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visions--of--collisions · 3 months ago

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for @spidereticas who requested 400 words of something I have fragments of: here is .. more than 400 words of an inspired-by/follow-up to I Get So Hungry (When You Say You Love Me) by AbiCats16, in which an experimental trial at Spider Society goes poorly for Hobie (and for Miles, in turn)

EXCERPT: untitled vampire!hobie sequel fic • hobie/miles, drama, romance, angst, friendship, established relationship; rated: m

“Ope,” said LYLA, somewhere close to Hobie’s ear. “Incoming!”

Peter crossed the cell to get the door, and Miguel dismissed the last of the medical team with a sigh. Miles’ anxious voice carried over the noise of their departure; Hobie rolled his shoulders and climbed to his feet.

“You’re cleared to go,” Miguel informed him, pointedly not looking up from his readings as Miles led the charge across the room with Margo and Peter in tow. “Your system’s clean, but I’m going to ask that you take the next twenty-four hours to rest. Margo here’s agreed to cover your patrols for the evening; Pavitr will take over when she’s done.”

“Just call me Renfield, I guess,” Margo drawled. She watched with raised eyebrows as Miles reached up to grab Hobie’s face, turning it this way and that like he was looking for physical proof that the serum’s effects had faded.

Like he wasn’t the one with the scars to prove its viability.

“Let’s not,” Miguel grunted. Hobie snorted. Margo hadn’t been privy to the trials until she’d shown up for her morning shift and Peter’d convinced him to rope her in, according to the texts Miles had sent from Medbay. Miguel hadn’t been happy about it then, and he wasn’t now, it seemed like, regardless of how much sense the choice made. He dismissed the projected screens with a curt motion. “There were no previous reports of any side effects, but if anything feels off, ping LYLA and come back to HQ. That applies to you both,” he added, with a meaningful look Miles’ way.

Miles made an affirmative noise, though his focus remained on Hobie. “You look wiped, man,” he observed. He thumbed across the hollow under Hobie’s left eye.

“M’alright,” he mumbled. He caught Miles’ wrist and managed a smile. “Better for seeing you in one piece.” There was an adhesive bandage matching Miles’ skintone just visible under the cowl neck of the sweatshirt Medbay must have supplied him with. The tall boots and the slate-coloured trousers had to be theirs too then, because getting him into anything that tight that wasn’t his Suit was usually a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of occurrence.

Miles chuffed. “‘In one piece?’ Are you kidding, I slept through the whole thing. I dunno what they gave me, but that stuff was potent.”

“This man was fully snoring and drooling when I walked in there,” Margo agreed. “Sheets fucked up, pillows on the damn floor. Giving the whole ward a free show! Pete really had my ass worried for nothing.” She folded her arms, tucking a neatly-folded bundle that looked awfully like Miles’ Suit into the crook of her elbow. “I thought I was gonna be hauling both your corpses through a portal, the way this dude was talking.”

“In my defence, you kinda blipped out of there before I could elaborate,” Peter pointed out. Hobie noticed he was still just in his Suit, for once; his memory of the night was all over the place, practically blank in some spots and almost excruciatingly vivid in others. MJ’s dressing gown had vanished in one of the latter - really, in the clearest stretch - after Jess and Miguel had burst in to rescue Miles before things went any further south.

Didn’t really take an educated guess to work out what had happened to it.

“Well, you know, you tell a girl one of her friend’s in a cell dosed up on Nosferatu juice and the other’s bleeding out in Medbay, it really lights a fire under her!”

Miles’ pulse was strong and steady under his thumb. Hobie didn’t remember feeling for it. He loosened his grip and let Miles slip free.

Miles grabbed his forearm before he could step back. “You good to get outta here?” he asked.

The hopeful tilt to his smile made Hobie’s answer easier than it probably should’ve been. “Yeah, mate.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good. You?” he couldn’t help but ask. There was none of the feverish sheen or the washed-out look of his skin that had shocked Hobie into letting Miles go after their last ill-fated conversation, even though he was looking for it. His hair might have suffered a bit of shrinkage while he spent the night in a hospital bed, but it was negligible.

The shirt was thick and its sleeves fell past Miles’ knuckles. He couldn’t make out any telltale bump where the gauze might be taped over an IV site. Hobie decided he’d ask when they had a second alone.

Assuming Miles was feeling up to that any time soon. Who could blame him if he wasn’t? “I have been ready, Hobes,” Miles informed him. He was smiling, his eyes creased at the corners in the way that meant Miles was laughing at him.

The knot in his stomach unravelled a bit. “Alright, shit. Don’t hang about on my account.”

Miles reached up just in time to intercept the folded bundle of his suit before it hit him in the head. “I am also ready to leave, if we’re all done here with this Twilight bullshit,” Margo chirped.

“Great. Thanks. How do you even know what that is?” Miles groused. He tucked himself against Hobie’s side, looping an arm around his lower back like he was ready to do the walking for him if need be. Hobie waited until Miles met his eye to drape his arm around his shoulders with exaggerated enthusiasm, pecking his temple when he glanced away sheepishly.

“Are you kidding, Pavitr lives for those movies! He’s got Collector’s Editions. Gayatri hates them and it’s like he doesn’t even care.” She oof-ed a bit as Hobie hooked his free arm around her avatar’s shoulders, but tucked her hand in between his and Miles’ sides readily enough.

“Huh. You know, that scans, actually,” Peter opined.

“Hmm. Espere un momento,” Miguel interjected, behind them. “You can go from here. LYLA, open access for Peter, por favor.”

“Y’got it!”

Peter rubbed his hands together. “Okay, where to, guys? Straight to ‘138 or should I drop you someplace else?”

Miles shook his head when Hobie glanced at him; Margo rolled her eyes and called up her mask. “Nah, mine’s good. I can give you the coordinates.”

Peter tapped at his Watch’s interface. “Go for it.”

Hobie rattled off the location of the first towpath bridge that came to mind; he hadn’t moored anywhere near there, but they could swing the rest of the way, and he had a better shot at finding Roxie the further afield they were. A minute later, the portal opened up a hole in the adjacent wall of the cell. Miles stuffed his Suit into his waistband, underneath the shirt.

“Okay, you guys, have a good one. Call us if you need anything! Me and Jess and Miguel are all burning the midnight oil this week, so don’t worry about catching us at a weird hour. Reach out whenever. Try and get some rest in the meantime, and make sure you eat, Hobie!”

The three of them waited in front of the portal, staring. “ … Anything else?” Margo prompted him.

“Remember what we talked about,” Miguel said, before he could answer. He was squinting at something LYLA was showing him, half-turned away. Just in case anyone was audacious enough to hope for context clues or a clarification, Hobie supposed.

He didn’t need any, but it was the principal of the thing.

“ … Cool. Alright.” Even with her headgear donned, Margo managed to give Hobie a disbelieving look. “Catch you later.”

She nudged Hobie forward; on his other side, Miles’ hand closed around the arm that hugged him close, and they walked through the dimensional door.

The portal dropped them into the half-light under a bridge in Islington. Experience had quickly taught Hobie to note the coordinates that pointed away from nearby bodies of water (it hadn’t been a learning curve so much as one or two deeply unpleasant and inconvenient swandives directly into the Thames) so instead they fetched up against a wall covered in faded graffiti and posters and some piss, which was still better than the alternative.

Between the three of them, it was Miles and Hobie who managed to cling to enough of their wits to stick out a leg before they all face-planted into the bricks. Margo let out a surprised breath where Hobie had twisted her back by the shoulders, on reflex.

The ruddy cast on the walls dimmed and died as the portal closed up behind them. In the gloom it left behind, they collected themselves and took stock. Hobie lifted his right arm high enough to check his watch without letting go of Miles. It had been after ten in the morning when the last tests declared him free of any traces or symptoms; his HQ watch had already dutifully ticked over to local time. 17:02, the glowing orange face read.

“Huh. Well this feels pretty on-brand.” Margo’s gear shone lilac when Hobie turned; her silhouette was stark against the fog spilling into the far end of the tunnel.

“What do you mean?” Miles asked. He reached up and squeezed Hobie’s hand, waiting for him to take his arm back before he turned to consider the other end of the tunnel, which looked much the same.

“I dunno, the London fog, this Dracula nonsense. You know?” Margo put her hands on her hips, frowning as she glanced about. Her lenses multiplied. “Where’s the good ship Demeter at?”

“Not here.” Hobie stretched a bit and checked his web-shooters. “We’ll swing over. Haven’t seen Roxie in a bit; I wanna find out where she’s got to.”

“‘Find her?’ In that?” Margo said, doubtfully. Her peripheral lenses changed colour as she tabbed through different visual modes, casting soft rainbow reflections off the surface of the water.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Miles watching the rippling colours as he clipped on his web shooters and dug out his mask. Hobie adjusted his guitar strap. “S’fine, I know her usual spots. Let’s cut.”

Miles’ and Margo’s footsteps were bare whispers following the echo of his boots as Hobie lead them out onto the towpath. In the open, the mist hung thicker in his lungs than it did in the air; Hobie tugged his mask on and told them to stay close, just in case.

The approaching rumble of a lorry made him straighten up, and the other two turned to follow his gaze. Briefly, as its headlights cut through the haze, Hobie’s eyes caught on the sliver of skin between the slouchy neck of Miles’ jumper and his mask, where the bandage underneath strained against the torsion of his neck. Then Miles turned to him, the lenses of his mask refractive and questioning. Hobie nodded and threw out a web after the truck, letting its momentum haul him off the ground.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

#fanfic #spiderverse #asks and things #punkflower #hobie x miles #it started storming out last night i blacked out and then there were 2k words in front of me?? idk #this Will Not be happening again i don't think #also for anyone can guess who roxie is. i will write you a 500+ word punkflower thing 👀👀 of yr choice 👀👀👀👀#🎸🌻#some of us will never sleep again

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