Hello! I have a new chapter for you my lovelies~ I hope you enjoy! Because this does talk about job loss and homelessness a bit I'm going to state that there's a warning for this discussion. I'm also not throwing anyone in this story on the street, I promise. But if any of you would like to look into volunteering: good-places-volunteer-opportunities-organizations/ - this is a good resource that has a bunch of links you can look into in order to find places to volunteer near yourself. Of course it's going to open up with 'tax benefits to you' because of course it does. But there are some good resources linked here.
post/87229511054/a-practical-guide-to-being-homeless - this is also a good guide if you find yourself in this kind of situation.
I wish you all the best and all the health, happiness, and wellness that I can.
For the first couple of hours Pete slept, Miles was fine. He started by helping his parents clean up, and was as shocked as his parents when Peter B came tumbling through the window with wild eyes, panting, yelling out, "I forgot to help you clean!" before his dad could finish trying to punch him. His dad aborted the movement to put a hand on his chest, panting as his mom dropped a plate, Peter B managing to dive and save it before it shattered, sliding the entire length of the kitchen before he stopped himself with his literally sticky feet. He stood up, holding the plate in one hand and rubbing at his stomach with the other, looking disgruntled.
"Ouch…"
"Christ, Parker, are you trying to make me punch you?" his dad asked.
"You wouldn't have, don't worry," Peter B waved off, walking over to hand the plate back to his mom with a smile. "Here you go!" he said brightly.
"Gracias?" his mom managed, her voice lilting into a question.
"De nada~!" Peter answered with a bright lilt of his own, amused more than anything. "Anyway, helping you clean! What do you need from me?"
"But what about your job?"
"Don't have it anymore," Peter B answered brightly.
"What?!" Miles managed, his voice choked, the thought running through his brain that he had called Peter B a broke hobo-spider before, but he hadn't actually wanted it.
"But Parker!" his mom exclaimed; her voice thick with surprise and no small amount of worry.
"Oh, don't worry, this is hardly the first time, it won't be the last. I've got several resumes brushed up on a near constant basis and a guy that owes me a favor." Peter B waved it off, but the line of his shoulders drooped lower than the last time Miles had seen him, and the urge to hug him was strong.
So, he did.
Peter B froze in place after Miles' arms were suddenly thrown around him, holding perfectly still in a way eerily similar to the way Pete reacted to hugs, but unlike Pete, Peter B sunk into it, hugging back. "Hey, bud," he said softly, patting his back gently, "really, it's okay, thank you, but I'm going to be alright. I have my rent paid for this month, and enough for the next month if I really need to pinch, so I've got a window of time before I'll be on the street, and a few couches I can potentially crash on before I even hit that. This is nothing that hasn't happened before, I'll be fine. If I'm lucky MJ will let me stay with her until I've got something sorted. It's okay."
"Have you asked her?" his mom asked, taking a step towards them, Miles still not letting go.
"I…haven't mentioned it. We finished the meeting and I ran off to go and try and plead my case to the boss in person because…well, sometimes it works better if you can look them in the eye, you know?" Peter B gently started poking at Miles, along his sides and under his arms, tickling, trying to get him to let go, and finally Miles did, taking a few steps away with a protesting laugh and sending a glare Peter B's way. He grinned at him brightly, completely unaffected. "Anyway, my boss was a dick, so you know, it's good to get out of there anyway. I'll be fine. But yeah, I have to help you clean."
"You really don't have to, Peter, go talk to MJ, I'm sure it will sort itself out…" his mom started, taking a few steps towards him and putting her hand on his shoulder.
"Aunt May didn't raise no freeloader," Peter B said simply, frowning. "I'm fine, there's nothing I can do about it at this point, it's over and done with. I'll talk to MJ about it as soon as I've helped you out, and I'll let you know what's up after we talked it over. It'll be fine, I want to help, so what do you need done?"
"…Maybe that's why Pete has such a strong reaction to the word 'clean,'" his mom finally hummed, backing away, her hand over her mouth thoughtfully.
"Sorry?" Peter B asked, both eyebrows rising in question.
"I said 'help clean,' earlier," his dad started, "that kid was up and moving towards his feet before you could say 'wait,' and then, when we did tell him wait, he said something about many hands and wanting to help." His dad spread his hands out, raising an eyebrow in a non-verbal 'can you believe that?' "He was slurring his words so bad I could barely understand him. He was also so tired he didn't even…well, he didn't even register what it meant when his spider-sense went off at my presence. We got him over to Miles' room to sleep before he conked out for good."
"I got him over there," Miles volunteered. "He flopped onto my bed as soon as he touched it, taking me with him." He frowned. "I got stuck under him, he clings."
His mom and dad both laughed quietly, Peter B giving a slight grin.
"The stick is like that," Peter B agreed, shooting a glance out of the kitchen and towards the hallway where Pete was still sleeping in his room. "And maybe that's why? I can't imagine Aunt May's that different in any dimension, though, and she'd never…well, she would have never forced me to clean if I was that tired, or sick as the case may be. I don't have anything concrete for you, really, we're not the same person." He blinked. "Well. Not exactly, you know?"
"Just a similar power basis, need to help people, view on responsibility, and what seems to be a killer bad-luck streak, huh?" his dad asked, raising an eyebrow, a tease in his voice, and a grin on his mouth.
"…Yeah. Well, when you put it like that," Peter B replied, complete with finger-guns and an exaggerated wink, his parents laughing, and Miles rolling his eyes at the level of cheese on display, before looking around at the kitchen. "Where do you want the table?" he asked, pointing to the one Porker had left.
"Can you move it up against the wall?" his mom asked.
"Sure thing!" Peter B answered with a grin. "Though you might want to get stuff off, first. I don't want to break anything."
Miles immediately moved to clear everything off of it, piling silverware in one of the serving bowls that had once held fruit and stacking plates. His dad helped with the glasses after Miles deposited his load by the sink, the two of them tag-teaming the rest of the food and cartons of juice or milk. Peter B was next to them, Miles realized, not having even seen him move until he realized that he was moving the chairs out of the way, balancing the lot of them looped on both of his arms easily, his back straight and his steps even as he balanced the last one on his head. He stacked them easily against the wall, sliding them off of his arms two at a time, and then lowering the one from his head to rest on top of the base he had created. Miles had an immediate burning desire to applaud.
His mom actually did, Peter B bowing exaggeratedly.
"That's an odd talent," his dad said, looking vaguely impressed, regardless.
"One of the perks of the spider thing is an unusually good center of balance," Peter B answered. "If we're meant to be running across a line of web that's less than an inch in diameter, then you better bet we've got a good center."
"Makes sense," his dad hummed, Miles resolving to test that as soon as he was able. Peter B shot him a look after his parents turned their backs that practically screamed: 'don't you dare!' Miles rolled his eyes, and Peter B frowned at him, picking the table up with one hand and giving the 'I'm watching you' sign with his other hand, pointing to his eyes and then back to Miles repeatedly before stopping after his dad turned around. Peter B shifted the table to his other hand easily to make up for the fact that it was in the air and looked at his dad with a raised eyebrow and a questioning expression.
"Oh, just put it over by the chairs, that'll be fine," his dad said.
"Sure thing," Peter B grinned, easily carrying it on that one hand over to the wall and setting it down gently using both hands for stability. Once done he dusted off his hands exaggeratedly, pivoting on his heel smartly and looking at them with a very clear 'what's next' expression on his face.
"Honestly, Peter B, I think we've got it from here," his dad said, putting his hands in his pockets and surveying the rest of the kitchen to find the last thing left to do was to wash the dishes.
"I dry, Miles puts things away?" Peter B offered instead.
"That'd be great if we didn't have a dishwasher," his mom said, stepping aside so he could see it. Peter B's eyebrows shot up as he saw it, and finally he burst out laughing, before looking at Miles with a grin on his face.
"Lucky kid," he snarked gently. "Alright, if that's it then, I'm going to check on Pete and then get out of your hair. Thanks again for everything…" his goober began ringing then, the sound tinny and kind of bright, Peter B jumping before he pressed the button to answer the call. "Hello…?" he started.
"I forgot to help them clean!" Porker's voice rang out, the sound tinny and slightly horrified. "I said goodbye and I didn't help! I'm such an ungrateful parasite!"
His mom and dad both started cackling.
"It's okay, Porker," his dad finally gasped out finally.
"It really is," his mom said, wiping a tear from her eye. "Peter B already came and helped us out, he's in our kitchen right now, don't worry."
"We aren't upset at all," his dad said. "You're not a parasite, you're a pig."
"Well you aren't wrong!" Porker called out; more laughter ringing bright. "I'll be there after my shift to pick up the table and the extra chairs, if that's okay?"
"That should be fine, yes, just…knock on the window before you let yourself in, I almost punched Peter B," his dad said.
"He thinks he almost punched me," Peter B corrected with a grin.
"I can do that," Porker chimed. "Alright, I'll see you later. Thanks again!"
"At this point I'm going to ban the words 'thank you,'" his mom said, rolling her eyes, a wide smile on her face. "It's not a problem, and we'd do it again. Thank you for your concern, but it's really okay."
"Alright, you're welcome," Porker said, the grin audible in his voice. "Goodbye then, I'll let you go."
"Goodbye," they all chorused brightly, and the line went dead.
His dad stared at Peter B with an eyebrow rising in challenge, and Peter B rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and waved him off.
"His last name's Porker, we aren't the same."
Miles broke out into cackling laughter, doubling over and holding his middle. "I love…" he gasped out, "I love how…that's your reason…when he's a…he's a pig!" Miles managed to get out fully, to a bright burst of laughter.
"Yeah, well," Peter B shrugged, finally, smirking. "Alright, I'm…I'm going to go check on Pete, and then I'll leave. I know it's banned, but thanks anyway," he said, giving his parents another pair of finger guns before walking out of the room and then pausing in the living room. "Miles, which one's your room?" he asked, turning back to face him with a frown.
Miles laughed, "I'll take you to it," he said, looking at his parents to make sure it was okay. They both nodded, his mom giving him a small prod in the center of his back to get him to move, a curling smile on her mouth as he hopped away from her reach, laughing and swatting back at her gently. He led Peter B over to his bedroom, which he knew very well that Peter B knew the location of, and opened the door for him, Peter B taking a few steps in.
"Porker told them we were working on jumping dimensions before we worked on communication," Peter B said softly under his breath as he passed. "Make sure to tell Pete so he knows what the story is."
"Got it," Miles responded equally quietly. He paused then, lingering in the doorway, staring at Pete who was curled up as small as he could make himself and lodged into the corner of the bed, a bundle of blankets, and Peter B, who stood next to him. Pete was so thin, the hollows of his cheeks and the sunken appearance of his eyes complete with the tired black rings around them, and then Peter B… 'Lucky kid,' he'd called him. Miles fisted his hand on the doorjamb. "Peter," he said softly, Peter turning back to face him immediately with an eyebrow raised in question. "Will you…will you really be okay?" he asked. Peter B blinked, before turning on his heel and walking over to him, kneeling down so he was eye-level.
"Hey, kid, listen," he said softly, taking his shoulders gently and looking into his eyes deeply, his expression as serious as when he held him from the ceiling, trying to get him to tap into his powers. Miles immediately focused, his heart hammering in his chest, understanding that Peter B wanted him to really listen. "This isn't my first rodeo, okay?" Peter B finally started with gently as soon as he knew Miles was focused. "This isn't the first time I lost a job; this isn't the first time I could potentially lose my apartment, and this isn't the first time I might, might, worse-case scenario, running out of all couches to use, have to crash in a homeless shelter for a bit. I really, really. Will. Be. O-K. I mean it, alright, Miles? Thank you for caring about me, really, thank you, it's…it's nice. But I've got this, alright? I have friends, I really do. This is just something that happens."
"I…I've never had it happen," Miles said softly, his eyebrows pinched. "My mom and dad are stable, and my uncle was…we just…" Miles looked over to Pete, thinking of Hoovervilles and homelessness and poverty and finally looking back to Peter B with wet eyes. "You're not scared?"
"Oh, Miles, no, I'm okay," Peter B said softly, his hold on his arms pulling him into a tight hug, Miles throwing his arms around him tightly and hugging him equally hard. "Thank you for caring. I know it's not really in your frame of reference, and it really shouldn't be yet. I'm sorry to put it in your face like this."
"No, it's…good, I'm glad that you did, I…I think." He hesitated, frowning, "I don't know if glad's the right word, but…" Miles trailed off at Peter B's snort of amusement, the grin that he could practically feel spread across his face. "I called the kids at the school I go to now elitist; you know?" he said softly. "But even the one I went to before didn't have a lot of kids facing that problem, and definitely none that I knew."
"You can always volunteer if it bothers you," Peter B said shrugging. "There's a lot of soup kitchens and places that might be looking for volunteers." He paused, frowning. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen," Miles answered.
"Hmm, you might have to get your mom and/or dad to go with you, but there's stuff you can do," Peter B said. "It's alright, Miles. I know the ropes; I've been doing this for a while."
Miles gave him a tighter squeeze, feeling Peter B returning it just as tightly, before they parted, Miles wiping at his eyes.
"Okay, man," he finally said. "If you're good then I'm good."
"Good," Peter B said, grinning. "I have a burning desire to ruffle your hair," he finally said with a raised eyebrow.
Miles laughed, and finally lowered his head so he could, recognizing the gesture for what it was. He wondered if that was how Peter B's parental figures had all shown affection, figuring it was at the immediate execution and the firm yet somehow gentle way he pressed.
"You're a good kid, Miles," Peter B finally said with a grin after taking his hand away. "Don't let yourself feel helpless, okay? There's plenty of things you can do, and if the world ever looks too grim, well…talk to your parents, or to me, or Porker, okay?"
"Not Pete, Gwen, or Peni?" he asked.
"You can talk to them," Peter B agreed, "but if you wind up dragging yourselves into a spiral, find one of us to pull you up again, alright? We've got more experience than you do, kid, and we'll probably be better at helping you find the joy in things."
"Can you do that without spiraling, Peter?" Miles asked with a raised eyebrow. Peter B blinked, before grinning at him.
"I have trouble sometimes, that's true," he poked him in the nose then, his eyes narrow and his mouth in a firm line. "But that's my burden, not yours," he emphasized, Miles nodding. "Don't try and carry my problems on your shoulders. They're too skinny, yet," Peter teased, grinning at him and easily clasping his shoulders in his hands.
Miles snorted with laughter, and pushed him away, flexing his muscles and striking a few poses. "Have you seen this?" he asked, "this is pure 100% muscle," he said, flexing more, Peter B laughed under his breath.
"Sure kid, sure, now let me check on Pete," Peter B said, pushing himself upright easily. Miles nodded, taking a few steps back.
"Okay, man. Um…thanks," he finally said softly, kicking at the ground, and avoiding any possible eye-contact. He felt Peter B's gaze on him and kept his own still firmly away.
"I have it on good authority that 'thanks' is banned in this household, kid," Peter B said, the grin firm in his voice. "But it's really no problem." Peter B moved over to Pete then, and Miles watched as Peter B carefully reached out, pressing two fingers to Pete's neck, taking his pulse, his eyes closed. For a moment he was silent, counting, and then he finally nodded.
He didn't seem surprised at the fact that Pete didn't even register his presence.
Peter B took one of Pete's hands in his then, carefully extricating it from the blanket and holding it out, turning it over so he could examine the spinneret. He pressed his fingers around the opening gently, and Pete flinched, starting to pull his hand away. Peter B let it go, frowning thoughtfully, and finally nodded to himself.
"What's up?" Miles asked softly.
"I have a couple things I need to tell your mother," Peter B answered, coming back towards him, Pete curling up tighter and slipping deeper into sleep behind him.
"Alright," Miles said, leading him back. His parents had finished loading the dishwasher by then, and they turned when Miles and Peter B came back.
"I forgot some things," Peter B said finally, frowning, his mom immediately turning back to face him. "Pete's heartbeat is abnormally fast for a human, it runs at the same rate mine does, so if you want a pulse to compare to, you can take mine, so you know what to watch out for. Second of all, and this is something I just confirmed, but he's got bruising around the spinnerets. They're new muscles, still, I think. I noticed he had a tendency to avoid using them unless he had no other choice, and we made him swing a lot when he was here, and who knows about his own world. We might have to ask Porker about exercises for the spinneret. I don't know how well they'll crossover because they're located in a different place, but that's more Spider training than anything so you don't really have to worry about that. I just wanted to ask you to look them over a bit more closely and see if they needed bandaging, or ice or something to get the swelling to go down, because they are swollen."
"I'll look into it," his mom said, her expression tight.
"Don't worry about not noticing," Peter B said, waving his hands, "there was a lot of stuff going on at once and I didn't even think to mention it. I noticed it when I cleaned him off, but I wanted to get a better look at it and check his reaction when he was mostly conscious. It definitely still hurts him, he tried to pull his arm away from me when I touched him."
"Alright, Peter B, thank you, I'll be sure to check. Do you mind if I take your pulse now?" she asked.
"Nope, go for it," Peter B answered. His mom walked over and carefully placed her fingers on the pulse-point under his throat, frowning, her eyes on the clock. Her eyebrow rose steadily up her forehead as she counted internally, finally moving to the other eyebrow which also rose, and then they met in the middle as she turned around to frown at him.
"No es sorpresa que tu metabolismo sea tan rapido," she exclaimed, frowning at him and taking her fingers off. "Your heartbeat practically flutters! You're like a human-sized hummingbird!"
"Not that quick, luckily," Peter B corrected. "But be on the lookout for that, if it slows down too much or seems to speed up, you might have a problem. Naturally it'll slow a bit in sleep, but you're going to notice if it drops too far."
Miles had immediately mentally noted to never let anyone take his pulse, and also decided that he'd have to keep a close eye on Pete. That sounded frightening.
His mom frowned, but nodded, and then finally raised an eyebrow at him. "Before you go, I had been meaning to ask you something," she said.
"Yes?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.
"Why did you learn Spanish so well? You do have a bit of an accent, but you seem to be fluent, or nearly fluent."
"Oh," Peter B hesitated, frowning, before rubbing the back of his head. "Actually, I learned because…there was this little boy," he sighed heavily. "I was sixteen, and the apartment was on fire, and in the rush of people evacuating, he'd been separated from his mother and had gotten stuck on the seventeenth floor with fire coming up and fire coming down. I…was trying to get him out. Couldn't understand a thing I was saying and believe it or not, but a costumed figure coming at you through the flames whose face you can't see and who's got some spider symbolism going on can actually be kind of horrifying. I would have taken off my mask but I had dunked everything in water so I could breathe and had more of a window before I began burning. But that little kid… He kept saying 'araña espantosa,' and calling for 'mami,' and was bawling, just…absolutely bawling, and he wouldn't stop, and there was nothing I could say or do to get him to come closer to me."
"¿Oh, Dios, lo...lo has alcanzado?" his mom asked, her hand over her mouth, his dad was behind him suddenly, holding onto his shoulder, and Miles wondered what his own face was doing.
"I did, yes, but only after I wound up having to practically pounce on him to get him to stop trying to run away. I hauled him squalling out the window, and by the time I finally found his mom he was practically nonresponsive, just screaming. His mom got him to calm down and she kept thanking me over and over and over again, and eventually the little boy grew to understand that I had saved him, and he was a lot better, but I had nightmares of that boy running away screaming for a very long time."
"Oh god, I'm so glad that you saved him, but that would have been so frightening," his mom said softly.
"Did he seem okay afterwards; did you see him again?" Miles asked, worry tight in his voice.
"Yeah, I saw him periodically and every time I did, he'd give me a high-five," he gave a laugh that could only be described as brittle. "I don't know if he even remembered the fire after a while, he was just so young when it happened. It's honestly kind of amazing how resilient kids are," Peter B said finally, thoughtfully, an expression on his face that Miles couldn't read. "Regardless, I started learning Spanish the next day after that apartment fire and I didn't stop until I could talk to the man who operated the Mexican food cart that I frequented on a regular basis fluently. It's probably also where I developed my tolerance for spice, honestly. I also learned a few basic phrases in a bunch of other languages so I could help the people who didn't understand English." He paused, rubbing the back of his head. "Eventually people just recognized me by costume, you know? They see the symbol and the mask, and the webs and they know that it's me, so I don't have to worry about telling them that I'm here to help anymore, they just come. But back then? Back then when I hadn't even been doing it a full year, not enough people knew me, and I just…didn't want to go through that ever again."
"I don't blame you," his dad said, clapping his hand on Peter B's shoulder. "You did good. It might have been horrifying when it happened, but you saved that kid, and he was alright afterwards. Don't let yourself linger on what could have been, you did good for a young sixteen-year-old in spandex."
Peter B grinned, wide and bright, and happy. "Thank you," he said, the words heartfelt and earnest. "I tell myself that, but sometimes it's hard."
"I get it," his dad said, shaking him by that shoulder gently. "Really, I do. But you do the best you can in the situations that you find yourself in, and sometimes those are bad situations. And besides, you got the kid out, and then you learned how to never have that happen again. I'd call that good, Peter B."
"Yeah," Peter B said softly. "I guess it was. Thank you."
"Anytime."
Peter B took a step back then, rubbing the back of his head. "Anyway, I gotta go, I'll see about throwing my resume out, see if I can get any nibbles."
"Good luck," his mom said, firmly.
"We'll be rooting for you," his dad said.
"I hope your next job has a more flexible schedule!" Miles called out.
"Thank you," Peter B said faintly, looking mildly flushed, before finally calling up a portal and stepping through it. It vanished immediately afterwards and there was a collective sigh.
"You know what," his dad said finally, softly, frowning thoughtfully.
"What?" his mom asked, walking over to stand next to his dad.
"I actually really like Peter B. He's a good guy," his dad said thoughtfully, frowning.
"Thinking about making a new friend?" his mom asked, grinning.
"I'll give it a shot." His dad shrugged and Miles was inwardly pleased.
"I like him a lot," Miles said, before frowning up at his mom as the thought hit him. "Would you be able to take me to volunteer at a soup kitchen or something, maybe?"
"What's this?" his mom asked, looking at him, surprise in her voice. "Did Peter B mention that?"
"Well, yeah. I…I kind of asked him some things because I…" he paused, rolling his shoulders back in an expansive shrug, still trying to avoid eye-contact. "I don't know, mami, he was…" he paused, hesitating. "Is it a bad thing that I want to volunteer?"
"Oh, mijo, no!" his mom said, almost immediately moving to brush her fingers around his ear, sliding her hand down and moving his chin up to stare into her eyes, "I'm sorry, I hadn't meant it like that. It's not a bad thing at all! I was just surprised; I'd never heard you express an interest. Though…given everything that's been happening lately and the people that we've been meeting… Peter B's job loss… It doesn't surprise me that you might be concerned for him or want to help. It also doesn't surprise me that Peter B would give a practical solution like that. I'm assuming that's what happened?"
"Yeah," Miles agreed, feeling his shoulders relax from their bunching tension. "I asked him if he'd be okay and we got to talking, and when he realized what was bothering me, he told me about volunteering. But he asked me to make sure I had a chaperone, because I wasn't old enough on my own yet, so I thought I'd ask. Would that be something we could do together?"
His dad scooped him up suddenly, his hold deceptively gentle. "It's actually a really good thing we could do together, if you want," his dad said. "I have a few buddies I volunteer with sometimes, if you're interested…I'm more than willing to bring you, too." his dad said softly. "And I'm glad he was able to talk to you about that, Miles, and give you something to do that might help. Now, come on, do you guys want to watch a movie and spend some time together before Pete wakes up?"
"Sounds good, but do you mind if I check on him some?" Miles asked.
"Sure thing, kiddo. There's no nightmares in this house," his dad said, a laugh in his voice.
Pete slept on without much fuss, though there was a momentary scare when his mom went to check on his spinnerets. Miles stood in the doorway as his mom carefully felt around the inside of Pete's wrists, only to suddenly not be able to move her hands. His mom's eyes went wide, trying to pull back, only to take his entire arm with her, and Miles realized that Pete had started to stick to her.
Pete's other hand was moving, too, and Miles had a sudden horrified thought that he might latch onto Miles' mom in his sleep and it would hurt her. He moved quickly then, taking hold of Pete's other hand as soon as he got close enough, trying to will him to settle. Pete finally let go of his mom, who rubbed her hands together rapidly.
Miles felt the rough burn marks on the fingers under his, and cautiously turned his hand over so he could look at the spinnerets on his wrists. They were odd, holes where there really shouldn't be any, his forearms muscled in a way that was strange, the chords of tissue having shifted to accommodate those holes. There was bruising, now that he was looking for it, running all the way down his arms. It looked painful, and Miles couldn't believe how calm Pete had been about it. He'd never complained about the use of his webbing, not even once, when it obviously still hurt him quite badly. His mom hummed, the sound pleased, and began looking closer at the bruising.
His mom finally frowned, losing her gratefulness at being able to get a closer look quickly, and finally looked at him. "Mijo, I need you to get the first aid kit, I want to bandage these and put some cold compresses on them. Ask your dad to get the ones from the freezer, he'll know what I mean."
"Okay!" he said, and let go of Pete's hand, his mom still gently examining that bruising, soft whispered words in Spanish and English drifting through the air as she kept trying to get Pete to stay calm, stay asleep. His dad moved to get the stuff from the freezer as soon as he told him, and when Miles ran in with the first aid kit his dad was already there and making displeased hisses.
They had wrapped towels around something blue and were quietly discussing how to make sure they stayed on his wrists and whether or not they'd be lucky enough to change them multiple times to get the swelling to go down. His mom waved him over as soon as she saw him, and together his dad and mom carefully held the towel-wrapped blue things to Pete's wrist, while the other wrapped it. Finally, Pete had his wrists wrapped and was allowed to resettle.
Miles felt his stomach twist a little when a small wrinkle between Pete's eyebrows that had been almost completely invisible smoothed. He wondered how badly it had hurt him. They backed away after they were done and Pete pulled his arms close almost reflexively, holding them against his chest.
Protective.
Miles made a small face and turned to his mom and dad, a question in his gaze.
"He'll be okay, Miles," his mom said softly, smiling at him. "Porker will probably have exercises he can do to strengthen his spinnerets, and now that they know they can do their best to take routes that won't force him to swing as much. For right now we will get the swelling to go down and it will be okay."
"Your mom's right, it'll be okay," his dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Knowing there's a problem leads to being able to fix the problem, and we know that it's a problem now, so we'll be on the lookout."
"Yeah," Miles agreed, smiling.
"Now come on, help me pick out a movie!" his dad said, poking him in the side. "It's your choice this time, so what are we watching? No rated R."
"That is just…completely not fair, dad," Miles said, frowning. His dad laughed.
This was how the first two hours were spent, between rebandaging Pete's wrists every so often with different cold packs, sometimes using frozen peas if the gel packs hadn't been properly frozen yet. Porker showed up by the fifth hour, when Miles was just starting to get a little nervous at how long Pete was sleeping, as well as how unresponsive he was.
Porker listened to Miles whispered worries when the pig showed up in his room while he was working on making a color wheel to show Pete when he woke up. It startled him, and he sent a paintbrush arching through the air, only to be caught by Porker, who leapt up and grabbed it, flipping to stick to the ceiling as his jump had been a bit too intense. Miles pressed himself to his desk, his hand clutching his heart, breath wheezing.
"Don't do that, man!" he managed to gasp out. "You about gave me a heart-attack!"
"I'm sorry," Porker whispered, dropping down to land next to him and handing him the paintbrush back. Miles took it, putting it on his desk and knelt next to Porker so he could speak even quieter. "I wanted to talk to you quickly without parental involvement. How you holding up, kid? Has there been anything vaguely super-hero needed that you need our help with?"
"No," Miles answered, taking a deep breath and looking out the window. "No, I haven't heard of anything yet. But how would you be able to make it look like I was there?"
"Peni whipped up a hologram. It'll act like you and sound like you so you can be somewhere else at the same time. We've got your back, kid," Porker winked.
Miles beamed at him, the expression bright and wide. "Thank you," he said, feeling relief wash through him. That'd be perfect if he needed to use it sometime. "Did you see my message about Pete and his spinnerets?" he asked even quieter.
"I did, kid, but I'm going to look at them with your mom in the room. Has he woken up at all?"
"Once, nearly gave me a heart-attack, too…" he paused, frowning. "What is it with you Peter's and scaring everyone?" he asked, his eyes narrowed and challenging. Porker whistled innocently and quietly, bobbing on the tip of his…hooves…
"You know how it is, kid," Porker said, winking. "He's been asleep ever since?"
"Yeah," Miles said, "and I…is that normal? Is he going to be okay?"
"I'm pretty sure he'll be okay. You're going to have to make sure you guys feed him really well when he wakes up because that's a couple meals he's missed and he really can't afford to do that," Porker frowned. "She'll know, but she might not know. Help her out with that, okay, kid?"
"I got it," Miles responded. "Hey, um…thanks for checking in on me, man," he said finally. After a moment of pause, he hesitated before leaning closer. "Did you…did you hear that Peter B lost his job?"
Porker blinked, before his eyes widened. "No, he didn't share with the class," Porker finally said. Miles blinked before a rush of nerves flew through him.
"You don't think he'll be upset that I told you, do you?" Miles asked, worry in his voice.
"I think he'd know that I'd find out eventually. I'm not one of the best reporters at the Daily Beagle for nothin', Miles," Porker winked at him. "Is he doing okay?"
"He said he was, said that he's used to it happening," Miles answered. Porker made a thoughtful noise.
"I'll check up on him," Porker said, tapping on his shoulder. "Don't worry."
"Peter B already told me not to several times," Miles said, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, well, listen to him," Porker chucked his chin, grinning. "Now I'm going to go pop into whatever window in whatever room your parents are in, for the gag of course. I'll see you again in a bit. Seem properly surprised, okay?" Porker left out of the window that Miles didn't even notice open. There was a pause, and then not even a minute later a shout of surprise from his dad, followed by his mom. Miles immediately ran out of his room and towards the source of the sound to see Porker squeezed through a window in one of the paintings hanging on the wall in the living room.
Needless to say, Miles didn't need to act surprised.
Porker popped the rest of the way out, shaking off what looked like actual paint.
"I know they say break the fourth wall, but I find it easier to come in through the window," Porker said brightly.
His dad hesitated, putting a hand on his mouth, before looking up at the ceiling. His mom's eyes widened, and she leaned back against the couch, her chin tilting upwards slightly as she gripped the couch cushions underneath her. For a moment there was complete and total silence, before it finally broke to laughter. It was bright and loud and happy, and Miles wouldn't be able to say who broke first, but Porker crossed his arms proudly and tapped his foot patiently, waiting for them to calm down.
"Christ, Porker!" his dad finally managed. "I about had a heart attack! I told you to knock on the window so that wouldn't happen!"
"Ah, well, I see a gag and I've gotta play to it, you know?" Porker said, clapping his hands together happily. "So, where's the table and the chairs? I might as well fix the easy stuff before I take a look at what's probably going to take a while."
"In the kitchen," his mom said, standing up. "Peter B moved it over for us."
Miles and his dad followed his mom and Porker as the pig walked into the kitchen, frowning at the table thoughtfully. He circled it once, twice, nodded his head and picked it up using a single table leg and pulling his pocket out wide with his other hand. Porker somehow tipped the table slightly, and put that corner into his pocket, and then it was like watching sand funnel into a jar. The table…flowed, somehow stretching and becoming smaller until it vanished inside of that pocket, Porker then pressing his pocket close to his hip and patting it twice happily.
"What the fuck?" Miles managed.
"Language," his dad said, frowning at him. Miles threw his hands towards the missing table, and then frowned at his dad.
"You don't get mad when Pete says it!" he finally said, waving his hands around.
"Am I Pete's father?" his dad asked with a raised eyebrow.
"…Well, no…" Miles finally managed, frowning, sinking his shoulders in.
"Then I don't have any bearing on what he says or does," his dad finished, his chin lifting. "I don't much like it when he says it either, but he's got the kind of mouth that suggests it's habit."
"No joke," Porker said. "Honestly the only one I haven't seen that kid swearing around is Aunt May. I think it's hilarious," Porker grinned, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Anyway, rough times build rough kids. Pete's very rough. But he's good."
"Lo es," his mom agreed firmly. "But he's also in pain," his mom said softly. "I don't know if Peter B told you, but he has severe bruising all the way down his forearms. We did our best to get the swelling to go down, we've been changing ice packs consistently…but if you have something else…"
"I'll take a look," Porker promised, sliding each chair into his pocket in a similar way he did to the table. "He in your room?" he asked, pointing to Miles. Miles nodded and led the way. He held the door open for the pig, who crept into the bedroom quietly. Porker climbed up onto the wall and around the bed, not letting his weight rest on it. When he finally was above Pete's corner that he'd horned himself in, he carefully reached down and began trying to uncurl Pete's arms, whispering quietly to him and humming under his breath. Pete finally seemed to relax, and Porker carefully pulled his arms towards him.
Porker carefully unwound the bandages, putting the compresses to the side in order to look at the spinnerets more closely. His mouth was in a thinner line than usual, his eyes intent as they looked them over, and then his gaze traveled the length of Pete's arms. He carefully pulled Pete's sleeves back, humming under his breath as he did so, and ran his fingers up his skin, applying pressure periodically. Finally, he paused, pressing down again on a certain spot near his elbow, and then trailing it back down the length of his arms. Porker kept the pressure as he slid his fingers down, feeling, his mouth curling into a bigger and bigger frown as he did so, getting closer and closer to those spinnerets
Porker suddenly made a brief 'ah,' sound, and started gently pulling on what seemed to be nothing at first and then a fine thread of black webbing slowly made its way out of Pete's wrist. He pulled carefully, hushing Pete gently when he let out a sound that reminded Miles of a whimper, and finally he pressed down on a spot on his wrist a little below the spinneret. The webbing stopped and Porker let Pete go, actually reaching out and petting his hair with the hand that didn't have webbing on it, hushing and whispering and praising. Pete leaned into the touch, curling towards him, his arms crossed on his chest and not moving, and when Porker finally left, he seemed to curl tighter, hiding completely under the blankets.
Miles had a feeling they wouldn't be able to touch him again.
Porker held the webbing carefully, examining it, pulling it between his hands, checking tensile strength and stickiness, and eventually shook his head. He butted his head out towards the living room and they followed him, Porker closing it behind them, the web still held in his other hand.
"Alright," Porker said softly, frowning. "I have good news and I have not so good news. Nothing's bad, yet, but it might get there if we're not careful."
"What's happening?" his mom asked, sitting down and gesturing for Porker to do the same. Miles found himself sinking onto the chair next to the couch, curling into it as his dad did the same on the sofa.
"Pete said his body was torn apart and pieced back together in order to give him webbing and he really wasn't lying. His body is being forced to accommodate something that it had no idea would ever happen to it, and worse, in some ways it's accommodating the change kind of poorly." Porker folded his hands before him, looking at all of them with a firm gaze. "Part of the reason for this is his muscles aren't used to doing what they're being forced to do, and so certain habits have been formed that are compensating for that. What needs to be done is his muscles need to be strengthened and that…I might need to consult some spider buddies of mine; the positioning is very odd, and I don't know how best to work with that. That said, and this is the good thing: the glands, acid, and spinnerets themselves are all perfectly functional. Everything works, it's just a matter of making everything run smoother."
"That's a bit of a relief. I'm glad it all works; I was afraid that it was pinching places it shouldn't and the bruising was being caused by a blockage or something…" his mom said.
"No, no, the ducts themselves work just fine," Porker assured. "It's really just a matter of strengthening new muscles. I'll have some exercises for him to start to work on soon, I'm sure of it. In the meantime, try and keep him from using it too much."
"Got it," his dad agreed. "We'll do our best."
"Explain why first," Porker said frowning. "I know you can probably figure out the fact that you will need to do that, but I worry."
"I get it, Porker," his dad said grinning. "I don't mind the advice."
"Thank you," Porker sighed, rubbing his head. "I'm going to go; I'll figure out some stuff soon."
"We'll be seeing you!" his dad said.
"Don't be a stranger," his mom added.
"Take care of yourself," Miles finished. "Don't go losing any jobs, I don't want the Parker luck to just start to cover Peters, too."
Porker laughed, called a portal, and dove through it.
His mom let out a heavy sigh, rubbing her face. "I'm so glad it's not clots or blockages," she said. "I was so worried."
"Would that have required surgery?" his dad asked.
"Si," his mom answered softly, "and I wouldn't have been equipped to handle it here. I don't know what we would have done."
"Well, you don't have to worry about it anymore," his dad said, reaching out to massage the back of her neck. "No more stress, let it go. He's alright. We've got a plan; we can do this."
Miles left them and went to sit in his room, sitting on the chair by his desk and holding a pillow to his chest as he stared at the motionless lump in his bed. His foot turned him in an idle swivel as he thought, mouth in a thin line.
"Hey, Pete," Miles said softly. "Wake up soon, okay? I want you to be alright, man, you've been sleeping so long." He took a breath, looking at his knees and then frowned up at Pete again, his gaze locked. "When you wake up, I've got some questions for you. I hope you don't mind…"
Pete slept through the rest of the day. By the time it was night Miles had already made a little nest of pillows and blankets to the side of his bed so he could sleep in the same room and be there in case of any issues. The tenth hour had seen him calling Peter B in a panic because Pete seemed to be completely nonresponsive. He was told a few things that had made his heart warm, and also made it hurt.
"He's got a lot to recover from, Miles, his body is doing the best it can with what it has to piece itself together and he's hurting pretty badly. However, and here's the thing that you gotta remember: he feels safe enough to do it with you, so just think of that, alright man? He feels safe enough with you that his body is letting itself recover. That's good. It just takes time."
Miles was happy that Pete was comfortable enough to rest around them, and hoped it had something to do with the constant low-buzz of the spidersense that was always there, merrily humming away and singing: 'like me, like me, like me.' He also hoped that when Pete woke up, he'd be okay. They had placed the cooling packs on his wrists one more time before they all turned in for the night, his mom checking Pete's pulse to make sure it was the steady flutter it should be, before finally all of them went to bed.
Pete woke up at seven in the morning and Miles just knew it was going to be a long day.