#(( BEE TEE DUBS!! THE OTHER STARTER SHLD BE POSTED THIS WEEKEND!!! ))

[whosmoraless]

In response Miles just groans, blinking one eye before the other. Her face swims into view like a mirage out of a desert; the white of her hood contrasting against the dark sky like a halo. Is this like one final hallucination my brain is cooking up? Or am I actually seeing...?

Gwen's talking to him, leaning over him, but he may well be hearing her from a dimension away, with how muffled her voice is and how long it takes his sluggish brain just to process the words.

What hurts? Everything, honestly. This had to be the worst patrol he's ever had. Normally he's better than this! He'd never, ever be so weak enough to get ambushed!

But he did; against people who knew his fighting style no less. The mangled metal of his webshooters digs into his wrists; almost a distraction from the bile that threatens to creep up his throat as he fully realizes just how bad it is that Gwen of all people is here, seeing him like this.

It takes a herculean effort just to barely recoil away from her, his body twitching and curling like a spider crushed underfoot. When he finally manages to speak, it's a barely-there, broken croak through numbed lips and a heavy tongue.

"Y- you shouldn't be here."

you ever find urself face-down in an alley at like 2am nd you realize, "oh, this might be how i die". every hope and dream ive ever had and everythng ive ever wanted to do and could ever do is all gnna be snuffed. oit right here in some rsndom street on a sunday night while im wearing fuckifjn spandex. and i have school tomrro1w but maybe i wont.

❆ · ( open starter ) · ❆

With a groan, Miles lets his phone fall out of his hand; it somehow being the only thing on him that didn't get broken.

Maybe he's being overdramatic. He doesn't care. Doesn't... really care about much at all, actually. Shock makes you do crazy shit-- like make a vaguely concerning Tumblr post after a bungled patrol then immediately shut his phone off rather than call for help.

Not like he could feasibly do the latter anyways. Last thing he wants is for Spider-man to have a medical record, much less at his mom's hospital. Would the bite have messed with his body enough that he couldn't go through normal medical procedures?

... besides, if Spider-man has to call for help, that doesn't make him much of a protector, huh?

What kind of a protector, a good one at that, gets his ass beaten within an inch of his life on what was supposed to a normal, routine patrol? Crawls away to a random back alley to lick his wounds alone? If anyone saw him like this, he'd never live it down-- assuming he were still alive to see the headline anyways.

Fluffy snowflakes start falling, ever so daintily landing on Miles's overheated body, on his eyelashes. (huh. When did his mask lenses get shattered?) They contrast with the night sky like stars. The city noises turn into a hazy blur, like it's all a million miles away. The cars, a dog barking, the faint background buzz of electrical wires.

Not a bad place to die, Miles thinks with startling calmness.

He didn't expect what he believes is the end of his life to be so.... calm. Atmospheric, almost. Not like he's complaining though; too out of it to be worried. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier. His thoughts slow to what feels like sludge.

He doesn't register the crunch of shoes on pavement approaching him.