it’d be a bit minging to hear, sorry.”
Jefferson’s worried face and soft features turned into that of rage. “What did they do to him?”
Hobie rolled his shoulders back and looked down his nose at Jefferson, trying to feign his classic nonchalance. “There was a machine they ‘ad him rigged up to. They was trying to use his abilities for power.”
“Oh, Miles.” Rio said, a quiet sob escaping her. She looked up at Hobie too. “Will he be okay?”
“I dunno.” Hobie said honestly. He wanted to have the answers. He wanted to be able to reassure them. He wanted Mrs. Morales to stop looking like she was about to break down into sobs. “He was moving a little when I got there. I-I worked as fast as I could, I did-”
“It’s okay, son.” Jefferson said. Hobie felt the hair of his arms stand up. Jefferson grasped his non-spiked shoulder and Hobie felt ready to explode. “Thank you for helping him. Thank you.”
“He needs water, I think.” Hobie said, avoiding the sentiment. “And rest. From what I saw, he should wake up if his body has time to recover."
“Hobie, mijo, there are clean sponges under the sink and glasses in the cupboard over the molcajete. Could you bring me some water and the sponge, please?” Rio asked. Hobie gave her a curt nod and went into the kitchen.
Her cooking smelled lovely as always. Hobie could hear their hushed voices still and did his best to block them out. They were probably trying to find a polite way to kick him out, but Hobie was more than prepared to bring Rio the water and leave this dimension for the last time. He looked at the little blue kitchen and felt his heart throb. The counter was littered with the hard work of a cook. A big, fancy butcher’s knife for big cuts of meat and a paring knife for something smaller. A liquid had spilled across the counter and was covered in soaked paper towels. Hobie tried not to dwell on it. Sure enough, there was a pack of unopened sponges under the sink. Hobie had no idea what a molcajete was, so he opened every cupboard until he found a glass. There were plates and the Fancy Plates, vases, and an entire shelf of unused water bottles. When Hobie finally found the glasses, there was so many it took him a moment to choose the biggest one. He filled it with water from the sink and steeled himself before re-entering Miles’ bedroom.
Rio took the cup and the sponge from him gratefully. Jefferson had sat down in the chair at Miles’ desk, leaving Hobie to stand in the doorway as Rio dipped the sponge in the water, squeezed most of it out, and put it in Miles’ mouth.
“What’re you doing?” Jefferson asked.
“We do this at the hospital.” Rio said calmly. She stroked Miles’ hair away from his face. “Patients who have poor muscle control or hurt stomachs can’t drink easily, so we give them a wet sponge to suck on. It works wonders. This is easier than getting an IV in here, isn’t it?”
Jefferson chuckled a little bit. Hobie softened, knowing that the two of them still had it in them to banter. Hobie made to move for his guitar, grabbing the strap and dragging it up onto his shoulder. He didn’t want to intrude on their family any longer.
“Where are you going?” Rio asked. Hobie rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the bedroom doorway into the empty apartment. The stove light was shining gold on top of the steaming pot.
Part of Hobie wanted to lie. Part of him wanted to say he had a concert, or was needed back home, and he certainly couldn’t bare to tell her how much he wanted to stay. Hobie had promised to himself that he would never lie to Rio the moment he saw how much she cared for her son. So, he shrugged and spoke quietly. “Miles and I got into a fight, last time we spoke. I don’ think he’ll want me ‘ere when he wakes up. He needs his rest.”
“Hobie. We didn’t know.” Jefferson’s tone was apologetic.
“’s no matter.” Hobie said honestly. He knew his place. “I was happy to help.”
“Mijo.” Said Rio. She stood from the bed and in front of Hobie, looking up at him with a firmness that made Hobie want to shy away and apologize. “You are always welcome in this house, yeah? Miles loves you. We love you. You are a good boy. You treat our son well. We… we appreciate what you just did, yeah? You just saved our boy.”
“And you call us by our last names.” Jefferson chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
“But you can always call me Rio.” Rio added, hand up in the air to mark her point. “If you want to go, go. I won’t stop you. But don’t go because you feel like you have to. I do not care what Miles has to say about it. You just-” Hobie saw it, the way Rio struggled to get the words out. The way she knew if she said them, it would make the last four days all too real. “You just saved his life, okay? So you get dinner table privileges. Forever.”
Hobie felt himself tearing up. He didn’t want to cry in front of Miles’ parents especially when he knew this was the last time they’d see him. That hollowness was back. Hobie wanted this so badly. But he had screwed it up just like everything else. He had pushed too far just like he always did. He didn’t deserve the life that was rolling out in front of him. He wouldn’t take it if he didn’t deserve it. The world didn’t work that way.
“I’ve got to be back in New London soon. I’m sorry.” He didn’t want to lie. He felt as though he needed to. He needed to let them down easily. Needed to find a way to leave with as little collateral damage as possible.
“Do you think you have time for me to stitch up your cheek?”
And Hobie was a selfish creature.
So Hobie sat at the Morales dinner table with Rio sitting next to him. He had forgotten he was hurt, a customary Spider person practice. Unless the wound was ready to kill you, it could be ignored. Hobie wondered what he looked like, how ruffled he had become in the fight, what words the Morales’ were able to read off his face. Maybe they already knew he was lying to them and were too kind to say it. Rio did nothing to suggest she saw Hobie as anything other than young man needing medical attention as she cleaned out the scratch left by the Roxxon glove that had torn into his cheekbone. She worked tenderly and used a steri-strip to hold the wound closed since it wasn’t actually big enough to warrant stitches. It felt a little weird when Hobie wiggled his jaw, but he knew his advanced healing would do its job soon enough. He didn’t need to be cared for, not at all, but Rio’s insistence paired with Hobie's longing to be cared for had been too much.
“We found this under Miles’ bed, too.” Jefferson said, placing the abandoned duffle bag on the table. “I thought it was yours.”
“It is.” Hobie nodded. It was a weekend’s worth of clothes and a new watch he had been working on for Miles. It was smaller. He was going to- it was cheesy, he was going to make a whole presentation out of it. They’d swing up to a rooftop and Hobie would pull them out and they’d test the new web shooters together. It was slimmer and was meant to fit Miles’s wrist a little better. Hobie had even modified it to hold his web shooters the way that Hobie had modified his watch and his bracelet. With permission from Rio, he stood up and pulled the gift out. “These are for Miles, if he wants ‘em.”
“What are they?” Rio asked.
“Roxxon took ‘is web slingers.” He pressed down on the button and watched the silk gather on the table. “I had already made these before coming, so. ‘e needs them more than I do.”
“That is very kind, Hobie.” Rio said, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder.
“I ‘ave this, too.” Hobie suddenly remembered, reaching into his war vest. He pulled out the hard drive and extended it to Jefferson. “There’s some right awful things in there. I hope it’ll give you what you need to force them to close.”
Jefferson took the hard drive and looked at it like it was a bar of solid gold. “Thank you, Hobie. Thank you.”
“It’s calm.” Hobie smiled, slinging the bag over one shoulder and his guitar over the other. He was aching.
“You are not leaving without some carne guisada!” Rio said, standing from her seat. She walked over to the steaming pot and opened up an overflowing cupboard. Mismatched tubber ware of all sorts was stuffed into the shelves, evidence of years and years of sharing food with the community and having food being gifted back. Hobie saw it in every corner of the Morales’ home, you know? How much they cared about the people in their lives. How much those people cared for them. Hobie admired the pictures on the wall and the memorial for Uncle Aaron over the mantle and the way that every part of the home from the tubber ware to the mismatched couches was a testament to how community had built this family.
It was impolite to turn down food, Hobie had learned at a young age. Rio gave him a container that was far too big, a proper one too, with the nice plastic that didn’t warp from heat. Hobie felt poorly for taking it from her, knowing full well he would never gift it back. It wasn’t like he was good enough of a cook to return it full like he should, anyways. He thanked Rio and swallowed down the wave of emotion that threatened to resurface his tears when she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Safe travels, mijo! Come by to visit soon.”
“Thank you again, Hobie.”
“Of course, Mr. Morales. Thank you, Rio.” Hobie smiled. He stepped into the portal he had opened and left Earth-1610 for the last time.