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[beatemall]

< BadMachine2004 > — normal handle
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< Sunflower > — anonymous posting

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[Action]

[beatemall]

[It's more than a couple hours before Miles returns home. By the time Miles gets to the second from the top floor of A-Tower, the sun has long set. He'd left early in the morning in an attempt to clear his head, but running into Shoyo only made things... Maybe not worse, but he feels more scrambled than ever. He'd spent the rest of the day wandering, processing the things he's experienced and the pain he shared... But it doesn't feel like any weight's been lifted from his shoulders.

His face hurts, especially around the sallow tissue surrounding his eyes, where his body desperately wanted to cry but could only really manage to bleed. The ichor that'd run down his cheeks has been wiped away for the most part, but still left behind dark, smudged streaks that not even the rain could wash away, despite how soaked he is. All the way through his jacket, his sweatshirt, his sweatpants. Miles doesn't even know how much a shower could help the cold that's seeped deep into his bones.

Miles also doesn't realize that Peter's been waiting for him, not until he flicks the lights on and gets a good jumpscare from a pooka in the dark. He gets some decent air, the way he nearly jumps out of his own skin at the sudden appearance—but then surprise ebbs and he's right back to looking sour in the only way a brooding teenager could.]

Don't sneak up on me, man.

[Miles grunts out before shoving his hands back into his pockets and trying to make an attempt for his room, clearly not in the mood to talk.]

[Action]

[heyunderoos]

[Normally, Peter would readily take the hint Miles doesn't want to talk. He usually tries to give Miles space.
Today, really isn't that day.

The pooka's ears flatten against his skull as he's immediately intercepting the lich's path, standing in his way. In their times together, Miles is likely more used to Peter's more anxious but easy personality, not a very puffed up pooka frowning up at him.

Since they got back from the backrooms, he's barely seen or talked with Miles at all. The lack of any response today hadn't made the pooka any less worried.]

Miles, what is going on-? I've been worried about you!

[beatemall]

[Miles pauses in his stride towards his room, shoulders hiked up to his ears as he's caught off guard by the sudden tone Peter takes with him. It startles him, reminds him too much of... Well, of what he's lost. And that? That angers him.]

I'm fine, aren't I?! [He snarls back, barely canting his head to address Peter from over his shoulder. He doesn't like it, this aqueously familial feeling.] It's not like I died again, or something! I was just taking a walk, got damn!

[He starts again, heading across the communal space and towards his bedroom door.]

[heyunderoos]

Obviously you aren't! [Peter answers back firmly, immediately trailing after Miles. This is probably the first time the older teen has taken this kind of tone with Miles at all. Peter has no idea what he's doing, beyond being worried about a friend.

Peter is shorter, and unfortunately quicker on his feet due to proximity to the ground.] What is going on with you?

[beatemall]

[Peter is fast, far faster than Miles could be even if he'd been running for his bedroom door. It seems Peter is intent on making this miserable for both of them, huh? Well, if he wants to know, he'll find out the hard way.

Miles stamps one sneakered foot down, wet rubber squeaking against concrete as he glares down at the pooka.]

Why do you care so god damn much?! [His lip curls, baring white bone against black and rotting gums.] You're not even my Peter, so stop acting like this shit is nothing more than convenient!

[heyunderoos]

[His ears pin back against his skull before he fluffs up somewhat. Pointing at Miles as he speaks. He's hurt by the lasing out, but doesn't leave.]

I don't have to be your Peter to care, Miles! [He tries to stand a little taller, but it doesn't completely work.] We're friends, Miles! I'm worried about you! I want to know what is going on! Trying to carry that weight by yourself doesn't help!

[beatemall]

[He bristles further, pulling back, shoulders squared. For a moment, he looks very near to throwing a punch—detached hands balling into seething fists at his sides—but he doesn't.]

You can't do anything, Peter! No one can! [Miles throws his arms from his sides, gesturing around them.] Is there someone who can make me wake up from this fucking nightmare place?! No! For fuck sakes, Pete— I died, I-I killed!

[And in an instant, all of the rage is gone. In an instant, the will to fight leaves him, and his shoulders round down.]

Spider-Man's a murderer, Peter.

[heyunderoos]

[The most reaction Peter seems to give at the threat of a punch is his ears flattening against his skull, but he doesn't move. He is steady, just waiting on Miles.

Peter is quiet as Miles finds his voice, his words softening the pooka's expression. The frustration he's carrying easing.]

Miles... [He reaches out to touch the other teenager's arm gently. He wishes he had something perfect to say, something that made everything better.

But things aren't that simple.

When are they ever that simple?] I'm sorry. [It feels hollow to say, worse than 'it gets better'.] I know that doesn't mean much of anything. I'm sorry all of this is happening, that you're stuck here.

Miles, we're all murderers here. We can't stop that, we can't pretend it's fine, or perfect, but we can't let it kill us either.

[beatemall]

[Anger shifts and gives way to something else. An indescribable pain underlying shock and disbelief.]

You're sorry? [Miles parrots, his tone incredulous, pitched higher as his hands come to his hand and catch in his dense curls.] So what you- you just accept it? That's it, huh??

[There's no escape. Not from Ryslig, not from hurting people, hurting his friends. He wants to cry so badly, his entire face scrunching up with a furrow brow and narrowed eyes, his lip quivering even—and still they won't come. What he could give to just be able to cry again.]

Can't you see how fucked up that is?! You're just giving up on, o-on helping people, then?!

[heyunderoos]

[Peter is calm, far calmer than Miles. The anger from earlier has snuffed out for now, softened back into worry. He is a steady stone against the current of grief sweeping Miles away.]

Miles. [His voice is gentle, even if his point is sharp. A reminder that the weight of survival is a noose around all of their necks.

He steps forward into Mile's space, shifting into a human shape to be about even with the younger teen.] I know it's fucked up. I'm exceedingly aware it is. That never stops being obvious, no matter how comfortable people get here.

Until we can actually stop the fog from twisting us into this, we need to help where we can. We need to be here for each other. We need to help as much as we can. Even if we can't- stop everything, we're still helping. We're still Spider-Man. We just need to redefine what it means to be Spider-Man. Even if it's not pretty, or perfect, or what we want.

[He hesitates, just reaching out to rest a hand against Mile's shoulder, brows pinching together.]

I was unhappy enough, I tried fighting the gods with an artifact I found. I studied it, I thought I knew what I was doing... It didn't work how I planned, I ended up hurting more people in the process.