#and mr bob is based off of bob from bob's burgers who i also hc to be autistic. yeah you thought you could escape

[milimeters-morales]

part two of that autistic miles oneshot under the readmore! All warnings and pairings still apply ^_^

Word Count: 6k+

Miles loves animals. That’s a known fact. Spider-Man also loves animals. This is a slightly less known fact, but still known by a good amount of people. 

“Thank you so much, Spider-Man,” a parent tells him as he cradles two kittens he rescued from getting ran over by traffic, “I don’t even know how they escaped-”

The kittens meow, finally giving Miles a good reason to look down. The people’s gazes are very heartwarming in a sense, but it was too much emotion for Miles. The parent keeps talking, the child reaching out for the kittens that Miles refuses to hand over until he has to.

Miles smiles warmly, lenses squinting in delight as one kitten tries to paw at his chin. How cute! 

If these kittens were his, he’d name them Coffee and Cocoa. They’re very pretty as well, with spiky brown coats, one of them with faint tabby markings on the legs, and with the most vibrant green eyes he’s ever seen on an animal. They would fit in the palm of his hands if they were curled up, and their pink little bell collars only add to the cuteness. 

“-and we’ll put up a baby gate for them, I promise. Now, what do you say, honey?” Miles catches the last part of the parent’s sentence as they place a hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Thank you Mr. Spider-Man,” the kid tells him with all the intensity and sincerity only toddlers could manage while covered in syrup and dressed in pajamas, and goes to reach for the kittens again.

The kittens meow loudly as the parent swoops in before the sticky hands can touch their delicate fur, and Miles… 

Okay, don’t tell anybody this. Not even Ganke. Actually, especially not Ganke. It’s a bit embarrassing, and he really doesn’t want this to be a running joke the other boy brings up when they’re supposed to be focusing in class, and end up getting them in trouble again. Also, he doesn’t want Ganke to think he’s uncool. Okay? Okay.

So.

Miles meows at the two. Not the two kittens, no, because that's the normal and socially acceptable response in public when you see two kittens meowing and calling out to you. No, Miles Gonzalo Morales, someone who’s literally saved his world (twice!), meowed at the two people in front of him.

“Oh my god,” he immediately tries to start apologizing, but the parent bursts out into laughter when the kid starts meowing back at him. 

This is supposed to be a fun, happy moment. Silly and lighthearted. Spider-Man meowing and a kid meowing back after saving their kittens from death. Miles knows this, and that somehow makes the feeling of shame and…disgust, he realizes, at himself even worse.

But he laughs with the parent, and then the kid, because he knows he’s supposed to. He’s seen enough shows and been around enough people throughout his life to know something that obvious. But in all honesty, he just wants to curl up somewhere, and bite down, slam his head on something, throw himself into a few walls-

And he knows that’s not a normal reaction either, so he just feels more embarrassed as he laughs with the two and waves goodbye. Thank god for the mask, right?

___

Pavitr isn’t a surface hard enough to slam his head on, or throw himself onto to feel something else other than the embarrassment, but at least he can give Miles the pressure he needs.

“I’m just saying, that’s not a normal reaction. Have you ever thought of getting some chew toys?”

He’s not a dog, Pavitr.

“Not like that! I meant one of those chew necklaces, or a fidget toy, just to keep yourself uh… stable. Because you jumping to solutions like that? That is not very stable!”

Miles says nothing. He knew it wasn’t normal, and hearing someone else say it wasn’t stable was something he was always prepared for. Well, sort of prepared for. It stung only a little hearing it, and he knows Pavitr didn’t mean to imply anything too bad, but he was right anyway.

“I tend to be,” Pavitr says, rubbing comforting circles on his back. 

Their legs are intertwined, both in their suits and laying in a web-hammock high above the noise of the city. The stars are much more visible the higher you go, and Pavitr’s been taking the time to point out constellations that Miles doesn’t know the meaning of. He keeps getting off track when the legend he’s telling Miles reminds him of something he did back in his universe, and Miles finds it a bit endearing. Ganke does the same thing, though he manages to circle back to his original point fairly easily.

“I’ll buy you one. Any of us could, really! It’s no big thing. Anyway, it sounds like you just need to meow more, because I can sense you have something to say. And you keep mouthing it on my chest.”

Miles groans quietly and tries not to dig his fingernails into Pavitr as he’s reminded of the events from earlier that day.

Miles goes to groan a bit more dramatically so Pavitr doesn’t think he worsened the mood, because out of everyone he’s met, Pavitr is the most socially awkward. Not even in a nervous wreck way, he’s just so earnest and eager to share what he thinks, that he doesn’t always read the room correctly. But they balance each other out, because Miles always over-reads a room (is that even a thing? Someone let him know) and ends up really anxious about saying the right thing. It’s been happening less and less with each passing day, but the fact that it’s an issue at all…

Anyway, the groan doesn’t come out right. Like, at all. In fact, it’s more like a trilling noise that cats make. 

Patches of himself dance in and out of visibility for the most tense five seconds of Miles’s life, until Pavitr’s lenses squint happily. “You can do that too?! Lucky, I’m so jealous!” he gushes.

Huh?

“Yeah, Gwen and Hobie sometimes do that! You don’t know how badly I want to be able to- to just make a noise that people know means I’m happy without having to constantly smile or actually find the words for,” Pavitr rushes out, fully removing his arms from around Miles to hold his hands between their chest, bringing their foreheads together for a quick second. “That’s the most I can really do, that and hugs, to get my point across when I’m too tired for words.”

Miles wants to ask a lot of questions, mainly “why are you happy about this”, “why aren’t you pushing me away in disgust”, and “can you go back to hugging me”, but he settles for, “what do you mean you can’t do that?”

Too bad his brain loves not listening to him. 

He meows, and this time his camouflage kicks in completely. 

“You’re asking why I can’t make those noises?”

Well, he did say he was good at reading people, Miles thinks.

“I can’t believe I never told you! I didn’t get bitten, my powers are magic,” Pavitr exclaims happily, “yeah, this yogi blessed me, so I don’t actually have spider DNA or other stuff.”

Miles meows again, a questioning tone seeping in. (God, he won’t hear the end of this.)

“Yeah, the DNA! Y’know, how Hobie has glowing organic webs because his spider was SUPER messed up but he can’t use them because he’s not entirely healthy? So he uses the webshooters?”

No, he didn’t know that. God, he’s barely asked about Pavitr’s and Hobie’s pasts… he figured they didn’t bring it up for a reason, and he never felt the need to pry.

“Well, I don’t know if you wanna talk about the other guy,” Pavitr says, voice now a mumble as he makes a clawing motion to reference Miguel, “but it’s kinda like that. Except, uh, the opposite? Sorry if it doesn’t really make sense, I’m getting tired.”

Miles meows again, quieter to match Pavitr’s volume. 

“The purring too. I know the meowing itself isn’t a spider-thing, but I’m 99% sure the purring is, so if you ever start doing that around me, don’t be afraid.”

Right. Okay, yeah. Pavitr’s a sweet guy, he wouldn’t make fun of him about something that he was really insecure (that word felt too weak to describe how he felt) about.

“I mean, maybe you won’t make those- oh okay, well uh-“

A quiet rumbling comes from his chest. Pavitr goes silent and rubs more comforting circles into his back until Miles slowly reappears.

Pavitr wasn’t making fun of him, or secretly thinking of him as some sort of freak who can’t speak like a normal human, Miles knew that. He knew Pavitr better than that, and it was almost insulting to think of the other boy like that. He knows this already.

“I can’t keep talking, okay, so… just… keep purring? It’s super calming,” Pavitr mumbles as he buries his face into the crook of the other’s neck, “I can’t talk anymore. Sorry.”

Miles feels a very brief rush of emotion at the request and the admission, none of which he can name (as per usual), and the purring gets stronger.

___

Hobie chats up the smoking line cook in the back of the hole-in-the-wall Miles likes to frequent on particularly rough days as he orders his food. He can hear their conversation through the walls, and is annoyed by Hobie when he isn’t even involved in the conversation. 

“Who would win, a thousand rats, or five bears on cocaine?”

Miles tries to tune out Hobie’s questions as he orders their food.

It doesn’t really work, and he’s pretty sure the lady taking his order at the counter wonders why he looks so pissed off.

Walking outside and going around the back to drag Hobie away from the poor line cook he’s tormenting with stupid questions. “But you can’t even mix benadryl with-” Miles hears Hobie arguing now, and just grabs him by the collar and tugs him out of the alley.

“I got our food, let’s eat,” he tells the taller boy, who’s busy slapping his hand away and lightly punching his shoulder.

They decide to eat on the steps of a random apartment building near his own. He feels the steam condensing and dripping water into his palms and grimaces.

“What’s that frown for? Food ain’t good?” Hobie asks him around a mouth full of rice and honey chicken.

“Nah, just don’t like the feeling,” Miles says, taking the broccoli and meat out of the rice and putting them in small piles. He scowls at the juice from the meat mixing with the broccoli, and the juices from both soaking the rice with an unbalanced ratio of vegetable flavoring to meat flavoring… it’s silly. It’ll still get eaten, if the look in Hobie’s eyes means anything.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Hobie asks him, getting closer and pointing at the broccoli pile with his fork (which was missing a tine, for some reason).

“Probably not. I don’t think I’m hungry,” Miles tells him, still focused on trying to separate the carrots from the rice. Man, why didn’t he just stick with his usual order?

“I need a yes or no, mate,” Hobie tells him, pulling his fork back.

“But I don’t know, I don’t really get hungry.”

“What?” Hobie looks properly confused, and not in his usual dry “I know you’re lying to me but the lie was so bad it’s intriguing” way, but genuinely. 

“Yeah,” Miles says, feeling more and more embarrassed even though he knows the last person he should feel embarrassed around is Hobie. But he’s just so… cool, in so many ways that Miles isn’t. He doesn’t want him to think he’s weird and just avoid him. Or worse, convince other people to avoid him.

Stop it, he’d never do that to me, Miles pleads. The memory of him meowing last week tries to wash over him, but he beats it back with a stick, forcing his happiest moments to replay in his mind and keeping his hands still so he doesn’t try to bite them. Pavitr wouldn’t judge him, Hobie wouldn’t judge him. Not now, not now, not now , he begs his brain. Behave. Be normal. You’re fine.

“I just… I guess I don’t ever really feel hungry. Like, I get hungry after too long, but I only really know when it’s been that long when the headaches and cramps start. Or the dizziness and all that,” Miles explains, voice getting meeker with each word. Be cool, Morales. For your own sake, just be cool.

“How often are you eating?” Hovie immediately asks him, a hard look in his eye. 

Oh. He’s worried about- “No, look- I’m fine. I eat at the right times y'know, I’m supposed to. Breakfast in the morning, lunch in the afternoon, dinner in the evenings, maybe a midnight snack. So I’m good, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Hobie lets out a (relieved?) sigh, “And what about the times you forget to?“

“Oh, I just don’t get the signal until it gets bad, I guess.”

Hobie stares at him until Miles feels like he’s ready to crawl into the sewers and hide there forever, so he uses the passing of someone exiting the building as an excuse to look away and focus back on his food. 

“So how long has it been since you last ate?” Hobie asks him.

Miles has to count on his fingers, and apparently that action alone is enough for Hobie, because he just huffs and waves his hand for him to stop. “Just eat.”

Miles decides to stop separating the food and shovels a forkful in his mouth, still ending up feeling a little embarrassed.

___

“Ms. Spider-Man, why are you standing like Barbie?” a young girl asks him after he catches her from falling off the balcony. He’s standing on the wall making sure she goes back inside, and looks down. Right.

He’s on his tiptoes again. Clearing his throat, he flattens his feet against the brick, suppressing the strange shudder the sudden shift caused.

“Sometimes I just walk like that,” he tells her.

“Oh. Okay. Bye,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back into the building. 

Miles wishes all conversations were that easy. Children are way easier to talk to than other people, and that’s a prime example. They have a question, they ask that question, that question gets answered, and they’re (usually) fine and go about their business. 

Is that so bad? 

___

Miles is shirtless, sprawled on the couch and staring blankly at the ceiling, occasionally having to move his limbs when Ganke feels like checking the couch for the billionth time might reveal the missing lego piece he’s looking for. It’s a rare day where he and his parents are both home, so he invited Ganke over to make sure he doesn’t lose his mind in this heat paired with his parents being sappy and grossly in love in the kitchen. Why Ganke decided it was the perfect temperature and moment to start moving shit around and rearrange Miles’s limp body to check between couch cushions in search of missing lego pieces, Miles will never know.

He tries to listen to music loud enough to drown out the sound of his parents talking, and the feeling of his shorts scratching his skin. It was maddening, but it’s not like he could walk around in his underwear. He could in his room of course, but there isn’t an AC in there to keep him cool, and opening the window would be useless in the heat.

Seeing Ganke say something, Miles pauses his music. “What?”

“I was just saying how you’re fine with super loud music only when you’re the one listening to it with your headphones. Otherwise it’s like you’re being- what did you say? Stabbed in the head?” Ganke gives him a quizzical once-over before returning to check under the couch. “Would your parents be mad if I moved this?”

“Oh,” Miles says, “yeah, I don’t really know how that works either. And it wasn’t stabbed, it was hit repeatedly with a blunt object.”

“Same thing.”

“So not the same thing, and don’t move the couch, you’ll probably unearth a government secret and put us all on a list because you thought it was a good idea to show your Glitch chat,” Miles scoffs playfully, making unpausing his music obvious with loud taps so Ganke can tell in case he has anything else to say. 

“That was one time, how was I supposed to…” Ganke’s voice trails off as the song increases in volume again.

But seriously, why did he do that? Loud, sudden, and repetitive noises were the bane of his existence on one of his bad days, and extremely annoying to the point of anger and watery eyes on his bests. He usually wanted to break something if someone else was clicking their pen, or tear out his hair and bite into something if they were talking too loud to him, but when he was making the noises, he felt perfectly fine. Better, in fact. 

There was a time, he thinks, when he was around eight or nine. He couldn’t have been older than that because he lost a tooth to a car door when he was ten, and he doesn’t remember that feeling then. There were guests over, maybe his mom or dad’s friends from work and some family members coming to congratulate him on graduating some grade at the top of his class? Anyway, Miles wasn’t enjoying it. He hid in his room and under his covers with his hands practically glued to his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. They were all talking so loud, and when he was out in the kitchen fixing his plate of food, he could hear everyone chewing, smell their colognes and perfumes, and don’t get him started on the one lady with the high-pitched laugh. He hated, absolutely hated , how shrill it sounded, it made his arms feel like they were made of jelly as a cold chill ran through him each time. He didn’t say anything though, because his parents raised him better than that, and it was mean. Even eight-or-nine year old Miles could understand that, though it took a while getting there.

When he sat down and began to eat, his fork scraped his teeth in the first bite. He gagged quietly and ran to his room, scratching at his arms and biting down on nothing repeatedly. He wanted to scream, but he wasn’t going to draw attention and make everyone worried. He wanted to tear at his face and hair until it all came off, he wanted to bash his head in the wall until he couldn’t feel anything, he wanted to just crawl out of his body. He didn’t want to feel what it felt, that awful, repulsive, spine-chilling feeling of silverware against his two front teeth. He couldn’t breathe, and curling into a ball against his bedroom door once he escaped the front area didn’t help. He rapidly tapped his nails on the floor as he tried to search for any solution.

Which led to him curled up tightly in his covers with his hands over his ears and his nails digging into his skin. He tensed his entire body up the second he wrapped the covers around him, constricting not too unlike a snake that has caught prey but with all the care of his father’s hugs after he made him proud, and curled his toes as if it would change anything. He found that biting his lip helped, but his mother wasn’t too pleased with that when she found him a few minutes later, wondering where her little boy had gone.

Her singing a calming tune that she usually sang to get him to sleep as a baby didn’t help at all now.

She sighed, and Miles expected her to tell everyone to leave and that the party was over because Miles was too upset over nothing, but she came back a few moments later and put some headphones over his head in place of his hands.

“They were a gift me and your father were going to give you tonight,” she whispered with a small smile, pressing a button on a silver ipod nano, and music filled Miles’s ears. He felt his eyelids start drooping immediately, his shoulders slacked, and could feel all his senses slowly going back down to 5, instead of the 11 they were dialed up to. The song drowned out everything in the world, erasing all the reminders of the loud people, disgusting feelings, and violent thoughts.

“Come get us when you’re feeling better, okay?” 

Miles nodded, incapable of doing much else, and his mother kissed his forehead before quietly leaving the room.

Of course, he can’t afford to be like that as Spider-Man, so he mostly suppressed those negative feelings when he could. He hears all that stuff all the time now anyway with his enhanced senses, so he’s just going to have to deal with it. It’s not even as bad as it was when he was a kid, it’s way easier for him to grit his teeth and keep pushing compared to all those years ago.

But the control that comes with his music sort of… cancels out, he guesses, the negative effects that the noises give him. He’s in charge of what plays, when it plays, at what volume, and at what speed. If he’s in control of the noise then it’s not bad. If he isn’t, then it’s bad. Simple as that.

“Yeah, I see it that way too,” his father’s voice is muffled but still close enough to make Miles jump.

The man laughs and thumps him on the shoulder. Miles cringes at the feeling of the cold sweat making contact and lightly shoves the man’s hand off with a smile.

___

Miles stayed up late in his bunk, staring wide eyed at the screen. He had finally decided to look up all of his symptoms, something his mother and friends always told him not to do very often unless he wanted to discover he had a rare type of brain cancer, and was surprised by what he saw.

10 Signs Your Child Has Autism (And How To Cope)

Is My Son Autistic? Twenty Ways To Deal With Food Avoidance In Autistic Toddlers

Sensory Overload and Sensory Processing Disorder

Autism in Girls V.S. Boys 

Am I Autistic Quiz (Real Answers)

Signs Of Autism & When To Call Your Doctor

Why Are Autistic Girls Less Diagnosed Than Autistic Boys?

He turns off his phone and goes to bed.

___

Crawling back into the dorm after a long night, Miles pulls off his mask and lays down next to Ganke, who’s still playing his game. “Hobie, can I ask you something?”

“I’m asleep,” Hobie says from his sprawl on Miles’s bunk. The older boy must have snuck in while he was out and Ganke didn’t try to chase him out this time.

“Are you autistic?“

“Do it look like I’d care mate?” A boot falls off and hits Ganke’s leg, making him grumble in annoyance. Miles leans into him and rubs his arm until Ganke gets the hint and wraps it around the boy, not once taking his eye off the screen. 

Miles rolls his eyes. “And you, Ganke?”

“Probably. Mom said it’s ADHD but I don’t really care,” the boy mumbles in response, subconsciously leaning back into Miles, “not like it’d change anything.”

Miles smiles. That’s true, Ganke probably doesn’t care about anything like that. He’s always pretty chill when it comes to people- actually, that might not be the right word. He can be pretty harsh or wired, but everything he says is in a tired and chill way. “Remember that time you told me you hoped I died because I accidentally spilled sriracha all over your new pants?” Miles asks him, smiling at the memory.

Ganke laughs fondly, “Oh yeah, man I looked like I bled through and just never noticed. You were so lucky we were in here, I would have killed you if I had to walk across the cafeteria with sauce all on me.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t’ve done that. You love me too much to kill me.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You do.”

Another boot drops on Ganke’s leg, and a pocket knife falls out of it when it hits the ground. Hobie grumbles from above, “Shut it, you two. I got a long day at the office tomorrow. Gotta bring home the bacon for the missus and youngins.”

“Hobie said shut up.”

“Really? I didn’t hear him,” Miles says, feeling himself slipping as he watched Peter (who looked very young in this game for some reason) fight some black-and-white guy in a suit. Huh. Would people make a game about him when he died? With the made-up villains? Would they put Ganke in the game?

Ganke slightly turns his head so his lips brush against Miles’s forehead for the briefest of seconds, bringing him back to reality before he fully zoned out, and tells him, “If they do, I’ll make sure they know to include your Strawberry Shortcake pajama sets.”

Miles brings his knees up to his chest, a quiet purr starting up as Peter proceeds to get his ass handed to him in a train car. Yikes.

___

“Are you autistic?” Miles asks Gwen.

“No, she’s just blonde,” answers Pavitr. 

“Shut up,” Gwen lightly punches Pavitr, still enough to send him flying across the roof, “No, I don’t have anything going on. Why?”

Miles wipes some blood from his lip. “I was just wondering. Let’s keep going,” he says, a bit breathless.

Gwen places a hand on her hip and asks him, “You sure? You look kind of tired. I get that we just started trying this out and all, but you don’t have to force yourself to join.”

The sparring meetups let him get rid of his energy, and the feeling of the punches that almost hurt remind him of where he is.The chokeholds that are tight against his throat make his lungs burn and that burn makes him feel all the more real. The body-slamming forces his mind to stop its aimless floating away from him and to keep track of what damage is being done. The rare moments of skin-to-skin contact are like moments of pure clarity, and he can’t lose that.

In the end, when he’s sweaty and exhausted, he feels human again. Normal. Right.

“I’m sure.”

___

During lunch, Ganke places a necklace on his lap. It had a dark red guitar pick-shaped object on what looked like a pretty long piece of dental floss.

“Pavitr wanted me to give this to you since he couldn’t find you,” Ganke tells him, “and he said to wash it before and after each time you use it.”

“Is this what I think it is?” he asks around a mouth of rice. 

“Chew necklace. We wanted to give you something else to bite instead of yourself,” Ganke gestures to the bandages on his arms that were barely visible. Miles pulls down his sleeve with a frown. Those were from last night, when his brain wouldn’t give him a break and kept making him think about all the sensations he hates, and his friend patched him up. Again.

Are Ganke’s eyebags getting worse?

Miles looked a bit skeptical. He saw a picture of one a few days ago, when he was at Gwen’s and researching more autistic traits. He'll definitely be looked at funny if he ever used it though, he just knows it. Sure, people chew on their pens and pencils, even he sometimes did that, but using basically a teething toy felt slightly insulting. The very sight of it makes it look right out of a children’s book, and it’s an uncomfortable weight on his thigh, reminding him of how different, in the bad way, he was compared to everybody else. He rolls his eyes at the unnecessary reminder.

“I’m not using that,” he tells him, taking another bite of his (actually Ganke’s, who was already full from the totally allowed and not-against-the-rules outing for breakfast they took) lunch. It was a good thing Ganke naturally liked to separate his foods a lot too.

“Too bad. You can’t keep self-cannibalizing yourself-” 

“Okay wow, that’s a little much-“

“-and expecting to be fine. Isn’t your mom a nurse? What about long lasting nerve-damage, or if you bite into an artery? Or if you start biting random people because your own self isn’t enough? You ever thought of that?” Ganke asks him, not looking up from his… whatever he’s doing on his laptop.

I don’t have to think about it if I already did that, thank you very much , Miles thinks. He keeps chewing, his frown growing more and more prominent by the second. “I’m not gonna bite people. I’m not like…” he tries to save some face with the lie, but trails off. He doesn’t wanna think about Miguel.

Ganke side eyes him. “Like what?”

Miles shakes his head. “Nothing. Nobody. Just go back to threatening random people in a children’s game or something,” he says, finishing up the last of the lunch. He’s probably going to have to eat really soon again with the stupidly enhanced metabolism.

“Dude, just take the necklace and try it, because if you start biting me, I don’t care how cute you are, I’m kicking your ass,” Ganke tells him with no real heat in his voice.

Miles cracks a smile against his will, and puts the necklace in his pocket. 

___

Dear Diary,

I’ve been looking online for some stories people have about their autism and how they figured it out, and apparently my organizing and oversensitivity is like a number one sign??? I thought it was just a little habit i picked up from mami and dad? And the spider senses is probably causing those other issues. And I don’t think i’m autistic but I could probably use the things they do to calm myself down or make life a bit more bearable. 

-organizing things

-a lot of stimming

-speech issues 

-hearing issues

-pressure ← try and finally ask for weighted blanket or save money

It’s a start i guess, and then I can bring it up to my dad as Spider-Man THEN mami THEN dad (important order don’t mess this up Morales). Anyway good note to end the entry on: Ganke kissed my forehead and he does that a lot but this time he said he was proud of me out of nowhere and said he’s getting a gift for us????? Hello???? I think it might have to do with Spider-Man stuff but he usually doesn’t care so its gotta be something else but WHAT!!!!

___

“Dad, I’m just saying,” Miles begins, holding his hands up in a surrendering way, as his father washes the dishes. He’s sitting down on the counter, lightly swinging his legs. “Give Maria’s a chance, you’ve never even tried their sandwiches! How do you know it’s bad?”

“I know what I like, and I don’t see a reason to suddenly chan-”

“Oh, wait, someone’s calling,” Miles interrupts him as he pulls his phone out, seeing Ganke’s name on the screen. What could he want? Ganke usually didn’t call him, opting to text, and definitely not before 12pm on a weekend.

“How can you even see? Your brightness is set to negative levels,” his dad said, trying his best to scrub some dried food off a plate. Miles never liked doing that, or even thinking about it, because it always made him feel like his fingers were some dangerous foreign object that he needed to rip off or felt the urge to dig his nails into his skin and tear his hair out. 

“You know the light hurts my eyes,” and makes me mad, he doesn’t say.

“Ganke? You need something?”

“No, was just checking on you,” the boy sleepily mumbles into the phone.

“Before 9am?” Miles loudly gasps, placing a hand on his chest.

“Shut up. I also got a package today and you’re gonna wanna check it out.”

“Mmmm I don’t know,” Miles says, fiddling with the string of his hoodie. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” Ganke tells him, and Miles can imagine him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and blindly patting the bed in search of his glasses. His hair is definitely sticking out wildly, a few strands stuck to his freckled cheeks. 

“You know I don’t like your surprises,” Miles grumbled into the phone. His dad gives him a slightly alarmed look, neither of them liked them. Ganke’s surprises usually involved someone being scared out of their mind, a wild animal (though he tends to blame Miles’s influence on that), and some piece of tech that might take over the world should he set it loose. In fact, the last time was all of that, and Miles had to call his dad, Hobie, and then Peter to solve the raccoon-with-an-atom-vaporizer-gun issue. And Miles was the one that got grounded longer, for some reason.

Anyway, he doesn’t like really Ganke’s surprises.

“No no no, you’ll like this one. I had to buy it,” Ganke tells him. “It’s kind of for us to share since I know I won’t use it as much.”

Miles can hear his soft footfalls on the wooden flooring as he left his carpeted room. 

“I’m asking you to come over,” Ganke clarifies, “it’s so safe that you can bring your dad. Trust me.”

“Man…”

“Dude, c’monnnn. If you come over I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Do my homework for me?” Miles jokes, ignoring the way his dad lets out a questioning hum.

“Nah man, I do that enough. I’ll let you take me to those weird abandoned places you like to paint at,” Ganke comes up with. Miles can hear water running and a toothpaste cap opening, and takes this as a sign to hang up.

“Deal, man. Love you, bye. We’ll be there in like twenty,” he says rather quickly so he doesn’t have to hear gross mouth noises and spitting. 

“We?” His dad lightly pushes at his shoulder on his way to dry his hands and get his glasses from the table.

Miles nods and gums in confirmation, “Stop acting like you don’t love Ganke, we’re just going see something real quick.”

His dad crosses his arms and looks down at him with an unimpressed stare, tilting his head to the dirty floors.

“And I’ll clean immediately when I get back.”

More staring. Miles looks down, unable to handle it.

“No messing around.”

Jeff nods and walks them both out the door.

An hour later, Jefferson sits on the Lees’ floor next to Miles, who’s fully covered in a fluffy white weighted blanket with only a small hole for his face, which reveals unfocused half-lidded eyes. It’s the calmest Jeff has ever seen his boy in a long time, maybe nearly two years, and it saddens him slightly to realize this, but he’s glad the blanket is helping.

Ganke sits next to Miles with his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, gazing at the timer he set on his phone forlornly. 

“Dad,” Miles’s voice is barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m autistic.”

Jeff blinks once. Twice. Three times. Takes his glasses off and cleans them before putting them back on again. He opens his mouth, closes it, and furrows his brow a few times. As he processes and tries to come up with a response.

On Miles’s end, he wonders, in the back of his mind, if he made some mistake and should have just stuck with the plan he wrote, but he’s too content right now to care. He hears Ganke exhale a bit forcefully through his nose, something he’s come to recognize as another laugh he has.

“Right. Uh, right. We’ll talk about this. At home. With your mother,” Jeff decides to say in an extremely halted and forced-confident tone.

Oh well. Probably won’t change anything.

A/N: The end!!! I still have things that weren't important to say in the fic or Miles just wouldn't know them; Gwen has ADHD and is in denial, Pavitr has Autism & ADHD but hasn't told anyone, Hobie has autism but wouldn't know and doesn't call it that, Jeff is also autistic and doesn't know (the fic is originally called Autism BLAST for a reason), and that "Ms. Spider-Man" is entirely on purpose bc of the spores <3 All ooc thoughts is when the autism beast broke through. get the tranq darts

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