Chapter Text
“Or maybe this is danger and you just don't know
You pray it all away but it continues to grow.”
Tear You Apart – She Wants Revenge
It must be said that Miguel’s premonitions were extremely rarely deceiving. Partly because it didn’t come from the same place where the spider people got their famous tingle-thing, no. Miguel’s “sense” was something much more logical, grounded - a cause-and-effect relationship that automatically popped up in his head always and everywhere as a side effect of his observation. Therefore, when O’Hara told himself that his condescending attitude towards Peter’s obsession would not end in anything good, he had very real reasons for this kind of thought. And he was not mistaken.
Miguel felt that something was wrong a few days ago. Another mission, another anomaly that threatens both the local city and the universe, except that recently he regularly worked not alone. Miguel managed to understand that Peter could be an excellent partner during the battle with Antivenom - that time they both showed their best sides, which, as it turned out, were a good combination when it came to catching anomalies. But all of Parker’s combat experience came to naught when his eternal bad luck came into play - the web that ended in the middle of the jump forced Peter to fall down from the height of the middle building. And either the anomaly would have reached the unarmed Spider-Man earlier, or gravity would have done its job. In any of these cases, the outcome would be unpleasant, but Miguel did not intend to allow this to happen. He caught Peter halfway to the ground, and was just about to carry him to the nearest roof...
Within the next breath, the smell of baby powder hit his head, and Miguel almost physically felt how somewhere deep inside him something, unable to bear it, cracked.
Since then, something had been wrong. Constantly. And this was not one of those situations where O’Hara expected the worst outcome, because another chain of cause and effect led to this, no, it was something else. Something completely inexplicable, but screaming at the top of its lungs about...danger? No, again. This feeling was different. Different so much so that it was almost scary. It was insistently said to be ready, like a coiled spring, to wait, watch, watch without blinking, while the white-knuckle clenched fists itched the pads of the fingers, demanding to release the claws.
Miguel had never had a spider sense, but somehow he knew for sure that this definitely couldn't be a manifestation of it. Such a feeling should indicate danger from the outside, that you should take a closer look at your surroundings... Right? But Miguel did not feel any danger. There was nothing special nearby. Only Peter.
He was the only one at HQ who wore a dressing bathrobe on missions. Fluffy, soft pink, completely inappropriate and reeking of a familiar warm-sweet smell. Very suitable for the one who wears it. It seemed to Miguel that he had long ago gotten used to all this, that he no longer paid attention to Peter’s excessive friendliness, which got on the nerves worse than teenage spiders. But no. And now all this, in addition to the usual irritation, caused something else that he did not dare to call emotion. Because emotions somehow come from thoughts, and this... this started much deeper. It seems that he experienced something similar that time when he found his palms in the hands of other men, who were diligently trying to feel the folded claws in his fingers. However, at that time it wasn’t so... aggressive.
Still, Miguel was Spider-Man, but in a much more literal sense. Spider DNA, which once replaced half of his own, gave incredible abilities for a reason. Rather, they originated from a whole spectrum of emerging instincts that more than once saved Miguel’s life. He was never ready for the life of a superhero. How ready can the average geneticist be for this? All he did before was sit in the laboratory and look through a microscope, but nevertheless, he suddenly learned how to perform a triple backflip from a standing position, without looking, jump over the roofs of high-rise buildings and even more. He could hear through walls, see in pitch darkness, feel air movements and its chemical composition, even read someone else's pulse without touching the person. It took time to get used to such an abundance of information around, and it would seem that the times when he looked around disoriented were long gone, but now he is again lost in sensations. However, this time it’s just the smell. Just a smell, and his head is already out of place.
Strange feelings. It arises deep inside and spreads through the nerves in a cold wave, not supported by a single thought, drowning out all emerging emotions. What was the reason, Miguel could not understand, but the more time passed, the more he became convinced that it had nothing to do with his consciousness. It's not an emotion. This is a craving. Deaf to the voice of reason and supported only by sensations. Color. The smell. The soft pink bathrobe and baby powder became nothing more than a target that Miguel couldn't take his eyes off. Each time, as soon as Peter was in sight, his breath would be taken away, and all concentration on his work would instantly evaporate. Miguel tried to pull himself together, but in the end he simply glared at Parker with an empty gaze, not understanding what he was doing or why. Jessica, who once noticed such behavior, directly asked if Peter had done anything wrong. She answered Miguel's question with a strange shrug that he was looking at Parker as if he was ready to kill him right this instant. And something in her tone suggested that she was trying very hard to express herself more softly than it actually was.
Does he really look at him like that?
This is bad. Very bad. Not normal. Who would even look at another person... like that? Miguel knew that many people could be bothered by his appearance - a tall man who could probably break someone’s neck with one movement, and with his creepy claws and unnaturally red eyes, he certainly didn’t inspire the slightest bit of trust at the first meeting. But it’s one thing when all this exists peacefully somewhere in the HQ, always rummaging through files in the laboratory, and another thing when even random passers-by see a real desire for murder in the already terrible eyes. Jessica didn’t know what Peter had done wrong. But worst of all, Miguel didn’t know either. And he was used to knowing everything, he simply had to know about all the little things happening within the walls of this building. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not find an explanation for his own behavior.
Trusting your partner on a mission is one thing, but in their work it was much more important to trust yourself, to know what you are capable of and what you are not. This formed the basis of strengths and weaknesses, from which one could base one’s choice of battle tactics, evaluate chances against the supervillain, and be simply confident in your own abilities. Miguel was confident in his. He knew that his main advantage was his spider instincts, and he was used to relying on them, but recently they had turned from a reliable support into an unpredictable and shaky one. The only thing that gave him confidence in victory time after time was now a gun that could shoot him right in the face at any second. It couldn’t have been worse, but, in the absence of another option, Miguel did what he knew very, very well - endured. He endured and tried to maintain clarity of mind, which, however, drowned in an icy fog every time the smell of baby powder hit his nose.
But Peter didn’t slow down. He continued to hover around at every convenient and not so convenient opportunity, again too close, and Miguel, not accustomed to other people’s touches, finds himself forced to endure this too. He doesn't say anything. What can he even say in this situation so as not to turn into an even more dangerous person in the eyes of the entire Spider Society? And every time Parker stands nearby, it becomes more and more difficult for Miguel not to notice all these strange impulses in himself that make his claws just begging to come out? No, thank you. He's a good guy , and more importantly, he should be the leader of this whole group of different spider-people, he should be someone who can be trusted. And not someone who will be afraid of.
But it didn't end there. Things only got worse when, after about a week of silent patience and clenched teeth, Miguel recognized the excitement in himself. He could always feel everything around him, and it was not at all necessary to open his eyes for this. All he had to do was concentrate a little, and now he could tell with accuracy what exactly was happening behind the next wall. But now...now he was doing it unconsciously. He listened to discern footsteps, shuffling and unhurried, and involuntarily looked through the wall to where they were coming from. He looked without blinking. And before Peter could come around the corner, he began to catch a familiar smell. And then again something flooded his head quickly and irrevocably - that same cold and empty feeling, coming from deep inside, took over.
Oh, this is not good.
The last time, when Peter, as usual, showed up in Miguel’s laboratory without an invitation and, in the already familiar manner, threw his hand over the other man’s shoulder, Miguel turned to him fleetingly, about to stare at him with a look that showed slight irritation. But he couldn't even blink. The body was frozen in an icy vice, the eyes spontaneously darted to the other man’s neck and stuck on it, picking from the twilight the vein beating under the skin. He listened again, without realizing it, and the sound of someone else’s pulse seemed almost more bewitching than the smell of baby powder hovering around him. And Peter literally radiated warmth. So opposite to the cold that permeates the very nature that Miguel was now experiencing. He didn’t immediately realize that his fangs had come out and his claws were digging into the dashboard, and when he did, he staggered back slightly, finally understanding what it all looked so ruthlessly like.
A spider that notices a fly buzzing nearby.
But he's not a spider. He is a human, and his genetic code is irrelevant. He is not an animal driven only by instincts, he is intelligent, intelligent . His head shouldn’t shocking go empty like that, but despite everything, it does it so often that Miguel understands that he’s losing control of himself. A frightening thought took his breath away. What if it goes further? What if at some point he stops thinking again, gives in to this terrible cold inside? Miguel gently runs his tongue over the protruding fangs, pulling them back. The hand reaches to the side, feeling for the injection device hanging by the table. The cone with the green liquid clicks into place, part of the suit, sparkling, disappears, exposing the shoulder. Four small needles are inserted into the skin, injecting something into the blood.
Crap.
***
With a dull thud, thousands of grains of sand, stuck together in the shape of a huge fist, smash onto the asphalt. Turning around with a jump, Miguel pulls himself to the ground with a web and, ducking under a sandy hand flying at him, manages to slash his claws along the unsteady body of the anomaly. But, like many times before, the damage is immediately restored by sand flowing to the site of the impact. They've been fiddling around here for quite a long time, and no progress is visible yet. It was simply impossible to collect the constantly changing grains of sand, and they somehow needed to push this anomaly into a laser trap and deliver it to HQ. Miguel's ideas ran out in the fourth minute of their battle, and since then they simply tried to prevent the anomaly from slipping away, every now and then crushing his limbs and forcing him to reassemble them; and the villain's attempt to turn into a sandstorm and fly away ended with the appearance of a huge glitching cloud right in the middle of the street. After this, the Sandman spent some time gathering himself together and, apparently, was no longer going to repeat attempts to fly away. This was good, but it still did not solve the main problem - this anomaly would be very difficult to catch.
“We need water!” Parker shouted to him, fighting off the sandy hands growing right out of the ground around him.
Well, that's already something. But it would have been better if they had come to this idea at least a couple of minutes earlier. Lyla, who appeared on the clock, pointed to the nearest fire hydrants, which was very opportune. Having called out to Peter, Miguel said that he was taking the villain upon himself, and without waiting for an answer, he crushed the head of the anomaly with a jump. Blindly waving his massive arms, the supervillain began to slowly pull the sand back, restoring his face, and when his efforts were enough to regain at least one eye, he roared in rage towards Miguel.
“¿Quieres bailar?” O’Hara shook his head defiantly, hoping that he would be able to buy enough time.
One click on the watch - and several copies of himself appear from the air around, rushing into battle. Turning his head in confusion, the Sandman began to knock down one blue-and-red fake after another with his massive hands, but they only scattered in the air, appearing again the next second. And while the anomaly’s attention was occupied, Miguel kept cutting off sandy limbs, immediately getting lost among his copies. As always, an effective tactic - it always buys enough time for anything, especially when it comes to a clumsy opponent. Another huge sand fist crashed onto the asphalt next to Miguel, destroying one of the holograms, and Spider-Man was about to strike back when suddenly the ground began to move. Looking down, he realized that the sand that had scattered around him was now tightly wrapped around his ankles. Shock it - he was knocked off his feet, and with every second the remaining sand clasped his arms and legs more and more tightly, preventing him from getting up. That's right... Apparently the supervillain figured out how to detect the real Spider-Man among the fakes, and now, with a satisfied grin on his sandy face, he raised both hands above Miguel's head for a crushing blow.
“Hey, buddy!” the sand giant turned towards the voice, and his viciously knitted eyebrows shot up, “It’s as dry as the desert here, don’t you think?”
With these words, Peter directed a stream of water from a fire hydrant straight into the anomaly, punching a hole in its chest. Grunting, Miguel breaks free of the weakened sandy grip and kicks the villain’s wet jaw - it smacks to the ground nearby, moving weakly. The water slowed the anomaly down significantly, but it still wasn't enough. It was necessary to finish everything as quickly as possible, and, optimally, not in such a way that they would then have to collect wet sand from all over the street. Having caught his eye on something, Miguel jumped to the edge of the road and broke open the metal door at the base of the lantern. Reaching inside, he cut several wires and, shooting a web towards the Sandman, tied the other end to the exposed wires. There was a pop, then a crash, and smoke began to emerge from the puddles of water spilled around. Looking at the suddenly silent sandman, Miguel noticed that his body began to sparkle like glass, which means his idea really worked. But...
“Lyla?” he called, not taking his eyes off the frozen anomaly.
“He’s alive, just immobilized,” the AI said, appearing on the watch, “there’s still sand inside, but there’s not enough of it to break the glass.”
“Great. Call the cleanup team,” Miguel ordered, throwing a laser trap towards the Sandman, or rather, the Glass Man.
“Nice job!” Shaking sand from his suit, Peter approached him, “you know, with my ingenuity and your technology of the future, we make a great team!”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who has both ingenuity and technology of the future,” Miguel looked condescendingly at his interlocutor.
“But I have a sense of humor,” well, Miguel had no objections to this statement, so he chuckled in response, rolling his eyes.
“Finish here and return to HQ,” he said to Peter.
A sparkling portal appeared right in the middle of the street, releasing several spider-people. Nodding to them, Miguel observed the scale of destruction for a second and, making sure that everything was within normal limits, pressed his watch several times. When the asphalt underfoot that smelled of gasoline gave way to familiar gray tiles that smelled of absolutely nothing, he exhaled deeply through his mask. Today's mission went without incident, which is good, but his head was still buzzing from the abundance of smells. More precisely, not from all of them. Rather, from the constant presence of one specific smell. And either he really is going crazy, or even his absolutely sterile apartment also smells like baby powder. Taking off his mask, Miguel noticed with irritation how many light grains of sand fell onto the floor.
“Lyla, if anyone asks, I’ll be at HQ in twenty minutes,” he said into the air and, without waiting for an answer, headed into one of the corridors.
The portal finally closed completely, leaving another figure in the middle of the room, awkwardly looking around. Peter pulled the mask off his face, shaking sand out of his hair - well, this place clearly didn't look like any of the HQ’s rooms. He sighed - maybe the decision to jump into the closing portal after Miguel was not entirely deliberate, but he didn’t want to hang around at the street and help the cleanup team. He was hoping to just find himself at HQ and do something more interesting, but instead he found himself in the middle of a familiar room with a gorgeous panoramic view of the city. Somewhere among the forest of skyscrapers, on the other side of the glass, the HQ building was visible. The apartment itself sparkled in shades of white and gray, like some kind of laboratory, with the same minimalist interior and dim lighting that Parker had noticed last time... Although, now he also noticed a spiral staircase to the second floor, where glass ceilings could be seen. Wow. This is a real fucking penthouse. Although, there is nothing to be surprised about - of course, the person who built a building entirely focused on spider-people could afford to live in such a place.
Then something that stood out from the general monochrome attracted his attention. Peter turned to the center of the living room - what caught his eye was a coffee table littered with incomprehensible details. Coming closer, Peter noticed a familiar device - an injection pistol, exactly the same as the one Miguel periodically used at HQ. Even a couple of flasks with greenish contents were nearby... During his entire stay in the company of spiders, Parker was never able to find an answer to the question of what exactly was inside the flasks that Miguel injected himself from time to time. And judging by the expression on his face at such moments, this clearly did not bring him pleasure. O'Hara himself refused to answer any questions, Lyla very skillfully kept her mouth shut, and Jessica simply did not know what to say. Apparently, no one explained anything to her either, but it didn’t seem like she cared – whatever Miguel was doing here, it had no effect on the activities of the HQ, so what’s the matter? They all have their own personal lives. Well, here Peter agreed with her, but his “purely scientific interest” did not disappear from this. Upon closer inspection, the contents of the flask were confusing only by the color - a very strange shade, more likely reminiscent of some kind of poison or mutagen, Peter could not say more, even if he wanted to. His knowledge was mainly concentrated around physics and mathematics, rather than around any types of biologically active liquids. Of course, at one time Peter was able to create a web for himself, but something told him that this was unlikely to help him in analyzing the contents of the flask. Maybe he should take one away and see what exactly it contains? Although, taking someone else’s property without asking...
Footsteps behind him made him turn around - in surprise, Peter almost dropped the flask on the floor, exhaling loudly. Standing in the doorway wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips, Miguel looks at him, puzzled. His usually dark hair now appears completely black due to the moisture, curling around his face, falling into his eyes, which were looking frowned directly at Parker as he silently stares back.
“What the shock are you doing here?” O'Hara is the first to interrupt the silence, from which the air has already become strangely viscous, “You have polluted the whole room with sand. Lyla, turn on the cleaning drones.”
With a movement of his hand, he pushes back the hair that has fallen on his face and comes closer, red eyes clinging to the object in Peter’s hand - and he only now remembers what he was doing a minute ago. He is not allowed to say a word, Miguel simply snatches the flask from his hand and places it back on the table with a thud, frowning at the intruder.
“Weren’t you taught not to touch anything in someone else’s house?” he asks, but Peter can only think that Miguel’s eyes are now more like wine, which, combined with the white pupils, looks mesmerizing.
The gaze moves lower on its own, just for a moment, but this is enough to notice the towel slipping slightly from the other man’s hip. Parker swallows, muttering a response he doesn't know what exactly, and that seems to be enough because Miguel sighs tiredly and finally blinks. How did he even manage to avoid blinking for so long?
“It's time for you to leave,” he says briefly, turning away, “You better clean the suit properly, otherwise you will clean the HQ from the sand by yourself.”
“Y-yeah,” Peter slowly tries to feel the watch on his wrist to open the portal and, to Miguel’s relief, very soon succeeds.
Somewhere off to the side a portal sparkles, opening and closing, and finally the room again plunges into relative silence. Well, if you don't pay attention to the whirring of robotic vacuum cleaners. Miguel takes a slow, deep breath, feeling the claws pressing on the inside of his palm in his tightly clenched fist. Shock. He had been trying to blame his condition lately on almost chronic lack of sleep and workaholism, but this excuse was no longer convincing enough. He's not stupid at all. And he understands that something is very wrong with him.
When Peter approached him after the fight with the Sandman, everything was tolerable. Apart from his jokes. But when Miguel smelled baby powder in his house and came out of the bathroom to check what was going on, something inside him trembled threateningly as soon as he noticed Parker standing in the middle of the living room with his back to him. And again, this damned feeling of growing excitement, which does not promise anything good. Apparently, Peter did not notice him, Miguel’s breathing became quieter by itself, and his gaze was riveted on the back of the other man’s head. He could come closer, quietly, so as not to be noticed, and then... He gives a voice, almost forcefully tearing himself out of this chilling trance, fortunately, it quickly fades away as soon as Peter turns around and notices him. But it doesn’t get much easier - the soft, unobtrusive smell still hangs in the room, and now that Miguel is not wearing his suit, he can barely restrain himself from choking on the air. Although it wouldn’t help one bit, even if he covered his nose with his hand now, he still wouldn’t be able to bring his scattering thoughts back to their place, because he couldn’t help but recognize the smell of baby powder on his skin. Shockin’ spider genes. He comes closer, noticing one of the green ampoules in Peter’s hands, perhaps too roughly snatches it from his hands and...told him to leave. Because if Parker doesn't leave, something very bad will happen.
He knows this will happen. His hands are shaking slightly.
“What's happening to me?” The touch of a silk bathrobe to the skin feels as if sandpaper has been passed over it.
A yellow flash flashes somewhere to the side, projecting a familiar female figure. Walking around the table, Lyla looks thoughtfully at Miguel for a couple of seconds.
“Your body is in great agitation,” she announces, having completed the scan.
“That was a rhetorical question,” O’Hara mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt for you to get an injection.”
Miguel blinks slowly. Already? Usually one injection lasts for several days, and he gave it to himself yesterday. Why would he do it again so soon? Except that…
“Has the effect worn off?” Instead of answering the question, Lyla shrugs.
“Would you like us to conduct a series of tests to find out?” She suggests, moving closer to the man, “You like them.”
“This isn’t the right time,” Miguel frowns, glaring at the green ampoule lying on the table, “It’s more important what to do now so that everything doesn’t get worse.”
“Of the two of us, you are the brilliant scientist,” the AI raises its eyebrows significantly.
Sighing, Miguel leaned over the coffee table, twirling the ampoule with green contents in his hands. There is no cure for his condition, they have already found this out more than once. All he and Lyla could do was provide a temporary sedative in case his spider instincts, which were much more animal in nature than those of other spider-people, took over. Sedative . But here's the surprise - it was no longer as effective as before.
They created this specimen when Miguel noticed that from time to time it became difficult for him to control himself. For example, when, instead of simply neutralizing the enemy, Miguel feels with every cell how he wants to tear someone else’s body with his claws and squeeze his jaws on someone else’s neck until the enemy’s heart stops from the paralyzing poison. He is capable of this. For him, it's no more difficult than opening a bottle of soda, but, shockingly, he shouldn't do it. There's no way he would do this. It isn’t he who wants this, but the animal instinct of the hunter, written somewhere in his non-human DNA. This is the part of him that he doesn't want to be. Never. Under no circumstances.
And the specimen he created helped not cross the line. One dose was enough for several days, and regular injections were not necessary - after all, he did not often bring himself to this state. Only if the mission was particularly difficult or dangerous, as, for example, quite recently. So why has the effect already faded? As far as he remembered, he had made sure that the specimen was not addictive. Does he need to increase the dose? But then there is a risk of weakening superpowers and reducing the level of attention, and this is clearly not something that can be useful when catching anomalies.
And why did things suddenly become so difficult? Apparently, tests will still have to be carried out.
Several different blood tests, a deep scan, and Lyla concluded that everything was due to overstimulation from external factors. Something acts as a trigger, and Miguel’s nervous system immediately begins to go crazy, forcing him to “take it out” on the nearest living creature. Coincidentally, Peter was there for each of these moments. All this is rather a defensive reaction, an attempt to let off steam, but this is not the worst thing that can happen. The worst thing to happen is that such a trigger causes Miguel to reach the point of no return - then, in order to preserve his consciousness from damage, his body can temporarily limit his influence on the body. That is, he may cease to be responsible for his actions. Perhaps at all. This is all conjecture, only conjecture , because alas, they have nothing to compare with - Miguel’s organism is one of a kind, moreover, combining human and spider habits in a very peculiar proportion. It's difficult to say for sure what will happen...
Such a diagnosis is far from a death sentence, but Miguel still locks himself in the laboratory and announces his intention to go on missions alone. Because if he does reach the point of no return, there will be no one next to him whom he could accidentally harm. And it works, for the time being. No more noise in the head, trembling clawed hands and out of place fangs. Miguel could again be confident in his actions, which was undoubtedly a plus. The downside was that now almost every mission of his turned into a real challenge. Yes, he could always cope with everything alone, but no one said that it was easy for him.
Automatic doors slide apart, allowing a figure in a damaged suit into the dark laboratory room. Deactivating the mask, Miguel kneads his shoulder, which aches from hitting the wall. At least he wasn't cut in half. His hands were still trembling slightly from the collision with the heavy blade, which O’Hara managed to stop a few centimeters from his head. Okay, maybe it wasn't just that the force of that blow was incredibly strong. The adrenaline that rushed to his head after that almost made him rip open someone else’s throat. He stopped in time, and now... Now every breath felt filled with a hundred needles. The light in the dark laboratory seemed too bright, and the echo of his own footsteps hitting the walls was too loud. Miguel curses quietly, his eyes searching for the green ampoule on the table.
Suddenly something breaks the almost deathly silence of the laboratory. Startled, Miguel freezes as he recognizes approaching steps. A relaxed gait, shuffling from slippers falling off, the rustling of the fibers of a fluffy bathrobe... And the smell. The whole world at that moment narrows down to one spacious room, O’Hara feels in the back of his head how someone else’s pulse is beating steadily behind the tight collar of spider suit, getting closer and closer.
¡Joder!
“Hey, boss,” Peter’s voice seems unusually loud, but Miguel can’t help but try to listen to him even more, “Sorry for not knocking. The doors were locked, so I entered through the ventilation. And why does no one ever block it..?”
He seems to be saying something else, about how he misses their missions together. And something about Jess... O'Hara isn't listening. He just looks ahead without blinking, digging his claws into the table. Trigger, huh? Well why now?! Why exactly when there was someone nearby who could get hurt? Pursing his lips, Miguel tries to gather his thoughts together. Injection. He needs an injection. Now.
When the other man's warm hand touches his shoulder, O'Hara removes it with a slap, and finally meets Peter's gaze.
“Why are you here?” Miguel says through tightly clenched teeth, and wants to turn away, but cannot, “I said not to bother me.”
The body no longer moves. The noise is growing in his head, mixing the remnants of thoughts into an unbearable mess - Miguel doesn’t know if it’s the noise of his own blood, circulating through the veins faster and faster, or someone else’s, beating in the vein on Peter’s neck.
No. Get yourself together.
“Are you okay?” Peter is clearly worried, he frowns, noticing Miguel’s rounded eyes, “I know I entered without permission. Just wanted to ask how you are. Everyone is worried.”
O'Hara furrows his eyebrows for a moment. His head is trying to go completely blank, but he tells himself to keep thinking. No matter what happens , keep thinking , even if something inside trembles more and more, resisting with all its might. Just like himself. He knows why he so wants to listen to the other man’s pulse, he knows why he wants to inhale more often, feeling the soft smell of powder again and again, but behind all this there is such an eerie, chilling sensation that it becomes really scary. He doesn't know what he wants to do. But he knows what he can do by accident. And he also knows that none of this should happen to Peter. Never. No.
A careless, slightly deeper breath - and the smell hits his head with renewed vigor.
No no no…
A familiar yellow AI figure appears in the air between him and Peter. Crossing her arms over her chest, Lyla looks at Parker with a seriousness unexpected for her humorous nature.
“Peter, I think you need to leave,” she says, and the name raises an eyebrow in confusion, “Your help is not needed now.”
“But I just got here,” Parker looks first at her, and then at Miguel, standing slightly behind, “What’s going on?”
Miguel looks back at him, shaking his head slightly. Go away, just go away. But Parker suddenly takes a step forward, causing Lyla to disappear into thin air. Well, she tried. On the other hand, this is clearly not a universe where such a request could stop Peter.
“Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo…” O’Hara mutters, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and feeling warm hands reaching out to him.
“I don’t speak Spanish,” Parker answers a little louder, his calm voice slightly hoarse, and this is enough to make Miguel hesitate for a second.
He hears Lyla's voice, a little louder, but this time he can't understand a word. Someone else's warm touch, reaching him again, feels like a burn.
No.
“Parker...” he missed the moment when he grabbed the other man by the shoulders, so tightly that he hissed clearly not from pleasure, “you need to leave. Right now.”
Peter looks even more puzzled. Concerned. But not the least bit scared. He doesn't try to break free, he just turns his head, refusing, and tries to recognize the emotion on Miguel's face. To understand what's going on. And all Miguel can do is mentally curse.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Parker says affirmatively, and Miguel twitches his eyebrow irritably, about to say a couple of affectionate things to him out loud.
But instead, a wave of something uncontrollable breaks through him from the inside, where something immediately breaks completely and with a crunch. It feels like a cannon shot right into the head - from all the heightened senses at once, he feels as if he is about to suffocate. Just for a moment, why is everything around him drowning in the rhythmic noise that filled his head? Never before had his own pulse sounded so deafening. He doesn't know what he's doing. He can't think anymore. Everything that still reminds of where he is, is someone else’s warmth, appearing in spots on the pads of his fingers.
“If you do reach the point of no return, then like I said, there’s a good chance your central nervous system will be overloaded.”
Their recent conversation with Lyla surfaced spontaneously in the midst of this tangible emptiness.
“Given your physiology, in this case you will not faint, as humans do in similar situations. Rather, it will cause your somatic nervous system to give an immediate response to the stimulus."
Someone else's pulse is beating like an alarm bell very close. Miguel doesn’t immediately realize that his fangs have come out on their own again.
“Simply put, in this case, all your subsequent actions will be driven by instincts aimed at eliminating the trigger. You can call it self-defense."
The warmth drowning in the palms squeezing someone else’s shoulders suddenly begins to be felt on the lips. His jaw clenches tighter, and Miguel is horrified to recognize the metallic taste in his mouth.
“But what kind of instinct will it be... I have no idea.”
There was no resistance, and if there was any, it quickly faded away. The paralyzed body goes limp, sinking to the floor, and Miguel finally unclenches his teeth. The veil disappears from the eyes, and it is replaced by an icy, but too bright feeling of satisfaction, from which the hands themselves squeeze Peter even tighter.
Caught him.
The emptiness in his head finally begins to fill with thoughts, painfully slowly, but enough for O’Hara to be able to think again. And then realize what he did. From the sight of someone else's bitten neck, everything inside freezes - oh, God, what has he done... The grip relaxes, and the paralyzed Peter almost falls to the floor - O'Hara manages to pull himself together and catch him again, this time carefully, holding the limply reclining back head.
“P-Parker?” but there is no answer.
Of course, why would there be one? Miguel doesn't even know how hard he bit him - Peter's frozen gaze is directed at the ceiling, even his breathing is too calm, although it must have hurt like hell. Hurt from two pairs of fangs piercing his neck.
“Lyla!” the voice sags for a moment, O’Hara reaches out to the wound with his hand, but, again feeling the other man’s pulse, he stops.
No. Enough. He won't touch him again. He shouldn't have let Peter get close to him in the first place, to begin with. Miguel knew perfectly well how it would end - anyone who gets too close to him will ultimately suffer through his fault. It always happens.
“He's paralyzed. Very... paralyzed. The dose of poison is not lethal, but large. With his regeneration, it will pass in a couple of hours,” the AI looks at Parker, bending over him, and then moves closer to the other man, “An interesting reaction. Your nervous system is almost back to normal even without the injec–”
“¡¿Por qué nunca sabes cuándo callarte?!” Miguel gives her a withering look, feeling an abyss appear in his chest.
Blinking, Lyla disappears from view, squinting his eyes tightly as O'Hara bows his head. For a moment it becomes completely quiet again. An intermittent sigh echoes against the walls, giving way to an inaudible whisper.
***
The light of the portal illuminates the small room, stepping onto the floor, Miguel looks around. Judging by the darkness in the windows, it is long after midnight outside. Spotting a bed, he moves closer and carefully places Peter on it when he hears the floorboards creak from the doorway. The red-haired woman looks at him with a bit of surprise, and noticing the familiar head of hair on the pillow, she quietly groans, covering her mouth.
“Peter!” She runs closer, examining the man lying on the bed.
Closed eyes, calm breathing, no visible wounds... except for a thick bandage on the neck. Frowning, MJ turns to the masked stranger still standing in the middle of the room. She can't help but feel his heavy gaze hidden behind the mask.
“What happened to him?” she asks insistently, there is some hostility in her voice.
Miguel can't blame her for that. He brought her husband, who was in such a state, in the middle of the night. He's the one who couldn't keep another good man safe, even though it's part of his job. But the worst thing is that he can still taste blood in his mouth. She has every right to be angry at him.
“He’ll be fine,” O’Hara says as convincingly as possible, but it comes out very badly, “Just temporarily paralyzed. He can hear us.”
Mary purses her lips and looks at her husband again, sinking onto the edge of the bed. Her quiet whisper reaches Miguel's ears, but he does not dare to listen. It's none of his business. Turning away, O'Hara opens the portal again, intending to leave. His presence here is clearly unnecessary.
“Miguel, right?” he stops when he hears his name, “What happened?”
The tall figure shakes his head, searching for words.
“I’m sorry,” he exhales through force, “Let him come to his senses as long as he needs to.”
No matter what he says, it won't change anything. It won't correct his mistake. He should have been more careful, he should have continued to try to stop Peter from getting closer, he should have gone on missions without him, he should have not answered his questions, he should have not held out his hand to let him touch it. For what? This only led to him once again becoming convinced that he was no longer human. Bitterness chokes his throat when he tries to breathe. He needs to leave. But he still painfully wants to turn around - to look at Peter lying motionless on the bed, one last time, before stepping into the portal.