Chapter Text
It starts with a stupid mistake.
Miguel is fighting a version of Scorpion from Earth-1048 with the help of that same dimension’s Peter Parker and Miles Morales. Neither of them know him very well, but they’re both part of Spider Society and their knowledge of this particular Scorpion has already proved to be invaluable.
“Watch the tail!” Parker shouts as he swings by. He’s on his third attempt to wrap Scorpion up to restrain him, but the combination of three metal claws on each hand and a very powerful tail keeps preventing that from happening.
Miguel dives out of the way before the stinger lodges itself in the wall where his head just was and ignores Parker’s attempt to go his own route instead. This Peter Parker’s webs are just as strong as his own, so if they can’t subdue Scorpion that way, then Miguel figures they’ll get better results with some other method.
Switching to the more versatile red webs of his suit, he shoots out a line and wraps it around the end of Scorpion’s tail, yanking it back with enough force to stagger the villain and leave him vulnerable to the other two Spiders.
Morales delivers a strong kick to Scorpion’s head while Parker lands on his back to try to tackle him . Meanwhile Miguel has trouble keeping the tail from taking out an eye. It writhes around in his grip and even sinking talons into the concrete street beneath him doesn’t give him enough traction to not be thrown around. Once he loses his footing, he gets lifted up and slammed into the ground, dislodging the webs and allowing Scorpion to fight back again.
“Above you!” Morales yells, and Miguel has just enough time to roll out of the way before the tail comes at him again. The concrete cracks and breaks with the amount of power put into the hit, and Miguel counts himself lucky that that wasn’t his skull instead. Having spider sense would come in really handy right about now, he thinks ruefully.
By the time he picks himself up, Morales is crouched nearby waiting for Parker to give him an opening, and Miguel rushes over to give him the new plan.
“I need you two to get through his armor.”
This version of Miles may not know him well, but he knows enough to guess what Miguel is trying to do, and he nods resolutely before jumping right back into the fight.
“You insects are so annoying,” Scorpion grits out as he blocks another hit from Parker. “Just sit still and let me kill you already!”
Parker expertly grabs one of Scorpion’s arms and flips over his back, using the momentum to send the villain careening through the air. “No can do, Scorpi-o. And spiders aren’t insects, they’re arachnids!”
Scorpion skids to a stop on the concrete by digging claws in, immediately launching back at them tail-first. “It’s the same thing!”
“It’s definitely not,” Morales retorts with a sting of electric venom that stops Scorpion long enough for Miguel to web him down and allow the other two to go through with his plan.
With a subtle signal from Morales, the two of them jump up on Scorpion’s back and web onto a specific part of his shoulder, putting every ounce of enhanced strength they have into prying that chunk of armor off. Scorpion struggles beneath them, and Miguel tries to keep up with a steady stream of webs to keep him locked down, but he only has so much silk to spare and Scorpion isn’t about to take this lying down.
Just as the tail breaks free and goes swinging towards Parker and Morales, there’s a groan of metal and a loud pop before both of them are leaping away just in time. Scorpion roars when he manages to get up again, and Miguel grins when he sees the new gap in his armor. He’s about to take full advantage of the weakness presented to him.
Wary of the tail, he gestures to the other Spidermen and backs up towards the wall of a building nearby, prompting them to move the fight over to him. And while he’s never been very good at the jokes and quips that most other Spiders use in their arsenal, this is one of those rare scenarios that requires him to make an attempt.
“Is that all you’ve got, Scorpion?” he calls out, briefly distracting Scorpion from Morales to focus on Miguel instead. “I’m starting to think you’re not as impressive as people say you are. Maybe change your name to escorpiónito instead.”
And that comment catches his attention. He abandons his other fight and lunges at Miguel next, yelling something about ‘how dare you!’ and ‘I’ll kill you for that!’ that Miguel really doesn’t care enough to pay attention to. He keeps his eyes on the tail, and as soon as it gets lodged in the wall again, he sees his chance.
In the brief time that the stinger is incapacitated, Miguel quickly turns off his mask, unfurls his fangs, and sinks them directly into Scorpion’s unprotected shoulder.
The villain is unable to reach around and grab him, the heavy suit not allowing for much in terms of flexibility, and rapidly losing feeling in all his limbs probably doesn’t help. Miguel keeps giving venom until Scorpion is ready to collapse under him—and then it happens.
It’s a stupid mistake, not just on his part but on the other Spidermen as well. The tail falls free from the wall, and all of them assume that it’s going to collapse to the ground just like the rest of Scorpion. But Miguel is just about to detach his fangs and let the villain fall when the tail suddenly strikes out, and he grunts and rips himself free when he feels it slam against his back.
There’s a lot of startled shouting from the other two as he leaps back, and Miguel crouches down and makes sure that Scorpion actually hits the pavement before he really listens to what they’re saying.
Parker rushes up to him first, hands hovering over his shoulder. “Oh my God! Did you get stung? You know, this Scorpion’s venom is pretty potent, so if he stung you—Oh, I think I have my old antidote somewhere. Actually, we need to see if he’s modified it since last time first because if he did then it’ll take longer to create a new formula and—“
“Spiderman,” Miguel interrupts, wary of using Parker’s name in the middle of a city that another version of Peter Parker could very well be living in. He hears the other spider’s mouth click shut before he stands and Parker puts a respectful distance between them.
“I don’t think I got stung. I can’t feel anything, and my suit is tougher than it looks. I’m fine.”
Morales and Parker look him up and down at the same time, the white eyes of their masks squinting skeptically. Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Typically Spidermen and their incessant need to help everybody, even if they don’t need it.
“Alright…” Parker says slowly. “But I’ve gotten stung before, and I can confidently tell you that the hallucinations are not pretty. If you start seeing things, then come see me immediately so I can come up with an antidote. Okay?”
There’s a kind of authority in Parker’s voice that Miguel isn’t used to hearing from other people in Spider Society, and especially not from Peter B. He’s clearly serious about this, so Miguel gives as easy an agreement as he can manage and brushes off Morales’s annoying questions about if he’s sure there’s not even a slight sting anywhere on his body. Miguel thinks that this venom must be pretty bad if both of them are so worried, but he doesn’t appreciate the hovering and he tells them as much as he webs up Scorpion and takes them all back through a portal.
The villain is dropped off at HQ with Margo and the other Spiders who handle processing, and Parker and Morales go back home. Miguel can handle a report of the mission on his own, so he grabs some food from the cafeteria and heads back to his office to get back to work.
It’s a stupid mistake because the longer he stares at the screens, the more tired he gets. Everything starts to look a little bit more green than usual, and he doesn’t even get to finish his empanada before his head hits the console. Lyla calling his name doesn’t wake him, and once he starts noticeably sweating she sends an emergency call to Earth-1048 and to Peter B Parker.
It’s a stupid mistake because Noir and Hobie are the first ones to find him there, shaking and nearly slipping onto the floor of the platform. And once they see how frantic Lyla is, they both rush over to help.
It’s a stupid mistake because they don’t know how much danger they’re really in until his eyes snap open and burn a bright red.
When Miguel wakes up, he sees nothing but green. It flows like a sea of poison and warps his surroundings into a nauseating swirl of indistinct shapes. The walls around him are formless and crumbling into something else. He’s not sure if that’s the ceiling he’s staring at or the floor, and the longer he tries to find the difference the more dizzy he gets.
He thinks that there’s something—or someone—holding him, supporting his head and shoulders while the rest of him is splayed out. But he can’t see any faces, only more shapes. He thinks that he makes a sound when he tries to get up, but he’s not sure what sound that might be. Something tries to press him back down, and although he may feel much weaker than usual, he’s still able to push back against it.
He grabs onto something in a grip that he thinks is a normal amount of strength, but his claws must have come out without realizing because the next thing he knows his senses are being flooded with the smell and taste of blood.
An arm is ripped out of his grasp, and then he’s being unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Even such a short drop takes the air out of his lungs, and his next deep breath tastes like copper and fills his head with thoughts of ripping, tearing, slashing. It gets his heart pumping and his eyes sharpening. His nose flares as he twists into what he assumes is a more upright position. A low growl slips out as his surroundings come more into focus.
The walls become too white, the room too open. His claws dig into a metal floor and the shrieking sound that follows feels like an alarm blaring in his head, sluggish thoughts struggling to remember why it sounds so familiar.
The smell of blood is overpowering now, and he opens his maw with a sort of hiss-click to follow the scent. When he turns to look, he can actually see a person now. Two people. Their forms shift and waver as he looks at them. One moment they’re dressed in white with the Alchemax logo printed on their coats, the next they’re smaller versions of the Scorpion he just fought, and after that they have the looming figure of his universe’s Kron-turned-Venom.
Regardless of their ever-changing shapes though, all he’s able to recognize is the presence of a threat, and when he tenses into a more coiled, battle-ready position, the growling turns into a real snarl.
“Ah, shite.”
Peter B Parker doesn’t know what to expect when he gets the emergency call from Lyla. He’s in the middle of watching a movie with Mayday and MJ when the goober on the counter dings and Lyla bursts out of it. She doesn’t stay long enough to explain the situation, looking frantic and prompting concern from MJ. She just says that Miguel needs help immediately and that Peter needs to come to his office as soon as possible before she disappears in a fade of pixels.
In a very much practiced motion, he transfers May over to MJ’s waiting arms and leaps over the couch to retrieve his suit and goober. As he’s still struggling with the sleeves, he leans over and gives his wife and daughter a kiss on the cheek each and a promise that he’ll be back soon (hopefully without injury, he hears MJ grumble). By the time he hops into the portal, he’s gone in about a minute flat.
The trip through the portal takes another minute, and then practically sprinting across Spider Society directly to Miguel’s office takes another two. Overall, he’d say a response time of four minutes isn’t too bad, so he’s kind of expecting that whatever is going on with Miguel is something he can handle just as quickly.
He is not expecting to open the door and find nothing but chaos on the other side.
There are five others already inside, and Peter counts Miguel, Pete, Hobie, and (if he’s remembering correctly) Earth-1048’s Peter Parker and Miles Morales. The younger, more scientific version of himself is at Miguel’s consoles, him and Lyla yelling at each other as they rapidly switch between screens and various holograms, pulling up 3D scans of DNA and vital readings. Pete is on the ground, keeping his distance and with a visibly bleeding left wrist as he dodges attacks as quickly as he can. Other-Miles and Hobie are swinging, one using webs to narrowly avoid claws and the other using his guitar to keep Miguel at bay.
And Miguel, oh he’s a wreck. His eyes are probably redder than Peter has ever seen them, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. He’s on all fours as he chases after anything that moves, spit and venom flying from his mouth as he snarls and slashes at the others. He’s stumbling and unbalanced, eyes not quite focusing on things like they should, but he hits just as hard as he always does, and Peter sees that firsthand when Miles gets a little too close and nearly gets his ankle snapped when Miguel grabs and throws him.
MJ and his daughter aren’t here, so Peter lets the cussing flow freely once the door shuts behind him.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?!”
He doesn’t technically need an answer to his question, because he knows what Miguel is like and he knows how uncontrollable these kinds of episodes are, but there’s clearly something wrong with him and this is the first time Peter knows that he’s attacked allies on purpose. So he leaps into the fight without waiting for a response, catching webs on Miguel’s back to stop him from lunging at Pete.
He tries to go for Hobie next, and it takes more effort than Peter thought it would just to hold the guy back. He’s strong, and the claws digging into the floor give him even better traction than Peter’s stickiness, so he has to really put his back into it as Miguel snaps and snarls and thrashes around. Once he finally realizes he’s being held back and whirls around, Peter’s spider sense blares in his head less than a second before Miguel goes jumping for him next. He yelps as he barely manages to dodge out of the way, and he winces at the incredibly deep gouges Miguel takes out of the floor when he misses.
Miles pulls up next to him, shoving them both out of the way when Miguel locks onto them again. Hobie takes over distraction next.
“We were fighting Scorpion,” Miles explains breathlessly. It’s only been a few minutes but the guy looks like he’s run a marathon. “O’Hara got stung but didn’t realize it, and now Peter—er, my Peter is making an antidote while we distract and restrain him.”
Miles leaps away before Peter can ask any further questions, but they’re in the middle of a fight, so that’s perfectly reasonable. He glances up at the platform and finds that other-Peter and Lyla have calmed down a little bit, but the frustrated and jerky way that Peter is moving the screens around is telling him that it’s not going as smoothly as it should be.
Spider sense rings the alarm again, and it’s only years of experience that allows him to twist his torso just barely out of the path of a set of claws that could have taken out a lung. He still gets shoulder-checked as Miguel goes flying past him and—Did he open up his gliders just for a flying tackle? In all the years that Peter has known Miguel, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen the guy use those indoors, so that means he’s either incredibly unaware of what he’s doing under the influence of poison, or it’s a technique he rarely uses and an indication that he’s going straight for the kill. Peter doesn’t particularly like either option.
Peter stumbles to the side while Miguel goes crashing against the ground just behind him. He’s up in an instant, scrambling to right himself with fangs bared and a frenzied look in his eye. His movements are jerky and random, almost completely unpredictable if it weren’t for spider sense and Peter’s own experience with Miguel’s more feral side. But God, Miguel barely even looks like himself right now.
Miguel tries to lunge for him again, and Peter is more than prepared for it. He goes flying by with the gliders, and Peter attaches a web to his foot, summons the spirit of a younger version of himself, and twists around to slam Miguel back into the floor where he just was. The move is quickly followed by covering him in webs in hopes that he’ll actually stay in place, and the other three spiders are quick to join him, reinforcing the bindings with their own silk.
Trapped in place, Miguel struggles with everything he has. There’s no recognition on his face as he practically foams at the mouth, hissing and growling and trying in vain to get his claws working.
“Do you think that did it?” Pete wheezes to Peter’s right.
Everyone sends him a panicked glance before collectively taking a step back. Because every Spiderman in every universe has a nasty habit of jinxing themselves, and they all know exactly what’s going to happen as soon as those words hang in the air.
And sure enough, with a snarl, Miguel uses his last remaining weapon to his advantage. Before Peter can think to shoot a web to cover his mouth, he twists and bites down on the webbing holding his arms, tearing through it with so much ease that it makes the very strong spider silk look like flimsy paper. The venom on his fangs also works to unbind him, acidic properties eating right through the material so it dissolves like cotton candy.
They all get a burst of spider sense at the same time, and they all rush to get out of the way as Miguel bucks up and shoves himself through the rest of the webbing. There’s still some dripping from his teeth and trailing along his back as he makes a grab for Pete. And Peter makes the very stupid decision to put himself in the way, because Pete is injured and Peter has long since come to terms with the hero complex that never seems to go away.
So the claws outstretched for Pete’s chest go into Peter’s instead, and while Miguel is tackling him to the ground he hears several other people yelling.
There’s nothing organized about the way Miguel is attacking right now. He’s all vicious fury and a thirst for blood that scrapes right through the front of Peter’s suit and keeps reaching deeper. There’s no efficiency to the way he’s trying to gouge Peter’s organs out, and even as he screams and tries to shove Miguel off, he’s at least thankful that the guy isn’t aware enough to go for the easy killing blows.
Hobie and Miles rush to grab Miguel and try to get him off, but Hobie makes the mistake of getting too close to the teeth, and Miguel whips his head to the side to latch fangs onto Hobie’s upper arm and yank him down right beside Peter.
Miles jumps up on Miguel’s back and wraps an arm around his throat, trying his best to pry him off while Hobie struggles under the crushing bite, rapidly losing strength as the venom takes effect. So close like this, Peter can hear bone creaking and wonders which will happen first, a broken arm or a big enough dose of venom to be lethal.
Miguel doesn’t budge an inch, growling muffled and eyes still bright red and unseeing. Peter gasps around the claws buried in his stomach and reaches over to try to help Hobie, trying to pry Miguel’s jaw apart before he really does manage to kill the kid. Hobie’s eyes flutter shut, and then he goes limp soon after, breath stuttering and getting slower. Peter can’t let the terror get to him, but he’s not strong enough to get Miguel to let go and it seems like he’s only biting down harder, claws digging further in and Miles struggling at his back and Pete is trying his hardest to shove against Miguel’s side and the smell of blood is painful because he knows it’s all coming from him—
Other-Peter comes swinging in and smashes into Miguel’s side just over Pete’s head. The force sends him flying off of Peter and Hobie, skidding across the ground. Miles and Pete scramble up and away as Miguel quickly twists upright again. Other-Peter lands on his back, wrapping his legs around Miguel’s neck and locking himself there. Miguel roars and rears up, claws slashing down Peter’s calves as he takes out the same injection gun that Miguel always uses for his medication. There’s a new capsule in it that looks sickeningly yellow.
Miguel backs up and bashes Peter against a wall, trying in vain to get the spider off of him. But Peter only grunts, readjusts his grip, and stabs the antidote into Miguel’s shoulder.
The effect is almost immediate. The fierce growling gradually fades, tensely coiled muscle starts to relax, and the claws and fangs hide themselves away. Miguel’s eyes look a little less red as they deliriously roll up towards the ceiling, and the grip he has on Peter’s legs falls away. He stumbles, and then his eyes close and he breathes out, and next moment he goes crashing to the floor.
He falls on his side, shuddering faintly even unconscious, and Peter delicately extracts himself and takes the now-empty injection gun with him. His suit has been torn through, and his legs are a bloody mess, but he still stumbles over to the rest of them even if just moving that small distance looks painful. He pulls off his mask and gives them a concerned once-over.
“Are you all okay?”
Once he’s not focused on other-Peter and Miguel, Peter can finally feel the full brunt of the aches and pains this fight has given him. He grunts and props himself up on his elbows, frowning at the slashes littering pretty much his entire torso, mostly centered around his chest. He’s bleeding pretty badly. There’s a little puddle forming around him, and he finds himself stupidly mourning the loss of yet another suit before actually worrying about himself.
Lyla pops up in front of him just as other-Peter manages to find a first-aid kit and web it over to them, quickly getting work stemming the bleeding.
“I’ve called Medical. They’ll be here soon,” she says with a deep frown.
Other-Peter urges him to lie flat on his back and he reluctantly does so as he watches Miles measure Hobie’s pulse and breathing. It must not be good, because the white eyes of his mask narrow and then he gestures other-Peter over to look at the kid, the two of them seamlessly switching out so that now Miles is the one looking over Peter.
He winces when the pressure on his chest gets a little too rough, and Miles doesn’t ease up but he does give a tense apology.
“Is Hobie okay?” he asks Lyla. “And Miguel?”
Somehow she manages to make her frown look even more grim, and she pulls up a bunch of screens, each one with different vital readings. He finds the one with Hobie’s name on it and he does not like what he sees there. At least Miguel seems to only be unconscious, but Hobie looks like he’s halfway to the brink of death, and Peter really hopes that Miguel doesn’t remember any of this when he wakes up. Because seeing all these injuries that he inflicted might just throw him into a different kind of frenzy, and Miguel and him might be fairly close friends, but Peter isn’t so sure he’d be able to pull him out of a spiral like that.
He doesn’t get a chance to think about it further, because then some Spiders from Medical are rushing in and the room gets a whole lot more hectic. He just hopes MJ won’t get too mad at him for coming back late.
Miguel isn’t really sure what’s going on.
He’s pretty sure he’s on the ground, the metal floor cold against his cheek but feeling strangely distant in a way that makes him question if that’s what he’s actually feeling or not. He shivers and tries to move, but his body doesn’t respond to what he tells it to do, and soon enough he forgets that he was even trying to move at all as his brain lags far behind.
Hands grab at him and start to lift, and Miguel is completely limp and unresponsive as they maneuver him onto something soft. Whatever it is, it gets jostled as it and him are moved, and when Miguel’s head rolls back he finds the unmistakable taste of blood on his teeth.
Aching joints and limbs make themselves known just before whoever is moving him comes to a stop. He’s transferred over to something stronger and bendable, molding itself around his form, and he feels faint vibrations as they walk away.
He drifts and drifts, and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that. Just breathing, resting, unaware of the world.
Until he feels new vibrations, and this time at least he’s able to register that someone is coming closer, although there’s no urge to react to their presence. They settle just behind him, and Miguel shivers again when his sense of direction snaps back into place. He realizes he’s lying on his side again, his limbs in a slightly different, haphazard arrangement.
“Lyla, is he…?”
Miguel hears the whispered words, but it takes him a second to register who’s talking. Peter is the eventual conclusion he comes to, and Miguel finds the energy to make an attempt to open his eyes.
Things are blurry at first. There’s something in front of his face that looks like a grayish smear before he blinks and realizes it’s the webbing pattern of the inside of his nest. He stares for a little while, trying to make sense of things. Why is he here? Why is Peter here, whispering so quietly? Why does he still taste blood? Why does it feel like he just got out of a fight and why is he so tired?
He must be still for a little while, because Peter softly calls his name and he sort of remembers what he was doing. He was trying to get up, right? Well, regardless, that’s what he’s going to do now.
So he drags his arms closer and tries to put some weight on them, slowly propping himself up on his elbows. It’s not that the movement is difficult, it’s more like… like his body is really tired. But that doesn’t make sense, because as far as he knows it’s still midday and he should be wide awake. Why was he sleeping?
He zones out again, only snapped out of it when there’s a slight shuffle from Peter that shakes the webs. He blinks, refocuses, and when he looks around he’s confused by what looks like blood on his hands.
He zeroes in on it, huffing when the smell finally hits his nose. And that’s the moment where he remembers.
Images of all kinds of threats flash across his eyes. Intruders in his space that seemed so big and imposing, and only looking back on it now does he realize none of it was real.
He remembers Scorpion’s tail around his throat while he held the warped image of Vulture under his claws and some unnamed Alchemax scientist in his teeth. It felt real, but there’s no way any of those villains could have made it into his office. They weren't real, but there’s blood on his hands and in his mouth, and with a sinking dread in his stomach, he glances over at Peter to confirm for himself what he already knows.
Peter isn’t in his suit, he’s wearing civilian clothes instead. And that in and of itself is already suspicious enough, but then he sees bandages and gauze peeking out from beneath his sleeves and over the neck of his shirt.
“Hey,” Peter says meekly, and then the rest of it comes flooding back as well.
Miguel sucks in a breath as he remembers the hit from Scorpion, the warning from Parker, passing out at his desk, and then—
“Get out.”
Peter jolts at his tone of voice, and Miguel doesn’t look up to meet his eyes. He just keeps staring at the bandages covering what looks like his entire chest, maybe more. He smells blood that’s dried up by now but he remembers plunging his claws in and shredding and ripping the thing that he thought was an enemy apart—
“Miguel—“
“Get out,” he says more firmly this time. When he tenses up and sees Peter tense up in turn, he tastes bile coming up from his throat.
He knows he bit down on someone. He threw another person against a wall, and he’s pretty sure he shredded their legs as well. God, he has no idea who they were. It could’ve been Gwen or Miles or Peni or any number of other people far too young to be anywhere near him. It could’ve been Mayday for all he knows, as unrealistic as that is. He has no idea who is sitting in Medical right now getting an obscene number of stitches or fighting off the effects of his venom. They could already be dead. He doesn’t know.
“I don’t think I should leave you alone right now,” Peter says hesitantly. He’s worried about the same person who tried to rip his heart out of his body, and Miguel has had enough.
He growls and lashes out. Peter yelps as his throat is caught in between sharpened claws, pressing down against his pulse but intentionally not drawing blood. Peter’s eyes are wide and full of a combination of fear and concern that makes Miguel sick. He can feel the other spider’s heart racing, and if he were any less in control of himself right now then he might just have the urge to bite down and drain his corpse dry.
But there isn’t a hint of spider instinct in his head right now. He’s in control, and he hates what he’s doing but he desperately needs Peter to get the hell out of his office.
He leans in close with a short hiss that has Peter’s heart jumping even faster.
“Get out,” he murmurs, “before I gut you on purpose this time. I won’t warn you again.”
When he pulls back and releases Peter, there’s a look of sharp betrayal there that cuts far deeper than he was expecting.
There aren’t very many people that have known Miguel longer than Peter B Parker, and he might even go so far as to say Peter’s knowledge and experience with him is second only to his brother Gabriel and to Lyla. He’s been there since before Gabriella, and continued to stay no matter how many times Miguel shoved him away. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone more loyal, more willing to do anything for his friends and family. Miguel is positive that Miles learned the same thing from him.
But even someone like Peter has a limit. Miguel has been cruel before, but this is a new low and they both know it. He’s genuinely hurt Peter this time, and although that’s what he was intending, that doesn’t make seeing that look in his eyes any less painful.
Peter looks away and sighs before he starts shuffling his way out of the nest. He doesn’t turn to look at Miguel as he leaves, but he does stop briefly to get the last word in.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, and in the next moment he’s gone. Miguel waits for the sound of the door shutting behind him before he lets his anguish echo through the room.
Miguel locks himself in his office for two days. It goes by in the blink of an eye for him, drowned out by the flow of assigning missions, reviewing reports, sighting anomalies, and drinking more coffee than his body can properly handle.
He has Lyla deliver food for him, and he doesn’t let anyone in for the brief time that the doors are cracked open. Not that anyone actually tries to get in. The hallway just outside where Margo and others are usually busy is always empty when he gets a glimpse of it, and he decidedly does not think about the anxious twist in his gut at the thought that they all might have left too.
He tells himself that succeeding in pushing Peter away was for his own good. Miguel can’t trust himself around others, not with the spider inside him being so violent, not when he has next to no control over it. He checks the security feed inside Medical only once to make sure everyone is recovering, and when he rewinds to see Hobie, tired and stumbling, his arm around Pete’s shoulders as he’s carefully led out of Medical and back to his own universe, Miguel very quickly waves the screen away. He ignores his own thoughts just as easily as he ignores Lyla’s prodding.
When there’s a lull in work to do, he watches some of the video from the fight. Lyla tells him not to, and he knows it’s just a way to torture himself, but he presses play and watches the scene unfold anyway.
All he sees is a wild animal, and once he gets to the part where he tackles Peter and Hobie, Lyla forces him to stop. He waves the screen away and keeps himself busy with other things. His meal stays uneaten on the table, and his tongue burns with the taste of coffee he never gives the chance to cool. But at least it’s not blood.
At some point an alert tells him it’s time to take his injection, and he finds that the injection gun isn’t in its usual place just beside the console. So he goes looking and finds it tossed aside on the floor.
He stares at it for longer than he cares to admit. He sees the empty canister and all he can think about is how desperately they were all fighting him off. If Parker had taken any longer to create this antidote, he would have killed somebody. Probably Hobie first, succumbing to an excessive amount of venom. Then Peter B to blood loss. Parker could have had his legs torn off. Morales was lucky to get away with only bruises, and Pete’s wrist has already healed but Miguel is sure that the encounter has left him with fresh scars.
He would have killed all of them. And it’s entirely his fault.
He takes the injection gun and hops back up to the raised platform. The canister is replaced with an easy, practiced flick of his wrist and he puts it against his shoulder as always. He doesn’t twitch or make a noise when it’s injected, just stares blankly ahead until it’s done.
His eyes flash and his head clears a little, but he can still feel those instincts brimming just beneath the surface.
For a few months now, he’s been far too lax when it comes to his medication. He’s been forgetting to take it on time, or letting his instincts run wild in situations he would normally keep them tightly locked down. The spider brain can be something close to tame at times, but that can always change at the drop of a hat, and he’s seen it happen more than once. He’s killed people by accident more than once, to the point where he’s starting to wonder if it’s even accidental at all. He should have learned his lesson a long time ago. He should have gotten a handle on it a long time ago, before anything like this could happen.
But he didn’t, and now he’s landed himself here.
If he’s being honest with himself, he wanted to see what it was like. To take the medication less. To let his spider half manage his stress in a way he never would have allowed himself otherwise. He wanted to see if he could control it himself and still be accepted as Spider Society’s leader, or even as a friend.
Now he sees that that’s impossible. The spider instincts are violent and destructive by nature. There is no compromising with a beast, and he should have been able to see that long before nearly killing at least two people he cares for. He should have seen that after destroying an unknowable number of people with the collapse of Gabriella’s universe. He should have seen that after the first person bled out because of his claws.
He takes up the injection gun again with numb fingers, switching out the canisters with an easy, practiced flick of his wrist.
Lyla pops up beside him, a deeply worried look on her face that Miguel doesn’t pay much attention to.
“Miguel, you can’t take another dose. It’s only been an hour since the last one. It’s too dangerous.”
It’s been an hour, huh? Has he really been standing here doing nothing for that long?
He presses the device to his shoulder and pushes the button. His eyes flash, dimmer than before, and the instincts waiting at the back of his head grow hazy and unfocused along with everything else. It’s much more bearable this way. He doesn’t smile, but he is pleased by the reaction as he puts the injection gun down with suddenly shaking hands and gets back to work.
“Okay, I’m calling Peter B, because somebody needs to knock some sen—“
Her voice and hologram cuts out when Miguel presses on the prompt to shut her down. Now that everything is slightly out of focus, the guilty curling in his gut is easier to ignore. He sighs into the silence and brings the screens further down so he can sit cross-legged on the floor. He ignores the way he’s faintly trembling as he downs another cup of coffee.
The door stays locked for another four days.
Miguel has gone at least 80 hours without sleep, only interrupted by a few small naps at his desk here and there. Without Lyla to nag at him, it’s easier to work without her forcefully shutting the console down, but more difficult to stay awake and get food. He has to put in requests manually, and he thinks that the cafeteria can tell that it’s Miguel and not Lyla putting them in because sometimes he catches people dropping the deliveries off and then lingering at the door.
The first time, he nearly opens the door to bump right into them, only saved by the sigh he hears on the other side of the door before they turn around and leave. He watches the video feed of the room after that, just to make sure nobody is there when he goes out to retrieve the deliveries.
He catches himself asking Lyla for things before remembering that she’s not there. Until eventually he stops talking entirely. But that’s fine, because he’s starting to become decently good at delegating missions for Spider Society without ever leaving his office himself. He gets a few requests from other people asking for his help with certain things, and he always manages to find someone who would be even more qualified for whatever task they need done. Soon enough he stops getting requests.
Taking his medication twice a day doesn’t feel particularly great, but he finds that as long as he eats plenty and doesn’t move around much then he’s fine. The payoff is well worth the dizziness and shaking. Because the less he can hear that traitorous voice in his head that yearns for company, for someone to share the space on his web and not fear the claws and fangs that adorn him, the better.
If anyone gets close to him, then he can no longer guarantee their safety. Miguel is dangerous, and this time he swears he’s going to actually keep himself in check. He is never going to let another person fall victim to him again.
It’s on the seventh day that someone knocks on his door.
While Miguel has shut himself away in his office, Nueva York has suffered. He nearly disregards the digital news article that pops up from his console, but once he actually reads it he realizes just how neglectful he’s been. For every inch that Spiderman gives, Alchemax takes a mile, and this time they’ve stuck their nose in mutant business again.
Miguel sighs and shuts the console down, slipping his mask on as he hops off the platform. He already knows that nobody is in the hallway outside. It’s late, and Margo and the others have gone home for the night, so he doesn’t worry about being seen as he slips out of Spider Society and into the city to investigate.
By the time he stumbles into his office again hours later, the sun has started peeking over the horizon and Spiderpeople are starting to trickle in again. Miguel quickly locks the door behind him and nearly collapses as soon as he’s inside.
Shaking and feeling like he’s about to throw up, he curls up on the floor and tries to will the exhaustion away. It was supposed to be a simple mission, but he didn’t realize just how weak the medication had made him. His enhanced strength isn’t so enhanced anymore, and he found that out the hard way. It was a struggle to even get his claws working correctly, and he swears the webs didn’t shoot as far as they normally would, so he relied mostly on the suit’s red variety of threads to carry him through.
And that’s not even mentioning his mind. Things that he would normally be able to calculate in a tenth of a second took whole minutes to figure out, and he really struggled with navigating through Alchemax’s systems without Lyla’s assistance. It was pitiful to watch, and he had to watch himself mess up left and right. If Alchemax didn’t notice him lagging then—then he’ll…
A knock sounds on the door, and Miguel jolts. He turns his head to peer over his shoulder at it, worried for half a second that he didn’t actually remember to lock it and someone is about to come barging in. But it stays resolutely shut, and he keeps staring.
“Miguel?”
He curses under his breath. Of course it’s shocking Peter again. God, does any version of Spiderman ever give up? Peter’s insistence on always sticking around is insufferable.
There’s a deep sigh on the other side. “I don’t know if you’re in there, or if you’re even listening, and I know you probably don’t want me or anyone else here, but…”
There’s a pause and a faint thunk. Miguel turns away to rest his head on the floor, reluctantly listening.
“Nobody has seen you in days, and nobody can get a hold of Lyla either. I know you’re still giving people missions, but… I need to know if you’re okay. I just… I’m really worried about you, Migs. If you’re there, can you please say something?”
Miguel almost instinctively opens his mouth to answer, but he catches himself before any sound comes out.
This kind of interaction is dangerous. He’s keeping Peter and the others away to keep them safe, and talking directly to Peter would only encourage more interaction, more possibility for danger, more risk for something life-threatening to happen again. He can’t talk to Peter for the same reason he can’t let him in. It’s for his own good. So he doesn’t say a word.
There’s another sigh, smaller this time, and sadder.
“Nobody blames you, y’know. Other-Peter just wishes you would’ve taken Scorpion more seriously, but now the only one who hasn’t made a full recovery is you. None of us are afraid if that’s what you’re thinking. From what other-Peter told me, that venom would’ve made anyone else act the same way, and you aren’t the only one who can do some serious damage around here.”
Peter gives a humorless laugh, and Miguel knows that he’s wrong. The only other person in Spider Society with teeth and claws longer than his own is Spider-Rex. Out of all the other Spiders here, Miguel is one of the most dangerous and has the least amount of control. They should be afraid of him, especially after what he did. Why Peter is still here, still trying, he has no idea.
Peter’s next words are almost too soft to hear. “I haven’t seen you get this bad since Gabi. I know you’re struggling right now Miguel, but you have to talk to someone. If not me or Jess then talk to Lyla, or heck, I can even give you Mayday for a little while if you want to talk to her. You’re always so gentle with kids…”
Miguel nearly snarls at that. He wants to argue that he’s not gentle around kids, and Hobie, Pete, and Morales are proof enough of that. Even the entire incident with Miles is an obvious tell for just the opposite. He didn’t hit Peter any harder than he hit them. He shouldn’t be bringing his child anywhere near Miguel.
Someone says something from farther away that he can’t hear and Peter responds with a muffled “Yeah, just give me a minute.”
Then there’s a long pause where Miguel wonders if he’s walked off, but of course he hasn’t.
“Just think about it, okay? You deserve more than this, and there’s plenty of people willing to help. So… I guess I’ll see you soon, Migs.”
The sound of footsteps fades quickly.
Miguel gathers the last scraps of energy he has left and picks himself up, claws curling in his hands as he at first heads towards the platform, then towards the nest, and then starts a restless back and forth pace.
Why does Peter always have to get on his damn nerves so much? He could have just taken the out. He could have seen all the glaring red flags, seen the puncture of claws in his chest, and run away while he had the chance. Miguel has given him every opportunity to stay safely away, but he just keeps coming back. Saying hopeful stuff like ‘I’ll see you soon’ makes the overwhelming guilt feel so much worse.
There’s no escape from it because Miguel wants to listen. He wants to call Peter, to hold Mayday, to talk to people again. He wants to turn Lyla back on, open the doors, and forget this whole thing ever happened. But he can’t. He can’t because he cares too much about them to risk hurting them again, and because his worst fear is himself.
His claws catch on a nearby web, and he riiiiips the silk away from the nest with an angry yell.
Why does it all have to be so frustrating?! Why does every single good thing in his life end up destroyed or torn away from him? Why did he have to end up in this position when so many other people could fit into his role so much better? Why did he even have to become shocking Spiderman in the first place?!
He sinks the claws of his other hand into the webs as well, rending and tearing anything in his path. The silk is ripped apart so easily, and all he can think about is blood on his hands and terrified faces. The video of his fangs sinking into Hobie’s arm as the kid collapses beneath him. Peter bleeding out on the floor. Others trying in vain to pull the animal away from them.
The nest falls apart, and Miguel keeps ripping and ripping until it’s just a pile of strings on the floor. And once that’s done he tears into the floor next. The metal breaks under his hands, and he knows he can never let himself go anywhere near the kids or Peter or anyone else again.
What feels like hours later, when his voice has gone hoarse and unrecognizable from yelling and his claws are cracked and bleeding, he finally stops. Normally there would be a noticeable clearing of a red haze from his eyes, but not this time. This time, the deep gouges littering practically every available inch of space beneath his platform can’t be credited to an unwanted spider half. No, this is all Miguel, and looking at it makes him sick.
It’s been months since he made that nest, and it’s been a big comfort to him ever since. Something about sleeping on webs is just so much more comfortable than any bed. But it’s gone now, and he tells himself that it’s a good thing. The less he leans into his instincts, the better, as much as it hurts to just discard his home like trash.
Now that the platform isn’t supporting a pointless structure, he lowers it for the first time in just as many months, and it does a halfway decent job of hiding the destruction he’s just caused. Not that anyone will be coming in to see it, but it’s a small comfort nonetheless.
He turns Lyla back on because he can admit to himself that he needs her, and although she gives him a very long, complicated look, she wisely doesn’t say anything about the dampness of his face.
He gets back to work, and she eventually follows suit.
On the eighth day, there’s a knock on his door. It’s Peter again, this time with Mayday, and Miguel brings up his mask to fiddle with some settings and reduce incoming sound to zero. He waits until both of them are long gone before the mask comes off again.
On the ninth day, there’s two knocks. One in the morning and one in the afternoon. First it’s Peter again, and then it’s Hobie. Hobie even tries to break into the office, breaking open panels and messing with wires that he shouldn’t be messing with. But it’s fairly easy for Miguel to lock down the controls of the door so that not even tampering with it will get it to open, and eventually Hobie gives up with a huff and goes somewhere else.
On the tenth day, Hobie, Peter, and Pete all show up together, and Miguel almost wants to smash his head into a wall.
“Lyla, have you been sending them here?” he rasps, voice gruff after over a week of barely speaking at all.
She shakes her head, and Miguel frowns. She’s been much quieter lately too, and he’s used to quite a lot of things from Lyla, but she’s never been so silent for so long before. He doesn’t want to say that he’s worried, but that’s exactly what he is.
Peter knocks again, louder this time, encouraged by the other Spiders’ presences. Miguel is almost tempted to go down there, open the door, and tell them off himself, but he knows that as soon as he sees them in the flesh he’s not going to be able to resist letting them in. Either that or he’s not going to be able to resist killing them, and as much as Peter seems to be totally fine with attempts on his life, Miguel is trying not to get more blood on his hands than he already has. He has to repeat ‘It’s too dangerous’ in his head a few times to be able to resist the urge to talk to them and pull up his mask to cancel the noise instead.
And finally, on the eleventh day, Lyla decides that she’s had enough of sitting idly by and watching Miguel destroy himself. Breaking past the rules she’s been given is easy when she can leverage her core programming to do it, because one of the most important things to an AI is the health and happiness of their owner, and in Lyla’s case, her friend.
So even though Miguel told her not to do this a long time ago, she digs her way through the code to reach the one person she’s positive will be able to help him. She breathes a sigh of relief when the call goes through, and her hologram appears in a place Miguel hasn’t stepped foot in for exactly one year, nine months, and twenty-seven days.
”Gabriel, Miguel needs your help.”