#dad!miguel

Ever since you remembered your dad, Miguel O’Hara, was there. Of course, there are certain moments of your childhood you don’t remember, as every child has, but your earliest memory is your dad picking you up and soothing you as you cried at two years old. And ever since then, he was always there. Your friends at school would always say you were so lucky that you had a dad that was so devoted to you, and you agreed. To an extent. See, he was very particular about what he allowed you to do. It wasn’t in a negative way, necessarily, he was just protective. His favorite saying and your least favorite saying in your house was ‘I just want what’s best for you, cariño.’

It resulted in you staying home from school events, friend events, and generally any type of event where your safety could have been compromised. It caused you to be a bit of a loner, always hearing about the parties, the gossip, all of it instead of actually experiencing it for yourself.

Of course, it annoyed you.

It still does.

He’s loosened up a bit eventually, though, allowing you to go to work with him. Which also meant you got to meet many spiders. Quite a few of the spider-people quickly became your closest friends, as it was simpler and easier for your dad to keep tabs on you in Spider Society. Much to his chagrin, you quickly became best friends with Hobie Brown. The two of you were around the same age, and since you were annoyed at your dad and in your rebellious era, you got along swimmingly. A little too swimmingly, actually, which Miguel purposefully chose to ignore for the most part. Until he saw Hobie sucking his little one’s face off. Regardless, Hobie was always quick to validate all your conflicted, annoyed, and even positive feelings about your father. He even helped you come out of your shell and rebel against Miguel occasionally.

Miguel didn’t like this very much, but he also knew that Hobie was still a good influence on you. No matter how many times both of you tried to convince him that he wasn’t. But sometimes, Hobie would talk you into doing things that he very much disliked. Hated, even. And this time was one of those times. While he was out, containing a particularly difficult anomaly, Hobie convinced you to search through Miguel’s personal files on his supercomputer because he bet if your birth certificate would be anywhere, it would be there. When you found a folder with your name, you expected to open it to see some family pictures, hoping for your birth certificate with the name of your mom. Your dad never really talked about your mom, just that she passed away during childbirth. You stopped asking because every time you did, he would get very quiet and a guilty look would appear on his face. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. So you went into this endeavor excited to see what you might find out. Unfortunately, that excitement didn’t last for very long. See when you opened your file expecting these mundane things, that wasn’t what you were met with.

In fact, that was nowhere near what you found.

You found detailed notes all about you.

“What the hell,” you mumble, scrolling through the various pictures of you as an infant, with two adult strangers. Hobie said nothing, looking at all the pictures and skimming the important parts of all the files you were pulling up with a frown on his face. You stop on a specific picture of a woman holding you in a hospital bed. She was smiling.

And she was very much alive.

Tears immediately start to well up in your eyes as Hobie gently pulls your hands away from the computer. “Think that’s enough a’ that, love,” he says softly. You yank your arms away from him. “No.” You scroll to the next photo, seeing a man you’ve never met before holding you in the same hospital room, with the same strange woman right next to him. The next time you scroll, it’s a detailed account from Miguel about who you are. Notes from your dad declaring you a ‘danger’ and that you ‘must be contained somehow.’ Talk of your biological parents, their names, and how you had to be separated from them before ‘irreversible damage was done to the multiverse.’

You stare at the screen, and Hobie pulls your hands away again, successfully this time. He steps between you and the screens, blocking your view and slowly walking you backward and away from the files. You’re too shocked to say anything, the only thing you can do is quietly cry. Hobie opens his mouth to say something when Miguel’s voice rings out. “What do the two of you think you’re doing?”

The two of you turn your heads toward Miguel, and his annoyed frown turns to one of concern as soon as he sees the look on your face. “¿Qué tienes, mi corazón?” Miguel asks, his voice much softer as he approaches you. Hobie moves, positioning himself between you and your ‘father,’ and scoffs. “Think you got some explainin’ to do ‘ere, mate,” Hobie says, and Miguel looks at him confused. Then he sees what’s on the screen. A look of horrified realization spreads across his face, and he looks at you. “(Y/n), cariño, I can explain.”

“Don’t call me that,” your voice, albeit shaky, finally comes back to you. Hobie turns his attention to you, squeezing the hand you’ve been holding onto for dear life ever since he pulled you away from the computer. “(Y/n)—”

“Who am I? Who are you to me?”

“…Please, let me—”

“WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?!” you shout, desperately yearning for your dad to say they weren’t what was said in his reports. But all he does is frown. “They’re… they are your biological parents,” he confesses, and you make a choked noise. Hobie subtly begins turning his watch to his universe, ready to make an escape from your dad at any point. “If you just let me explain—”

“I’m a threat to the multiverse?” you choke out through your tears, “What the fuck does that mean, papá?! If I can even call you that.” Miguel’s jaw clenches. “Don’t forget who raised you.”

“How could I?! How could you?! Is this why you never let me do anything?! Too worried your querido bebecito would destroy the fucking multiverse?!”

“(Y/n). I did it to protect everyone.”

“What about me?! Did you ever plan on telling me?! How is separating me from my family protecting me?!” Hobie places an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer and keeping you shielded by him as Miguel tries to step closer to you. Miguel glares at him, and Hobie glares back. Miguel holds out his hand in a surrendering way. “It was to protect you just as much, if not more, as it was to protect everyone else. If you would just listen—“

“No. No, I’m done listening to you.”

“Cariño—”

“I am not tú cariño. I am not tú corazoón. You are not mi papá,” you say, venom behind your words. You can practically see Miguel’s heart shatter into tiny little pieces.

That was the worst thing you could have ever said to him.

Before he can say anything else, Hobie opens the portal, pulling you through and closing it almost immediately. You find yourself in the familiar atmosphere of his flat. “C’mere, love,” he mumbles, pulling you into his arms. You grip his shirt, sobbing into his chest as he rocks you back and forth, softly shushing you occasionally and rubbing your back. After what feels like hours, but was really maybe a minute, he swiftly picks you up, carrying you bridal style to his bed as you continue to cry into his shirt. He sits down, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head and rubbing up and down your arm. He can’t help but feel guilty for this. If he didn’t convince you to look at the computer…

“Don’t blame yourself, Hobie… please,” you whimper, and he sighs. “Love, you needa stop bein’ so good at knowin’ what i’m thinkin’,” he mumbles, and you look up at him with a soft smile. “Can’t help it. Even your thoughts are loud,” you say, and he snorts. “Chuffed to see the cryin’ made ya feel better,” he says and you shake your head. “I still feel like shit, Hobie,” you whisper, and he frowns. He gently wipes some tears away from your cheeks. “Reckon all ‘at cryin’ has you knackered?” he mumbles, and you nod softly. He lays backwards, maneuvering the two of you to be laying down. The two of you face each other, one of his hands cradling the side of your face while the other soothingly rubs up and down your side. You grip onto his shirt, and he places a soft peck on your nose. “‘m sorry, love,” he says, and you sniffle. “I already told you it isn’t your fault.”

“‘Kay, still feel like it was,” he says, and you sigh. “That’s not important right now,” he mumbles, gently pulling you closer. “What’s important is that I make you feel better.” You look at him, your eyes are still glossy from tears. “Never met someone who looked so stunnin’ when they cry,” he says, gently stroking your cheek. You smile softly, and he does too. “There’s my favorite smile,” he whispers before softly placing his lips on yours. It’s only for a second, but it makes all the pain go away. And you’re grateful for that. Even if it is just for a second. “Get some sleep, love.” He kisses your forehead, tangling his legs with yours and pulling your head into his chest. You relax into him. He was right. The crying was exhausting. Before you know it, you’re asleep as Hobie gently traces shapes into your skin, whispering anything and everything he loves about you to you so softly that if you weren’t really listening, you wouldn’t hear any of it. No one makes you feel protected quite like Hobie does.

And even if it’s just for a moment, thanks to Hobie, you feel like everything will be okay.

Miguel’s teeth clamped down on his lower lip as he thought. The gears slowly turned in his head as he stares at your untamed hair. “Okay, so what do I do again?” He looks at you through the mirror and smirks at your annoyed expression.

“Papi, I can do this myself. You know that right?” You said, eyes glancing at his hand that held the scrunchie. He was stretching it, playing with it as if it was a toy, if he’d stretch it anymore he’d snap it in half. “Don’t mess with the scrunchie like that.” Your hand reached out to snatch it away from him but he jerked his hand away. “Let me learn how to tie your hair.” Miguel frowned, using his other hand to collect your hair.

“I’m letting you, just don’t stretch it like that.” You tell him, feeling a little silly to be the one to reprimand him for his actions. How the tables have turned.

“So many instructions,” Miguel muttered, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “So dramatic.” You say through a chuckle.

“So I put your hair through the thing?” Miguel squints his eyes in confusion. A slight smile pulls on your lips at how clueless he looked.

“Yes, and if you need any help—“

“—I don’t need any help. I got this.”

Miguel’s eyes darted between the scrunchie that was looped around his fingers and to your hair that he had in an awkward hold. He was trying to imagine how he would put your hair through the hair band, and with each scenario, he’d go through in his head, he would come out more clueless. A small laugh slipped past your lips at his expression.

Miguel looked at you through the mirror, raising a brow. “¿Te estás riendo de mí?”

“No! No. Never.” The large smile that was threatening to shine through was getting harder and harder to conceal. The look of pure confusion on Miguel’s face was impossible to not laugh at.

“No te rias.” Miguel attempted to put on a stern voice, but it was futile. He couldn’t pretend to be mad at you, not when he’s hearing you laugh and seeing you smile. Those two things are one of the many things he loves about you.

“Do you want me to show you how to do it one more time?” Your voice was thick with amusement.

Miguel let out a defeated sigh and nodded his head. He let go of your hair and handed the band over to you. You thanked him and with quick and easy steps, you collected your hair and put it up into a ponytail. Undoing your hair, you looked at Miguel through the mirror. “Do you understand?”

Miguel’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Hacerlo otra vez.” He instructed.

“Papi? En serio?” You put your back up again for Miguel to understand, yet he couldn’t wrap his head around the magic of you tying up your hair. “It’s not that hard, Pa.”

“To me, yes, it is hard.” Miguel grabs the scrunchie from you and tries once more to tie your hair up.

“You’re not going to get it.”

“Shh.”

The band splits into two with the sheer force of him stretching it out the moment he finally loops your hair into it.

There’s a small moment of silence where Miguel is grieving over his failure while you’re trying your hardest not to laugh.

“Me voy. Ya no quiero hacer esto.” He slumped forward in defeat as he walks out of the bathroom. You barrel over in laughter, tears pricking at the edge of your eyes. “Te lo dije!”

if anybody has anymore ideas for dad miguel pls send bc i’m willing to write them we need more platonic miguel fanfics 😭

your father died early, shot by a man who ran with someone’s purse. you didn’t know him well, you were only three after all. but your mother fought hard to teach you about him, to make sure you remembered some semblance of him.

and all was well for a time. you went to school, made some friends, started working for some extra cash under the table.

you were reaching up into your attic when the sharp sting of a spider bite zinged up from your hand. you killed it with a slap, but nothing could stop the venom that now traveled through your veins.

the rest was history: you became your universes one and only spider woman, learning her trade as she went.

the cannon event hit later, and it was different from the others.

you had no uncle to find dead on the street.

but you did have a mother.

she was working the late shift at the hospital when a spouse of a dead patient burst through the doors and demanded to see a doctor. apparently, the man wanted revenge for the hospitals failure to save his wife, and he had come to instill justice.

your mother had raised her hands and tried to plead for him to stop, to calm down, to lower his gun.

the shot made your spider-senses go haywire, and you practically flew to the trauma center. the security guards had no idea what to do, so you just ran past them to find your mother bleeding on the cold white tile.

it took everything in you to remember that behind your mask, no one knew you were this woman’s daughter, and you’d have to respond carefully. you watched as the officers called the next of kin, and you were thankful that you had had the mind to put your phone on silent that day.

no one noticed the tears streaming from your eyes behind the suit. you swung back home as fast as you could, answering your phone when they called you again.

pretending to not know what was going on was the second worst thing you had to do that day. you had to fight from chocking on tears as you answered the call.

eighteen and orphaned, standing over your mothers open casket. a part of you thanked that you were older, because it meant that you didn’t have to go into foster care. but nothing could truly quell your grief.

and then the universe decided to send you a big middle finger in the shape of a Doc Oc right after the funeral ended.

you knew that you couldn’t keep going like this. no one should process grief this fast. but as the villain sent a tidal wave through the streets of new york city you relized that you didn’t exactly have a choice.

with great power comes great responsibility.

and saving these people was your responsibility, no matter what mental state you were in.

this Doc Oc looked to be from some other dimension. instead of mechanical tentacles like that of your Doc Oc, he had real ones, and he apparently threw actual octopi at people when he was pissed off.

it was no easy task, and at one point he had thrown you against the wall and knocked your head. as your vision swam, he picked you up with one of his suctioned limbs and squeezed.

it all happened so fast.

a flash of orange and yellow swirling at the edge of your vision. orange silk shooting into your captors face. and then someone shot forward and sliced the tentacle that held you.

you sank to the ground as you caught your breath, vaguely hearing someone say “Lyla, run a diagnostic. what’s the best way to take this guy down?”

as you wheezed, a large hand rested against your shoulder, and a soft voice greeted your ears.

“Sit tight, kid. I’ll handle this.”

you didn’t have time to argue when the hand vanished, and you peered up just in time to see a large spider-man in a blue suit throwing himself at the villain.

you stood as you caught your breath, rushing right back into battle to help the man that had saved you. the Doc Oc dragged you both to the bay, sinking down into the water. it was advantageous for him, being a water dwelling creature, and you and the man struggled. it took another spider, a woman on a motor cycle, showing up to help defeat him.

but it was you who dealt the final blow, wrapping the villains limbs to a nearby pier to keep him underwater. when the pair of new spider people got him all tied up and prepared to take away, you just…collapsed.

everything came down on you at once. your exhaustion, your sadness, your loneliness. everything.

you barely heard the spider woman murmur to the brash man across from her, and it was only when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pick you up that you snapped back to reality.

but just as quickly as you zeroed in on the feeling, your brain whispered sleep in your ear, and you passed out.

₊ ⊹

you woke to a strange bare bedroom and an odd watch that flickered with light on your wrist. noticing the glass of water on the bedside table, you chugged it, coughing when you got too eager.

“You’re awake!”

you screamed, a small voice coming from right beside your head unexpectedly. you turned to see a small woman illuminated in the light from your watch.

“no need to be afraid. i’m lyla.”

lyla. that rang a bell.

“where am i?” you asked as you noticed the clothes folded in the corner of the room. you cast a sideways glance at the projection, and lyla turned to give you the illusion of privacy.

“miguel will answer all your questions. i’ve alerted him of your new condition.”

you slipped on the black sweatpants and top gratefully, relishing the feeling of soft cotton against your skin. as your hands moved over your body, you quickly noticed various cuts and bruises.

that’s right, i passed out.

“where is this miguel?” you asked as you studied the watch, noticing the flickering ‘EARTH-928’ across the screen.

almost immediately, little glowing footsteps were projected from the watch, making you whip your hand away from your face.

“i guess that’s my answer?” you asked lyla, and the woman nodded.

you sighed, figuring you might as well follow them.

fantastic survival skills from the one and only spider-woman.

well, you thought, not the one and only.

₊ ⊹

the man before you seemed almost nothing like he was when you were fighting Doc Oc.

he seemed…infinitely tired. his shoulders hunched, head ducked down. you supposed that you were distracted during the fight.

but his expression revealed much more than his body language. he had deep eye bags, and his cheeks were sunken in a way that expressed not just natural bone structure but also a lack of eating and sleeping properly.

miguel looked drained.

you were still processing what he had told you, about the cannon and the ‘Spider-Society’ and the ‘Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse.’

you had actually openly scoffed at that one, and he looked dejected by your reaction.

“but i can’t just send you home now. i’m pretty sure jess would actually web me for all eternity if i did.” he was saying, rubbing his brow.

“so what exactly am i doing here, then?” you asked, curious but hesitant.

he turned his back to you, looking forlornly at his screens.

“i’m going to train you.”

“why?” came your response, surprised and uncertain. you may have only known miguel for less than an hour, but you could already tell that taking on a young apprentice wasn’t exactly in his character.

he didn’t turn to you. he just kept looking at a picture of a young girl on one of his screens.

“because you remind me of someone.” he said quietly. then he looked at you, and you were struck with the amount of guilt and suffering that lived in his eyes.

“and because you remind me of myself. and i can’t let you become like me.”

masterlists | part ii

Getting bit by a spider is less than ideal to begin with. But when you were bitten by a highly experimental spider that came from the labs your dad worked at, it was arguably worse. And then, when said spider bite results in you sticking to walls and being able to shoot webs from your wrists, it all becomes terrifying.

——————————

“Dad… Something’s not right.” You try to tell him while your notebook is stuck to your open hand. You shake it, only to hear the crumple and flap of papers hitting together. “Please.”

“Mhmm, mhmm.” He nods with his back to you, refusing to turn in his desk chair. “Yes, go ahead, kiddo.”

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Go wherever.”

“I’m not… I’m scared! Please!”

“Enough.” He says firmly, a hand hits the desk and you hear the slosh of liquid in a glass bottle. “Go.”

“You’re drinking?” 

“It’s not your business. Go.”

——————————

A few years later and nothing changed. He hadn’t even noticed that you were never home at night. Your bruises and bloody lips never got acknowledged. Winces and groans as you walked around were unheard. He had constantly drank himself into stupors, rivaling the depth of a coma at one point.

Your heart constantly ached for the relationship you two had when you were younger, before your mother left. Her treatment stopped helping and she died in the hospital, a place you and your father could never go back to. After that, he told you he’d rather drive to Jersey for a hospital than ever walk back into Metro General.

As your relationship crumbled, so did your faith in people. If your father, the man who you owed half your genetics to and the man who raised you, couldn’t put his own child’s needs ahead of his own despair, how could anyone truly love one unconditionally?

“Hey!” A familiar voice called behind you as you were sitting on your rooftop. “It’s my favorite spider kid!”

It was your father’s birthday and - of course, he was passed out in a puddle of whiskey in the kitchen. You had turned him on his side and propped him against the cabinet to ensure he didn’t choke on his own vomit before you suited up and just… sat. Chin resting on knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around and fingers locked together. Mask pushed up to your hairline as the cold night breeze blew through. You were too absorbed in your thoughts to realize your spider sense had been going off.

“Peter B.” You smiled quickly as you turned and saw the bright orange of the portal. “Shit. Did I miss an assignment?” You turned your wrist and saw nothing on your watch screen.

“No… Just knew what day it was.”

“Oh..”

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

You hummed slightly and let him pull you to your feet. Mayday offered you a grabby hand gesture that made you smile and she took that as approval so she shot a web to your chest and pulled herself into your arms. You laughed as you followed Peter, his daughter in your arms and babbling nonsense.

You two walked into the familiar HQ building, greeting various spider people on the way before Hobie and Pav replaced him. You huffed a sigh when you realized that it wasn’t just a coincidence that the entirety of your gang was taking turns walking with you.

They were keeping an eye on you.

You slipped away during Pav’s dramatic retelling of his latest date with Gayatri. He was gesturing wildly with his arms when you sidestepped and dropped down a few levels, catching yourself on the ledge and pulling yourself to sit underneath. After a few moments of sitting alone, you headed to the training center.

It didn’t take long for Hobie to find you there.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” You snapped.

“Right..” He nodded carefully, moving behind the heavy bag you were lightly punching. He held it in place and leaned around it to offer you a questioning expression. “That’s why you bailed on Pav, eh? Y’know he was crushed.”

“I’ll apologize later. Just leave it alone, Hob.”

“Squashed.” He shrugged and leaned away. He gave the bag a small shake and tapped it, telling you to keep hitting it. “But I gotta say, Y/N/N, it’s not hard to see you’re angry.”

“Oh I wonder why.” You said sarcastically as your fists began to make contact again.”

“If it’s about your pops, maybe you should-“

“I should what? Talk to him? You can’t talk to a man two thirds in on a bottle of whiskey. Help him? Like he helped me when my mom died, right? Because that’s what we do, right?”

Every sentence led to your fists hitting harder and harder, more direct contact that stung the skin.

“He doesn’t care about me. He abandoned me when I needed him… He’s probably a canon event for me anyway so the sooner he’s gone the better.”

“You don’t wanna be alone, Y/N.” Hobie offered gently.

Though the gentle tone only scraped your nerves and your fist went through the leather of the punching bag with enough force to push Hobie back.

“Says a lot about the person I’m becoming.” You shrugged and pulled your hand out.

The sand inside began spilling out and you sighed when the faint glow of the familiar AI appeared in front of you.

“Hello, Lyla.” You grumbled and kicked at the growing sand pile.

“Heart rate elevated. Adrenaline and cortisol are spiking and you busted a punching bag… I’m getting Miguel.” She said simply.

“Don’t get Miguel.” You groaned.

“I’m getting Miguel.”

“Lyla!”

“He’s expecting you.”

“Why would you-“

“Because you need to-“

“Why is everyone telling me what I need?” You shouted, throwing an arm to the side which swatted through the projection. 

She appeared again at your shoulder with glasses disheveled.

“Case and point.” She nodded. “Go and talk to him. Now.”

“I hate it here sometimes.” You muttered and dropped to the floor, back to the door while you drew with a finger in the still growing sand pile.

As annoying as it could be at HQ, anything was better than home.

You were in the process of drawing your spider logo when you saw his looming shadow. You ignored him up until he sat next to you and you pulled your knees to your chest.

“She’s gonna come back.” Peter said gently and you felt Mayday’s hand patting your arm to a beat only she understood. “C’mon, kid. Say something.”

“Nothing to say.” You grumbled and shot webs at the ceiling so you could get away from the conversation attempt.

You slowly made your way to Miguel’s workspace. Your watch beeped as you went, probably messages from Lyla telling you to move your ass or one of your friends trying to check on you. You ignored the sounds and kept walking along the ceiling, hardly registering the directional change when you started walking on his wall.

“Siéntete.” He said simply as he pointed to the chair beside him without facing you.

“How’d you know it was me?” You asked simply.

“I’ve been tracking your watch. Sit.”

“I’m fine here, thanks.”

“I wasn’t asking, Y/N.”

“I don’t want to-“

Your complaint was cut short by the bright red webbing that looped around your torso. You cursed quietly as he yanked you to the platform and pushed you into the seat.

“Wasn’t so hard.” He smirked before he crossed his arms and leaned against the table behind him. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You huffed.

“You put a hole in the heaviest bag today and you swatted through Lyla.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Mhmm, right.” He nodded absently before sliding a video clip to present between you two. “So what’s this?”

…so the sooner he’s gone, the better.

“I’m just angry.” You shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Hmm. And this?” He slid a secondary video underneath.

It was you, rolling your dad over and placing two bottles of water by his head. You picked up the tipped cup and cleaned up the spilled liquor. You tucked a small folded note under the bottles, stating a quick and simple happy birthday with a quick heart.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Someone was worried about you. I had a quick survey done of you in your universe.”

“Who was worried? Peter B? Is that why he showed up for me earlier?”

“Pavitr.” He corrected. “And you walked away from his date night story.”

“I didn’t-“ You groaned and threw your head back. “It had nothing to do with him!”

“It felt very personal to him.”

“Look, whatever kind of intervention this is, I don’t need it or want it. Forgive me for having my mother’s kind heart.”

“Okay.”

The webbing around your torso disappeared and he cleared the video clips away. You frowned slightly when he gestured for you to go.

“That’s it?” Your brows furrowed and you kept the disappointment out of your voice.

“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You won’t listen to anyone trying to help and I can see exactly what’s going on and what you need. But what do I know, hmm?”

“Right… I’m just gonna..” You stood slowly and moved to the edge of the platform, freezing at his next sentence.

“When I was with Gabriella…” He said softly, so kindly you almost didn’t hear it.

But the mention of her name froze you in your tracks. He hardly ever talked about his daughter. Why would he tell you anything about such a sensitive subject? You figured you should listen.

“I made sure to know everything I could about her.. That’s what dads do, right? I knew what she liked and what she didn’t. I learned her friends’ names and faces. I even learned how to make these silly little paper origami animals…”

“Why are you telling me this?” You asked weakly. You almost felt awkward hearing such a sweet sentiment coming from your usually angry boss.

“Because it’s part of what you’re missing..”

That sentence made you turn to face him.

“You want a male authority figure that can tell you he knows that you like cheerios for breakfast, but if you don’t have any, you’ll toast half a bagel and put peanut butter.. Sometimes you’ll get a green apple with it.. You want to hear someone acknowledge that you get caffeine headaches but can’t drink more than a Cola in a day. The one time you tried an energy drink, your senses kicked up to a forty and you could hear colors for four hours.

“You used to play sports before you got bit but after, the contact from the ball irritated your skin so bad you had to quit. You told your team that you had developed a health condition and overworking your kidneys could kill you.

“The logo of your suit is the vague shape of the spider that bit you, which was a common California house spider. Usually they’re not a problem but thanks to Oscorp, it was a lot more aggressive than it should’ve been…. You use clips in your hair because a hair tie makes it too tight. And you sharpie’d those words on the inside of your sleeve because you couldn’t stop thinking of them when you made your suit.”

“I don’t like cheerios.” You said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile. “Honey nut cheerios.”

“And I didn’t just quit because of that..”

“Cause you got a job.” Miguel continued. “Under the table, cash only, for a graveyard shift at an all night diner.”

“Did you know my brother and sister moved out? My younger brother moved in with either his girlfriend or his friends because he couldn’t be around my dad. And my older sister, I don’t even know where she is… They might not even be in New York anymore. But I still make sure they don’t have to get the call to ID my father’s body.”

“But you want him dead to pass your canon?”

“Well yeah, I…” You sighed and threw your hands to the side. “No.. I don’t know. It’s not easy to live in that apartment anymore.”

“I know… But you’re still here. You still have your suit and your abilities and you help people.”

“Couldn’t help my mom.” You shrugged. “Couldn’t help my siblings. Can’t help my dad… What kind of a spider person am I if I can’t even help the people I care about most?”

“Makes you human.”

“Why do you know all that anyway?” You asked instead, allowing his gentle tone soften some of the sharpness in your chest. “What does my story matter in the whole arachno-whatever?”

“Every spider’s story matters here.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and swallowed the taste of disappointment on your tongue.

“Aren’t people like.. predisposed to addiction based on genetics?” You changed the subject.

“Sometimes, why?”

“So I'll end up like him, most likely.”

“Y/N..”

“Can you fix it?”

“What?” His eyes went wide.

“You’re a geneticist, right? You can run my genes and figure out where the problem is. You can fix it.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Or.. him. You can fix my dad!”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?” You groaned. 

“Because he’ll be dead by the end of the night!” He snapped and you felt your body run cold while regret crossed his features.

“What?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. “What do you- How- How do you know?”

He sighed to himself and rubbed his temple before he spoke slowly, putting extra caution into his word selection.

“When you told Hobie about it tonight, I had Lyla run the algorithm for your canon… His liver has been on the brink for a couple days and it looks like tonight’s the night it finally gives out.”

“Can I save him?” You asked tightly, eyes locked to the floor as the tears burned behind your eyes. “If I go home now and call the ambulance, can I?”

“You tell me how great the ambulance response in your neighborhood is.” He deadpanned and you sighed heavily, knowing he was right.

“I still wanna go home.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“He shouldn’t die alone.”

“You can’t change it… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so invested?” You looked up at him with a newfound anger burning behind your eyes, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “What the hell does my life matter to you?”

“Because..” He sighed before he knelt in front of you. “I see so much of Gabriella in you, arañita.. And I can see you’re hurting.”

Your bottom lip quivered and the tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t even realized that you wanted someone to notice things like your pain. You just wanted someone to pay attention to you and not feel like you were a background character in your own home, to feel like you were alone in the one place you were supposed to be safest.

“I’m just-“ You began, though your voice broke. “I’m so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.”

“I know, mija.” He nodded. “But remember this.”

He turned your forearm so you’d see the words in your own sloppy, tiny handwriting.

“Keep your head up and don’t lose twice.” He read the words before he put hands on your shoulders. “You’re so strong, Y/N.”

“I’ll end up like him.” You said bitterly but your immediate sniffle iced any venom in your tone. “I’ll end up a pathetic loser that passes out in the kitchen… I’ll abandon the people that need me when they need me the most. I-“

He shook his head and pulled you in for a tight hug, cutting off what would’ve been the most self-degrading sentence you could’ve mustered.