and lay me down
Dec. 15th, 2019 05:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: And Lay Me Down
Rating: G
Series: Spider-Man (Miles Morales, Peter Parker)
Wordcount: 558
Summary: Whumptober prompt - bedridden
Miles’ vision blurred again, but this time rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes didn’t do anything to shake it. He drew in a long, slow breath - in through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Mom coached at the hospital - and ignored the stubborn, stabbing ache in his chest.
On the other side of the Connect 4 board, Peter’s eyes flicked up. “Everything alright, bud?”
“Yeah,” Miles said firmly. “Yeah, man, all good,” and reached out with his piece. The game had shifted into Connect the Molecular Structures after about two rounds of the original flavour; Miles had caught a glimpse of his dad’s bemused expression the last time he’d peeked in during one of his ‘casual’ walks past the bedroom that seemed to happen every ten minutes.
He fumbled the placement. The stupid plastic circle bounced off the board and would have disappeared into the tangle of sheets and blankets had longer, non-shaky fingers not deftly caught it out of the air.
“Annnd that’s a wrap, I think,” Peter said, sitting back. Miles flopped backwards, frustrated, into the mountain of pillows taking up half his bed - every single one in the house, down to Tia Carolina’s lumpy monstrosity with the orange tassels. That hurt too, though, and he wrapped an arm over his ribs, around the giant bruise his whole body had become. He seriously had a bone to pick with whoever invented carbon steel. Or maybe just with the guy who turned it into the world's weirdest cosplay and then stepped on him.
“This sucks,” he said forcefully, pounding the pillows ineffectively with a fist. “I thought you said we got super fast healing. This is, like, medium fast. I want a do-over with my spider.”
“If you add time-travel powers to your list of bonus features, I’m going to have to demand a do-over myself.” A hand patted his knee, not unsympathetically. “Just give it a little longer to work its webby magic, huh? Focus on resting up.”
“'M sick of resting,” he grumbled, closing his eyes, resenting the way they wanted to be closed. He’d slept until 1pm today, and now it wasn’t even 4 and he felt like he was ready for a six month coma.
When he opened them again, though, Peter was eyeing him with that serious, guilty expression again - the same one he’d been wearing when he’d shown up at the front door with the fading shadow of a black eye and a double-armful of battered board games that clearly hadn’t come out of the closet in a decade.
It wasn’t exactly on the same level as Ganke’s visit yesterday, which had come with a cheeseburger and a Playstation, but Miles wasn’t about to tell Spider-Man that.
He sighed loudly, then kicked out under the blankets, thumping Peter’s leg. “Come on, man. One more round. Then I’ll do the Sleeping Beauty thing, I promise.”
Peter held the moment longer, just enough that Miles was about to resign himself to abandonment in a den of mother hens - then relented, starting to shake the slate clear of clattering plastic pieces.
“Alright, okay, but the caffeine molecules are off the table,” he said, mock-severely, and Miles snorted as much of a laugh as his chest let him, levering himself back up onto his elbows.
Rating: G
Series: Spider-Man (Miles Morales, Peter Parker)
Wordcount: 558
Summary: Whumptober prompt - bedridden
Miles’ vision blurred again, but this time rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes didn’t do anything to shake it. He drew in a long, slow breath - in through the nose, out through the mouth, just like Mom coached at the hospital - and ignored the stubborn, stabbing ache in his chest.
On the other side of the Connect 4 board, Peter’s eyes flicked up. “Everything alright, bud?”
“Yeah,” Miles said firmly. “Yeah, man, all good,” and reached out with his piece. The game had shifted into Connect the Molecular Structures after about two rounds of the original flavour; Miles had caught a glimpse of his dad’s bemused expression the last time he’d peeked in during one of his ‘casual’ walks past the bedroom that seemed to happen every ten minutes.
He fumbled the placement. The stupid plastic circle bounced off the board and would have disappeared into the tangle of sheets and blankets had longer, non-shaky fingers not deftly caught it out of the air.
“Annnd that’s a wrap, I think,” Peter said, sitting back. Miles flopped backwards, frustrated, into the mountain of pillows taking up half his bed - every single one in the house, down to Tia Carolina’s lumpy monstrosity with the orange tassels. That hurt too, though, and he wrapped an arm over his ribs, around the giant bruise his whole body had become. He seriously had a bone to pick with whoever invented carbon steel. Or maybe just with the guy who turned it into the world's weirdest cosplay and then stepped on him.
“This sucks,” he said forcefully, pounding the pillows ineffectively with a fist. “I thought you said we got super fast healing. This is, like, medium fast. I want a do-over with my spider.”
“If you add time-travel powers to your list of bonus features, I’m going to have to demand a do-over myself.” A hand patted his knee, not unsympathetically. “Just give it a little longer to work its webby magic, huh? Focus on resting up.”
“'M sick of resting,” he grumbled, closing his eyes, resenting the way they wanted to be closed. He’d slept until 1pm today, and now it wasn’t even 4 and he felt like he was ready for a six month coma.
When he opened them again, though, Peter was eyeing him with that serious, guilty expression again - the same one he’d been wearing when he’d shown up at the front door with the fading shadow of a black eye and a double-armful of battered board games that clearly hadn’t come out of the closet in a decade.
It wasn’t exactly on the same level as Ganke’s visit yesterday, which had come with a cheeseburger and a Playstation, but Miles wasn’t about to tell Spider-Man that.
He sighed loudly, then kicked out under the blankets, thumping Peter’s leg. “Come on, man. One more round. Then I’ll do the Sleeping Beauty thing, I promise.”
Peter held the moment longer, just enough that Miles was about to resign himself to abandonment in a den of mother hens - then relented, starting to shake the slate clear of clattering plastic pieces.
“Alright, okay, but the caffeine molecules are off the table,” he said, mock-severely, and Miles snorted as much of a laugh as his chest let him, levering himself back up onto his elbows.
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