Chapter Text
Okay…let’s do this one last time.
His name is Pavitr Prabhakar.
He’s been Spider-Man for…a while now. And he’s not the only one.
Things used to be so easy for him.
He’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. And he’s not the only one.
Some would say it’s the way things should be.
He would say it shouldn’t have to be. And he’s not the only one.
But sometimes…there isn’t anything he can do.
And he’s not the only one.
~
Dust and the tang of blood lay heavy in the air through Pavitr’s mask. It flooded his mouth, wormed its way into his lungs, clawed at his chest like an awful creature trying to break free. He wanted to cough it all out but the motion wouldn’t come, his whole body already taut on the weight of the bus dangling precariously at the end of his webs.
“I can do both!” He wanted to scream, though he knew in the back of his mind he’d already said it. And he knew he couldn’t do it. He looked on helplessly as more chunks of the building came toppling down over the bridge, hurtling towards Inspector Singh and the small girl huddled on the road. The taste of blood in his mouth grew stronger, ichor dripping down his throat.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
Icantdoiticantdoiticantdoit.
The rubble crashed into the pair. Pavitr’s grip on the bus slipped.
~
He sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat streamed down his back, tears down his face, and he’d bitten the inside of his cheek so hard he realised the blood he could taste in the dream was really there. The way it coated his tongue made him gag — though maybe the lingering dread in his stomach had something to do with it, too. Either way, Pavitr soon found himself bent over the toilet, heaving the remnants of his dinner into the bowl and being all too aware of how tragic this scene would look to an outsider.
By the time he actually looked at himself in the mirror he could’ve sworn it wasn’t really him staring back. His hair was a mess, mussed with sweat and sticking to his forehead in clumps. And his face…blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, a disgusting mixture of tears and snot smeared all over, some leftover from his nightmare and some fresh from the exertion of throwing up. He scowled at himself and snatched a tissue to clean up, then padded back to his bedroom.
He knew he should try to go back to sleep. But going back to sleep might mean seeing that again. Pavitr pressed his palms into his eyes and stared at the colours that bloomed for a moment.
He saved the people on the bus. They were all still alive.
But Inspector Singh and that little girl weren’t. He couldn’t help still feeling that it was his fault.
The sob pushed past his lips before he could even try to stop it, but he quickly sucked in a breath and held it to stop more from bursting out. His hands were shaking. It had been months, and his hands were still shaking. He wasn’t quite sure if he was ever going to be able to stop them.
Pavitr fumbled around his bedside table, knocking a pencil to the floor in the process with a clatter that sounded loud enough to wake everyone in Mumbattan. He paused. Nothing. His fingers closed around the watch he was looking for, and he slid it onto his wrist with surprising dexterity.
Although Pavitr and his friends were still wary of Miguel from the way he’d treated Miles, they were on…civil enough ground with the Society that the group Gwen had formed to help Miles had decided to stick around — albeit with their own watches and the proviso that Miguel wouldn’t be on their asses about visiting each other all the time, plus Peter B was mainly the one overseeing anything they did. It worked well enough for everyone.
And in this case, it meant that Pavitr could punch in Destination: 138 and not have to worry about a hologram of Miguel popping up out of nowhere demanding to know why he was leaving his dimension in the middle of the night.
It was raining in Earth-138’s London, as usual. Any other time, Pavitr probably would have admired the way the colourful light from his portal reflected off the deluge and the river surrounding, but all he could think about now was fumbling through the door of the boat and getting into the dry. All of five seconds in the rain and he was soaked. He found himself thinking vaguely that he probably should’ve changed into something a bit warmer than his sleep shirt and boxers, but too late now.
Hobie was sitting on the floor in front of the worn couch plucking at his guitar when Pavitr tumbled through the doorway, though the other boy didn’t look the slightest bit surprised about the sudden flurried entrance. Given how bright the portal was, it made sense that Pavitr couldn’t really sneak in like he’d almost hoped he could, but he still felt suitably embarrassed for barging in unannounced like this, especially looking the way he did.
Seeming to realise the same thing, Hobie looked him up and down with a slightly raised eyebrow, piercings glinting under the soft lamplight as he took in the sight of Pavitr standing sheepishly in the middle of the boat’s living area in his sodden pyjamas.
“You look like shit.” Hobie said sincerely.
Pavitr blinked, marginally offended. “I…yeah. Thanks.”
They stared at each other in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. The rain kept beating down outside. Finally, Hobie put his guitar aside and stood up, gesturing for Pavitr to follow him to the bedroom at the back of the boat, which he did without complaint.
“So,” Hobie mused, rifling through the small pile of clothes on the floor by the bed and tossing a few items in Pavitr’s direction, “Nightmare?”
Pavitr pursed his lips and shuffled into the corner to change into the clothes he’d been given. Hobie wore a smaller size than him usually, so the longer pants and sweater clung to him more than he was used to, but there was a certain comfort that came with wearing them — not least of all the familiar scent that clung to them and wrapped around his senses like a tight hug.
Hobie was watching him carefully when he looked up again. “Nightmare,” He relented, “I didn’t know where else to go. Sorry if I’m—”
“Don’t be sorry, y’know you don’t need a reason to stop by.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. You want tea?”
Pavitr managed the ghost of a smile and a small nod, and he shuffled slowly back into the main living space to watch Hobie set the kettle going. His method was surprisingly ordered given the usual lack of order in anything he did. Chipped mugs on the bench, teabags in, spoonful of sugar in one, pour the boiling water, wait a minute, teabags out, milk in, stir…
“Bikkies? They might be a bit stale.” Hobie held a packet of digestives out, which Pavitr grabbed a couple of despite the warning. What was a stale biscuit or two on an already-upset stomach anyway?
They were sitting cross-legged on the couch shortly after, gazes flicking between each other and the window to watch the rain slow to a steady drizzle. Pavitr took a small sip of tea and relished the way the hot liquid burnt the inside of his mouth, if only for a moment.
“Thanks for the tea,” He said after a few minutes, another small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he went on, “Even if it’s from a teabag.”
Hobie rolled his eyes and prodded Pavitr’s side with a socked foot. “Oi. Not my fault that fancy loose leaf shit is so hard to come by, ungrateful sod. Gotta half inch what I can get when I can get it, y’know.”
Pavitr kicked his own leg over Hobie’s to stop his poking, leaving them somewhat tangled up and facing each other longways across the couch. “Point taken. I’ll bring you some from home next time, hm? Oh, I keep saying I’ll show you how to make your own chai. I’ll do that too.”
“Whatever you like, love.”
Hobie’s hand came to rest on Pavitr’s shin, his thumb absently tracing circles against his bone. This was normal enough between them at this point, both naturally being very physically affectionate people who spent a lot of time together, but the simple action still had Pavitr’s chest aching with affection he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to vocalise properly. Not that that really mattered right now. Hobie was his best friend, and his best friend was looking at him expectantly.
“So what happened? ’N your dream?”
Pavitr blinked slowly, stomach twisting as he recalled the acrid dust and blood in his mouth, the vivid crunching and shrieking of rubble and metal and human fear. He took another long sip of tea. “I think you know.” He said quietly.
Hobie hummed, noncommittal. Still waiting for a real answer.
“The bridge,” He continued after a beat, already feeling tears stinging the corners of his eyes, “I…it’s just the same memory over and over, every time I close my eyes all I can see is them, and—” He choked on a sob that came out more like a whimper, “The building falling…and in my dream I drop the bus, too. All those people gone because of me. But then I wake up and Inspector Singh and that girl are still dead and it’s my fault!”
It was as if he’d opened a wide cavity in his chest for all the emotions he’d been trying to bottle up, allowing them to escape through his shaking body and already-raw throat, his wet cheeks and nose. Pavitr wasn’t quite sure when Hobie had leaned across to readjust their positioning on the couch, but it vaguely registered in his mind that he was now being held tightly against Hobie’s chest, his face pressed up against a bony shoulder and soaking the soft fabric covering it, both their mugs of tea discarded to the side somewhere. He wanted to apologise, but the words wouldn’t come.
One of Hobie’s hands rested on the small of Pavitr’s back, the other gently cradling the back of his head with fingertips carefully massaging his scalp. He felt so safe there, so…cared for. One of the plethora of reasons he would always choose to come here first in these kind of situations.
The action reminded him of the way Hobie had held him the day the bridge incident had happened — it was like the taller boy had used his body as a shield to stop Pavitr from looking at the scene too long after it happened, after he had helped him heave the bus to safer ground. There had been destruction everywhere, and then there had been Hobie’s arms around him, guiding him somewhere he could take off his mask and cry without anyone else as his audience.
A lot had happened in the minutes, hours, days after that, but the only thing that had really stuck in Pavitr’s mind since then was the few minutes he’d been able to spend breaking down in the presence of nobody but his best friend — who had offered a warm, steady embrace and a murmured mixture of apologies and reassurances until Pavitr had been able to think a little straighter.
It was so long ago but still only felt like yesterday, especially in a moment like this.
“It’s not your fault, love. Impossible to win in a lose-lose situation, y’know. Been there a few times.” Hobie’s breath was warm against Pavitr’s temple, and his low tone was like syrup dripping down his spine, “Doesn’t make it right, or fair, or any easier to think about. But you did everything you could, you tried so hard.”
Pavitr sniffled. “But I still failed.”
“You saved a bus full of people.”
“It’s not enough! It was supposed to be easy, Spider-Man comes in and saves everybody and we’re done for another day.”
“Pav,” Hobie pulled him a little closer, if that were possible, “At the risk of sounding like a complete wanker, all Miggy-like, it’s not always gonna be easy, and you’re not always gonna be able to save everybody. Trust me, I’ve tried. Gwendy’s tried. Miles has tried. We all have. The world’d feel like a much better place if it worked every time, but it won’t always. What counts is that you try. And God, do you try.”
“I try.” Pavitr echoed, barely above a whisper. It was the truth, it was just…he usually ended up trying so hard that the failure stung that much more in the end. Like it did now. And yeah, it might get easier with time, like the grief he held from losing his parents and his Bhim Uncle, but that was different.
That wasn’t being directly involved, to whatever degree, in the death of his girlfriend-at-the-time’s father. And then having to admit to said girlfriend-at-the-time that he was the superhero that failed to save her father. And then having her say she already knew it was him and that she didn’t blame him for what happened, but it was glaringly obvious that things were going to change between them. All at the tender age of sixteen.
And now he was already seventeen, and the guilt still ate away at him every day, like it was a starving beast and he was a carcass rotting under the sun. He and Gayatri were still friends — best friends, even — but he couldn’t help the ache in his chest every time he saw her, every time she mentioned anything she remembered about her father.
Part of him was glad that them only being friends now meant she was probably safer. Despite the decided bullshittery of canon events by the Spider Society, that didn’t mean they weren’t ever going to happen anymore, and Pavitr knew enough that he’d seen ASM-121 play out more than once (he’d even held Gwen’s hand through it one time, let her press her face into his shoulder and rested his head against hers in comfort as that dimension’s Spider cried for their Gwen). He knew that Gayatri would have been at risk.
Once again, Hobie gently pulled him out of his thoughts, his nose brushing along the edge of Pavitr’s hairline, fingers pressing carefully into the base of his spine. “You should try sleeping a bit more. ’S late.”
Pavitr shook his head against Hobie’s neck, eyes already half-closed. “Don’t wanna.”
“Whatever you say, treacle.”
Pavitr fell into a deep, dreamless sleep shortly after.
~
Hobie felt his own body relax somewhat as Pavitr drifted off on top of him, breath evening out enough that Hobie moved to lean back into the arm of the couch a little more without worrying about disturbing him. He hadn’t missed the deep purple smears of sleeplessness under the other boy’s eyes in their close proximity, even if Pav’s face had been smushed into his neck for most of the time so far.
It’s not like he could talk, really — eye bags were a permanent feature on his own face at this point, after all — but given that out of their whole group Pavitr was usually the one with a consistent sleep schedule, often citing the fact that it would help keep his already-blemish-free skin clear? It was a little worrying.
There had been a lot of pieces left to pick up in the aftermath of Spot’s destruction — Miles saved his dad and told both his parents that he was Spider-Man (he wasn’t grounded, but he had been stuck on washing up duty after dinner every night since telling them), Gwen had a lot to work out with her dad and still spent a lot of time out of her dimension, not to mention the reformation of a new Spider Society that mostly focused on subduing villainous anomalies and keeping them in their own dimensions, rather than…whatever it was Miguel had gotten into his head about Miles previously. Events would happen as they happened, and Spider-people would always do their best to help each other through all they could.
It helped that the group Gwen had formed ended up sticking together as their own sort of separate task force headed up by Peter B, complete with the latest version of Hobie’s inter-dimensional travel watch and a group name that was…kind of lame, really, but still more original than the Go-Home Machine.
The Spider Band.
So for the past few months their little band had been hopping around dimensions, picking up pieces here and there once their own lives had settled into some sense of normality, and it had been…fine? Better than being stuck in their own dimensions, at least. Even if Peter was arguably even more annoying to work with than Miguel, with his random requests at the worst possible times of the day or night.
Hobie tipped his head to the side slightly to look at Pavitr’s peaceful sleeping face. Out of everyone, he had the biggest tendency to downplay any of his negative emotions or experiences, at least in front of the wider group — which was saying something, because Hobie himself usually kept a pretty tight lid on all of his issues around the others too.
Hobie had gotten through to him a while ago and managed to help him talk about more of this stuff with him — at the cost of having to open up in return, which meant by now they both knew things about each other that nobody else in the group would ever hear — but it still seemed like Pavitr still wasn’t being entirely honest about how much everything that had happened recently was affecting him.
He’d thrown himself wholeheartedly into helping everyone else after everything with the Spot, to the point where Hobie had already had to pin him down to make him stop and rest on a number of occasions to stop him from working himself ragged. Pavitr’s obsession with doing everything perfectly, which had grown tenfold since Inspector Singh’s death, was wearing him down, that much was clear to see. It was thinking of an effective way to help ease the pressure he was putting on himself that was proving to be the biggest conundrum.
Hobie let out a soft sigh, readjusting slightly to ease the ache in his lower back from sitting the way he had been. Pavitr was a warm, solid weight atop him, like his own personal coconut-scented weighted blanket, comfortingly wrapped around him right up to his chin.
Of all of his friends, Pav was the one Hobie liked holding like this the most. Sure, he’d had them all fall asleep on him on many occasions before — they’d all commented about how nice he was to cuddle, despite his bony frame — but it was always just…different with Pavitr. Everything was different with him.
Hobie’s cheeks warmed as he gently brushed his fingers through Pavitr’s hair, pressed his lips to his temple, like he had a hundred times before. Normal for them. Different from everyone else. Their friendship was just like that.
There was a faint beep that sounded from Hobie’s watch, a warning that someone’s hologram was about to flash up above his wrist. Given the time, he could already take a pretty good guess at who it was going to be.
“It’s four in the fuckin’ morning, china plate, what do you want?” He groaned before Peter could even say hello, staying mindful of his volume while Pavitr slept on his chest. Wouldn’t want to wake the poor bastard so soon.
Peter pouted. Hobie fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on, Hobie, you’re the only one who’s actually awake!”
“I might’ve been asleep.”
“Were you?”
“Yep.”
“No you weren’t.”
“What do you want?” He asked again, exasperated.
“There’s a Doc Ock in this universe that shouldn’t be there,” Peter said sheepishly, sending through the dimension code to Hobie’s watch, “Can you go help?”
Hobie frowned. “I’m busy.”
“No you’re not, it’s four in the morning.”
“I’m busy.”
Pavitr stirred then, blearily raising his head from Hobie’s shoulder and squinting at the hologram. “What are you — oh. Hi, Peter.”
Peter looked delighted. “Oh ho ho! Hi, Pav. So good to see you. Keeping busy, are you?”
“Um,” Pav blinked slowly. Hobie thought his sleepy expression was the sweetest thing ever, “Not really. I was…asleep.”
“So you were! You look so cosy there.”
Hobie groaned. “Peter.”
“Hobie.” Peter grinned one of those shit-eating grins he’d become prone to every time he’d seen Hobie and Pavitr together recently, “Come on, if you two go together it’ll be even quicker! Then you can get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Sleeping.”
“Yeah, yeah. You going or what?”
Hobie rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Why you can’t deal with these yourself more often I’ll never—”
“I have a kid!”
“I have a life!”
“Harsh. And a bold claim.”
“I’m going, ain’t I? The amount I do for you, some joke ting.”
Peter clasped his hands together gleefully. “Thanks, man, I owe you one.”
“More than one, mate.” He huffed, pressing the button to hang up on Peter before he could say anything else. Hobie tipped his head back over the arm of the couch with another long groan. He really didn’t want to go.
Pavitr patted the side of his neck with a warm hand, seeming a little more awake now. “So where are we going?”
Hobie tilted his head back up just enough to level Pav with a stare down the bridge of his nose, pointedly ignoring the pang the other boy’s soft gaze sent through his chest. “Just me, love. You need to get some more sleep, y’know. Barely had an hour just now.”
“It’s fine,” Pavitr passed his thumb along Hobie’s jaw once, twice, “I wouldn’t sleep anyway if you went without me, mere yaar.”
“Aww. Say more like that ’n I just might not go at all.”
The other boy breathed out a laugh that fanned out across Hobie’s chest and warmed him from head to toe. “Come on, there’s a dimension that needs us. Another normal, easy day in the life of two very cool Spider-People.”
Hobie smiled. “The coolest.”
He couldn’t help but note the way his stomach twisted up in knots with the way Pavitr said the word easy. Like it was a promise. A guarantee, even after the conversation they’d had only an hour or so ago.
One of these days it was going to turn into a curse, he feared.