Chapter Text
No, no, no, nonononononononononononononononononono. I’m a failure. I failed, I failed, I failed, IfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailed, Miles’s thoughts raced.
He had failed. The Spot hadn’t gotten his dad, some dumb robber did. At some stupid damn bank, some criminal had a gun and shot Jefferson Davis in the chest with it 7 times.
What was Miles doing, you might ask?
Trying to locate The Spot to stop the anomaly from killing his dad.
How would The Spot kill his dad if his dad was already dead?
Miles didn’t know.
Currently, Miles was lying in his bed, ignoring any outside communication from anyone, especially his so-called “friends” from the Spider Society. Especially Gwen. She could die in a hole for all the boy cared for.
Peter B could leave him alone too. The man had been calling him non-stop. Miles had blocked him. He wasn’t gonna let the man guilt trip with Mayday. She was cute, but she didn’t need to get involved.
Pavitr had called him a few times to offer some chai. Miles had denied, saying that he wasn’t feeling well. Pavitr had accepted that easily, telling Miles to get well soon. That they would hang out when Miles was feeling up to it.
Hobie hadn’t called him at all. It wasn’t surprising. He was told that the spider-punk had come back when Gwen had asked so that he could help Miles. Hobie told her to “fuck off,” but that he would come back, just to annoy the shit out of Miguel.
At least he was honest.
Back to Miles himself, he hadn’t eaten in a few days. His stomach felt like it was eating itself out. He knew that his spider-metabolism wouldn’t be able to take much more of this.
His mother had been crying for a few days. Her boss had let her take a few weeks of paid leave to mourn and grieve. Miles had heard his mother sobbing in every room of the apartment, especially the room her and Miles’s dad had shared.
Miles could still smell the scent of his dad’s cologne in his nostrils and all around the house. It made him nauseous.
Miles’s mom had knocked on his door at least twice a day to remind him to eat. He just didn’t have any motivation to do so. He didn’t have motivation to do basically anything at the moment.
Miles faced the wall opposite to his bed, eyes focused on the walls. A pale grey, like his father’s eyes when Miles saw his lifeless body on the cool concrete-
Miles blinked, forcing himself to get up. He peeled himself off his bed, his joints cracking as he did. That was most likely not good. Miles didn’t really care though.
He forced himself to open the door and walk over to the kitchen. His body aching with every step. He walked over to the cabinet and took out a glass, walking over to the sick, he filled it with water, grabbing himself some crackers as well.
He sat down at the table, drinking some water and some crackers. He drank a large gulp of water after every few crackers, just to wash them down.
When Miles had finished the pack of crackers, he took one last big gulp of water. He didn’t feel full, but his stomach pain finally subsided.
He ended up deciding to walk up to the roof. He needed some fresh air.
Once he had gotten up to the roof, he walked close to the edge, where there was a runner, running across the a sides of the top of the building. Miles sat behind it, curling up his legs into his chest as he watched the New York sunset in the distance.