Chapter 7
When you’re always tired, exhaustion becomes less of a status and more of an emotion.
Allow me to elaborate.
For the typical person, exhaustion appears every once and awhile. It is a nagging feeling at the back of one’s mind, dragging them down, luring them into sleep. It is a weighted blanket around the shoulders, a warm bed, a siren call dragging you into a foamy sea of disorienting dreams.
No matter how heavy, holding any weight for too long makes it impossible to bear. That warm bed doesn’t stay cozy forever. The sea is forever changing, and that siren begins to get ravenous, more reckless, more willing to drag you into the depths without preamble.
So exhaustion takes a new shape. It wraps itself around every part of you, sinking deep into your bones until you forget what it felt like to be awake. It invades every aspect of your being, sinking its torturous claws into everything you feel. Your joy turns into amusement. Your sadness turns into a deep depression. Your anger turns into grief. It’s excruciating, being exhausted, when you so desperately want to be awake. When you’re left knowing you’re being robbed of your life because you can’t bare to roll out of bed.
Exhaustion was a part of being Spiderman. It was a part of the too-late nights, the constant movement, the emotional toll. Sometimes, Miles felt like the quiet moments he got with those he loved and the time he spent sleeping were the happiest times of his week. It was a problem he really, really needed to address.
And in that moment, Miles was exhausted. Unable to lift a finger exhausted. Sunday morning, warm sun, no responsibilities, exhausted. The type of tired that dragged you back into sleep while your brain fought to stay on the verge of consciousness.
Miles was tired of fighting. He let himself fall back asleep.
The next time he woke, it was to pain. A sparking, searing pain that ran through his body as though someone had injected magma into his veins. He clenched his teeth and tried to scream, but all he could manage was a whine. The burning abated, eventually, but the unpleasant heat wracking through him lulled him back to sleep again, and again. Each time Miles woke to that searing pain, he could vaguely remember it happening before. He drifted off before he could truly remember.
Another time, lost within the muddle of half-awake day dreams, someone was tugging on Miles’ mask. There was a scratching at the back of his head that made Miles’ head roll back in complaint. Vaguely, he registered his mask being pulled away. Miles was moving on instinct entirely against his will, digging his teeth into the person’s hand. They moved away quickly and Miles let out an agonized sound as his body protested using his weak muscles. The pain was so much that Miles passed out.
“…iles…”
Then there was something cool against Miles’ face. The whispered brush of a hand holding him, moving him. Everything hurt. Miles was so, so tired. He was so warm. He wanted to plead with the person touching him to take him away, to cool him down, to do something to help him wake up. The inbetween of being awake and asleep was beginning to feel like purgatory and Miles wanted nothing more but to lean into the cool hand against his cheek and listen to the gravel of their voice for the rest of time. But he was weak, too weak to do anything, and shut his eyes before another wave of pain washed over him.
Panic struck Miles the next time he woke up. There was something in his mouth. He bit down on instinct and water gushed into his mouth, trickling down his sore throat. He let himself go lax, at that, thankful and so, so thirsty. He did his best to work more water out of the sponge, settling into the soft surface around himself. He was finally cool, blissfully cool, feeling as though he was floating above the pain he had felt before. His chest hurt in away that dragged him down into the softness around him and he listened to the siren call luring him back to sleep, unable to fight.
“…luz se cuela…”
Miles listened to the melodic singing. It was nice. Gentle on his ears. The words reverberated through him, familiar. He tried to close his mouth and was reminded of the thing between his lips, biting down again. There was a hand smoothing his hair away from his face, skin rough but cool.
“Luna, lunita cascabelera…” moon, little chiming moon. “Eres tan linda, tan hechicera…” You are so pretty, so enchanting.
Miles turned his head towards the singing. The hand in his hair stilled for a moment before continuing, but the singing stopped abruptly. “Mijo?”
Mom.
Whatever was in his mouth was pulled out. Miles moved his jaw, trying to form words, trying to open his eyes.
“No, no, pare, mijo. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Miles heard a click. Even with his eyes closed, he felt the world get a little darker. He struggled to open his eyes, finding them crusted shut by sleep.
His mom was at his bedside. She was wearing scrubs wrinkled from a shift at the hospital. The lights were off and the blue lights of nighttime outside painted her exhaustion unforgivingly. The bags under her eyes were too dark. Miles found that turning his head towards her made the stiff muscles in his neck scream.
“Hi, Miles.” She whispered. Tears brimmed her eyes. “Oh, mijo.”
Rio leaned down, her cheek pressed against Miles’ as she embraced him. Her voice was soft like a whisper in his ear. “I am so glad you are awake, Miles. I am so glad.”
Miles made a croaking sound. It reverberated in his chest and Miles' next breath was taken through his teeth as it settled amongst a stabbing pain that radiated from his chest and down his arms before pooling in his palms. Rio quickly sat up and gave Miles a disapproving glare. Its bite was taken away by the tear dripping down her left cheek. “Do not speak. Here-“ she reached for something on the night table. He heard the clinking of glass against her wedding ring. Miles felt something cool slide over his tongue when she turned back to him. Sucking gently, more water rushed into his mouth. His mom resumed petting his hair. “Good job, Miles. You hurt yourself, cariño. You need some more rest before you’re back to normal.”
He could feel the pinch in his brow. More rest? Miles felt as though he had been sleeping for a thousand years.
“Go back to sleep, mijo. Me and your dad will be here in the morning.”
Miles didn’t have the energy to protest.
Next time he woke, though, it woke with a start. It was like all of his energy, all 30 hours of sleep, had hit him all at once. Miles couldn’t stay another minute in bed, but his locked up muscles most certainly could, and he crumpled to the floor the second he tried to stand. He felt an urgency and he had no idea why. What was worse, though, was the pain in his chest, sending him into a coughing fit that alerted his dad in the next room.
“Woah, woaah!” Jefferson gasped as he opened the door. He joined Miles on the floor, and before Miles could even process what was happening, Jefferson gathered him up in his arms and held Miles in an earth-shaking hug. Stuck between the hug and the coughing, Miles wheezed, but the pain abated and he was able to melt into the embrace.
Hugging his dad was usually awkward but Miles had never been more relieved. He could barely make his arms curl around Jefferson in return, but he held on as tight as he lethargic muscles would allow. Part of Miles knew he should have been panicking. Last thing he remembered was Roxxon. How was he in his apartment? Why wasn’t he in his suit anymore? Those questions could wait, though, because that urgent feeling was fading and Miles was so relieved to be with his dad.
“Hey, Miles.” Jefferson said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”
“Guh.” Miles replied, voice scratchy.
Jefferson helped him to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s get some food into you, and some water. Your mom will be awake soon.”
After sitting Miles at the dinner table, Jefferson put a bowl of carne guisada into the microwave and filled a clean glass full of water. Miles drank the whole thing in big, painful gulps. It hurt, it really hurt, but he also really needed it. Jefferson refilled the glass, but only half way. Rio joined them in the kitchen too, and Miles awkwardly sipped the broth of his mom’s stew as they watched him.
“What happened?” He croaked out when he was ready.
Rio and Jefferson shared a long look. Rio sat down across from Miles; hands clasped over the dinner mat. “We don’t know the specifics, mijo. You did not come home one evening and your father and I got very nervous.”
Miles could remember it, if he tried. He had fought with his dad. He had fought with his dad.
“After we did not hear from you, we called Hobie. We thought maybe you were with him.”
Hobie. Miles was mad at Hobie. Miles couldn’t remember why he was mad at Hobie. Miles was there in his dining room, listening to his parent's explanation, yes, but it felt like his thoughts were lagging fifteen seconds behind. It felt like his thoughts were knotted together and Miles had to pause to collect himself before trying to untangle them.
“Hobie came and said he would look for you. He was very scared. We were very scared, mijo, we are so glad you are okay.”
“Hobie was here?” Miles asked, eyes wide. It hit him suddenly, the knots in his head snapping apart. Hobie had yelled. Miles had yelled? They had yelled at each other. Miles couldn't comprehend why Hobie would be in his dimension if they had been yelling at each other.
“He went to Roxxon and found you there. He said that they were hurting you. Do you feel any pain, Miles?” Rio asked, very serious.
Miles thought about it for a second. He tried, tried to remember. He had gone to Roxxon with Hobie. Went home and fought with his dad. He went back out and… and he didn’t remember. Vaguely, in the back of Miles' mind, there was a deep voice and a cool hand. He remembered sleeping. Had someone knocked him out?
“My chest hurts.” Miles said, grasping at the front of his shirt. The pain was an afterthought.
Rio looked as though Miles' pain was affecting her too. "You have some bruising, mijo, but it will be gone soon. I do not want you to panic, okay?"
Dread curled up in Miles' stomach. “…How long was I gone?”
“Four days.” Jefferson said. Miles felt his blood run cold.
“Four days?”
Rio was the voice of reason. “Do not panic, Miles, you’re alright.”
“Hobie brought you home.” Jefferson finished. “You’ve been sleeping for about a day.”
“Where is he?” Miles asked, looking around the apartment like Hobie was going to spring out at any second.
“He went home. He said you two have been fighting.” Rio said, gentle. She was always so gentle, even when Miles didn’t deserve it. Even when she was telling him that he was grounded, or unthankful, or was pissing him off, Miles knew his mom was so gentle and it killed him. “He had some very mean words on his face, mijo.”
“I, uhm-”
“That isn’t what matters right now.” Jefferson said. He leveled Miles with a very serious look. “I am… Sorry, Miles, for what I said. I am proud of you. I am so proud of you. And I am glad that you are okay, alright? I don’t know what I’d do with myself if-”
Miles put a hand on the table and pushed himself up. It was easy, for Spiderman, to hop over the dining table and land in front of his dad to yank him into a tight hug. Jefferson seemed stunned, for a moment, but wrapped Miles up in his arms and squeezed. Miles gasped into his shirt, feeling the burn of tears welling as Rio joined the hug too, pressing up against Miles’ side and putting her hand into his hair.
“I’m sorry.” Miles sobbed. It hurt to cry like that, his throat raw and his chest aching, but Miles couldn't help it as his foggy memory only had one emotion to share with him. It was the fear he had felt. Miles had nothing to attach it to, which was perhaps the scariest part, so all he had left was the murky feeling of knowing something was deeply wrong.
“Miles.” Jefferson admonished.
“You have nothing to be sorry for!” Finished Rio.
“I-I’m sorry for scaring you guys.” Miles choked out. He couldn't look at them. “For yelling at you and storming out. I just- I just wanted to prove that I could do it by myself! And I can’t. I can’t.”
“Miles, hey.” Jefferson said. He grabbed Miles by the shoulders and shook, albeit gently. Miles was gasping for air, fighting off a panic attack as his aching body hiccupped and stuttered around basic functions like breathing. Jefferson held him upright. “There is nothing wrong with needing help sometimes, okay?”
“I- I- I-”
Rio frowned, cupping Miles’ face. “We are right here. You are okay, Miles. We love you. We will always love you.”
“I told Hobie that I don’t need him!” Cried Miles, reeling with the consequences of his actions. “And then I told dad to shut up. I’m so- I’m so scared and I’m so angry and- and I failed my mission and I could have died!”
The tears were back in Rio’s eyes. She smeared Miles’ across his face, pinched at his snotty nose like he was still a toddler and pet his hair. “You didn’t. You didn’t, Miles. You are right here. We have you. Come here.” She pulled him into another hug. Miles went willingly. He missed the days when he was shorter than her and he could melt into her hugs, completely protected by her arms. He missed it when he believed her when she told him everything was going to be okay.
“You are safe as long as you are in this apartment, Miles. Your father and I will be by you whenever we can. I know that I told you not to let big people in big places look down on you, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t accept help every now and again, okay?” Rio pushed Miles back to cup his face, squishing his cheeks together in a way that made Miles feel ridiculous. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Everyone. Why do you think your father and I do what we do? We help people, like you help people. Like Hobie helps people. Like Gwanda helps people. You deserve some of that sunshine, okay?”
“O-okay, okay mama.”
“And if it helps.” Added Jefferson. “Roxxon is going to court in two weeks. Hobie found plenty of evidence to convict them of negligence. They’re going to be hit with some serious fines and will probably close down. You didn’t fail, Miles. You did it. You did it.”
Miles' voice wobbled. “I did?”
“Yes, Miles, god.” Jefferson pulled Miles away from Rio and trapped him in his arms again. “You and Hobie did great.”
It took awhile for Miles to calm down, after that. He was jumpy and embarrassed and really wanted a shower. He was wracking his brain trying to remember what had happened and was consistently failing, which was distressing. Miles had lost five, maybe six days worth of memories and the only thing he had to go off of was the spiraling bruise on his chest. The shower was running, but Miles was stuck in front of the mirror, poking at the purple blossom over his heart. A big, ugly stain that curled around Miles' collarbone and dripped down his sternum and crept up his neck. Miles could see every vein, every capillary the bruise highlighted. He swallowed and felt each individual tendril ache in protest of moving the sore skin.
Under the warm spray of the showerhead, Miles felt as though a fog had settled through his memory and distorted his perception of time. He did his best to remember how long it had been since he spoke to Hobie. A week, maybe? Oh god, Miles thought. A week.
But he was still angry. And Miles was angry at himself for being angry. Armed with foresight and the knowledge that Hobie risked his life for him yet again even though they were fighting, Miles felt the overwhelming need to apologize. To get down on both knees and beg that Hobie forgive him. Hobie had done so much for Miles. Saving him again and again and again. Listening to him, taking care of him, showing him new things and giving him new experiences. Miles knew that the both of them were hard to love sometimes. But it was worth it, wasn’t it?
Amidst all that pain and frustration, the payoff was there. Hobie would do something stupid and then all of a sudden he was so stunning Miles was locked in a sense of awe. Miles would yell at Hobie for the crime of being scared and Hobie would save his ass from an evil corporation. Seemed fair, seemed equal. Embarrassment was at the forefront of Miles' mind as he grappled with his poor decision making and what his pride had made him do and say. Miles realized most of his anger was towards himself. Angry for letting people's concern affect him the way it did, angry for lashing out and being brash instead of controlling himself. Miles so desperately wanted to be independent, wanted to prove that he didn't need the Spidey Society, or anyone for that matter. But as much as Miles wanted to prove that he could move through the world by himself, he couldn't imagine taking another step without the support of his parents. Without the support of Hobie. Miles had some apologizing to do, even if the mere concept turned his mouth ashy.
Cleaned off and feeling less close to death, Miles walked back to his room to get dressed. Both of his parents had to go to work, but Miles was kind of grateful for the time to himself. Time to relax without worrying about stressing out his poor parents. He hated what being Spiderman did to them, but he had no choice. Or at least it didn’t feel like he did.
Miles stepped out of his room once he was proper so he could find some more carne guisada. Not eating properly had really done him in. He felt wiry. After getting a bowl from the fridge and heating it, Miles noticed a little note on the dining room table.
I forgot to give you these before I went to work! Hobie left them as a gift. He said they are web shooters.
Love you Miles! Kisses
Miles picked up a new watch and two new web slingers. He ran his thumb over the indentations of the watch. Now he really needed to apologize.