𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓼- 𝓜𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓵 𝓞'𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓪

A Shell of a Fairytale

"You know she's not your (y/n)."

The words floated dizzily around your head, and you tried to snatch them down and force them to make sense.

Not Miguel's (y/n).

You struggled to concoct another explanation. Any other explanation. But in the end, the truth drew you towards it like the needle of a compass.

You'd been Miguel's... wife? Lover? Girlfriend? In his universe.

You leaned against the wall for support, blinking. In this universe, had Miguel crushed his lips into yours? Had Miguel whispered passionate confessions of love under starlight skies? Had Miguel twirled you in circles, until both of you felt drunk and dizzy with laughter? What had you been to him?

You stumbled through training in a daze, pretending you hadn't heard. But you couldn't forget it. You couldn't blow the truth from your mind like dust off of an old storybook. The dust cling to you. You began to notice things.

Things like how Miguel's powerful body subconsciously oriented itself toward you, wherever you moved in the room. As if preparing to lunge into the way of danger. As if preparing to save you.

Things like the gentleness behind his crimson eyes. Drenched in scorn and coldness, they swept across the recruits. Those eyes had terrified you. It was subtle. But now, you noticed how the hard ridge of his eyebrows softened, lingering on you.

Things like how hard he fought it. How he caught himself gazing after you and snatched away his gaze with a rigid stare. How he shouldered past you, rougher than he would with the other recruits, just to prove to himself that he was strong enough to not need you. To not want you. To not care about you.

Because why should he? You didn't belong to him. You were nothing; a shell, a projection of the fireworks that had once shimmered in his sky. A beautiful ghost, haunting his halls and reminding him of all that had crumbled apart in his hands.

And Miguel despised you for it.

"Woah, be careful."

Peter B's worried chuckle shook you out of your thoughts. You'd been about to swing into the path of Arachnida. Thankfully, Peter had interfered before you'd collided. You glanced over at him, slightly overwhelmed. Peter B had a kind, relaxed face, covered in stubble. The type of face that calmed you down just by looking at it.

"Is something wrong, kid?" He spoke with a gentle familiarity, as if he'd known you for years.

"N-no, nothing's wrong," you stammered, slouching your back against the wall from up on the rafter. Nothing was wrong. But everything felt shaky and odd.

"It's okay, take a second," Peter B assured, easily resting a hand on your shoulder. He stiffened, as if remembering himself, and jerked away, flexing his fingers.

Exhausted, you fixed your eyes on Peter B. He seemed slightly unsure of how to interact with you. He must have known you well, back then. Known the other you.

Suddenly it all seemed like too much. The universes, the realms, the dimensions. All spinning and whirling and churning, blending together like runny pastels. You missed the easy days, when you'd swung through the sunsets in Queens, feeling higher than an eagle. You couldn't bear to be here, not for a moment longer.

"I think I need to step out for a second," you murmured, silently pleading with Peter B to understand. He hastily nodded, helping you swing to the ground and ushering you out the door.

"I'll be inside if you need me," Peter B promised, hesitating in front of you as if he wanted to wrap you in a hug. He coughed and slipped back inside, furiously shaking his head at himself.

The moment Peter B disappeared through the door, you bolted down the hall, your feet pattering down the floors. You sprinted all the way to the dormitory, where you yanked out the watch from where you'd hidden it under your mattress.

The silvery watch clasped around your wrist, locking perfectly. You turned it underneath the overhead lights that shimmered white down its surface. It was time.

Within the hour, Rebecca would be leaving for her chemo treatment. You swallowed nervously, praying you'd have enough time before Miguel noticed you were missing and tracked you down.

You shut your eyes, inhaled, and tapped a button on the watch. A vortex ripped into the air, and you didn't let yourself hesitate before plunging inside.

The chill immediately soaked into your bones and cold air filled up your lungs. Then it was over, and you skidded into an abandoned alleyway.

An alleyway. In Queens. In your Queens. You laughed incredulously, taking in the sounds of blaring horns and shuffling feet.

"I've missed you, New York," you murmured, grazing a hand against the wall. It felt bittersweet, returning home. You wove through the familiar dance of foot traffic, appreciating every faded crosswalk.

You finally reached your home, a modest apartment on the more sparsely populated side of town. You lifted your knuckles, hesitating before you could knock.

You'd disappeared for weeks without notice. What would you tell your mother? Your sister? They loved you, but they wouldn't believe in supernatural tales of dimensions and superpowers. You flinched. It must have seemed cruel to them, abandoning home in the thick of Rebecca's cancer.

Suddenly, claws closed around your upper arm. You glanced up, adrenaline spiking, at Miguel. Miguel. Towering like a lion on your front porch. Your heart trembled and sank. You'd expected an hour. At least. He'd tracked you right away.

With a firm grip, but not rough enough to leave a bruise, he guided you into the sideways alley hidden between apartments.

"Miguel," you breathed guiltily, stumbling after his quick gait. Miguel drew you closer by your arm in an attempt at intimidation. But his traitorous eyes dipped down toward your lips at the rush of proximity.

"What, you didn't think I'd find you?"