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iamumbra195 · 11 months

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Home Is Where The Heart Is

(Spider-Verse Fanfic) “Miles?” Panic sparked in his chest at the sound of his mother’s voice and he shot up from the ground, moving to grab his jacket only to hesitate just inches away. Did he want to keep lying to them after this? Did he want to bear the loneliness of it once again, to hide that part of him from the very people who he’d fought to protect for days on end?

Miles tells his parents about him being Spider-Man

In the aftermath of the battle against Spot, Miles had swung home on a broken leg, several fractured ribs, a concussion, and a sprained ankle. His body was bruised and aching all over but he couldn’t bear to stand in the wreckage that had been left behind in the wake of their fight.

Not when he knew his parents would be home waiting for him.

His phone had gone missing somewhere in the last two days but the hazy fog in his mind and the sharp jolt of pain that shot through his body with every movement was too overbearing to focus on anything besides swinging as safely as he could.

The sight of his window was like a breath of fresh air and he crawled through it without a care for subtlety. He slumped to the ground, his breath coming out ragged and faint as he lay motionless on the ground. The smell of home– his home– was soothing, wrapping around him like a warm blanket as his eyes burned with tears and the events of the last two days crashed down on him all at once.

He was so tired.

He had been chased and beaten down by hundreds of people– some of them being his friends, he had been stranded in another world with another version of himself, he had been fighting Spot on his own while the others handled Miguel, his dad and mom had almost died –

It was too much.

He wanted his dad, he wanted the sense of security that came with his hugs and the sweet nothings he would whisper when Miles was still young enough to go to his parent’s room when he had a nightmare.

And that was exactly what this was; a nightmare.

Only it was one he couldn’t wake up from.

His breath hitched and his eyes blurred with overflowing tears that he blinked away.

“Miles?”

Panic sparked in his chest at the sound of his mother’s voice and he shot up from the ground, moving to grab his jacket only to hesitate just inches away.

Did he want to keep lying to them after this? Did he want to bear the loneliness of it once again, to hide that part of him from the very people who he’d fought to protect for days on end?

The door creaked open before he could come to a decision and he shrouded himself from her view, watching as his mom’s face crumpled at the sight of his empty room before she closed her eyes (they were brownbrownbrown, not green, brown like his). His stomach churned with guilt at the sight of the pained expression on her face.

He’d never wanted to hurt her or his dad when he became Spider-Man but the longer time went on the more it seemed like this power– this responsibility was a curse he couldn’t get rid of. He wanted them to be proud of him, not to look at him and wonder where they had gone wrong, where they had failed him.

They always supported him, always tried to understand and maybe his dad was a hardass at times but he had been trying to understand Miles’ perspective ever since Uncle Aaron died. It was Miles’s own inability to tell them the truth that slowly caused the rift between them to grow, the fracture in their relationship that his father had fought so hard to mend.

It was his fault.

“Mami,” he called softly just as she was about to leave, slowly flickering into visibility when she wheeled around to face him, her face lighting up with relief.

“Miles! We were so worried – ”

Her voice broke off when she saw the condition he was in, her face falling in alarm– the torn suit, the uncomfortable way he hunched over himself, the dried blood staining his face.

“... Miles?” she whispered softly, her voice tinged with horror that forced him to tear his gaze away from hers, unwilling to see the look on her face as she drew closer hesitantly– warily, his mind whispered venomously.

His lips trembled as his eyes burned with tears once more, suddenly terrified of the vulnerability that came with exposing this part of his life to his mother. Something thick lodged itself in his throat the longer the silence stretched, a mix of fear and dread swirling in his chest as his mind raced through hundreds of scenarios.

What if she didn’t accept it, what if she shunned him, what if–

Warm hands encased his face, guiding his gaze up to meet his mother’s as she crouched next to him. There was no accusation in her eyes, only intense worry and fear– for him, he realized a moment too late. “What happened, mijo?” she asked carefully, like he was glass on the verge of shattering.

His face crumbled, lurching forward to hug her as tears slipped down his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t– I’m sorry,” he sobbed into her shoulder, a mantra of broken apologies escaping his lips as he clung to her as if he were a child.

She didn’t hesitate to hug him back, soothing the edge of jagged, icy panic in his chest as her arms wrapped around him in a tight enough grip that it was reassuring, grounding as something brittle and frail crumbled inside him.

She smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, an act that was usually comforting but sent a shudder of pain down his spine thanks to the still-bleeding welts and she pulled away just a little concern etched into her face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and that same terrified look she’d had in her eyes before– terrified that she would lose her son, terrified because of Miles.

“Miles? Qué te pasa? Where are you hurt?” Mami asked frantically, pulling back further to examine him.

Miles wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and pretend that the last two days hadn’t happened, to bask in the unspoken promise of safety and security his parents’ presence exuded but he knew he had to do something about his injuries lest they heal wrong.

It had happened once when May was still around and she had broken his nose all over again before setting it right and sending him home.

He took a few deep breaths before wiping his tears away and collecting himself as best as he could with the frayed strings of his emotional stability, grimacing at the overpowering scent of his own body odor along with the sickeningly familiar metallic scent of blood.

Nausea bubbled in his stomach all of a sudden, his head swimming and pounding as black spots danced across his vision. He managed to spit out his injuries before what leftover adrenaline had been fueling him diminished and he faded out of consciousness

The next hour or so was a blur for the most part with Miles floating in and out of consciousness, catching little snippets of what was happening around him. He caught sight of his dad at one, a wave of relief loosening the anxious knot in his chest before he finally drifted to sleep.

Miles woke up slowly, blinking his eyes open before letting them fall shut again, content in the space between sleeping and waking as he buried his face back into the soft pillow bracketing his head. The blankets wrapped around him were heavy and warm, their weight comforting. He breathed softly, unwilling to move despite the fact that his mind was slowly beginning to become more aware.

He shifted a little, tugging his blankets tighter around himself and savoring the warmth. Most of the pain he’d been suffering through before had dulled to a faint throbbing ache that hardly even registered as he settled into a more comfortable position.

Blunt nails gently scratched his scalp and he relaxed into the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as he let out a content sigh. It took a few more seconds for him to reluctantly wonder where he was, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he turned his bleary gaze up to see his dad sitting by his head.

The events of last night suddenly came rushing back and Miles shot up from his bed– the living room couch– a knot of terror and panic forming in his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everything’s okay, Miles,” his dad reassured him hastily, hands firmly gripping his shoulders and forcing him to look at the steady, comforting expression on his dad’s face. “Everything’s okay.”

“Do you… know?” Miles croaked, terrified once more of the vulnerability that came with his parents knowing about that side of his life. He wanted to tell them but his dad’s disapproval often rang in his mind when he contemplated doing so.

Dad’s face did something weird, looking almost pained as he closed his eyes for a short few seconds. “Yes, your mother was…” he trailed off before shaking his head. “Yes, I know about you being Spider-Man.”

Hearing it said out loud felt like a dirty secret had been made public, something private and personal aired for all to see. Something to be ashamed of when it was usually something that brought him a sense of pride and accomplishment.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say, a pathetic apology for countless things– Uncle Aaron’s death, the numerous sleepless nights his dad had endured thanks to his positive relationship with Spider-Man, the fight with Spot.

The look on his dad’s face softened into something weary as he scrubbed his face. “...I’ve watched you almost die so many times in over a year. I saw you fight Kingpin… Miles, you could’ve died so many times yesterday and I wouldn’t have had any idea,” he said, his voice strangled like he was going to cry.

“Dad, I wasn’t… I was fine,” he tried to reassure, the defense lame to his own ears.

Dad bristled and Miles’s shoulders curled up to his ears when he turned to him with an incredulous expression on his face. “ Fine? That’s what you call fine?” he hissed.

“Jeff,” his mom warned as she stepped into the room, looking just as exhausted as his dad, who deflated, anger bleeding away just as quickly as it had come.

“Sorry. This is a lot. This…” Dad trailed off without finishing his sentence.

Miles knew he needed to explain, needed to say something so the words that spilled from his mouth were unscripted, nothing like the scenarios he had built in his mind because this wasn’t the way he wanted them to find out.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you but I didn’t know what else to do and I was scared you wouldn’t– I didn’t know what else to do. After Uncle Aaron–”

Dad sucked in a sharp breath, disbelief and horror etched into his face. “You were there. In the alley with Aaron last year, you were that Spider-Man– Miles, I pointed my gun at you! I could’ve hurt my own–”

Now both his parents looked terrible, exhausted and scared all because of him.

“It’s not your fault, Dad,” Miles whispered, desperate to reassure his father but terrified of their rejection all the same.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself so he could properly explain without tripping over his words. Somehow telling his parents the truth seemed more daunting than anything he’d ever done, the prospect of their rejection hanging over his head like a herald of bad news.

The nightmares of their disapproval, of being sneered at or thrown in jail or out of the house even though he knew they would never do that haunted him day and night, his lies heavy on his tongue but the icy rush of fear that shot through his body was terrible in comparison.

“I wanted to tell you for so long– I knew I needed to tell you after everything with Spot. But there were people like me, other spider-people so I thought that I had people in my corner, that I would be okay but they didn’t– they didn’t listen to me. You were right, Mom, they didn’t– I didn’t belong there, they didn’t accept me. I broke my promise, I know but I… I know I should’ve told you and I was trying to… it was just complicated. I was scared you’d make me give up Spider-Man, that you wouldn’t… love me the same.”

His last few words were said in a barely audible whisper but they rang in the silence following his explanation, a weight falling off his shoulders when they finally slipped from his mouth before it was quickly replaced with heavy dread.

His gaze flitted between his mother’s crestfallen expression, like he had broken her heart with how much he doubted their love for him, and his dad… Dad looked the same way he had the day of Uncle Aaron’s funeral, conflicted and heartbroken all at once, his eyebrows drawn into a soft frown that made it look like he was going to cry.

Neither of them said anything, the silence growing heavier with every soft tick of the clock fixed on the wall and Miles barely managed to refrain from fidgeting, limiting himself to picking at the skin around his nails.

“Oh, Miles,” his mom said softly, pain clear in her eyes as she drew closer, cupping his face carefully like he was something fragile, something precious. “We love you, we’ll always love you no matter what. Don’t ever doubt that. As much as I hate the idea of you putting yourself in danger, you came home and that’s what matters most. I’m sorry we made you feel like you couldn’t trust us.”

Tears burned in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time and he blinked them away, shaking his head a little. “It’s not your fault… I trust you, I just… I didn’t want to hurt you. Me being Spider-Man almost got you killed last night.”

“No,” Dad denied fiercely and Miles’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand much of what was going on with you and those other… Spider-people but we chose to go out last night because it was our job. Our responsibility.”

Oh, how Miles hated that word.

Sometimes he wished his dad hadn't picked a career that put him in the direct line of fire of multiple villains, armed with nothing but a gun and his face bared for everyone to see.

“Spot attacked because of me, he wanted to… he said he wanted to take everything away from me, that he was going to destroy everything. If I had just–”

“Miles, you can’t dwell on the what-ifs. You did the best that you could and you stopped him,” his dad interrupted, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder gently. “I’m proud of you, Miles.”

The last of the tension in Miles’ body bled away with that admission and he threw himself at his dad, wrapping his arms around the man and hugging him as hard as he could without hurting him.

Dad let out a quiet oof, before hugging Miles back just as fiercely and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He melted into the steady security that came with being in his dad’s arms, warmth curling in his chest at his dad’s acceptance.

“You know this doesn’t mean I’m letting you off the hook?”

“Dad,” Miles huffed.

Mami laughed quietly as she joined the hug, her arm resting over his shoulders and her hand rubbing absent circles on his bicep.

“Spider-Man or not, I’m gonna be on your ass from now on and you better check in with me and your mother every time you go out, you got that?”

Miles flushed at the deliberate callback to the little remark he’d made during his conversation with his dad as Spider-Man, shrinking a bit in embarrassment before fully processing what his dad said and what?

He gaped at his dad, pulling away just enough to see his face and attempt to detect any deception in his eyes.

“You mean… you’re not going to make me stop? You’re okay with me being Spider-Man?”

“We wanted to,” Mami said softly and Miles’ stomach sank a little bit. “We’re proud of all the good you’ve done but we’d never be okay with the idea of you putting yourself in harm’s way. We’ve seen you pick up cats from trees, we’ve seen you save people from fires and it will always scare me to see you jump off buildings with nothing but a web to hold you. But we know you, we know you won’t stop even if we try to tell you to stay put. I’d rather be able to watch over you than have you running around behind my back.”

A part of him wanted to protest and say that he wouldn’t completely disregard their words but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit still while others were getting hurt. For all that his father ranted about Spider-Man and how much he disliked him, the ideals Spider-Man upheld and the ideals he’d instilled in Miles were one and the same.

He had the power to fight back and do his part, how could he possibly hide in his home, pretending that he couldn’t make a difference when he could?

He hugged both his parents, squishing them all into one tightly knit embrace.

“Okay, I gotta ask. Do the webs come out of you or–”

“Dad, Miles groaned, an exasperated grin pulling at his lips with the familiar question.

“What? My son is Spider-Man, I think I have the right to ask that now.”

Maybe Miles had failed to fulfill his promise to his mom but he would always, always come back home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I love the morales family with my whole heart

I rewatched some parts of the movie to write this and Rio's speech is so cute, she cares about Miles so much that it made we wanna cry I wanted to write Jeff as like a sturdy presence in Miles' life because no matter how much they argue, his dad is always there when he needs it most but I also wanted to write his foot-in-mouth syndrome so we got this as a result Plus, the symbolism and double meaning with Rio's speech and Miles coming home and not getting lost, and then he tried to do that at the end of the movie but got stranded on E-42- ugh, Miles and his family mean so much to me, I have so many feeling about them

Check out my Ao3 for my other fics: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbra195/pseuds/Umbra195

#miles morales #identity reveal #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man #spiderverse fanfic #post-canon fic #family feels #jefferson morales #jeff morales #rio morales #miles morales is trying his best XD #rio and jeff are awesome parents #i love that whole family they deserve the world and if any of them die in the next movie #i will riot #if gwen or peter b die i will riot as well because spider-man needs a happy ending for once in their lives #and the spider-man better miles and the rescue gang #and if pavitr fades out of existent i will murder someone

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deenoss · 1 year

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Dreamcatcher Chptr. 59

Trigger warning: kidnapping, death, drugging

Crickets chirped within the junkyard, the moon high up in the sky that only it created the dullest illumination. The atmosphere was all too unsettling, even more so for the fact that not only was there a possibly deranged and armed Nathan Prescott somewhere in the junkyard, but the additional paranoia from watching a few too many horror movies increased the intensity in the atmosphere.

Using her phone light, Max illuminated the path from behind Clark as he trekked cautiously, holding the revolver in his dominant hand.

"Stop stomping around, Clark!" Max reprimanded in a hush voice.

"Okay, okay. Just be ready for anything. Follow me..."

Together, they explored the junkyard on their way to the spot they last saw Chloe's body. Max could hear her friend grumble hate-filled promises of mutilation and violence onto Nathan, and it terrified her.

As they came up to Chloe's grave, Max kept a small distance from Clark as she watched him kneel down to observe his sister's burial place. Her phone hand became tired, so Max swapped it over to her non-dominant hand and stared closely at the hole exposing the head of Chloe's body. When the smell reached Max's nostrils, she took a couple slow steps back when she felt something pinch her neck.

"C-Clark... look out," Max cried weakly as the effects of the drug she was injected with caused her to feel a sudden overwhelming wave of numbness.

Clark's head turned to look over at Max when he realised the light was no longer on him and she was lying on her side, a weak struggle to stay away for as long as she could.

A tall, slim silhouette lurked beside Max. The right arm moved, extending towards Clark. The figure held a gun, startling Clark.

"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy! I-I'm dropping it. I surrender. Just take it easy, Nathan. I- oh you have got to be fucking kidding me..." Clark exclaimed, tossing the gun in his hand to the side.

BANG!!

As a helpless Max Caulfield watched things unfold, a loud bang went off.

A gunshot.

She watched Clark's head get thrown back by an invisible force. His body followed in the direction of the bullet, pushing him backwards onto the ground over his sister's grave. When the body hit the ground, blood pooled out of the exit wound in Clark's skull.

"No... no..."

With what strength she had left, she tilted her phone to shine the light up at the triggerman's face, shedding light on his true identity.

Mark Jefferson.

His cold emotionless stare met Max's blue orbs until her eyes became too heavy to keep open, to the point that she succumbed to the effects of the drugs he injected her with. By picking up Max's unconscious body, Jefferson carried her to his car hidden outside of the parking lot and drove off to the Dark Room to do with her as he wished.

With the night still young, Jefferson felt a sense of pride and accomplishment in kidnapping his favourite student.

The journey to the old Prescott-owned barn was a quick journey for Jefferson. He was both excited and desperate to snoop through Max's diary and see her personal photos before taking some of her to display once she'd come around.

There was little effort in carrying Max into the bunker. Jefferson was careless and lazy to not secure himself inside - he believed that his location was completely secure, therefore disregarding any safety. Gently, Jefferson laid Max in a chair centred in front of his equipment. His boots clapped against the floor as he walked around the neatly furbished room to grab some duct tape to keep Max bound to the chair.

"Oh Max... why did you have to get so nosy? Now look at what you've done. Your best friend is dead and so is Kate. And now, you've killed Victoria. I promise it'll be painless..." Jefferson murmured to the unconscious girl in front of him.

He then proceeded to capture Max's photographs in her unconscious state.

"This angle highlights your purity, see? The slightly unconscious model is often the most open and honest. No vanity or posing, just... pure expression. Oh Christ... look at that perfect face."

The effects of the drugs in Max's system dissipated. Max stirred where she was laid, her head rocked slightly as she felt her leg get touched and moved into a different position. When Jefferson noticed that Max had come around, he became visibly upset the moment she could feel her body get slowly revived.

"Hold that stare, there! STAY! STILL!!"

Jefferson positioned himself parallel with Max's head and knelt down, placing his expensive camera close to the frame of his glasses in order to claim another photograph when suddenly Max shifted, causing the image to become blurry once the flash went off.

"Oh, Max! You fucked up my shot!" Jefferson barked angrily. That anger quickly subsided as it was replaced by his perverted and sinister voice at the same time he resumed taking photos of Max. "But please don't worry. We have all the time in the world... for now. I knew you were special the second I saw your first 'selfie.' Yes, I still hate that word. But I love the purity of your own image. Not like Chloe, who was too willing to let herself be captured in my image... But, of course, she did have some unique aspect about her. Until she died of an accidental overdose. Wait..."

An idea popped inside his sick, demented brain, Jefferson stood up on both feet and moved around to Max's feet and spread his legs a suitable distance in order to capture another angle of Max. When he was satisfied by that pose he forced her into, he moved back to his previous spot and laid down on his front for a close-up shot.

It was a painstakingly slow process for Max to feel anything in her body due to the strength of the dosage he injected her with - but nowhere near enough to kill. All Max wanted was to get away, but she could not do so in the position she was in. So she hoped that she was subtle in fighting against the tape around her feet while his attention was at her face.

"If only Nathan could see this setup. He tried so hard, but you can't just throw a few subjects around and expect a cohesive style or theme. But he had an eye for shadows. And an eye for a whole lot more, as his elite family will find out, along with Arcadia Bay. Nice... good... Oh, those eyes..."

A disturbing giggle escaped Jefferson as he repositioned himself all around Max, capturing as many photographs as his sickened heart desired. Truly, he was at the precipice of his career, in both job and 'hobby.'

The next thing he did was upload the photos to his computer and spent a couple minutes organising a large vertical and horizontal print of Max's portrait. The printer was automatically activated and made loud noises as it began to disperse the photos. Those photos were then put in a manila folder that Jefferson placed on a trolley with his drugs and such.

"It's just too bad you're so goddamn nosy, Max! But this room, is under twenty-four-seven surveillance so all I had to do was text you from Nathan's phone, and you fell right into my hands. You really should have focused on schoolwork, not private detecting, with your boyfriend. I am sorry that I killed- that Nathan killed him in self-defence. Nobody will be surprised, or care. Though I promise, people will care when you die, Max. Soon... very soon. I still have use of you. But once that's done, soon you will be too."

The more Max had to ensure his monologing, the more restless she became.

Out anxiety and trepidation, Max finally awoke and fidgeted where she laid, using more and more of her returning strength to fight against the restraints bound tightly around her thin wrists and ankles.

It was to Jefferson's estranged sense of humour that he watched her struggle helplessly, begging, crying for her late friends. In order to put her at ease, Jefferson retrieved a trolley stacked with syringes, needles, gloves and drugs. His right hand grabbed ahold of a syringe and held a bottle with the other and absorbed some of the fluid into the barrel and turned towards Max with the malicious intent to calm her nerves.

"Now don't move or this will... hurt... much."

With a sudden burst of energy, Max used both of her legs and thrusted them at the trolley. The opened drug bottle was knocked over, spilling its contents over the folder.

"YOU STUPID BITCH!! YOU JUST DON'T LISTEN, DO YOU?! In fact, you never did hear much in my class... If you had, you might have seen all this coming. I've had my eye on you, and I've noticed that you've been more... fearless, this week than maybe your whole life. Remember my number one rule: always... take... the shot."

Max whimpered fearfully as she felt his hand grope her neck tightly, followed by a sharp pinch like a bee sting. The effects of the drugs took instant effect as Max quickly succumbed into unconsciousness once again.

#life is strange #max caulfield #mark jefferson #kidnapping #murder #death #photoshoot #drugging #the dark room

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