𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

The Monsters Who Live in the Dark

"Wait. Don't come back here." His voice sounded gruff... and a little panicked. 

"Miguel, where are you?" You hissed into the darkness. Menacing shapes loomed around you. Probably the gym equipment, but you felt an irrational spike of fear. When you were 6, a tornado had destroyed your home in Oklahoma. It started with darkness. Ever since, power outages and being alone in the dark sent uneasy chills blowing across your skin. 

Your heartbeat skittered, as if the roof itself might collapse, trapping and crushing you to the floor. You slid to the ground, your back against the block Miguel hid behind. Memories flared in your mind like swooping phantoms. Rats, the size of small dogs. The reek of rotten eggs. The sawdusty shuffling and squeaking. 

You leaned your head against the block, shutting your eyes against the irrational thoughts. There were no rats here. You took a slow breath and blew out through your lips, pulling your knees to your chest.

"Listen closely, I need you to do something for me," Miguel sighed, annoyance leaking into the sound. He drummed his fingers on the ground. Hyper-sensitive to every whisper of noise, you flinched.  

"What's that?" You distractedly muttered, strain tightening your voice as you tried to calm yourself down. There's nothing in the darkness but gym equipment. Nothing at all. 

"Go into the locker room and get my gym bag." 

"I'm not going out there," you snapped. You felt stupid and a little pathetic. Spidergirl, afraid what might scutter in the night. 

"What, you're scared of the dark?" Miguel laughed dryly. "Grow up." 

"Do you want me to help you or not?" 

"Are you actually scared?" He sounded curious now, and a little bewildered. You ignored him, not giving his prying question an answer. At your telltale, shaky silence, Miguel gave an interested "Hmm." 

You drowned in the black silence for a few moments. Desperate for a distraction, you tethered yourself to Miguel's even, relaxed breaths. In and out. In and out. He seemed quiet and thoughtful. 

"I never got to ask," Miguel finally said, his voice low and husky. "Who did you lose? You looked pretty upset walking out of there." 

"Oh, you're asking me now?" You grumbled, feeling a hot flash of annoyance. How dare he ask that. "And when I tell you, then what? You'll make me watch it, and you'll feel a sick rush of power when I cry?"

"Well, I don't have any electricity," Miguel drolly grunted, "So I don't have any projections, now do I?"

"I guess you don't have any," you mused with a halfhearted smirk, suddenly remembering his stupid suit. Hobie had told you all about it; Miguel's wonderous creation. A projected suit that clung directly to his skin, no clothing required. Miguel's silence growled like a tiger. 

The thump of muscle hitting the plastic-coated floor startled you. "Miguel, was that you?" Even as the wary words shot from your mouth, you knew it had been him. Sliding to the floor on the other side of the block, just like you. 

"No, it was the monsters who live in the dark," Miguel replied. You could practically sense the impatient roll of his eyes. 

"You like your sarcasm, don't you?" 

"Well, look who finally figured it out." 

Silence. You threaded your fingers together and followed Miguel's easy breathing again. The darkness wasn't as terrifying with someone else, even if he despised you from the other side of a block of iron. You rested your cheek against the cold metal and felt less alone. 

"I don't get a sick rush of power," Miguel suddenly said. 

"What?"

"I don't," Miguel asserted, a trace of vulnerability in his tone. You heard the muffled brush of his hair resting against the iron block. "You think I enjoyed showing everyone their losses for some selfish ego trip. Well, I didn't. I did it because they need to understand. How important this is."

"What, your 'elite strike force?'"

"I've seen a dimension fold in on itself. Crumple up like a napkin," Miguel said, quietly. "Everyone dies. Everyone. Even those you try to protect." 

"Oh." And because Miguel's ragged breaths bled with a pain you didn't understand, you added, "I'm sorry."

"Because I understand," Miguel gruffly continued, as if desperately trying to show you his reasoning, "It's my duty to protect not just people, but the dimensions. So that never happens again."

He inhaled deeply through his nose. A tortured, weary sigh that disarmed you with sympathy. 

"Miguel." You said his name, just to say something. His breaths stilled like glassy lakewater, waiting for you to speak. "I haven't lost anyone. That's why I walked out. I didn't want anyone to think I'm undeserving of the mask." 

"You haven't lost anyone?" Miguel's deep voice softened, burdened with pools of sympathy and regret and remorse. For you. His kindness felt ominous, as if he'd said, you haven't lost anyone yet. 

"Why did you say it like that?" You accused, uneasiness stirring inside of you. "I don't have any aunts or uncles. I'm not going to lose a relative I don't even have."

"Maybe you won't," Miguel hastily said. He paused, and you could have sworn you heard his palm press against the iron. "Don't worry about it, kid. Everything turns out fine." 

You'd had an aunt Bertha, but she'd died right after you'd been born. Maybe you'd gotten lucky; losing her before it could even hurt you. 

"Hey, look at that," Miguel said gently, "The light's out." Purplish streaks of dawn glowed in the sky, and morning sunbreath crept across the gym floor. 

You prepared for a flood of relief to overcome you, but you realized that the electric fear had long drained out of your body. You hadn't been thinking about the encroaching darkness. Just Miguel. 

"Miguel," you sternly said, now that the threat of darkness had paled. "I'll get you your clothes if you do something for me."

"And what's that?" He suspiciously asked.

"Apologize to the recruits. Tell them it was wrong to play on their trauma." You didn't expect Miguel to actually do it. He'd probably feed you a sugary lie, and then ignore his side of the deal later. But you wanted to hear him admit it had been wrong. 

"I was trying to show them-" Miguel protested, resentment creeping into his voice. 

"I know. But it was still wrong." 

Miguel considered your words for a moment, and then groaned. "Fine. Whatever. I'll apologize. Just help me out here." 

"Y'know," you grinned, cheekily rapping your knuckles on your side of the iron block. "I think I hate you a little less."

"Can't say the same," Miguel grunted, but you swore you could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. 

Chattering and footsteps ribboned through the halls, echoing and weaving together in a cheerful clamor. 

"Training is in the gym today!" Jessica's raspy voice boomed above the ruckus. "Bright and early! 6am!" 

"(Y/n)." 

"What?" You laughed at the disgruntled, urgent way Miguel spat out your name. 

"Get me my clothes."