TW: stalking, attempted physical attack, blood, assault, mentions of child trafficking
Did you miss the angst? :)
Whoops this entire plot of 'everything is good and fine and fun' went on way longer than intended :') if I had any self control I wouldn't overwrite this much, but I don't so !!!
Also I'm working on a pilot script/pitch atm so updates might become less frequent :')
Not proofread bc who got time for that in this economy !!!!
"Hey, amor." My fingertips trace the blooming wild flowers atop Miguel's grave. "It's me again."
The wildflowers have grown larger than the last time I visited, fully bloomed and striking shades of pinks and yellows and blues. They waver in the gentle breeze. The sun filters through the leaves of Miguel's tree above me, dappling the lush ground of his grave with small, golden pools.
Miguel had always rivalled the sun, had always been warmer, brighter than it - and Rosalina and I had orbited like he was the sun in our own galaxy. Rosalina had always been a daddy's girl, and I had always been Miguel's, too. He was the very centre of our universe. He was the gravity that bound our family together.
I rest myself against his tree and pat one of the petals. I usually talk a lot to him when I visit; I inform him of everything that's happened since. Rosalina's grades, or Mayday's antics, or the crazy happenings of the multiverse.
But today... I can't seem to find any words.
It's been six months since my husband died. It's been six months since Miguel arrived in my world, standing on my doorstep and drenched by the rain. Six months since I learnt the truth about my husband's double-life, the multiverse, the fact that I'm the only me left. Six months of fear and pain and learning to heal.
Half a year is so long. Six months feels like an eternity when you've lost someone dear. It's like each minute snatches onto you, each a weight that drags at you. You can't walk, anymore. You've stalled. The world keeps on moving, but you've stalled.
I miss him.
Miguel was right. It never gets any easier, no matter how much you might think you've recovered. No matter how much you might love someone new. I didn't realise you could miss someone so fiercely and still be so in love with another. I didn't know they could be balanced the way they are.
I wipe my tears with a smile. The pain hasn't eased, it still feels like I'm getting stabbed through the heart every time I think of him, but at least it's begun to feel more bittersweet than just being thrown straight into excruciating agony. I recall the memories rather than focusing on the absence of the man who once stood beside me. But still, it's never easy.
My nose stings. I sniffle into my collar. I watch the sun climb the blue sky and inhale the sweet breeze of my first day of summer without him.
I don't say anything.
••🕷️••
"Vamos, papita." I hurry my daughter along. "We're going to be late!"
"I'm going as fast as I can!" she exclaims from where she's clumsily tying her shoelaces.
It's a beautiful Sunday morning and there's a festival in Central Park that Rosalina's been dying to go to, and yet didn't want to wake up early to get there before the rush. Sleep-ins are more important than promptness, according to Rosalina. Problems don't exist if she can't see them in real-time.
It's nice to do something mundane surrounded by mundane people for a change. The Spider-HQ is fascinating, but sometimes I wish I had my normal co-workers back with their normal office drama. Whose yogurt was stolen is far less worrying than the state of the messed-up multiverse.
Rosalina pings to her feet. "Done!" She rushes to the door and grabs my hand along the way.
Miguel's on patrol, so it's just us O'Hara girls heading to the festival. Rosalina's wearing sunglasses that are a tad too big for her that she has to keep hitching up. On her feet are her new favourite Spider-Man sneakers that Peter bought her - they match with Mayday's teeny pair.
We take the subway to Central Park, since attempting to drive and then find a carpark would be a nightmare. Rosalina admires her new shoes and tells me about how she's making a 'lesson plan' to teach Peter Spanish. She'll start with food, of course.
The festival is already in full swing by the time we arrive. Crowds clog the walkways and trample the grass into dirt. A Ferris wheel is set up, and so is a small roller coaster and bumper carts. Rosalina insists that we ride on all of them.
We're halfway through munching down on some lunch between carnival games when my phone buzzes with a text. I hold my hotdog in one hand and pull it out of my pocket.
Miguel:
Are you two at home?
Sent 12:26pm
Me:
nope. at festival
Read
Miguel:
Be careful when you leave. Crimes bad up here recently
Sent 12:28pm
Me:
sir yes sir
Read
Me:
hey how do u think abt a big stuffed pony named dolores for your station at work
Read
Miguel:
🙄
Sent 12:29pm
Me:
i'll take that as an enthusiastic yes
Read
"Papita, smile for papa." I lift my phone to take a selfie of us. She beams at the camera and brandishes her cup of fries like it's a trophy. As soon as I drop my arm, she grabs a handful and stuffs her face with the salty, ketchup-y goodness. I snap another photo of our troublesome daughter.
Snickering, I send the photos to Miguel. His response is instantaneous.
Miguel:
Cute
Sent 12:31pm
Me:
she gets it from me
Read
Miguel:
I know. My cute girls
Sent 12:31pm
My heart flutters too fast for me to make a response. I tuck my phone away with a flustered smile and turn my attention to Rosalina, who's scooping out the last of the little fried nuggets at the bottom of the cardboard cup with the same intensity as a squirrel hunting for winter.
"Where to next, Rosita?" I ask.
Lunch finished, she takes my hand and leads the way through a row of festival games. We stop at each booth - throwing darts, shooting plastic guns, guessing which of the three cups holds a coin. It's a flurry of fun, and by the time the sun begins to dip low, both her and I are exhausted.
I carry Dolores the pony and a few other carnival wins in my over-stuffed bag as we exit the park with a crowd of equally tired festival-goers. Rosalina snacks on a candied apple and holds my hand. I ponder what I might make for dinner - I hadn't organised anything this morning, and I imagine that Miguel's been busy all day. Rosita's probably thinking of more exciting things.
We take the subway back home. It's spring, so it's still reasonably light out, and I let down my guard because of the sun as we walk back to our brownstone. Rosalina spots the man trailing us first.
She tugs on my hand and whispers up at me. "Mom."
I hum and look down at her, torn from my thoughts. The scared look in her eyes sharpens my focus exponentially.
"What's wrong?"
Rosalina hunches closer to my side and almost steps on my shoes. "I think that man is following us."
My neck prickles. "What makes you say that?"
Rosalina grabs my arm with her hands and hugs it. I subtly peek over my shoulder. There's a crowd of people on the sidewalk but I can't spot anyone acting suspicious through the throng.
"He was in the subway," she whispers. "He's followed us."
"He could just be heading in the same direction," I reason, "but let's cross the street, anyway. Just in case."
Rosalina nods. I smile down at her, outwardly composed. Internally, my stomach is doing nervous flips and my heart is thrumming in my throat. This was always the worst part about living in Nueva York - the creeps.
We stop at a crossing and wait for the walking man symbol to turn green. A few people linger behind us, but I still can't quite seem to pick who it could be that's got Rosalina on edge. We can't even go home in the high chance that she's right - it's safe, but it also lets whoever it knows where we live.
"Dad?" Rosalina's shaky voice draws my attention. She's called Miguel on her phone. Her clammy hand tightens in mine. "Where are you?"
Whoever it seems to be has joined our small group in waiting to cross the road. And it could be nothing, but Rosalina's scared. If Miguel needs to cut his patrol short so he can make his daughter feel safe, then he needs to cut his patrol short.
I wouldn't mind him here with us, either.
"We're crossing the street," Rosalina's whisper answers the question I don't hear. "We think someone's following us."
She sticks close to my side when the cars stop. We lead the way across the street, walking quickly. She holds up the phone for me to take.
"Hey," I greet when I press it against my ear, voice a touch strained.
"Where are you?" Miguel immediately asks.
I glance up at the street signs and rattle off our address. "We're headed north."
It sounds like he's running - or leaping across buildings. My eyes stray to the rooftops just in case I spot a Spider-Man swinging overhead.
"What does he look like?"
"I don't know." I cautiously peek over my shoulder again and nearly trip over Rosalina's Spider-Man shoes. "But Rosita's convinced. She's scared."
"I'm almost there," Miguel says. "Keep walking. Give me back to Rosita."
I pass my daughter her phone. She takes it with a nervous frown.
"Hola, papá," she says quietly. She's quiet for a moment as Miguel talks to her. "The festival was fun. We got you a pony. Her name's Dolores."
Despite the ball of anxiety twisting my stomach into knots, I smile softly.
"Mom named him," Rosalina answers Miguel's next question. She frowns at whatever it is he says. "It's a good name!"
A familiar spark of portal-red from deep within a side street catches the corner of my eyes, and my relief is so potent that I'm almost breathless. I turn towards it. Rosita sends me a confused look as she lets me lead her away from the crowds.
Someone detaches from the rest of the pedestrians. She was right. I hurry her along and she half-jogs to keep up.
My gaze subtly flickers up. Spider-Man's sheathed the talons of his claws and feet onto the brick of the building beside us, hidden by the shadows of the fire escape. It would be a terrifying image to anyone else, but my panic only lifts.
"Where are we going?" Rosalina asks me nervously. She passes up the phone. "Dad wants to talk to you again."
I grab the phone and hurriedly put it to my ear. The stranger's footsteps echo down the empty side-street. They're gaining. They're gaining quickly.
Rosalina's yanked back with a yelp and on instinct I turn and pummel my knuckles with the phone into his chin. He releases his grip on my daughter and stumbles back with a cry. The phone clatters to the concrete.
"Duck," Miguel snarls from overhead. I pull Rosalina towards me and fall into a crouch just as a blur of red and blue tackles the man to the ground with an animalistic growl that sounds like something from nightmares. Rosalina cries in shock and hides her face into my chest.
I cup my hands over her ears and watch with wide eyes as Miguel furiously drives his fist once, twice, three times into the man's face. I wince with each heavy thud of knuckles hitting skull, the wet snap of a nose breaking and the pained cry of his victim. I press my palms tighter against my daughter's ears.
Miguel drags the man up by his shirt and throws him to the wall, where he pins him with red webbing to be dealt with later. He turns to us and freezes. Blood drips from his fist. I've never seen him so violent before, so hellbent on causing pain. It's a relief and it's worrisome.
Miguel's frozen state tells me this is a side he didn't want either of us to see. But that's not important, right now. My attention drops to Rosalina.
"It's okay, papita." I release my palms from her ears. She's shaking. I rub my hands up and down her shoulders and kiss her hair. "It's over, baby. We're okay. We're safe."
She doesn't move her face from my shirt. Miguel hesitates, wiping the blood from his fist onto the back of his thigh.
"Look who it is, chiquita." My voice trembles as my adrenaline drains away. "It's your favourite superhero."
Rosalina shakes her head. Miguel takes a hesitant step forward, torn between being her dad and being Spider-Man. My inexperienced punch has begun to make my knuckles ache, but I continue to pat my daughter's arms soothingly. I'm not sure it's working.
Miguel decides to approach and crouches down beside us. Rosalina sinks away from him, deeper into my arms. Miguel drops his head toward her, disposition soft.
"You alright there, kiddo?" he gently asks, and the voice changer I wasn't expecting startles me. The average New Yorker accent doesn't suit him. "You're very brave."
Rosalina peeks an eye out at Spider-Man. His red half-moons are wide and open. He's trying to make himself not look so scary, which is difficult, because his vigilante suit was designed to incite fear.
"I like your shoes," he continues. He picks up the stuffed toy lying on the ground beside us and offers it to her. "And your pony. Does it have a name?"
Rosalina hesitates at seeing the remnants of blood on his knuckles. She carefully takes the pony and hugs it tight, leaning into me. She stares at him cautiously, brown eyes wide.
"Dolores," she whispers.
Spider-Man's eyes squint with a mask-hidden smile. "That's a great name."
"Mom named it," she says quietly.
He glances up at me. My smile's weak. Miguel's hand raises to cup my cheek and he stops himself just in time. He clenches it into a fist and rests it back on the concrete.
"Nice punch," he compliments.
Now that my fear's totally drained away, all I'm filled with is gratitude. I wish his mask would fizzle away so I could kiss him.
"Thanks," I settle on saying instead. My eyes glance at the unconscious man hanging from the wall. I'm filled with the sudden and demanding need to get my daughter away from this scene. "We should get home, and... you should probably deal with that."
Miguel looks over his shoulder. "Yeah." He turns his gaze back down to Rosalina. "See you around, kid. Ma'am." He nods at the stuffed toy. "Dolores."
A smile pulls at my mouth. Rosalina squeezes her pony tighter.
I rise to my full height and bring my daughter up with me. Spider-Man hands me Rosalina's phone, which is still on the call with Miguel's contact. Rosalina doesn't let go of my hand. Her grip is like iron.
"Bye, Spider-Man," Rosalina quietly says. Miguel swells with adoration. His red crescents squint.
I put the phone to my ear as soon as we return to the sidewalk. Now we're definitely going straight home. "Miguel?"
"Are you okay? Rosita?"
I glance down at Rosalina. She watches the ground as we walk. She's drawn into herself. I'm on edge.
"Rattled," I answer. I squeeze my daughter's hand and she glances up at me, so I offer her a small smile. She returns it weakly. "But we'll be okay as soon as we have a hot chocolate and put on a movie."
Rosalina's timid smile grows.
Miguel's already back by the time we make it home. He dashes down the stoop's steps as he's pulling on a flannel shirt and catches Rosalina when she propels herself forward for a hug. Her facade breaks; she bursts into tears. Miguel buries his face into her hair and holds her.
My legs wobble with disbelief and exhaustion. I can't remember the last time I'd been so scared for my daughter's safety - probably six months ago, when Miguel was still a stranger swallowed by his secret.
Rosalina and I aren't the only ones scared by our encounter; Miguel's eyes find me over our daughter's head and the terror in them startles me. He's nothing like how he was in the alleyway, where he beat that guy with the rage of god and protected us with ferocious intent, where he was scary and scared. Now, holding Rosalina to his chest and murmuring soft reassurances, he's just scared.
He never really has gotten over the fear of losing us. I don't think he ever will.
Miguel's gaze scans me but, aside from my achy fist, I'm unharmed. His arm stretches out around my back as he ushers me up the steps and into the safety of our home. The slam of the door makes me jump. The click of the lock sends chills down my neck. The only thing keeping me from buckling beneath my panic is the weight of Miguel's arm around my waist.
"You're so brave," Miguel murmurs to Rosalina. He guides us to the kitchen and sits on the edge of one of the barstools, holding the little girl tighter. "I've got you, mijita. I'm not going to let anything hurt you."
My dazed attention drifts to him, watching as he pulls her soft hair from her face and kisses her forehead. His eyes are haunted with a thousand ghosts. He's been haunted since he got home from the lab late three nights ago.
I lean against the kitchen bench and try to reel my sporadic thoughts back from its panicked reaches. My arm rests against Miguel's shoulder. The pressure he leans upon it grounds me somewhat.
After Rosalina's cries have softened and she's gained enough confidence to leave Miguel's hold, she enters the living room to find a movie to watch upon his gentle prompting. My hands have begun to shake. I'm brought into his arms as soon as they're free.
"Thank you," I whisper before he can say anything. "Thank you."
Miguel's grip is firm. I wish it was tighter. I wish I could melt into him. He's a lighthouse in a stormy sea, a steadfast rock against a tumultuous river, he's my grounding beacon. I press my face into his neck and I'm surrounded by his presence, his warmth, his smell. I finally relax.
"¿Esta bien, amor?" he asks, voice muffled by my hair. I sniffle and nod. "Good punch. Very hot."
My laugh is thin. "It hurt."
"Let me have a look." Miguel pulls back and lifts my tender knuckles to him. He kisses them softly, one by one, before hesitating with his lips on my fingers. "... I'm sorry you had to see that."
"See what?" I ask in confusion, and then widen my eyes with incredulity. "You saving us from a total creep? That's not something you need to apologise for."
"I just got so tunnel visioned," Miguel murmurs.
"I got angry. I couldn't stop thinking about what he would do with..." He cuts himself off with a sigh. "He was an addict on Rapture. Probably needed money."
My stomach turns violently. "Oh."
"There's a ring." Miguel glances at Rosalina across the hallway, perched before the TV and scouring the movie selections. "Jess and I have been working on taking them down."
The rest of Miguel's words blurs. Probably needed money. There's a ring. I'm overcome with nausea. How demented can people get?
Just the thought of someone that sick getting a hold of my little girl crumbles my resolve. Losing my husband was already more than I could bear, but I can't live without my little girl. If anything happened to her- if anything happens to her-
I ball the front of Miguel's shirt in my hands. It's my turn to cry.
"Oh, my god, Mig." I'm brought tight into his chest and I cling to him as I begin to sob. "What if you weren't there? What if- what if he took my baby?"
Miguel's hand cards firmly through my hair. His arm around my waist is so rigid that it hurts. "He didn't. He didn't, cariño. She's safe."
"But what if-"
"No." Miguel holds my jaw and stares at my weepy face sternly. "No 'what ifs.' She's here. She's safe." His thumbs rub my cheeks, wiping away hot tears. "Jess and I are close to cracking down on it. A few days, tops, and that entire operation will be gone."
His words offer me a little reassurance. I sniffle and nod, and try to kiss him back when he sweetly touches his lips to mine. I'm still too freaked, too panicky, so he hugs me instead. That, I return with ease. That I return tightly.
He holds me just as strongly.
••🕷️••
"Lyla, can you give me an update on Rosita?"
The AI girl standing on the desk beside me plants her hands on her hips and frowns. I glance at her from my laptop and hesitate, taken aback by her yellow, glowing disgruntlement in the darkness of Miguel's base.
"What?" I ask when her silence stretches.
"Y/n, this is the third time you've asked me in the last five minutes," Lyla says. "She's still in recess and she's still eating her packet of crackers with her friends."
I lean back in my seat and sigh. My hands cover my face. I'm so anxious that I'm jittery, and being alone in the dark, gloomy station isn't helping. My fear's been dialled up to eleven since that Rapture addict tried to take my Rosita in broad daylight.
If Miguel hadn't arrived so quickly...
I cringe with another roll of anxiety when my brain ships me to unwanted destinations. I drop my hands and send her an apologetic look.
"Sorry, Lys," I murmur, "I'm just on edge."
Her pursed expression softens. She zips to my shoulder and perches there, patting my collar in sympathy.
"You're frightened," Lyla comments gently. "It's normal to feel afraid after what happened to you and Rosalina. But remember - you have Miguel looking out for you, and the entire Spidey Society at his command to rescue you and Rosalina if you ever need it." She shrugs and looks away, disinterested. "And you've got me, or whatever."
I smirk at her nonchalance. "Thanks, Lyla."
She peeks back at me from behind her heart-shaped glasses and smiles.
Our attention turns to the portal that's just ripped open in the middle of the station, casting a neon-bright red across the gloom. Three figures enter; Miguel, Jess, and a brand-new Spider-Man.
I turn around in my seat with interest. It's not unusual that we get a new recruit (it's almost a fortnightly occurrence), but it's always interesting to see how they differ from the other Spideys I know, or how they're the same.
What is unusual, however, is Miguel making another portal and slipping through that with barely a look my way, never mind a chat with Jess or an introduction to the new guy. Jess frowns after the empty space he's left.
I watch the spot where he disappeared, baffled. Even Lyla's stumped.
"Do you know what's going on with him?" she asks.
"Me?" I shoot her a puzzled look. "Don't you know everything that goes on around here?"
Lyla shakes her head. "Whatever he and Gabriel are researching, it's not on my network." She pouts. "I don't like not knowing things. Is this what it means to be human? It's gross."
Ignoring that and pushing aside my worry, I rise from my seat to follow Jess and the newbie as they leave down the station's hall. I take in the new Spider-Man as Jess explains the Spider-HQ, him listening with rapt attention. He's slim and small and the design on his suit is elaborately intricate, with gold decals and a blue dhoti. The top of his head is a mop of dark curls.
He also seems... flat? Like I could touch him and find out that he's nothing more than a living piece of brightly-coloured paper. His silhouette is outlined in black. His colour doesn't quite stay within his lines. He's both hard to look at and unable to look away from.
Different dimension Spideys always manage to make my head spin with bewilderment.
"Dragged in another one?" I ask when Jess pauses between factoids. They both look to me and I send the newbie a dry smile. "Escape while you can."
"And this here is someone who thinks she's funny," Jess says monotonously. "Just like everyone else in this place."
"What can I say? I fit in."
"Nice to meet you!" The new Spidey presses his palms together and bows his head in enthusiastic greeting. "I am Spider-Man!"
Jess and I share an amused look.
"That's new," I chuckle.
The kid before me grimaces and glances around us. "Ah- heh. Right!" He catches sight of a few Spideys swinging overhead and laughing at some quip one of them undoubtedly said. His large eyes widen in awe at the maskless Peters and Flashs. "... I'm still getting used to this."
He turns his attention back down to Jess and I and pulls off his mask. I'm startled by his youth - and also by how white his teeth are when he grins, Jesus Christ. "I am Pavitr Prabhakar."
"That is new," Jess says, and takes the hand he offers to shake. "Welcome to the Spidey club, Pavitr."
"Is everyone here a Spider-Man- Person? A Spider-Person?" Pavitr asks. He's still shaking Jess' hand and looking around us, stunned.
"Almost." Jess nudges my shoulder with her own. "This one here's an honorary member." When Pavitr tilts his head and smiles cluelessly, she elaborates. "This is Miguel O'Hara's wife."
Pavitr's eyes widen and he drops his head low once more. "Oh! You must be very powerful here, Mrs. O'Hara!"
Jess smirks. "She's got the whole place under her thumb."
"I do not," I admonish.
"You've got Miguel under your thumb, though," Peter says as he swings into a landing beside us. Mayday's strapped to a baby carrier on his torso. She watches us with bright eyes. "Which basically means that you do." He sends Pavitr a grin. "Hey, kid."
Pavitr bows his head. "An honour to meet you, sir!"
"Mayday!" I gasp in delight and promptly ignore everyone else and whatever they may have said. I grab her outstretched hand and gently jostle it. "Oh, my goodness, what are you doing here?"
Her response is undecipherable baby blabber, but it seems to be very important. She must be here on business.
"No hello?" Peter harrumphs. I send him a stink-eye and he relaxes with a snicker. "MJ's having a day off. That means baby comes to work!"
Jess rolls her eyes with a smile. She won't complain.
I lift Mayday from her carrier and hug her tight. "My baby."
"That's stealing," Peter says, "but I'll let you off because you're my best friend."
I give him an amused smile before kissing Mayday's curls and cooing at her giggles. Pavitr lets her grab his finger and she babbles incoherently at him. He nods along.
"Alright, kid," Jess says, patting Pavitr on the back. "Let's continue the tour. I'll introduce you to Margo."
"Goodbye Mrs. O'Hara, Sir Spider-Man!" Pavitr says, before dashing after Jess.
"Ah, well that made me feel old," Peter murmurs to me as he waves goodbye after Pavitr and Jess. "'Sir Spider-Man.'"
"It's fancy," I say. My face drops in seriousness and I turn to him, frowning while Mayday tugs on the ends of my hair. "Pete, why was he so young? Why are there so many young Spider-People here?"
Peter sighs. "It's the way of things."
I'm not happy with that. "He's just a kid."
He raises his brows at me. "And so was I." My face turns with surprise. Peter shrugs, turning his gaze down to Mayday with a small frown. "It's our canon event - we get bit when we're sixteen. Most of us do, anyway."
I rest my lips on Mayday's head. Peter pats my shoulder. Something tells me that he's just a big a fan of these canon events as I am.
The spinning, red light of a portal beside us interrupts our conversation before it can go further. We both watch in confusion as Miguel enters with a wearied expression and gestures for us to follow him back through with a nod.
"You two, with me," he orders, but it's tired and lacks his usual authority. He's pale.
Miguel slips back through the portal before either of us can reply. Peter and I share a befuddled look. He takes back Mayday to clasp her to her carrier and follows after me.
Even exhausted, Miguel's there to catch me when I inevitably stumble upon my trip through the portal. I righten myself in his arms and feel the same amount of confusion as Peter's face shows when we realise that we're in an unfamiliar lab.
Gabriel turns from a set of large computer screens. He doesn't offer a greeting, just as grim as he was when he called Miguel two days ago. He, too, looks exhausted. He looks like he hasn't slept all weekend. Given the multiple crushed cans of energy drinks that litter the floor, I gather that it's true.
"What is this?" Peter asks. His arms loop protectively around Mayday as he glances between the brothers. "Why does everyone seem so upset? Do you need to hold my baby?"
Gabriel collapses back on one of the lab's stools and rubs a hand down his face. He peeks at Miguel between two fingers. The solemn atmosphere dampens further.
Miguel closes his eyes and exhales steadily. When he opens them, they watch me and me alone.
"Ever since Gabe theorised that your reality might be an anomaly universe, he's been taking readings of it for further study," Miguel grimly begins. "See why things worked out the way they did."
"The wrong canon events," I uneasily guessed. "And you found something."
Miguel hesitates before finally nodding. His weary, red eyes hold the floor. I watch him tensely - that on-edge feeling from before has returned and worsened tenfold. Peter, reading the room perfectly, takes my hand. Mayday's silently watching.
"Gabriel called on Friday night because he found something unusual in his readings," he continues. Miguel crosses his arms over the spider emblem of his chest tightly. His apprehension sends my anxiety into spirals. "We wanted to make sure of it's existence before telling you. Either of you."
"What is it?" Peter says impatiently. "Stop being dramatic. I know how you get."
For once, Miguel doesn't return Peter's jab with an insult. That makes the emotions I'm feeling tumble through me so much worse.
"It's only small," Miguel explains, "but there's some sort of... upset in your world's atomic balance."
Peter goes quiet. My confusion rises.
"'Upset?'" I echo. I look at the three men and try to control my breathing. "What does that mean?"
Miguel drops his head further. Gabriel answers for him.
"I'm not exactly sure, myself," he admits. "I'll look deeper into it, get some Peters to have a crack. Maybe there's a way to fix it before it becomes a problem."
"It's not dangerous, right?" I ask. I don't like how Peter's buried his chin into Mayday's curls with a sombre look. "Peter?"
"Not yet," Miguel answers. My gaze turns to him. I really don't like the look on his face, and my worry escalates. "But it can be."
"What's that, then? What's worst case scenario?" When none of them can bring themselves to answer, I swallow tightly. "That bad?"
Gabriel stands from his seat and picks his way across the messy floor. He takes my shoulders in his hands and glares determinedly at me.
"It won't come to that," he vows. "We'll put a stop to it and reverse any damage. Right, Miguel?"
Miguel remains silent, staring at the floor. Gabriel shoots him a scathed look.
"Right, Miguel?" he grits out.
Miguel ignores him and lifts himself from the table he's leaning against. Gabriel steps aside as he stops before me with a solemn look.
"We might want to start thinking about a plan to move Rosalina," Miguel says slowly. "Just in case. We're not- we're not miracle workers."
My vision begins to blur with stress. I can barely comprehend what they're saying. Miguel cups my cheeks but I can hardly feel them, teetering between shock and horror.
"How soon?" I manage to ask.
"Not for a bit, yet," Miguel carefully answers. "It's slow. It's been there for a while. We have time to fix it, mi vida."
My hearing grows watery. The sound of my heartbeat grows louder, drumming in my ears.
"Y/n?" Miguel lowers his head to me, barely making it past the blur and the fog. He looks so exhausted - was this what's been weighing him down all weekend? "I know it's a lot, amor."
It is a lot. It's a lot. It's too much.
"I want to go home," I whisper. "I want Rosita."
Gabriel lowers his chin and rubs his mouth. He's stressed. We're all stressed. It tastes metallic at the back of my throat. It feels like being winded.
"We'll go home," Miguel promises softly. "We'll get Rosita."
"Now," I plead breathlessly. "Now."
He opens a portal without another word.