Miles & Bobby, Sunday afternoon

[x-otoxic.livejournal.com]

Bobby tries to help Miles process what happened Friday night.


Miles sat on his bed, knees pulled to his chest lie he was trying to shrink his small frame even smaller. His calculus textbook sat open in front of him, and though his gaze was directed downward, he wasn't actually reading. Whatever he was looking at, it was something far away. Even his phone dinging multiple times with text alerts did not pull him from his reverie.

Over in his side of the bedroom, Bobby was spacing out on what he was reading but it was for completely different reasons. He was flipping through some post-secondary brochures, even though a big part of him didn't want to actually go back to school, because wtf he'd just escaped, but what else was he going to do? He sighed and looked over, seeing Miles hovering like a statue over his math text.

"Dude. You ok?" He frowned at his roomie's expression, then snapped his fingers. "Oh hey, this'll cheer you up: what does an experienced farmer use to look after his fields? A protractor." Pause. "Get it? A protractor."

He got no response. It was like Miles was frozen in place, but without the excuse of Bobby having actually done it himself. Instead, he turned a page even though he hadn't read the last one, as if he were just a machine programmed to flip through books.

"Shiiiiit, tough room," he joked, though it really was odd to get no reaction at all from his roommate.

Bobby thought about throwing a snowball at Miles for a hot second before deciding against it; getting him soaking wet - and possibly the textbook too but who really cared about that? - wouldn't cheer him up, it'd only do the opposite. So instead he extended his right index finger, then slowly grew a long, thin finger of ice from its tip that extended out to Miles. It stopped just in front of his face, and then Bobby lightly touched his nose with it.

"Boop."

He wasn't in danger, so Miles' spider-sense didn't ping, although who knew if he would have registered it, anyway. There was no ignoring the cold wetness tapped against his face, though, so he finally looked up, blinking blearily as if just awoken from a nap.

"Sorry," he said softly, "Did something happen? You okay?"

"That's what I'm asking you, dude. No offense but you're kinda acting like a zombie over there." He sat up, dropping the icy finger he'd made. "Wait, did you get bit by a fucking zombie on a secret mission or some such shit?" Bobby jumped to his feet, going over to inspect him. "Oh man, tell me you didn't get bit, Milesy."

"What? No, no, no. No zombies, no biting. I'm fine, it's just . . ." Miles rubbed his eyes and was a little startled to notice his fingers came back wet. His lips trembled. "Bobby, I think I did something really bad."

Miles' reaction got Bobby's attention. His roommate was usually lighthearted and easy going, not unlike himself, so to see him so visibly upset really struck home with him. He dropped the (mostly) fake zombie fear to take a seat next to him, sitting on the edge of Miles' bed.

"Whoa, man. What... what happened?"

"It's a Spider-Man thing," Miles said as preamble, knowing the last time they had discussed this topic, it was also upsetting. "I was trying . . . I've been trying to help. All the protests and stuff for that cop? I just want to keep people safe, you know? The Friend of Humanity are out there now, looking for any excuse to hurt people, and then there's mutant gangs coming up and it's all a mess. So, okay, long story, turns out this guy's been paying these gangs to fight so he can make money off them. And I was going to go talk to him, get some evidence the police could use, you know? Except someone else got there first and . . ."

"Hey, Milesy, hold up buddy." Bobby reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to slow down and take a breath or three. "Slow down, it's ok, you're ok." He hadn't finished his story but he was going to be ok, because he was Miles, so he had to be ok.

Miles tensed at the touch, but quickly relaxed, fighting back anxiety. "Dan Hanrahan," he continued, "that's his name. My uncle" — he tried not to choke over that word — "You know, the crazy super thief I told you about from last year? It was him. He was the guy killing the cop and all those people. He knew the guys the cop killed, I guess, and wanted revenge. And then he found me and followed me to Hanrahan and took him and then we fought and I tried to save him. I did everything I could! But he threw Hanrahan off a building and then I caught him with a web but . . . I caught him! I caught him and it was supposed to save him but I killed him!" He finally met Bobby's eyes, his own shining with tears. "Bobby, I killed him. I killed him."

"Oh, Miles..." Bobby had no words for that. He had questions, about how it actually happened, because if Miles was trying to save him... Those questions would have to wait, though, because Miles was in no state to answer anything right then and there. So instead Bobby just leaned over and hugged him, pulling his roommate close and patting him on the back. He didn't know what else to do, not with something as serious as this.

"You were trying to save him. That's what you were doing. It's..." He trailed off, wanting to say it'll be alright but not knowing what was going to happen next, which was terrifying.

"I caught him," Miles repeated, struggling to keep his voice even. "B-but the force, i-it snapped his neck. I don't know . . . But he was so beat up, blood everywhere, can't even tell if he was dead before or after I caught him. But if I did, if it's my fault, and I failed."

"You don't know that it is, though, right?" Bobby pulled back, leaving his hands on Miles' shoulders as he looked at him. "You said it yourself, he was so beat up, he could've been dead before you even did anything. He probably was, and regardless, you were trying to save him. That's what matters." He didn't kill him, he'd been trying to do just the opposite. "He just... fuck, he died, which is awful, but that shit is not on you, Miles. It's not."

"I really really want to believe that." Miles reached over to his nightstand to get a tissue to blow his nose. "But what if I did do it? Killing is a sin. If I killed someone, even if it's an accident, what does that make me?"

"That's a huge difference, man. And not just, like, legally and stuff." Bobby was far from a lawyer but there were people they both knew who could better answer that aspect of it. Morally though, there was a difference, he knew that. "If someone's trying to help and something happens, that's totally, completely different. It is, and like you said, this dude was probably already gone anyway." Miles wasn't a killer, he just wasn't.

Miles tried to take deep breaths to steady himself, but ended up with a coughing fit. He waved off Bobby's concern as he fought to regain his breath and not look like more of a pathetic spaz than he already felt. "I hate this," he finally said hoarsely. "I'm useless. I've never lost anyone before. Never failed."

"You're not useless, Miles." He really wasn't, though Bobby could imagine how something like that might make someone feel pretty shitty. He had no real idea, and he was a little ashamed as he realized part of him was glad that he didn't, but Miles was far from useless. "Hey, don't beat yourself up, you did your best. If you hadn't been there then, well." It would've been even worse, he imagined, and it didn't sound like Miles had much of a choice in the matter.

Even this short exchange had left Miles feeling drained. To be fair, he hadn't slept well since the event, either, so it wasn't just crying like a little girl that had done him in. "Sorry, I didn't need to unload that all on you," he said, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's . . . whatever. It's fine. I'll be fine."

"No need to apologize, dude. It's what bros are for, right?" Bobby hesitated but gave Miles a hug after a second anyway, because that's what bros did after all. He opened his mouth to agree with his roomie but he wasn't quite sure what else to say. He really did hope it'd be fine though, because Miles.

"Hey, you wanna go get something to eat? I'm kinda starvin' here, man." He wasn't really but he had no idea how to segue into something else other than by going to eat.

This time, Miles returned the hug. Physical contact felt good, reminding him that he was not alone. He was smiling when he pulled back. "Yeah, actually. Tacos, amigo. I need tacos."