Work Text:
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Rio Morales is many things, but above all, she is a mother.
So when she entered Miles’ room and sees an injured and younger version of her son, Rio didn’t care what the boy was.
The child (Estimado Dios, this is only a child - her baby had just turned 20, this boy couldn’t be older than 15) hugs her, concern mixing with his Brooklyn accent. As he pulls away, he looks into her eyes and violently recoils.
The boy’s eyes (brown instead of hazel) have gotten wider, a scared and lost look glazing over them, his breathing speeding up as his gaze darts over the room.
He stumbles backward, tripping over his own feet. Rio moves to catch him but, before she can, he hits the floor-
And breaks apart into glowing blue, pink, yellow, white, and black pieces. A pain-filled scream fills the apartment, the boy writhing on the ground as he glitches (that’s the closest thing she can compare it to- the flashes reminding her of that horribly made video game Jeff loved to play with Miles).
She hears the front door open, two familiar sets of footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor, and running to Miles’ room. The light from the rest of the apartment is blocked out as Aaron and her hijo stand there with stunned eyes, watching as she tries to comfort the twitching and wailing flashes of colors. Her hijo rushes forward, set on pulling her away, but she gives him a look that causes him to hesitate.
Eventually (1 minute and 37 seconds), the glitching stops, leaving a crying boy lying in a heap on the floor.
She hears Aaron let out a sharp breath when he sees who exactly the boy is, Miles staring with wide eyes at the younger version of himself.
“Rio,” Her cuñado breathes out, “What is this?”
The boy sobs as he curls into the fetal position, Rio cooing to him as she would her own hijo; a hand resting gently in his curls, softly rubbing small circles into his scalp (just like she did for Miles when he came to her for comfort). The boy curls up tighter, letting out a small whine as Rio moves his head onto her lap.
Rio looks to Aaron, shaking her head, ‘I don’t know’ written in her gaze.
Aaron’s gaze hardens, he opens his mouth and takes a step forward when a small voice stops him.
“I wanna go ‘ome.” The boy mumbles out, “Please, I jus’ wanna go ‘ome.” Another small glitch goes through his body, the boy’s quiet sobbing breaking through his words, “I wan’ my Pá and Mami, please.”
Rio tries to soothe the boy, curling over him in a hug, “It’s okay, nene, está bien.” As she brushes her hand over the back of the boy’s head, he lets out a choked-off gasp and tries to flinch away from her touch. She feels the familiar warmth and tackiness of blood coat her palm.
With a steadying breath, she puts her arm around the boy's shoulders, guiding him up and onto her shoulder, fury filling her at the pained whines he lets out, “Let’s get you to the couch, we’ll get you fixed up and help you get home, sí?”
She feels the boy nod against her neck, his hands tightly gripping her sleeve as she helps him stand.
Miles takes a step, his hands clenching, eyes harsh like Aaron’s, “Ma-”
Rio clicks her tongue at the pair with her eyebrow raised, causing both him and his Tío to take an aborted step back.
“Help me get him to the couch.” She instructs the two, earning immediate nods.
As Rio and the boy take a small step, the child’s weak legs go out from under him. Aaron and Miles are already there, Aaron taking the boy into his arms, Miles helping steady her. She sees Aaron’s brow furrow in concern at how light the boy in his arms is, his eyes already cataloging the visible injuries.
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Miles soon finds himself sitting on the couch with his younger doppelgänger leaning on him for support, while his Mami collects their kit to help patch the kid up.
They took Miles’ coat off the boy, leaving him in a weird black and red spandex-like onesie, with a spider symbol on the chest and back.
The kid is thin, not unhealthily so but enough that Miles can feel the knobs and ridges of his spine and ribs, and tremors constantly shake his body.
And while his double has bruises and scrapes nearly everywhere, that’s not what bothers Miles the most.
There are two vicious sets of claw marks tearing through his skin.
The first is on his front, starting at his left shoulder and dragging just under the center of his clavicle. The second set begins at the back of his neck, going straight down before curving over his lower left scapula.
(The only things in the city that could’ve made that injury would either be his own claws or Venom; considering Venom’s penchant for barely leaving anything left of their victims, he doubts this was their work; and Miles would’ve remembered a copy of himself getting away.)
As Tío Aaron kneels in front of them with supplies (scissors, a bowl of warm water, one full of soapy water, and some washcloths), his Mami rushes in with their first aid kit.
As his Mami unloads the kit, sorting out what they need (antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, liquid skin, tweezers, various bandages, and gauze), his Tío sets a hand on her arm, “Rio, I got this.” At the furious and protective look that statement earns, he continues, “You still gotta go to work.” His Mami’s shoulders seem to wilt at that, her gaze shooting to him and his younger counterpart.
Miles, not moving too much to not disturb the injured boy, leans forward and grabs her hand, “Estaremos bien, Mami.” He squeezes her hand twice, “Tío and I will call you if something happens, prometo.”
His Mami sighs and squeezes his hand back twice, hesitantly letting go and pattering around the apartment to gather her things, rattling off what they’ll need to do for his copy’s various injuries.
He and his Tío share a look, his Tío going over to his Mami and putting a steady hand on her shoulder, “We got this, Rio. You know I know how to deal with this stuff,” His Mami’s brows furrowed and her lips pinch at the reminder of their purple-tinted and blood-splattered jobs, “And Miles is your boy through and through, he’ll call me out if I miss anything.”
She hesitates for a second before agreeing, her fingers tapping out an anxious beat on the strap of her bag. She walks over to him before leaving, pressing a kiss onto his forehead and then tapping hers against it (Miles contains a fond smile when she brushes a gentle knuckle over younger-Miles’ bruised cheek).
When the door shuts and locks behind her, Tío Aaron kneels back in front of them. Taking the washcloths, he soaks them in the warm water and rings them out, then gets to work.
Tío Aaron gently presses the wet cloth to the blood-dried fabric surrounding the first set of claw marks, slowly loosening the lycra that’s stuck to his skin and injuries.
Younger-Miles tenses when the cloth drags over his wound, his hand flashing out to grip Tío Aaron’s wrist (he moved so fast that Miles’ eyes couldn’t track the movement).
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Aaron watches his nephew’s double feebly open his eyes, the familiar face staring him down with distrust and pain (and grief, the same grief that drowned Miles’ features after finding Jeff’s body). The boy’s grip tightens, and Aaron keeps his expression neutral even as the bones in his wrist grind from the unnatural strength.
Miles clicks his tongue at the kid, just like Rio would do, slowly reaching out and grabbing his hand, “Oye, chico, we’re trying to help you.” The boy lets his hand be removed, his eyes eerily empty as he watches them.
The boy lets himself be maneuvered around as Aaron and his nephew work, finally able to keep himself sitting up.
While Aaron starts to separate the lycra from the boy’s chest, Miles uses a wet towel to start the process of detaching the bloody fabric from the wounds on his back.
When all the stuck fabric is removed, Aaron gets the scissors he brought, prepared to cut away the top part of the boy’s suit. The boy moves away from him, mumbling in slurred Spanish that his nephew nods to. Miles stretches the collar out and assists the boy in the painstaking process of taking his arms out of the sleeves, the ruined suit bunching up around his waist, no cutting necessary.
Aaron almost winces in sympathy at the large patches of discoloration and scratches that encompass the boy’s chest, ribs, and back.
He looks at the boy's bruised face again.
(He remember when Miles was this young, remembers when baby fat still stubbornly clung to his cheeks, remembers the first time he had the same blank-eyed stare)
Miles begins to check his ribs, while Aaron starts cleaning out the front set of cuts and scratches with a clean towel. When Miles doesn’t find any ribs out of place just some more intense bruising, he grabs a fresh towel to clean out the cuts on the kid’s back.
Aaron pauses when he hears his nephew murmur out a quiet, “¿Qué coño?”
“Accelera’ed healin’.” The boy whispers, his voice tired and slurred, “‘ny pieces of the ‘rain tha’ ‘ere in there ‘otta be cu’ out.”
“A fuckin’ train?” Miles snarls out. Aaron smirks at the protective rage that taints his kid’s voice, scoffing out a quiet laugh when Miles glares at him.
“Mmm.” The boy hums out in agreement, his eyes struggling to stay open.
“Trains don’t got claws, kid.” The boy tenses at Aaron’s words, his breathing speeding up.
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Miles watches as younger-Miles’ breathing picks up, the hand he has on the boys back feeling his heart start to jackrabbit and his body shake even more.
His Tío goes to put a hand on younger-Miles’ uninjured shoulder (which usually helps ground Miles when he’s panicking) but the boy flinches back into the couch, a high pitched keen escaping him as he curls his arms in front of his face.
Miles keeps his hand on the boy’s back, making sure his injuries don’t press against the cushions.
”Ay, ay, chaparrito,” Miles snaps his fingers in front of younger-Miles’ eyes, making their gazes connect, “I need you to breathe with me.”
The boy nods but his breathing gets more erratic as his eyes keep flickering back to Tío Aaron.
“He ain’t gonna touch you, ‘kay?” The boy’s eyes finally stay on him, filled with tears, “And whatever hurt you,” Younger-Miles’ breath seems to freeze in his throat, “It ain’t here right now.”
Miles doesn’t say that everything’s okay, he can’t. He doesn’t know who hurt this kid, he can’t say for sure that they won’t come back.
Younger-Miles lets his tears fall, nodding hesitantly at Miles’ words.
(Miles barely remembers the time when he wore his emotions so vividly, doesn’t remember a time that wouldn’t get him killed.
Doesn’t remember when such wide-eyed trust was directed toward him.)
”¿Vale? Breathe with me.” Miles takes his double’s hand, pressing it against his own chest before taking in deep and consistent breaths. He whispers to the kid, echoing the exercise his Mami taught him so long ago.
Every breath in, “En por cuatro”.
Holding each breath, “Mantener por siete”.
Every breath out, “Fuera durante ocho”.
And repeat.
He keeps up the steady words and his even breathing for several minutes.
During those minutes he witnesses a few of younger-Miles’ less severe scratches start to close, the bruises on his face shrinking down to a couple of discolored splotches.
When the boy finally calms, his Tío brings him a cup of water to sip on while they continue cleaning out his scrapes and cuts.
With all the non-healed over scratches are thoroughly cleaned out (cleaning the injuries with water, cleaning around the wound with soapy water, gently removing small pieces of metal with tweezers, then cleaned out again with antiseptic wipes) and pinched closed with liquid skin, Miles chooses to focus on the pieces of train embedded under his skin before stitching closed the claw wounds on his back.
His Mami is nothing if not prepared. From their intensive first aid kit, Miles pulls out medical gloves, cotton balls, scalpels, and a small suture kit.
As he passes a pair of gloves and the suture kit to Tío Aaron he quietly talks to younger-Miles, informing the boy of everything he’s doing.
He puts on the blue gloves, then uses the antiseptic wipes to sterilize the scalpel and resterilizes the tweezers, setting them on a clean and dry towel beside him.
He starts with the obvious pieces of metal, the ones that cause visible bumps on younger-Miles’ skin. Gently wiping down the protruding skin, breaking his narration to mumble meaningless comforts when the boy winces, he cleans the area then takes the scalpel and firmly presses down.
Barley a centimeter incision.
He applies the slightest bit of pressure to the edges of the wound, squeezing the cut like an abscess, blood dripping onto his glove. In less than a second, a small fragment of metal emerges like a stubborn splinter.
Miles sets down the scalpel to grab the tweezers, he firmly grips the shard and pulls it out, grimacing in sympathy when the whole thing reveals itself to have gone at least a few inches into his muscles. He places the metal piece onto the towel, stanches the flow, cleans the wound, then picks up the scalpel again.
He redoes this process with all the apparent pieces (clean the skin, cut, push, grab, place, stanch, clean, repeat), re-sterilizes the scalpel and tweezers, and starts gently pressing on younger-Miles’ back to make sure there aren’t any hidden pieces of metal.
Confident that there aren’t any more shards, he pinches the shallow cuts close with liquid skin, stitching and putting square bandages over the deeper ones.
Miles removes the blooded gloves, replacing them with a fresh pair, and takes the offered suture kit from his Tío.
He pats down the area, cleaning it and making sure no moisture accumulated, still narrating what he’s doing to younger-Miles. Slowly and precisely, he begins stitching up the deep claw marks, neatly closing the wounds.
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Aaron grabs the empty glass sitting on the table and heads to the kitchen to refill it. His hand clenches around the glass as he thinks about the blank eyes that stared through him while he was sewing his skin back together.
Aaron and Miles have one rule when taking or doing jobs; they don’t hurt kids.
(A rule he implemented 5 years ago after Kingpin sent him to get rid of a witness, and he found his nephew at the end of his claws.)
So, seeing a younger version of his kid (he looks the same age Miles did when Aaron had him by the throat) covered in injuries that Aaron had inflicted on countless people- had almost inflicted on his kid-
Aaron turns the tap, the sound of water disappearing, leaving only the sound of his nephew's quiet voice filling the apartment.
He sighs, running a hand down his face, and rubbing his chin (a nervous tic he picked up from Jeff, one he never grew out of). He turns back to the living room, observing as Miles takes a roll of bandages and starts to wrap them around the boy’s left shoulder and upper back.
”Terminado,” Miles says, patting the boy’s uncovered shoulder, “Anything else hurt that we didn’t get to?”
(Aaron’s only ever heard Miles talk that softly to Rio, and judging by the glare his kid keeps leveling him with, he knows exactly what he’s thinking.)
The boy (they’re gonna hafta figure out something to call him) hums, “‘e grabbed m’ ankle, i’s twis’ed- mild.”
He and Miles share a look, ‘He’, that at least gives them something to work with.
“Right,” Aaron ignores how the kid tenses up at his voice, tired eyes opening to observe him, “Drink up, I’ll wrap your ankle.” The boy takes the cup, his grip steadier than earlier, wearily watching as Aaron kneels down.
Aaron grabs a compression bandage from the first aid kit and starts methodically wrapping the boy’s ankle over his suit.
The boy gradually relaxes against Miles’ side, his eyes no longer watching him.
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
The Prowler studies the multiple Spiders that are now stomping through his city.
They had gotten the whole story out of Chaparrito.
(The spider bite - Green Goblin - Spider-Man - the Collider - Kingpin - watching Peter Parker’s murder - Spiders from different dimensions - complete cellular decay - the Spiders ganging up on him - finding out his Tío Aaron is the Prowler - his Tío almost killing him before he could pull his mask up - his Tío being shot for hesitating - his Tío dying in his arms - sending the Spiders home - fighting Fisk, one on one - blowing up the Collider - the entire year he was alone - fighting villains that had 10 years to learn and develop tech to defeat someone with his power set - the stress and constant panic attacks - throwing away his dreams of art to study physics - meeting the Spot - Gwen coming back, finding out she could’ve visited him for months - Mumbattan, Pavitr, and Hobie -
‘ I’m gonna take everything from you. Like you took everything from me. ’
- Gwen trying to stop him from saving someone - HQ - the casual dismissal of the other Spiders - Miguel - canon events - his Papá having to die - the cage - Hobie being the only one to help him - the chase - the train -
Anomaly
- His “friends” knowing - Margo hesitating - arriving here)
And Prowler thought he had problems.
Chaparrito had tried to apologize to him for taking the spider, but he can’t miss what he never had.
Plus, if the timeline added up; he’d have gotten bit last year.
(19, the same age Chaparrito’s Peter Parker was when he became Spider-Man)
His Papá was killed when he was 15, and the one person he and his Mami could lean on during that time was his Tío.
He’s been the Prowler since he was 16. His world still wouldn’t’ve had a Spider-Man, no matter what that Miguel man said (and wouldn’t the Prowler love to have that man at the end of his claws). If his Tío had gotten killed - had died in his arms just like his Papá - the darkness that lives in the Prowler’s soul would’ve consumed him whole.
Prowler forces those thoughts back into the recesses of his mind, focusing back on the current infestation crawling through his city.
There are 8 Spiders in his world (and did that bastard really bring his fucking baby!?), looking for Chaparrito, who’s currently on the way to Alchemax with Tío Aaron.
Prowler watches as the Spider with his hair out of his mask - Pavitr - lands on the building across from him and tenses. The boy whips around, his eye lenses widening as he spots the Prowler’s glowing mask.
Prowler tilts his head, standing up from his crouch on the fire escape, and leaps to the neighboring building.
Pavitr scrambles to follow him, “Woah, wait!”
Pavitr’s exclamation is noticed by the other Spiders, who quickly see the Prowler and join in the pursuit (Miles’ modulated chuckle is lost in the chase- groups of Spiders chasing any version of Miles Morales must be a “canon event”).
The Prowler soon comes to a stop, crouched at the corner of a roof in a vacant part of Brooklyn and far away from the roads Chaparrito and Tío Aaron would be on.
The Spiders pause at the building below him, most tense and ready to fight (the punk seems nonchalant, Pavitr curious, and the baby giggles from the chase). A silent conversation happens between the Spiders, lenses widening and squinting, shoulders and fists tensing.
The one wearing a pink bathrobe and carrying the baby - Peter B. and Mayday - step forward, shoulders forcibly lowered and hands up in surrender.
”You don’t belong here.” Prowler states before the man can start, his lips ticking up in amusement at the shock that ripples some of the group at his unexpected voice.
“Uh- no- No, no, we do not.” Parker awkwardly stutters out.
”Then, leave.” He flexes his right hand, his claws fluidly following the movement, the Spiders tensing at the subtle threat.
Pavitr steps forward, his hands clasped in front of his chest, “We can’t.” Prowler tilts his head forward in a small nod, Pavitr takes this as a sign to continue, “Our friend was accidentally sent here, we came to help him.”
Prowler hums, the modulated sound more reminiscent of a growl.
The group’s eyes remain on him as the silence stretches.
”Who’s your friend?”
Pavitr’s lenses seem to squint up in a smile as he goes on describing Chaparrito, not mentioning his various injuries (based on his double’s account, Pavitr wouldn’t have been present during the chase).
After Pavitr finishes his description, Prowler asks, “He got a name?”
They’re clearly hesitant to tell him, obviously aware of any Miles Morales’ connection to the Prowler.
The white spider with teal shoes - Gwen - is the next to step forward, her lenses glaring at him, “Who are you?”
The Prowler had been waiting for that question, it’s why he brought them to an abandoned part of the city.
(He wants to show them what he turned into after his Papá’s death- wants to show them what most of them were ready to force Chaparrito into becoming.
Miles isn’t soft anymore, he doesn’t trust anymore, he doesn’t see the best in people, he’s world has been monochrome since his Papá’s red blood stained his hands.
But Chaparrito isn’t that- he’s still soft around the edges, he trusts when he can, he tries to see the best in others, he still sees the world in bright vivid colors.
The only people Miles cares about are his family, and - alternative dimension or not - Chaparrito is a Morales.
And Miles doesn’t want to see the light that died in him, be extinguished within that kid.)
The Prowler stands, something dark in him curling with glee when the girl nearly flinches, his mask retracting. That same part of him twists with malicious joy at the shocked step backward some of the group take, the stuttered gasps, and wide lenses.
“I’m Miles Morales, but you… you can call me the Prowler.”
His mask returns to place, both his claws catching the city lights as he flexes them.
”And you ain’t welcomed here.”
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖
Aaron stops in front of the deserted Alchemax, kicking out the kickstand and turning off his bike in a practiced motion. He gets off the bike, carefully helping Li’l Miles clamber off after him.
The building’s almost done being renovated from the big explosion last year (from the kid’s story, the explosion was no doubt connected to his Collider).
Aaron remembers Liv talking last year about alternate universes - how Fisk’s wife was funding the project to try and get her husband back - he didn’t believe her, didn’t think it was possible.
He’s gonna owe her so many favors after this.
The annoying ring of a bike bell sounds through the trees, a brown and gray-haired headache in human form peddling towards them. Even from this distance, he can see her manic grin and excited eyes.
The woman rolls to a stop, hopping off of her bike and letting it fall to the ground.
Li’l Miles steps closer to his back, one hand gripping the edge of Aaron’s jacket, staying hidden behind him.
“Aaron! My second favorite, purple-wearing, cat lover!” Li’l Miles huffs out a quiet laugh, as Aaron glares at her.
“Doc.” Aaron greets with a nod.
“So,” Her grin gains a curious tilt to it, her eyes probing his, “Why the sudden interest in my research?”
Aaron hears Li’l Miles step around him, and he takes joy in seeing Liv’s face go slack with shock.
The boy gives her a wave, “Hey, Liv.”
Liv adjust her glasses, eyes moving from Li’l Miles to him then over Li’l Miles’ injures.
He sees the smallest bit of warmth enter her eyes (Olivia Octavius only has two soft spots; an old college girlfriend she never elaborates on, and Miles Morales- who started shadowing his Uncle and visiting the lab after his Dad’s death), “Well, looks like you two got a story to share.”
Li’l Miles seems to be able to read her as well as Aaron because he lets out a small breath of relief and smiles. As he opens his mouth to explain, he’s cut off by the vicious glitching that Aaron and Miles had originally seen at the apartment.
Liv’s concern fights with her scientific curiosity, “What’s happening?”
Aaron kneels down by the flickering blur of colors and lights, keeping his face blank at the hitched screaming, “His body apparently isn’t happy about being in the wrong dimension. We came here to find a way to stabilize it.”
The glitching stops faster than it did earlier, small tremors running through his frame.
While Li’l Miles recuperates, Liv unlocks the building and then helps Aaron herd the boy to her lab.
Liv rolls her desk chair over to them, letting Li’l Miles sit before snapping on a pair of latex gloves. She grabs a tongue depressor and swab stick, holding the two in front of Li’l Miles, “Can I take a sample?” She asks as she hooks a stool with her ankle to sit on.
Aaron tenses but Li’l Miles, strangely, has a fond smile on his face as he nods.
After taking the sample, she rolls over to her microscope and places the sample on a slide.
Aaron nudges the kid, raising a brow at him.
Li’l Miles gives him a bright grin (Aaron ignores the soft feeling he gets from that- it’s been a while since Miles had smiled like that), “What?”
This cheeky little-
“Don’t ‘what’ me kid,” Aaron smirks as he puts his knuckles on the kid's forehead and pushes him back, earning a quiet giggle, “You friends with Doc in your world?”
Before he can get an answer, Liv pushes herself away from the microscope, wheeling herself back over to them. Li’l Miles sits up straighter at the serious and fascinated look on her face, Aaron following suit.
“Lemme guess, total cellular decay?” Li’l Miles asks with a weak smile.
“No- well, yes.” Liv starts, balling up her gloves and tossing them in the trash, “Your cells do glitch and decay, but,” She spins around in a circle on her stool, an excited smile stretching across her face, “During the second glitch they seem to completely regenerate!”
“That didn’t happen for the Spiders that came to my ‘verse.” Li’l Miles mumbles.
“Maybe there’s something different about you?” Liv guesses.
Li’l Miles scoffs, bitterness sweeping over his features, “What isn’t lately.”
Liv adjusts her glasses, sending a questioning look to Aaron, “Whatever it is, your cells seem to be reforming themselves to survive in this dimension, which is just- amazing.”
Aaron watches as Li’l Miles digests this, his jaw working as he stares at the tiles on the floor.
“The spider that bit me came from this dimension.” Miles tells her.
Liv’s eyes light up at the new information. She rolls herself over to her desk, her computer coming to life as she searches through it.
“Last year, on November 26th during one of our Collider test runs, a subject went missing; a genetically modified spider.” She pushes herself away from the computer, spinning back over to Li’l Miles, “We had theorized that the spider’s venom could greatly alter the DNA of a human subject.”
“You theorized correctly.” A foreign voice says from the speakers of the computer.
Aaron tenses and places a hand on the gun he has tucked into his waistband, hidden below his coat.
Li’l Miles shoots one of his webs at the back of the computer, tugging the web towards himself, making the desktop spin around and face the three of them.
On the screen is a woman with short brown hair, heart-shaped sunglasses, and a white fur coat surrounded by yellow and orange glitches. She gives Li’l Miles a small smile, “Hey, kid.”
Said kid’s breathing speeds up, his form flickering in and out of visibility.
The woman on the computer waves her hands in front of her, “It’s okay! It’s okay, Miles! Miguel doesn’t know you’re here, I swear on my code.”
Li’l Miles' breathing slows down, still stuttering but better, though he stays camouflaged- the only thing giving away his position are the small static sparks that jump from his hands.
“How do I know that you aren’t lying?” His voice is shaky and scared, but there’s an undercurrent of iron-willed rage that hides beneath his fear.
The woman pauses, her arms crossing over her chest after she pushes her glasses to rest atop her head.
“I could’ve jumped into the system to shut off the Go Home Machine.”
It’s silent for a second.
Li’l Miles comes back to visibility, a wary smile on his face, “You gonna help me make a watch?”
The woman gives him a soft smile, sharply nodding her head, causing her glasses to fall back into place, “Firstly, of course, you should’ve always had one,” Her smile morphs into the same manic smirk Liv gets when she’s on a science binge, “secondly, it’s called a gizmo.”
˖⁺‧₊ 𖤓 ⋆ ☾ ₊‧⁺˖