Chapter Text
Miles flunked his test.
You’re not surprised. Neither is he. The words started blurring before he could pick up his pen. He was off his game, obviously. Still is. Mr Stevens gave him a look when the papers were collected and Miles tried his best to avoid eye contact. Bad grades are one thing (don’t let his mother hear that), but Adult Concern is another. Miles works overtime making sure no one worries about him. Because worrying about him means worrying about how he spends his extracurricular hours and that means worrying about Spider-man. No one needs to worry about Spider-man. You get it.
Whatever. (Don’t let his mother hear that either.) It was one test. He’s acing everything else. …Maybe not Spanish. He’s acing most things. That’s good enough.
Point is, he’s already had his ass kicked by thermodynamics and he’s very reasonably pissed off and his phone is ringing and he really doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now but oh man, that’s his mother.
“Mami, hey,” he starts, sweetening his words on instinct because he’s most definitely in trouble for something.
“Skipping school, Miles? Really? What are we even paying for, huh? Huh? Ay, I swear, when I tell your father-”
She keeps going.
Miles closes his eyes and takes in a deep, serene breath of air.
He’s going to kill that son of a- that motherfu- err, that bast-
(It is really hard to insult someone that has the same parents. And face.)
“What are you on ab-” Miles wisely backtracks. “Why would I ever skip-” Try again. “Mami, I just finished my Chemistry test. I’ve been at school all morning. You can even ask Mr Stevens.”
“I don’t know a Mr Stevens-”
“My chemistry teacher-”
“Your tía Camila called me, ay, you should have heard how upset she was. Talking about how you wouldn’t even stop to talk and ran away from her!”
“Ma, that wasn’t-”
“You better call her and apologise before she-”
“It wasn’t-”
“What were you doing out, walking around like a delincuente when you should be in school? I swear-”
“It wasn’t me!”
Everyone turns to look at him and Miles is reminded that he is standing in the middle of the hallway. He clears his throat awkwardly. “I mean,” he amends, “it wasn’t me. I’ve been at school all morning, I swear. You can call my teachers and - and the principal…?” He doesn’t want his parents calling the principal. “It must’ve been a lookalike. Really.”
“Don’t raise your voice at me.” Is the first thing his mother says. Miles rolls his eyes. “...I won’t call your teacher because I’m choosing to believe you.” Which is code for: she doesn’t want to call his school because she hates phone calls. “I’ll tell your tía it must have been a misunderstanding. You give her a call as well, okay?”
“Yes, mom.”
He hears her clear her throat. “Have you eaten?”
“I had cereal from the cafeteria,” he lies.
“Eat a good lunch. I’ll see you this weekend, papi.”
“Mhm,” Miles nods along, “love you, bye,” he rushes out like it’s one word and promptly hangs up.
The screen protector on his phone cracks a little and he loosens his grip. He takes another very deep, very calm breath. That was fine. That was cool. Miles is not feeling violent. No, not at all.
He does not go back to his dorm immediately. In fact, he takes the longest possible route. It’s for everyone’s benefit, really. He's delaying the inevitable lecture that he has to give about responsibility and logical decisions and consequences. Damn. Is this what parenting feels like?
Miles buys a chocolate milk at the cafeteria and sips it in heavy contemplation.
Should he open the door normally? Or slam it open? Is that too dramatic? Should he start shouting immediately or wait for the momentum? What about guilt-tripping? That won’t work on either of them. One of his greatest hangups is that he’s not intimidating. Spider-man just isn’t that typa' guy. He’s friendly. And er, neighbourhood. Miles should really work on his glare. Uncle Aaron had a real mean one when he wanted. (Uncle Aaron was also a criminal.) Peter, on the other hand, least intimidating guy on the planet, probably. Still, everyone listened to him when it mattered. Peter was…
Miles finishes the chocolate milk. He throws it at a trashcan across the hall and gets it in one. Victory at last.
Alright, time to shout at some teenagers.
|||||
“We’re not ordering food.” Miles does not normally sound like a killjoy Miles hates being a killjoy. He sounds like his dad and that is deeply, deeply upsetting.
“Just a suggestion,” Ganke shrugs.
“I suggest you stop suggesting.” Oh man, that was another dad sentence. What is happening to him? Is this what stress does to a man?
Ganke puts his hands up in surrender. Miles feels violent. Again.
“I told you not to leave,” he gets back on track, turning to the doppelganger, “and you left. We had rules , you asshole. Are you trying to get me grounded?”
The doppelganger stares back evenly. “I don’t do rules, fool.”
Miles is going to lose his mind.
“You do now!” He seethes. “You do now, man! You - you can’t just do whatever while I’m at school. This is my life. You’re not even meant to be here. You don’t just turn up in people’s dimensions and be a fucking asshole! You stay in here, and you don’t leave until I say so. That’s it.”
“Tell me what to do again,” the doppelganger threatens, a tenseness in his jaw. Oh he’s angry. Great. Join the club!
Miles squares his shoulders. He says it slowly, “you’re not allowed to leave this room until I say so.”
The doppelganger stands. Miles swallows.
“Or else you can forget it,” he continues.
“It?” The doppelganger’s expression narrows, dangerous.
“Finding a way to get back home,” Miles keeps his tone even. “You mess around with my life here, and you can forget yours. I’m your ticket home. I’m the only one who knows about dimensional travel and the collider. What’re you gonna do without me?”
The doppelganger stares.
Go on. Prove me wrong.
“If you don’t send me back,” the doppelganger starts, “I’ll make your life hell.” A promise filled with endless possibilities.
Miles doesn’t back down. A stalemate. He crosses his arms. “You’ll still be stuck here.”
“Your little hero life,” the doppelganger rolls his tongue. He- ro. “Want to risk it?”
“Your only way home,” he counters.
They stare each other down. Who’s bluffing? Can they afford to chance it?
“You must really hate yourself.”
They both blink.
Ganke sniffs. “M’just saying.”
“Stop saying,” Miles scowls.
“You guys should have a timeshare,” Ganke continues. “Twelve hours each.”
“That’s-”
“No.”
Ganke rolls his eyes and turns back around to his monitor. “I tried.”
Miles stares at the doppelganger. The doppelganger stares back. He contemplates.
“Four hours,” he bites out.
“Eight,” the doppelganger immediately counters.
“Four.”
“Eight.”
“Four.”
“Ocho.”
“You can’t just- cuatro.”
“Ocho.”
“Cuatro.”
“Veinticuatro.”
“Uno.”
“Siete.”
“Seis.”
“...Sí.”
That was surprisingly productive. Or was he just swindled? “Fine, you get six hours a day. To… walk.”
“Not a dog,” the doppelganger glares.
Then don’t act like one. “Whatever. Six hours. No weird shit. No weird clothes. Don’t ignore people. And you have to fix your hair.”
“Not happening.”
“Don’t like the rules, don’t leave,” Miles shrugs.
The doppelganger looks like he wants to kill him.
“Great talk, so glad you agree, man,” Miles continues just for the satisfaction of watching the doppelganger grow a new muscle on his forehead. The doppelganger mutters something intelligible under his breath. Miles wisely ignores it.
He shrugs off his blazer and tosses his Jordans in a corner. He deserves a well rested eight hours of uninterrupted sleep but he’ll settle for two hours. Well, an hour and a half at this point. Miles pointedly walks around the murderous teenager glaring at him and climbs into his bunk, immediately falling face first into the sheets. No more thinking, no more thinking. As long as he’s asleep nothing is his problem.
“Wake m’up in hour,” he mumbles, eyes closed.
“Uh huh,” Ganke agrees.
“Be good,” Miles feels the need to order. He’s actually turning into a dad. Wow.
“Shut up,” the doppelganger grunts.
Parenting is hard. He should send his parents a gift basket.