My part of the spiderverse gift exchange from ur friendly neighborhood tabbytit-- first chapter of my dogspot au uwu. Enjoy!!
John wakes up in the rubble of his old research, coughing and struggling to stand. He keeps stumbling, can't get his feet under himself, and as he tries to cry out the sound that leaves him shocks him to his core. A whine. Then a bark. He looks down at the clothes hanging limply around his form, sees white and black fur, and promptly passes out again from the shock.
The first few nights are a blur. His body is strange to him, bones all stretched and fingers shortened and jaw pulled long and wide. He makes gargling, growling, barking nonsense noises as he tries desperately to form speech with his insufficient vocal chords. It genuinely takes him hours to learn how to walk without looking like a drunk puppy. The cadence of four paws is not natural to him! But he's not going to let himself rot here, not going to give up. If he was turned into a dog he can be turned back. It's the only thing keeping him going.
When his hunger gets to be too much and the dirty puddles of water he laps at too offensive to his senses, he finally ventures out of the wreckage. There's plenty of food around in dumpsters or just thrown onto the street, people are so wasteful. Good for him and the other vagrants, at least.
He's digging through the trash in the alley behind a small convenience store when he sees him. A boy, dark skin and fluffy dark hair styled in a way he never learned the name of, god he was bad at this kind of stuff when he was human, let alone as a dog. The boy notices him immediately, crouching down and holding a hand out invitingly as he smiles.
“Hey there, big guy. Whatcha doin? You're too pretty to be a mutt. Pspspspsp, c’mere big guy.”
John weighs his options. On one hand, this garbage is pretty good. On the other hand, he is desperately, painfully lonely, after only a week on his own with no human contact.
Pulling away from the garbage and letting his paws hit the ground, he starts stepping cautiously towards the boy, whose smile only grows.
“That's it, c'mere, it's ok. You are a pretty boy aren't you, look at those spots!” His hand never wavers, even as John gets close enough for him to move forward and touch him. He continues to wait, smile warm, letting John make the first move, a show of trust. John heaves out a breath and pushes his face into the awaiting hand, closing his eyes as the boy starts to gently pet him.
“There we are, there we are. Don't have to be scared buddy, that's a good boy.”
John didn't expect the absolute euphoria that would flood through him at that phrase, a whine escaping him as he pushes harder into the boy's hand. The boy laughs, and starts petting him with both hands, scratching behind his ears. He lets out another pleased little woof, pushing even harder against him.
“Awww, you really wanted some pets, didn't you big guy! You're such a sweetie. How could anyone abandon a dog like you, huh?” He snuffles and huffs, trying to push down the emotions that balloon at the prospect. Abandoned… he really was, abandoned. Sure he's a dog now, but no one came looking for him in the wreckage. No one remembered that he had gone back inside. He… he doesn't want to be abandoned again.
With a sudden burst of energy he surges forward and pushes his snout into the boy's stomach, nuzzling and rubbing against him desperately. Please don't leave me please don't leave me.
“Woah! You are real friendly, wow.” The boy hesitates for only a moment before returning to his earlier ministrations, scratching behind his ear and under his jaw. John sits down and pushes more of his weight into the boy's lap, not wanting this to end, ever. He cracks open an eye and looks up at the boy's face when one hand stops petting him, and the boy is biting his lip as he looks down at a phone in his hand, then back to John.
“They didn't let me have a dog before, but…” John yips in distress, pushing his face into the boy's stomach again and eliciting a laugh. He keeps petting him, wrapping an arm around his neck in a little hug.
“I think I can convince them this time.”
Miles' house (and his name is Miles! How wonderful!) is spacious for New York, and exceedingly cozy. There's so much warmth in the family photos and colorful touches everywhere. He makes a note to not ever make a mess unless it's important, somehow. And he's never going to destroy anything they don't buy for him! Unless it would be really funny. He can have a few of those.
The convincing of the parents goes surprisingly well. He charms them with his instant obedience, Miles demonstrating that he knows all the common dog commands like sit and lay down and roll over. He tries his best to look extra cute despite not really knowing how to be cute at all, but hanging his mouth open and lolling his tongue out while he looks into their eyes seems to do the trick because the mom eventually relents, the dad following soon after. They both pet him, and, seeing all the dirt, demand Miles' first duty as his owner being to give him a dang bath.
“You're such a smart dog,” Miles says warmly, lathering up his fur with regular sensitive skin shampoo they have on hand. He'll get dog supplies later, but this should be fine for now.
“You listen so well, don't you boy? But ah, I shouldn't keep calling you boy and buddy, should I? You need a name…” As he talks he swipes his hands down John's sides, wiping away the foam and revealing the colors on his coat. His spots.
“Oh, I've got it! I'll call you Spot! I know it's a bit of a cliche dog name, but you really have such distinct spots I haven't seen before, and I think it's perfect.”
Well. Spot it is. As a show of agreement he woofs softly, leaning forward to lick Miles face as he laughs.
“I'm glad you like it, Spot! I can already tell you're gonna be such a good dog.” Scratching under his chin as he says it, Spot can't help but agree. He's gonna be the best dog ever.
Miles gets him all the normal supplies, dog bed and food bowls and lots of chew toys. He seems to be aware of Spot’s… above average intelligence and gets him a few of those puzzle toys. Even though he wants to make Miles feel good for getting him such nice things, he can't help but solve them quickly. They're just so simple!! God how he misses fingers. What he wouldn't give to play with a Rubik's cube right now.
But otherwise, things are… things are good. Miles is a wonderful owner, even though he's often gone for long periods. The first time Spot sees him change into the suit he just stares, mesmerized by the lithe muscle he already has, accentuated by the tight spandex. Miles sees him staring and the eyes of his suit scrunch up in mirth as he leans down to nuzzle Spot’s head and scratch behind his ears.
“Be a good boy while I'm on patrol, ok? I'll be back soon, just– gotta make sure things are ok out there. Not leaving you behind buddy, never.”
Spot huffs and nuzzles him back, giving his mask a little lick that elicits the sweet laugh he was expecting. Miles gives him one more scratch and that smile with his eyes before he's out the window and gone.
Spot sighs, jumps up onto his bed, turns in a circle a few times, and flumps down. He'll just take a nap then while he waits. Surrounded by the smell of his owner, it's easy to drift off.
When he wakes to the sound of the window opening, it's far past dark. His eyes take a moment to adjust, but then he sees Miles crawling in and slumping against the wall with a heavy sigh. Immediately he jumps down from the bed and trots over, smelling Miles curiously. The boy laughs as he pulls his mask off, hand reaching up weakly to pet him.
“C-careful boy, I'm- I'm a little tender. Just… just need a minute to catch my breath.” Spot lets out a soft, low whine, nosing against his cheek and gently licking his face. Miles laughs again, the joy smoothing some of the pained lines around his eyes even as he clutches at his side with his free hand.
“I'm ok, I'm ok, promise. Just a bruise. Got… tossed into something metal, don't remember. I'll be ok, I heal fast.” Spot huffs and licks his face again, trying his best to get across his admonishment for putting himself into danger. Clearly Miles doesn't get it because he just laughs and wraps an arm around Spots neck, kissing the top of his head.
“I'll be more careful, promise. Told you I’d never leave you behind.”
You better, he thinks. Unable to voice the thoughts, he walks over and jumps on the bed, looking at Miles expectantly. Rest, he thinks desperately, hoping to get the point across. Miles smiles at him and gets up shakily, stripping off his suit as he walks over and tucking it under his bed, flopping down on top of the sheets in his underwear. Spot can see an ugly bruise forming on his side, already looking days old, so he huffs and lays his head on a part of Miles' chest that there's no damage. After some adjusting to get Miles all the way on the bed, Miles curls up around him and is out like a light. Spot follows soon after, comforted by the familiar smell of sweat and rhythmic breaths.
When Spot first changes he and Miles are in his room cuddling on his bed. Miles says something like "I love you, silly dog," and gives him a little kiss on the head, not unlike the many other times he's done it. In the time he's been here, he's grown extremely close to Miles, and the boy to him. Always rambling about his life, as a student and as Spider-Man, about the friends he had made and how much he misses them. About his loss. Spot feels like he's really starting to understand him, relates to so many of his struggles, and his fondness only seems to grow every day. But today, the emotions that run through him feel… different. Sharper.
Spot feels his heart swell with so much joy and then- then the realization that he loves Miles so much but it's. More now. More than he ever thought possible. More than is normal for a dog. He's. In love with Miles. He's in love with Miles.
He's on the floor before he really knows what's happening and Miles is halfway up the wall away from him, staring at him with wide eyes. He's surprised the boy didn't scream. He's surprised he's not screaming. In the moment he's mostly processing how cold he is without his fur.
They stare at each other for minutes. John doesn't know how many, can't tell, too busy processing all the new sensory input. He's not colorblind anymore, so that's cool. He's just regular blind again. Fuck, he needs his glasses. His eyes start to water from squinting up at Miles on the wall and he closes them with a groan as a splitting headache finally registers in his conscious mind. He curls in on himself, shivering, so cold and so scared and so tired. He's tired of always being pulled away from a good thing the moment it starts to solidify, the moment he starts to relax. His friendships, his marriage. His job. His humanity. He had just become comfortable as a dog, so fucking happy with an owner that loves him and now- now he's probably going to jail and he doesn't know what he'll do then his family thinks he's dead-
He startles when a blanket is pulled around his shoulders. Miles is right in front of him. When did that happen?
"Spot? Are- are you ok? Is... is Spot even a good name to call you anymore? God, youre having a panic attack I think, ok, it's ok man it's ok, I'm here boy, it's ok." Miles is muttering quiet reassurances as his hands flutter around John's face, pushing his hair back, fixing the blanket more firmly around his shoulders. He sits and listens for a few long moments, dumbfounded, processing, realizing he wasn't really breathing all that well before and taking a few deep breaths. Miles’ warm eyes keep him in the moment, keep him from slipping away. His gaze is pensive but firm and so full of care and John is finally catching up and processing what the hell is happening.
"J-John." He rasps out, voice breaking from-disuse? The reformation of his vocal chords? Who knows.
As he says it he finally feels control returning to his body, fingers jittering and flexing. The first thing his addled brain does is reach out for the thing in front of him that brings him so much warmth and love and strength. He cups Miles face in his hands, thumbs running clumsily along his cheeks. He must look a sight, smile crooked, eyes squinting too much (mom always told him to open his eyes when he smiles, how does one smile differently than how their body expresses happiness? He never got an answer). He's unshaven too, which is funny. He wonders idly how his body decides how much hair to give him in the process of returning him to human. But all those thoughts are distant. The boys eyes are wide but he's not pulling away and John feels himself melt even further.
"Miles," he says softly, voice rich and dripping with warmth. Miles' eyes somehow get even wider, and John feels heat under his palms. The boy brings a hand up to wrap around his wrist and god, his fingers don't even touch. A searing thought rushes past in the background noise but it's easily ignored amidst the plain euphoria that is saying Miles’ name and touching his face with hands that can feel something more. Being a dog is a rich and sensorial experience ok but it's very different from things he remembers about being human. How long has he been doing this? Oh no
“Sorry,” John murmurs, but his hands don't move and Miles doesn't pull at him, just looks at him with big eyes full of concern. He squeezes John's wrist lightly.
“Back with me?” Miles says, cracking a smile. He's good at focusing during stressful situations, John thinks somewhat distantly.
“Y- yeah. Yes, I'm. Here. I'm ok.” He lets go of Miles’ face almost sheepishly, but the boy just laughs and shakes his head a bit as he lowers John's hand to his lap.
“So you weren't always a dog, then. It's - uh- it's nice to meet you, John.”
In lieu of responding to how Miles saying his name just made him feel, a broken little whine slips out of his throat. His mind is swimming, still adjusting to the fact he can even talk again. Months and months of only thinking his thoughts and sometimes being able to act on them has left him impotent.
Miles' face sharpens suddenly, startling another eep! out of him.
“I knew you could understand me! You've always been such an easy dog- and all those times I could have sworn you were doing stuff when we weren't here-! I knew it!”
John whines as the urge to flatten his ears and tuck his tail flows through him unfulfilled by his new anatomy. Miles’ face softens instantly at the sound, hand rushing up to shush him.
“Hey, it's ok boy, I'm not- I'm not actually mad. I'm sure it must have been hard being a dog, not being able to communicate with anyone. And you were all alone then…” he puts a hand on the back of John's head, threading his fingers through the soft unkempt hair at his nape and scratching lightly. John melts.
“Hah, knew that would work, too.”
“H-how,” John starts, pushing past the way his whole body relaxes into Miles’ touch because his brain BURNS with questions, “how are you so- so calm, Miles??” The boy hums, still scratching his neck. He can barely string two thoughts together with the feeling scrambling his brain.
“I think– I'm a person that encounters a lot of strange situations, you know? It's not that weird to me, I guess. Plus you were panicking, and it's a lot easier for me to be calm when I'm helping someone else. It's like- something else takes over to keep me in the moment because I know someone needs me.” John nods, still squinting terribly without his glasses. Miles narrows his eyes suddenly, putting his free hand under John's chin and turning his face to the side to look him over. John lets him easily.
“Hey, you had like, big glasses and short hair before, didn't you? Did you… work at Alchemax?” John's mouth falls open slightly, as several other very obvious pieces of information fall into place.
“Oh,” he says a bit breathlessly, still leaning into Miles' touch, “you were that little Spider-Man. That stole a computer.” Miles eyes widen, his grip tightening imperceptibly, but John isn't afraid. This is his owner.
“...Yes. That was me.” He doesn't offer up anything else, and John feels the need to fill the suddenly oppressive silence.
“It was the collider, I– I think, at least. Everything right before I turned was a blur. I was one of the last people in the building, trying to salvage my work after so many months of toil. When the explosion happened I was near a wall of other experiments, I got thrown into it and then… darkness. I woke up in the rubble as… a dog. As Spot. No way to communicate with anyone, because even if I could scratch something out in the dirt, who would believe me? I barely interacted with my family before because of my work and now I was alone for good because of that lack of connection. And then you found me.”
John can't help the way his voice warms, how his eyes shine with emotion, grabbing Miles' wrist and relishing the way his fingers wrap all the way around and touch. The pulse under his skin a thrumming reminder that he's not alone anymore.
“You found me and took me in and made me feel so safe. I've… I've never been as happy as when I was your dog, Miles. Please … please don't get rid of me. I know it's more complicated now but-”
“Get rid of you?” Miles is incredulous, face pulled back in confusion and something else he can't quite name. He was never good with these tricky emotion things.
“John, I'm not just going to throw you out! I'm not a monster. You need help. And you're- you were- you were my dog! I still kind of feel this sense of, of protectiveness over you. Not just in the fact that I like to help people, but I want to help you. It's gonna be ok.” He smiles at John, so warm and safe and inviting, and he can't take it anymore. He tips forward and buries his face in Miles' neck, wrapping his arms around him and stuttering out a shaking breath.
“I was so scared Miles, I've been so scared.”
“Shhh,” Miles coos, rubbing gentle circles into his back over the blanket. “It's gonna be ok. We'll figure this out. I'm here, man. I'm here.”
John hiccups as a sob rips itself from his throat, tears pouring down his cheeks and soaking into his beard. He squeezes Miles harder and Miles squeezes back even more in return, the pressure grounding him and making him feel safer. He's not leaving. He's not leaving. Miles won't leave him, even now he knows, now he knows John isnt a dog and is in fact a man in his 30s with intense depression and anxiety and horrible social skills. Well, maybe some of that isn't obvious but most of it really is, especially to someone as perceptive as Miles. Still comforting him, rubbing circles into his back even as he squishes him against his chest. God, he knows just what John needs.
“Thank you,” he gasps out a bit breathlessly, voice wet with tears and the snot filling his nose. “Thank you thank you thank you-” Before he can keep rambling Miles shushes him, petting his hair, and standing up. Just. Getting up, still holding John in his arms. Spider-Man strength is great. Miles makes his way over to his bed and sets John down, bundling him up in his blanket.
“You don't need to act like you don't deserve it! I'm here to stay and I'm not gonna abandon you. You don't need to thank me every moment for that. Just… just accept my help. Ok?” As he talks, Miles pushes back a few unruly strands of hair from John's face, brushing away one of the tear tracks with his thumb. John can only stare at him, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide, and nod.
He is definitely in love with Miles.
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely, “y-yeah. Ok. Ok. I… ok. T-thank you.” Miles snorts a breath as he looks down and closes his eyes, but he just turns back to look at John with a crooked smile.
“Good start. Now, let's just, rest for a bit, ok? We can figure this all out in a bit. There's some stuff I want to try, but it can wait. You look exhausted man.” Even though he wants to deny it, John feels exhausted too. He wants nothing more than to curl up in the blanket Miles gave him and sleep for an entire day. And now that he's got permission… the part of his brain that craves attention and problem solving is momentarily beat out by how supremely fucking tired he is, and the direct order is the final nail in his coffin. He nods, sniffling and swiping at his face, and pulls the blanket more around himself as he lays down.
“There ya go, thank you. Just… rest for a bit, John. I'll be right here.” And what is he to do but obey.
jacobvanloon
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
