Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No, no, no, nonononononononononononononononononono. I’m a failure. I failed, I failed, I failed, IfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailedIfailed, Miles’s thoughts raced. 

He had failed. The Spot hadn’t gotten his dad, some dumb robber did. At some stupid damn bank, some criminal had a gun and shot Jefferson Davis in the chest with it 7 times. 

What was Miles doing, you might ask?

Trying to locate The Spot to stop the anomaly from killing his dad. 

How would The Spot kill his dad if his dad was already dead?

Miles didn’t know. 

Currently, Miles was lying in his bed, ignoring any outside communication from anyone, especially his so-called “friends” from the Spider Society. Especially Gwen. She could die in a hole for all the boy cared for.

Peter B could leave him alone too. The man had been calling him non-stop. Miles had blocked him. He wasn’t gonna let the man guilt trip with Mayday. She was cute, but she didn’t need to get involved. 

Pavitr had called him a few times to offer some chai. Miles had denied, saying that he wasn’t feeling well. Pavitr had accepted that easily, telling Miles to get well soon. That they would hang out when Miles was feeling up to it.

Hobie hadn’t called him at all. It wasn’t surprising. He was told that the spider-punk had come back when Gwen had asked so that he could help Miles. Hobie told her to “fuck off,” but that he would come back, just to annoy the shit out of Miguel. 

At least he was honest. 

Back to Miles himself, he hadn’t eaten in a few days. His stomach felt like it was eating itself out. He knew that his spider-metabolism wouldn’t be able to take much more of this.

His mother had been crying for a few days. Her boss had let her take a few weeks of paid leave to mourn and grieve. Miles had heard his mother sobbing in every room of the apartment, especially the room her and Miles’s dad had shared. 

Miles could still smell the scent of his dad’s cologne in his nostrils and all around the house. It made him nauseous. 

Miles’s mom had knocked on his door at least twice a day to remind him to eat. He just didn’t have any motivation to do so. He didn’t have motivation to do basically anything at the moment. 

Miles faced the wall opposite to his bed, eyes focused on the walls. A pale grey, like his father’s eyes when Miles saw his lifeless body on the cool concrete-

Miles blinked, forcing himself to get up. He peeled himself off his bed, his joints cracking as he did. That was most likely not good. Miles didn’t really care though.

He forced himself to open the door and walk over to the kitchen. His body aching with every step. He walked over to the cabinet and took out a glass, walking over to the sick, he filled it with water, grabbing himself some crackers as well. 

He sat down at the table, drinking some water and some crackers. He drank a large gulp of water after every few crackers, just to wash them down. 

When Miles had finished the pack of crackers, he took one last big gulp of water. He didn’t feel full, but his stomach pain finally subsided. 

He ended up deciding to walk up to the roof. He needed some fresh air.

Once he had gotten up to the roof, he walked close to the edge, where there was a runner, running across the a sides of the top of the building. Miles sat behind it, curling up his legs into his chest as he watched the New York sunset in the distance.

Chapter Text

Miles woke up the next morning, on the roof where he’d passed out on last night. He sat up, his back cracked, sounding like his bones were grinding against each other.

His entire body ached, as did his stomach. His joints were stiffer than one of the lion statues that he had slapped a sticker on. 

The sun hung itself high in the sky. It was most likely mid-morning. Miles decided to head back inside. Once inside, he headed into his apartment, going straight for his room, passing the kitchen. 

Once inside the safety of his room, he walked over to where his phone was, deciding to check it. He had several more missed calls from Gwen and Peter B. 

Deciding that he was too tired and too sore to deal with the both of them, he opted to put his phone down and pass out on his bed. So he did just that. 

A few hours later, he woke up disheveled and somehow even more tired than before. 

There was a folded paper note next to his head. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, grabbing the note with his right hand as he did so. 

Please come to Earth 2099 for a report on the following situation, Jefferson Morales’s death with Miguel O’Hara at 12:00 pm

-LYLA

Miles groaned. Meeting with Miguel? He would rather kill himself than do that after what the man had done to him. But he had to go. If he didn’t, there was a large chance that someone from the spider society would come to his apartment and drag him to meet with Miguel. It sounded like something Miguel would order someone to do. 

Miles begrudgingly peeled himself off his bed and walked over to his phone, wondering how he was supposed to get to HQ. THat was when he saw one of the HQ watches next to his phone. His eyes blew up wide in surprise, the first real expression they’d had in days.

He instantly put the watch on his left wrist, fingers tracing around the interdimensional technology in awe. He shook his head, an emotionless expression laying itself back on his face. 

After a few minutes, he’d gotten his suit on and spun the watch faucet that led to HQ. The kaleidoscope-type orange portal appeared over his head as it zoomed him into the portal.

Once he’d gotten to HQ, he peeled the mask off of his face. A few other spider people stared. As he swung and walked through HQ he felt like he was being watched every 5 seconds. It felt like everyone was staring at him. It was suffocating. He needed to get away. 

Heading in the seemingly familiar, yet endless direction/route to Miguel’s office, Miles felt like he was suffocating under the constant watching of everybody in HQ. 

Once Miles got to Miguel’s office, he practically shoved his whole body in there even though he didn’t want to talk to Miguel. It was better than being stared at like he was another one of the many captured anomalies. 

After a little bit of walking, he’d made it to the area where Miguel’s platform was. He was up there, looking at a monitor with two people on it. Miles didn’t really care much for it though.

He stood there, a few steps from the platform that Miguel stood on. 

“Hello,” he muttered, his voice cracked and dry. It was so quiet that the normal human would not be able to hear it. Miguel definitely heard it, because his head snapped over to where Miles was standing.

“Morales,” he said as he jumped down from the platform.

“Sir,” he responded, his voice blunt, dry, and monotone. Miguel’s brows laced with annoyance and. . .concern?

“How are you doing as of right now, Morales?” Miguel asked. Miles’s eyes widened in astonishment. Miguel was asking how he was doing? Why did he care? The man had quite literally WWE’d Miles. What was with the sudden concern?

He swallowed down the urge to yell, ‘MY DAD IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOUR STUPID CANON RULES?!’ Instead he opted to say,

“I’m alright.” He swallowed down the nausea. 

“En Espanol,” Miguel prompted. Miles was confused. Why would Miguel ask him something in Spanish? 

“Estoy bien, Señor,” Miles responded after a few seconds of stammering.

“Puedo decir que estás mintiendo, Morales,” Miguel responded, surprisingly in Spanish. 

“No Señor, no estoy mintiendo,” Miles responded, not even sure if he was saying it right. He didn’t currently have the energy to care.

“No te estoy mintiendo, Morales. You missed a indirect object pronoun,” Miguel corrected.

Was Miguel trying to help him? In Spanish no less? His mother would kill him if he got another B in Spanish. 

His dad would scold him, asking if he was trying to kill his mother. He was dead now. Miles would’ve rather had his father scolding him than be dead.

“What?” Miles spoke, his voice cracky and dry.

“You missed an indirect object pronoun,” Miguel re-stated to him.

“No, why are you correcting my Spanish?” Miles questioned, his voice a bit clearer now. “My dad just died and I know you knew this was going to happen. You knew. Why are you beating around the bush? Be happy!” He threw his arms in the air. “You were right! He was supposed to die! He died! You glad that you were right!?” He’d practically yelled the last part at the man. 

Miguel looked at him with guilted/serious eyes. He seriously looked like he regretted something. But what would that be? Predicting Miles’s dad’s death? Nah, he’d probably gloat about that. 

At that moment, Miguel threw an item in Miles’s direction. Miles caught it with perfect precision, even with his aching body. It was a small, pocket-size book of, “Spanish Verbs, Pronouns, both Perfect, Imperfect, Indirect and Direct, 2nd edition.”

“I’d study that to help with your grammar,” Miguel suggested to him. “Dismissed.”

 Miles walked out of the office, opting to use his watch to go home directly after that. 

Once he was home, he had ended up in his bedroom, he placed the book on his desk with delicacy. He was so confused.

Why would Miguel even give him this. Why didn’t he just rub the fact that he was right in Miles’s face? Why did he have to be so stand-offish about it? Why did he just get to ignore the fact that Miles’s dad had just died and he’d given no compassion?

Miles couldn’t think straight at that moment. His thoughts felt like they were tredging through a path of marshmallow fluff. Walking over to his bed, his brain got more clouded. He practically fell onto the bed, throwing a blanket over himself as his vision blackened and he passed out.

Chapter Text

Miles woke up groggily, his vision blurring as he awoke. He groaned. His stomach felt empty, like it was eating itself out empty.

Miles blinked, realizing that he was in his room. He must have passed out after his meeting with Miguel yesterday, which was weird as hell, he might add.

He decided to get up, practically peeling himself off the bed, to get some food. 

Walking out of his room and into the kitchen, he opened the fridge door to see a few yogurts and an apple. 

He decided on a yogurt and an apple, definitely not enough to completely fill him up because of his metabolism, but it was enough to postpone the hunger pains.

After finishing his food, he decided to draw. It always helped him. Especially after his uncle’s death.

Walking back to his room, he looked to the photos on the wall. One was of him and his uncle Aaron when he was a kid, a picture of his parents, most likely on a date, a picture of kid him smiling while his parents held his shoulders at his elementary school art fair. . .and the final one. The most recent one.

It was him and his parents, he was taller than his mom, who was a a nice red blouse with frilly sleeves and dark blue mom jeans and his dad in a light blue polo shirt with blue jeans, while he wore a red hoodie with a blue jacket over it, along with some dark blue jeans. Only a little of the lower body was visible in the photo. 

His parents had warm smile son their faces while Miles had a more nervous one. 

This photo had been taken at a rooftop party his mom had hosted a few weeks prior to his dad’s death The Incident. 

Past him had looked so happy. 

He wished that Gwen had never taken him to the spider society. He wished that he’d never met her.

He couldn’t change the past.

He just couldn’t. 

He continued walking until he was in his room and sitting at his desk. 

He grabbed the notebook closest to him and flipped through it. Numerous pictures of Gwen filled his vision. The threw the book to the other side of the room, right at a wall. It hit the wall and fell down with a ‘poomf.’

He grabbed another one, this one had a green leather cover. He opened it and flipped through it. All blank pages. 

He grabbed a pencil and started drawing on the first page. Little by little, the pages started to fill up. 

When Miles’s stomach had rumbled again, he looked up from his journal, over to the window. His hand ached as he saw a sunrise. How long had he been drawing?

Then he heard a tap on his window. His eyes widened as he walked over to it, unlocking it as his face met another’s. The other person’s face was full of piercings and two dark eyes. The one and only Hobie Brown.

“What are you doing here, Hobie?” Miles asked blankly, his words lacking any and all emotion.

“First of all, Luv,” the spider-person in question held up his pointer finger. “You need some grub for that complexion of yours.” He held up another finger next to his pointer. “What the actual fuck caused Miguel to call ya’ to his office yesterday’?” He asked.

Miles groaned, rolling his eyes that had the darkest bags under his eyes that Hobie had ever seen. 

“He called me in to talk about. . .” Miles paused. “My dad’s death.”

“But instead, all he did was give me some stupid book about Spanish and correct my usage of it!” 

“Damn bruv,” Hobie commented, leaning on the wall next his window. “Miguel is that much of a prick, ain’t he?”

Miles nodded, eyes conveying annoyance. 

“I’m not gonna lie, you look like shit bruv,” Hobie remarked at Miles’s physical state. 

“I look perfectly fine, Hobie,” Miles replied. 

“You’re full of shit and to be honest, ya’ do look like shit,” Hobie shot back at him. “Look in a mirror if you don’t believe me.”

Miles sighed, waling out of his room to the bathroom and in front of the sink, where a mirror is located. He lifted his head and looked at his face. 

Hobie had been right. Miles did look like shit. Dark bags under his eyes and the newfound bony thinness to his cheeks was unfamiliar to him. He brought his left hand up to his eyes. Eyes that used to be a hazelnut brown, now duller and full of less life then before. 

Miles walked back over to his room and inside it, where Hobie was still leaning on the wall next to his window.

“Thank you, Hobie,” Miles told the punk.

“For what, Miles?” he asked, confusion lacing his pierced brows.

“For at least trying to help me save my dad,” Miles started. “You really were the only one on my side, and you didn’t even know me.” 

“I wasn’t gonna leave for the wolves, Miles. They’re a bunch’a pricks, yanno, plus, I don’t believe in consistency, or any type of dictatorship or capitalism, which is kinda what’s going on in the shit show society right now,” Hobie told him. 

Miles felt tears brimming his eyes. The next few seconds were a blur. Miles ran at Hobie, throwing himself into Hobie’s arms, wrapping the older teen in a bear-type hug. 

At first, he was stiff, but eventually relaxed, returning the hug and letting Miles sob into his shirt. Hobie brought the both of them to the ground, patting Miles on the back as Miles sobbed into his shirt. 

Eventually, the sobs came to a stop and Miles sniffed a few times, tear tracks on his face as he shakingly apologized to Hobie. The punk teenager brushed his apology off, saying that Miles shouldn’t bottle up his emotions and saying that saying that might be a piece of bullshit created by a capitalist, but that it was good advice. 

Telling him that any time he needed a good cry, to call him. Miles nodded.

The two spider-boys hung out for about two hours before Hobie had to bounce, saying that he had a band practice to get to or something of the sort. 

And with that, Hobie climbed out of the window, bidding Miles farewell before his voice disappeared completely.

Miles breathed in deeply, and this deep breath wasn’t full of sorrow, but full of warm emotions. It was the first positive thing that had happened since his father's death.

Miles walked back over to his desk, sitting down in the chair and grabbing the green-leather cover journal. He had new inspiration 

Chapter Text

The next day was similar to to the ones of the past week. Depressing, as Ganke, his Visions Academy roommate, would tell him. 

Miles still felt tired, like his body was weighing itself down with invisible chains they he had no way to break free of.

He, however, still had school. So with great reluctance, he got up from his bed and put on his uniform, walking over to the bathroom to figure out what he was going to do with his hair today.

His eyes looked bloodshot with midnight-type circles under them. His hair looked a bit messy. He did his best to make it look decently presentable before making his lonely walk to school.

Once he got into the building, he could feel the pitiful stares on everybody else's faces. It felt suffocating. Even his teacher shot his glances of what could be considered concern and pity.

Once school was out, he ran and ran and ran. He didn’t know how long he’d run for, but the next thing he knew, he was in an abandoned subway station. The same one his uncle Aaron used to take him to.

He walked around, looking at the artwork him and his uncle had done before he’d gotten bitten. Before it had gotten all complicated. Before his uncle Aaron had died.

He fell to his knees, his hand on the scratchy pavement, tears running down his face as he sobbed in agony. He sobbed for his father. He sobbed for his mother. He sobbed for his uncle Aaron. Who was dead now. He sobbed for Gwen, Peter B, Peter, Noir, Peni, Porker, Gwen, Pav, Hobie and hell, even Miguel!

Salty tears streamed down his cheeks. 

Why couldn’t he be good enough? If he was good enough, Peter would have still been alive. If he was good enough, the spot wouldn’t exist. If he was good enough, his dad wouldn’t have died. If he was good enough, Pav’s dimension wouldn’t be collapsing.

Sobs racked his body. 

He needed out.

He needed a break.

“Our family doesn’t run from things, Miles.” He remembered his mother’s words.

He couldn’t escape this. Being Spider-Man was his fate. His dad being dead was his fate. Him being stuck playing this sick game of life was his fate. 

He was sick of it. He was sick of hearing about fate and cannon events. 

To quote Hobie Brown himself, “It’s bullshit bruv.”

He did need a break. 

A memory popped into his mind. One where Peter B was telling him that he could only save one person at a time, and the first person should be Miles himself. 

The first person you will always have to save, is yourself.

The most important person to you, should be yourself.

Peter B really did know how to write a pretty speech.

It was pretty. 

I̷̼̗̯͎̜̙͑͑͗̆̈̅̿͝͝t̵̨͇̀́̆̔̓͂̑ ̵̡̛͖͖̋̏̓̏̒̀̈́̃̀͘͠w̶̢͍̟̙̭̳̖̍̍́̏̈́̐͝a̴͕̪̬̹̓̔͛͝s̷̫͗̀̈́͋ ̷̦̫̐̋̇̀̊̎̚͝͝p̶͖͐̀̈́ŗ̶̤͛̊̀̌̚͝͠ė̶̥̜̞̐t̴̡̛͈͓͕͚̺̳͕̉̽́̀́̄t̶̥͇̔͒̓̒͆́͒͗̕͠ỷ̵̡̗̳̀

He looked up to the art him and his uncle Aaron had done together. Tears brimmed his eyelids. Memories flooded back to him. Both the good, and the bad.

Miles wiped his eyes and sniffled a few times, attempting to compose himself a bit. Once he had, he exited the subway and headed home.

Once home, Miles walked straight into his room, completely ignoring the kitchen. He threw his bag to the side, collapsing onto his bed as he succumbed to the sweet release of sleep.

Chapter Text

When Miles woke up, the first thing he heard was shuffling. At first he thought it was his mama, so he put a pillow over his head, squishing it over his ears and mumbling a little, ‘mama leave me alone.’

“Do you think he heard us?” a voice whispered. With that, Miles shot out out of his bed. He recognized that voice. That was Peni’s voice. What was Peni doing here? 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed’s backboard, and began to scale the wall. He went over to the door, peering through the crack in it slightly to reveal several spider people in his living room. 

Noir was there. Peni was there. Porker was there. Peter B was there, with Mayday of course. Pavitr was there. Hobie was there and so was Gwen. . .

“He was sleeping, last I checked,” Noir responded, playing with the rubix cube that Miles had given him a few years prior. 

“We’ll just wait til’ he wakes up then,” Gwen told the group. 

“Are you lot givin’ him anotha’ intervention?” Hobie asked, his accent thick. 

“It’s not an intervention, it’s more like a. . .chat. . .between friends,” Gwen responded, her voice slightly shaking.

“So an intervention?” Hobie questioned, raising one of his eyebrows. 

“No, no nothing like that,” Peter B tried to reassure, holding his hands up in a nervous mock surrender. 

Miles felt like this was the perfect time to butt into the conversation.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Miles questioned, hopping down from the ceiling which revealed him standing in the open doorway of his bedroom with his arms crossed.

“Miles!” A few spider-people shouted in alarms shooting straight up from where they were either standing or sitting.

“Where’s my mom?” Miles asked

“She’s out grocery shopping and left about 20 minutes ago,” Porker told him. Miles nodded, narrowing his eyes as he turned his head to face the rest of the spider-people.

“Kid!” Peter B practically shouted. “We were-er uh-we came to check on you kiddo.” 

“Well, I’m fine , so you can go now,” Miles responded, making a ‘shoo shoo’ motion with his hands.

“Cut the bullshit Miles, you’re not fine,” Gwen practically yelled. “We all know you haven’t been taking care of yourselves properly!”

“So what if I have or haven’t?” Miles shouted, his voice seething with anger. “Why do you care?”

“Why do we care-? Miles we DO care. We all care for you a lot, a whole lot,” Gwen shouted back at him.

“You didn’t seem to care when you all blindly followed Miguel’s orders!” Miles yelled. “You didn’t seem to care when he threw me into a train and told me that my dad had to die! And guess what, Miguel was right, my dad did die! The only person who didn’t do jack shit to stop me was Hobie!” 

“Miles we DO care about you. All of us are so sorry, we want to make it up to you, let us help yo-” Gwen spoke.

“No Gwen, you’ve done enough. I’m literally done with you and you pushing me around. You could’ve visited me sooner, you could’ve helped me save my dad instead of siding with Miguel! YOU COULD HAVE DONE SO MANY OTHER THINGS, MADE SO MANY OTHER CHOICES, BUT INSTEAD YOU CHOSE TO BLINDLY FOLLOW A MAN WHO’S SNAPPY BECAUSE HIS KID DIED AND HE CAN’T BEAR WITH THE FACT THAT SOME SPIDER-KID OUT THERE IS HAPPY WITH A HAPPY FAMILY AND HE ISN’T!” Miles shouted.

“I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN!” Miles finished, bashing his hand against the wall, somehow not breaking it. 

“Get out of my house,” He said, sternly. 

“Kid-,” Peter B started, Mayday babbling innocently in her carrier. 

“You too, Peter. I don’t want to see your face,” Miles told the man, his voice still seething with anger. 

“Now all of you, get out of my house,” Miles said, right pointer finger pointing at the front door as he raised his right hand. 

After about a minute, Miles went back into his room, slamming the door behind him, the sound ricocheting in the spider-people’s ears. 

Miles flopped back down onto his bed again, vision dimming, as he succumbed to the sweet release of sleep. 

Chapter Text

When Miles woke up in the morning he felt his ears ringing, remembering what happened last night, he groaned.

Maybe he should’ve been less harsh.

No. They deserved it. They hurt him. He didn’t have to forgive them. Forgiving them was a choice. One Miles didn’t have to make at the moment.

With all that being said, Miles decided to go eat something. His stomach was rumbling and he knew he couldn’t hold off his metabolism for long. 

He rolled of his bed, stood up and walked out of his room to the kitchen and towards the fridge. He grabbed out an apple and a yogurt, placing them on the counter and going over to the cabinet to get a glass. Once the glass was retrieved, he walked over to the fridge and to the water dispenser, pressing on the back panel.

Once the glass was filled up he put it on the counter and opened the fridge again, finding some leftovers that his mama had made. He put the leftovers it a bowl and put the bowl in the microwave to heat it up. While waiting for the leftovers he grabbed a spoon and opened his yogurt.

Once he finished his yogurt, the microwave beeped. He put the empty yogurt in the trash and the spoon in the sink, grabbing a fork and he traveled across the kitchen to the microwave. Taking his food out of the microwave, he walks back over to where he put the apple and he starts eating the food.

It was warm and reminded him of when him, his mom and his dad would sit around the table and eat a warm home-cooked meal. Back when he got into Visions Academy. Back when he would come back for the weekends from Visions Academy and his mom and dad would get off work early and his mom would make dinner. 

He wished he could go back to those times. He really did. 

But he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t.

He hadn’t really noticed when he’d finished the food, but once he heard metal against porcalin he’d snapped out of his thoughts.

Putting the bowl and the fork in the sink he grabbed the apple and went back to his room. He needed to draw. He needed to write. He needed some sort of outlet for all of this.

He walked over to his desk, setting down the apple and grabbing a random sketchbook. 

As the sun moved throughout sky Miles drew. Eating a bit of the apple whenever he was hungry. By the sunset the apple was nothing but the core and Miles had filled up most of the sketchbook. 

Then his watch beeped. There was a voicemail. It was from Miguel.

“Morales, we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Miles begrudgingly arrived at Spider HQ, gripping his mask with his left fist. He portalled into the lobby and the second he did, the entirety of it went silent. 

Miles walked through the winding halls and pathways of the Spider HQ that would make a normal person sick. His destination, Miguel’s office. No matter how much he loathed to go.

Miles arrived at his destination, his anger almost at its tipping point, his teeth grinding against each other. He took a final deep breath before walking into Miguel’s office. 

Inside he saw Miguel, leaning against the wall with his mask off and eyes closed. It confused Miles, last he checked Miguel almost never left the podium in his office. Why would he lean against a wall?

On an instinct, Miles went invisible, walking around to stand a half a dozen feet away from Miguel. 

“I know you’re there, Morales. Reveal yourself, you’re wasting valuable time,” Miguel stated, his monotone voice echoing throughout the office as his eyes remained closed.

“Like you would know anything about ‘valuable time’ after pinning me to damn train,” Miles told the older man, air quoting two of the words, his tone sarcastic. 

Miguel opened his eyes, his lips in a firm line as his eyebrows pointed themselves downward. 

“Morales, how are your Spanish grades as of right now?” Miguel asked.

Seriously, this is what he called him for?

“They’re the same as they have been,” Miles spat, his tone leading on to the tone of anger and annoyance.

Miguel hummed.

“Why did you yell at them?” he asked.

What. . .?

“What. . .?” Miles whispered.

“Why did you yell at them? Gwen, Peter B, Noir, Porker, etcetera. Why?”

Miles paused, his breath being caught in his throat.

“They deserved it. I could give less of a fuck what they think or feel anymore. In my mind, they’re already dead, and so are you so stop pretending to be the good person in all of this when you know you’re the bad one,” Miles spat.

“You are no hero. You are like the spot. A pest,” Miles raged, clenching his fists. “You fucked up and in turn everyone else would go down with you because your a selfish person who cant see over their own ass.”

“I used to be angry at you, but now, I’m just. . . disappointed. You’re no leader, you’re a coward,” he finished.

Miguel stayed quiet.

“WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF, HUH?! SAY SOMETHING!” Miles shouted at the older man.

“Morales, you’re angry and grieving, you don’t understand what the severity of the situation even is-” Miguel started.

“No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say none of this is your fault. You did this.” Miles pointed at Miguel. “You made me like this.” 

“I am a monster of your own creation.”

“Find another teenager to traumatize I could give a fuck less,” he finished, and with that he left, portaling out of there, back to his own universe. 

Landing in his bedroom, he sunk to his knees, sobbing, for the first time since he truly lost his family.

Chapter Text

Miles woke up the next morning, dark circles under his eyes. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, blinking the black spots away.

After he was sturdy enough, he stood up and walked over to the bathroom. He passed the mirror, catching his reflection.

Bloodshot eyes with dark bags under them, his hair frizzy and unkept. His cheeks sunken in ever so slightly more than before.

He knew that he hadn’t gone out as spider-man in weeks. He knew that the people need a spider-man. No matter what he felt he had to go protect his city. For the people.

He wouldn’t let anyone else feel how he did. He wouldn’t let anyone else lose their dad. Or their mom. Or their uncle. Or any of their family, for that matter.

He went back to his room, grabbing his suit and mask and practically throwing them on and leaping out the window like a leapfrog.

He swung around the city, doing the usual stuff. Saving cats from trees, finding lost pets, stopping a few minor robberies, muggings, etc.

Once he was done webbing the robbers to the ground for the police at a bakery, an old woman came out from the counter on a box.

“You’re too skinny,” she told him. “Like my grandson, you boys grow like weeds.”

“No thank you ma’am. You should probably save it for another customer, or your grandson!” Miles replied, holding his hands up as he shook his head.

“Aye! My grandson gets enough sweets with me running this bakery. And we were just about to close up so it’d be going to waste anyway!” she exclaimed, holding out the box to Miles.

Miles, not wanting to upset the old woman, took the box graciously with a curt, “thank you ma’am” as he swung away and to his usual city rooftop with the lion statues.

He sat down on one of the statues, opening the box to find a beautiful slice of Tres Leches cake.

There was a fork in the box so he gently took the bottom part of his mask off, revealing his mouth and picked up the fork, digging into the cake and taking a chunk of it off.

Biting into it, it reminded him of when he was little and his mama would bake it for his birthday. He father always snuck him some candy on his birthday, even though his mama said he couldn’t have any. His father did that every year.

Fat tears fell from his face.

When was the last time he received a gift?

He didn’t know.

He was crying over a slice of cake, a gift from a kind woman.

The world was a cruel place with some very bad people in it. But there were also good people, that cared. That woman didn’t even know him and gave him a gift, food, for free. She didn’t have to do so. But she did.

That was kindness.

He hadn’t been very kind lately had he?

He knew that he needed to heal, but how?

First things first, he needed to talk to his mama. He needed to tell her that he was spider-man. He needed to be honest about himself to her.

He would tell her everything, he swore to it.

Chapter Text

The second he got home he put a sweatshirt over his suit, along with sweatpants, took off his mask and sat on the couch, waiting for his mama to get home from her shift.

He knew he had to tell her, no more secrets, no more lies. 

“Miles! I’m home,” his mother, Rio, called, unlocking the door and walking in, clearly expecting her son to be in his room, not on the couch. 

“You’re finally out of that room! Hopefully you ate something, I left some leftovers for you in the fridge,” she told him, setting her stuff down and walking over to him. 

He decided now was the best time to tell her.

“Mama, I have to tell you something, you have to promise not to freak out or get angry,” he told her. 

“Hm? Miles, mijo, are you a part of a gang?” she asked him, a serious look on her face.

“What?! No, no, no. . .” he stammered, holding his hands up in defense. “It’s kind-of the opposite.”

“What do you mean by that, Miles?” his mother asked.

This was giving him flashbacks.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he said, opening his jacket to reveal his suit. “The new one.”

He braced for impact, for screaming, for shouting, for angry Spanish, but it never came. All he got. . .was a hug.

His mother had wrapped her arms around Miles himself, the embrace shocking the young Spider-Man. 

That’s when he started sobbing.

“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he said through the sobs. 

“I thought you’d hate me,” he whispered.

“Miles, mijo. . .hate you. I could never,” she told him. “I am a little angry that you’ve been putting yourself in harm's way and not telling me though.”

“Yeah,” Miles sniffed. “I kinda expected that.”

“When did you get your powers, Miles?” she asked.

“I was out in the old subways with uncle Aaron and we were doing spray paint when a spider bit me. Then all these weird things started happening and I eventually met Peter when I got to Kingpin’s collider-gizmo thingy and he wanted to train me when it was all over. . .but,” miles pushed. “He didn’t live to see that day.”

Miles’s mom released him from the hug, looking at him in the eyes.

“Then a bunch of other spider people showed up. Peni Parker, Peter Porker, Noir, Gwen and Peter B. Peter B was like a mentor to me. He sorta trained me. Taught me how to shoot my first webs and stuff. Gwen was. . .she was amazing, I admit, I kind of liked her back then but now looking at it, I don’t feel anything for her anymore.”

Rio led him back over to sit on the couch, sitting down with him and listening intently. 

“I had been working hard in physics so I could make a way to see them all again, cuz’ they were the only ones who really got me, yanno? With all the spider powers and stuff. Then Gwen came through some kaleidoscope portal and we chatted for a while before I followed her back through her weird portal and met Pavitr, a Spider-Man from another universe. We saved that place along with another Spider-Man, the Spider-Punk, Hobie Brown, then I went to visit Miguel.” Miles shuddered.

“He told me that I shouldn’t be Spider-Man and that if I hadn’t been bitten then this world’s Peter Parker wouldn’t be dead and that the spider that bit me wasn’t from my dimension. It was from an earth called Earth-42, there is no Spider-Man there,”

“I met that universe’s version of me when I went there by accident. He was a villain, The Prowler, like uncle Aaron was here. Except in that universe,” he took in a sharp breath. “Dad had been dead for a while, but uncle Aaron was still alive. I was knocked out, tied to a punching bag and beat up by Earth-42’s uncle Aaron and had a sort-of talk with my other self. He let me go on account of having to save my dad, but I failed because I fought a man, who calls himself ‘The Spot’” he air-quoted. “Because I thought he’d be the one to kill dad, but a dirty criminal got to him instead,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he finished.

Rio held her son in a tight hug as he broke out sobbing in her shoulder. 

Her son was Spider-Man and she never knew. If he saw Peter Parker (of this world?) die then he'd have been Spider-Man for 3 years. Three years. Three years of getting hurt or stabbed or shot. 3 years of lies. 3 years of trying to get back in contact with the other spider people.(?)

Her son had been doing an adult’s job. A grown adult’s job. Her son had been saving a city. Her son. He was only a kid. A child. A teenager. Dear G-d.

“Why did you never tell me?” she asked him.

“I was afraid. Afraid you’d be mad. Afraid that. . .I wouldn’t be able to be Spider-Man anymore,” he replied. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore,” he whispered.

“Miles, mijo, look at me,” his mom said. Miles looked her in the eyes “I will always love you, no matter what. The only reason I care that you’re Spider-Man is the fact that you’re putting yourself in harm's way and getting hurt. I’m afraid that one day, you won’t come home.”

Miles realized what she meant.

“I’ll be careful mama, I promise. I won’t end up like this universe’s Peter Parker. Never,” he promised.

“Good,” she said, stepping away from her son and crossing her arms. “You’re having dinner with me tonight, I’m making arroz con gandules.”

Then she walked away and Miles followed her and helped her cook. 

They ate together for the first time in 2 months. It was awkward, sure, but it was kind-of homey. 

That night, Miles fell asleep with full stomach and a smile on his face.

It was the first time, Miles had felt home in a long time.

Chapter Text

Miles awoke in the morning to muted sunlight beaming in from his bedroom window, the morning birds chirping in the distance.

For once, he wasn’t annoyed about it. 

He sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He was definitely supposed to be at school but he didn’t really feel like it. 

The funeral was the next day, tomorrow. 

Miles wasn’t ready. Not at all.

He didn’t want to relive all of that. All of the regret. Sadness. Depression. Anger. Guilt. He didn’t want to relive any of it.

Not to mention the staring. He’d been getting a lot of pity stares at school, but at the funeral. G-d, it was going to be a nightmare.

He didn’t feel ready.

He didn’t feel ready for it.

He didn’t feel ready to face the fact that his father was in fact, dead.

He just wanted to pretend he was 13 again, when his father coming back from the station and cracking a dad joke as soon as he got home. 

At the time, Miles didn’t value those small moments.

Oh how naive he was.

Why was fate so cruel? To take away a boy’s father, to take away a part of him.

It was like the wound had been ripped open again, like the band-aid had fallen off and the injury had started to bleed again.

It hurt. It would hurt for a long while.

The pain was like holding a shard of glass. The glass representing the old memories of the things that happened in the past. He’d finally let go of the shard of glass. He hand would bleed for a while, until it healed.

Such a pitiful metaphor. It was much like life.

The wound of his dad’s death would bleed for a while. It would eventually fester and heal but until then, it still hurt, like Miles had let go of a shard of glass.

Deciding to do something productive for the day, he put on his spidey-suit and went out to stop some crime. 

He’d gotten a ton of looks, most grateful, some somber and sad. He’d met a little girl at the local park that was mourning the death of her father, much like Miles.

Even though he couldn’t have said much to make it better, he comforted the girl. He said that he’d lost people to the crime in the city, and that’s why he became Spider-Man, to stop the crime.

He told the young girl that maybe one day, she could be like him, but that she had a lot of growing and learning to do before she could be so cool.

The girl was grateful for the chat and told Miles that she was going to be just like him when she was older. Helping people and not being afraid to punch the bad guys. 

Miles told her not to rush her childhood, but to spend time with the ones she loves. She just nodded to him and told him that she would as she ran along home.

Miles felt warm in the heart, but empty all the same. The emptiness was still there. Eating him alive, killing him slowly but surely.

It still hurt. He didn’t know if it would never not hurt.

He still had to make it through his father’s funeral.

Chapter Text

The ground felt warm under Miles’s feet. The sun was shining, it shouldn't have been. 

How could it be sunny on this day? On the day where the lay his father to rest. 

Miles was angry. He couldn’t pinpoint his anger, but he just was angry. 

It was like the feeling of pinpricks of needles under his skin that made him want to scratch his skin off. It made him feel uneasy and nauseous, like the old feeling you’d get when a pop quiz would be announced. 

It made him uncomfortable.

His mama was trying her best not to cry as she greeted people and had them find their seats. 

Miles could see the tears in his mama’s eyes, reminding him to restrain his own.

Miles watched as his tias, tios, primos and others filed into the small funeral hall for the service. Many of them giving their condolences as soon as they walked in. Miles kept a straight face to stop himself from crying as he accepted the condolences with his mama. 

On the inside, he felt like curling up into a little ball and sobbing himself to sleep. He wanted to do that.

He looked over to his mama, her eyes red and puffy, her hair a mess. She looked a second away from breaking down and sobbing. She was sniffling as she directed people on where to go, until, one of Miles’s tias, Tia Rosa told her to go sit down with Miles and that she would handle letting people in.

His mama tried to reject the offer, but Tia Rosa didn’t let go, telling Miles’s mama to go with her son, for them to both comfort each other.

Eventually, she gave in, walking both herself and Miles to the wooden bench on the front left-hand side. Miles kept his right hand on his mom’s left sleeve. She looked to her son, tears in her red-rimmed eyes, threatening to fall. 

Miles looked back at his mama, tears brewing in his eyes. 

The sat like that for some time until, everyone had finished filing in and finding their seats and Miles’s mama needed to go up to give her speech.

Miles let go of her sleeve as he watched her walk up, her posture stiff and uncomfortable looking. She stood behind the podium, shuffling the papers in her hands. 

“Hello everyone,” she began, her voice cracked and raw. “Hank you all so much for coming today, it is good to see everyone’s faces again, though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“My husband Jefferson Morales, previously Jefferson Davis, was killed in action. He had been stopping a robbery one night, chasing the criminal, getting shot and killed in the process, as the criminal got away,” she continued.

“My husband lost his life that night, the criminal still out there, wreaking havoc in New York and other places. I hope soon that Karma finds them, espero que se pudran,” 

“My husband believed in law and safety. He only wished to keep the city streets a little safer. For the people,” she paused. “And for our son. He wished for Miles to grow up in a world different from his own. He wished for his son to stay away from violence and crime. He wanted his son to succeed in this life. And he still does,” she paused again.

“He’s still watching all of us from the heavens, rooting us on. Rooting on our son most of all, he saw the best in Miles. He called Miles, ‘the best of us.’ I believed it, and I still do. Miles is truly the best of us, no matter how much knocks him down, makes him fall, stumble, hurt. . .he always gets back up, never quitting, never running from his problems,”

“Jefferson would be proud of him, he always was.” Miles froze, his back straightening. 

“Thank you,” she finished, grabbing the papers and going back to her seat, next to Miles, who was to deliver the next speech.

Mile stood, walking over to the podium, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his suit coat pocket. He unfolded it, the creases prominent, standing behind the podium as he skimmed the paper.

“Um-hello everyone,” he greeted awkwardly, looking down at the paper. “Um-my father, Jefferson Morales was a good man, with a good head on his shoulder as my mama liked to say,” Miles looked to his mother, tears brewing in her eyes as tears threatened to fall in Miles’s own. “He was thick-headed, like a bull and didn’t always understand me, but he tried to,”

“He would always talk about some sort of spark in me, that he saw. He truly thought and said that I was the best of all of us. That all I had to take, was a leap of faith,”

“A leap of faith, faith,” Miles echoed. “My father believed in faith and fate. That fate could cause things to happen, but to make your own fate. Cause’ if you don’t, someone will,”

“My dad had a legacy, and now he passes his legacy onto me. I’ll continue helping others, like my dad always strived to do,” Miles finished and tears stung his eyes and threatened to leak down his face.

He walked back to sit back next to his mama as others gave their speeches. 

Eventually, once all the speeches were said and done, the casket with Jefferson Morales was carried into a funeral home limo and driven to the buril site as the rest of the people follow on foot.

Miles walked beside his mother, his arms wrapping around her left arm as the stepped in a similar pattern. 

They watched as the casket was laid into the ground and dirt was thrown on it using shovels. Miles watched, an empty expression on his face. His mother sobbed, no longer able to keep her composure. Miles wanted to cry too, but he had to be be strong, for her, and for his father.

He gravestone was revealed after they’d finished with the dirt.

Jefferson Morales

Father, Brother, Husband

It read. 

People started to place things onto the grave. Most of them flowers, some objects, little knick knacks and things Jefferson Morales would have liked.

Eventually, people started to leave, walking back to their cars. Ganke hugged Miles before he left, telling Miles to come over sometime soon to hang out. Miles told his mother that he needed time here, alone. She hesitated to let him at first, but told him to meet her back at the funeral home when he was done.

And then she left. Left Miles alone. To wallow in his own thoughts, that were like poison to his veins. Loud and hard to understand, but understandable nonetheless.

Miles wanted to fall apart. But he noticed something out of the corner of his eyes.

He spotted Noir, Porker, Peni, Peter B, Pavitr, Hobie and. . .Gwen. 

They were all here. But for what reason?

To gloat, his mind suggested. To pay respects.

Hobie was the one to come up to the grave first, placing a guitar pick onto the grave. Miles realized that was the one that he had called his favorite and had carried it everywhere. He stepped back.

Peni came up next, placing a little sign that would glow with Heliotropes, which meant forever love, it was also sun-charged. She stepped back.

Porker came u next, placing a pair of goofy glasses, considering no one in his universe even remotely died in a normal way that wasn’t funny, it was most likely the most sentimental thing. He stepped back.

Pav came up next, placing a basket of fruit along with what looked like a copy of one of the armbands he would always wear with his spider-suit. He stepped back.

Noir stepped up next, placing what looked like black and white aster flowers in front of the grave, before stepping back with the rest of the group.

Peter B stepped up next, placing a printed picture of Him and Miles along with a bouquet of flowers. And placed the items in front of the grave, next to Noir’s gift. He stepped back.

Last but not least, was Gwen. Gwen Stacy. The one who ruined his life. 

She placed her lucky drumstick along with a note on the grave. It was a folded piece of paper, creased at the sides. She looked Miles in the eyes, before backing up to stand with the others.

They started to leave, one by one, heading back to their own universes, their own lives, with their own families.

Miles stood there, shoulders tense and eyes glossy and unfocused. He leaned down to kneel in the grave’s fresh dirt.

“I was so scared to tell you, so scared to tell you. Dad, I’m Spider-Man,” he whispered to the grave. It replied with silence. “The new one. And to think I was so scared that you would be angry at me for being Spider-Man. So scared that you would hate me.”

“I’d rather you hate me than be dead,”

“Maybe in another reality,” He stood up, brushing off his dress pants and turning to walk away. He paused, swiveling his head around to look at his father’s grave one more time. “I love you dad, I wish you could say it back.”

Chapter Text

Life had returned to normal for Miles Morales. Well, as normal as you can get with your dad dead and you being a superhero.

School was still school, he’d been getting less apologetic stares and more treated like a normal human being as of late. He’d been catching up on his school work and had been doing better as Spider-Man.

No one from Spider HQ had made contact with Miles since the funeral, which was about a month prior to what Miles was doing now. Studying.

Then, he’d gotten a message from Pavitr asking if Miles wanted to meet up with him and Hobie for a self proclaimed, ‘boys day.’ He said in his message that Miles needed some chai and a ‘hangout session.’

It had been about a month since the glitching corruption in his universe, 50101, had subsided and Pavitr had been back to his usually happy self.

MIles did want a break, and this was the perfect opportunity. Plus, no Gwen. Hobie helped him. Pavitr wasn’t really involved. Plus, Mumbatten was actually kind of nice, when it didn’t look destroyed.

Plus, there were stray dogs that he’d get to feed. Stray dogs made it all worth it.

So Miles set out to hang out with his friends, twisting the knobs of his watch to send him to universe 50101. The kaleidoscope portal opened up, sucking him in and through the streams of orange into Earth 50101.

He ended up in Pavitr’s room, Hobie and Pavitr making casual conversation until Miles was to arrive. When Miles entered, well, fell out of the portal and into Pavitr’s room. 

Both Spider-Men looked over to Miles. Pavitr had a wide smile on his face, excitement in his eyes. Hobie looked how he always looked, cool and monotone.

Pavitr immediately pulled him along by the arm over to the window, telling him to get his mask on and that they were going to swing to Pavitr’s favorite naan street vendor. 

After leaving, and picking up some naan, which was really good by the way, they just swung around. Pavitr continuously talked about how nice Gayatri was and how school was going. Hobie talked about his band, protests and gigs that he had.

“Mate the riots are wild. The fuckin’ coppa’s are still pigs as they always are,” he said, leaning n a wall, eating a special ice cream, which Pavitr had stated was Kulfi. And it was pretty good. “Although, my mates and I got a few gigs at some new places-”

“Really?!” Pav asked excitedly. His eyes seemed to shine whenever he was excited. Guess it was just a ‘Pavitr universe thing.’

“I mean yea’ mate, I was just about to ask whether you two buggers wanted to come to the next gig-”

“I’d love to!” Pavitr practically squealed. He seemed ‘over the moon’ type delighted to go to one of Hobie and his band’s performances. “What about you Miles?”

“Hm?” Miles asked, seming to snap out of whatever kept him lost in his thoughts.

“Are you going to go to Hobie and his band’s gig?” Pavitr asked, waiting for Miles’s answer.

“Well-uh,” Miles stuttered. Should he go to Hobie’s band’s gig? It would be fun, probably. But then again, Gwen was the drummer. He didn’t exactly want to see Gwen. But then again, the look in Pavitr’s eyes. 

“I’ll go,” Miles decided. He would stay away from Gwen. “When’s the gig?”

“Two nights from now,” Hobie responded, taking a solid bite out of his Kulfi. Two nights from now. Huh. he wasn’t doing anything, well he hadn’t had any plans to do anything that night. 

“Can I bring Gayatri?” Pav asked. Hobie gave a slight nod, taking another bit of his Kulfi. Pav lit up, speed-talking. Miles turned him and Hobie out.

He’d have to see Gwen again. He didn’t want to see her again. Not after what she did. What she’d done to him. He shouldn’t have to see her. 

What if he just avoids her? Doesn’t talk to her, doesn’t look at her? Doesn't give her any of his attention. That would tell her to leave him alone. Totally.

“-should be gettin’ back by now bruv. Gotta’ practice ‘yanno?” Miles heard, tuning back into the conversation. 

“I should also be getting back right about now,” Pavitr said hurriedly. “My auntie will be wondering where I am!” He stood up, brushing himself and hugging both Hobie and Miles hurriedly, before shooting a web. “See you later, bye!” And with that he swung away.

“Well,” Hobie stood up with a grunt, some of his joints cracking as he stood. He stretched out his hands in front of him. “Best be off, eh’?” He dialed the number on his watch. “See you in a bit Miles, cheers mate.” And with that, he entered the kaleidoscope portal behind him and left.

Now it was just Miles, alone. The beautiful Mumbatten sun, with its oranges and yellows, setting in the distance. A tired sigh escaped his lips.

He fiddled with his watch, pressing the numbers in which to send him home. A kaleidoscope-type portal opens behind him. He falls back into it and lands. . .

. . .on the hard pavement of a roof?

He looks back down at his watch, at the broken screen that blinked numbers that were definitely not 1610. Miles tried turning the faucet of the watch, or changing the numbers to send him home, but to no avail. 

It was broken. He was stranded. He was stranded in a random universe, far from home.

Chapter Text

The watch’s broken screen continued to blink the numbers 11743. 11743 was the universe that he had accidentally been sent to. That he had accidentally sent himself to.

How could he be so stupid? He should’ve been more careful, he should’ve checked the universe instead of blindly putting it in as he kept doing. He should’ve-

The rapid thoughts echoed through his head. His heart rate accelerated. Eyes looking in every direction as he struggled to compose himself.

Miles felt like sobbing. 

Not only was he stranded in a whole other universe, but he would probably miss Hobie’s band’s gig in two days. Not to mention that his mama would be worried about him not coming home. 

What if she thinks that he had gotten hurt because he hadn’t come home? What if she thinks that he’s dead?

Tears brewed in his eyes as the rapid beating in his chest increased.

Thu-Thump-Tha-Thump-Tha-Thump.

Ringing entered his hearing, black spots shadowing his vision as he crouched in a ball. His vision blurred.

He blinked the dizziness away, standing up abruptly, black spots dancing in his vision for a few seconds before disappearing. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t afford to panic now.

He just had to find the Spider-Man of that world. Not that hard, right?

But what if that world didn’t have a Spider-Man, like Earth-42?

The thoughts ran rabid throughout his brain. 

He would just have to hope that this world had a Spider-Man. Or Spider-Woman.

Now all he had to do was find them.

And how do you find a Spider-Person? You make some noise, cause a disturbance, chaos, anything of that sort. That's all he had to do. He was good at causing chaos. He might not have Parker luck, but he had Morales luck. Basically the same thing in his eyes.

He swung around for a little while, stopping petty crimes. Many people had stared at him like he was a ghost or something. This wasn't his universe anyway. Maybe the Spider-Man of this world was dead? That would explain the stares.

Miles decided not to think about that.

He swung around more. The night was quiet, save for the normal sounds of the city. Crime was lesser and lesser the more he traveled throughout Brooklyn and Queens.

He felt his spider sense tingle mid-swing, tumbling down to a roof to clear his head and assess the situation. He was being watched. He crouched, opening his ears, shutting his eyes and taking a breath, understanding his surroundings until he heard a ‘thwip’ and something came shooting at him. Dodging to the right and standing up in a fighting position, he continued to dodge whatever was being shot at him.

He jumped, dodging the next ‘thwip’ sounding thing and opened his eyes, seeing someone in a red and blue suit, with spiderwebs on it and a spider-themed logo in the middle of it. A Spider-Man variant. The things being shot at him were webs.

“You’re Spider-Man!” Miles shouted while dodging the continuous string of webs. “Well-er-a-uh, a Spider-Man variant! The Spider-Man of this dimension?”

“What the heck?” the random Spider-man responded, seeming confused. He stopped shooting webs, careful and standing his ground. He stood on the opposite side off the roof of Miles. “What-who are you?” they asked sternly.

Miles paused. This Spider-Man seemed older, wiser. He had to be careful. Some Spider-Men weren’t kind. 

There was the fizzy feeling in his head, that same fizzy feeling when he had met Peter B. The same one when he had met gwen. When he had met his Peter variant. . .

“I’m you-er-well, I’m a variant of you from another universe,” Miles explains. He took a deep breath. “My name is Miles Morales, I’m from earth sixteen ten.” 

Saying his name was a risk he was willing to take.

“You’re like me. . .” Random Spider-Man responded. “But you look so much like. . .”

“You good dude?” Miles asked, tilting his head in confusion at the random Spider-Man’s words. “Uh-I know it’s-it’s a shock, that there are other people with spider powers, like yours but-”

“I know other Spider-People exist I just didn’t think-” random Spider-Man responded bewildered, seeming confused and disoriented.

“Wait, you know about the spider society?” Miles asked, eyes blown wide as he faced the random Spider-Man.

“What spider society?” the random Spider-Man asked.

“What?”

“What?”

“So wait. . .” Miles paused, placing his hands out in front of him as he tried to make sense of the situation. “You know other people with your powers exist but you’ve never been to the spider society-wait-”

“I know other spider-people,” the random Spider-Man confirmed. “I work with them, here, in this world,” he paused. “I mean, the multiversal theory is something-but I never actually thought it would-” 

“Work? Yeah, it does,” Miles laughed nervously. “And there’s an entire society of people like us-but,” 

“Jesus,” random Spider-Man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose over his mask. “Maybe we should get out of the open, talk about this spider stuff somewhere more secure?” he asked. 

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Miles agreed. His spider-sense hadn’t been set off yet, but it would still be wise to keep his guard up. 

“Follow me then.”

And with that random Spider-Man of Earth-11743 led him around the city, eventually leading him to a small spot in Queens, New York. And after an impromptu almost-falling-to-his-death-on-some-demonic-apartment-complex-fire-rails. Seriously, those had to be fixed, they were demonic. 

After climbing in through the window, the two spider people ended up in a room with four grey walls and a ton of boxes.

“Sorry,” Spider-Man 11743 apologized. “I’ve been meaning to clean this place up-” he scratched the back of his neck through his spider suit. “-but I’ve never really gotten around to it.”

So he was in the Spider-Man's apartment. It was either that he was trusted or that the Spiderman had nowhere else to take him. He didn’t exactly know how young or hw old the guy was.

“It’s fine man,” Miles reassured. “It’s not as bad as my own room.” 

He had no reason to be ashamed of it. He had his reasons.

The Spider-Man removed his mask, revealing the pale skin, freckled, with a slight tan, combed back brown hair that had a bit of a poof to it, and two different coloured eyes. One was a warm honey brown and the other was a bright sky blue, speckled with grey dots and lines. From the Spider-Men Miles had met and seen, most of the generic Spider-Men looked like Spider-Man 11743, except for the heterochromic eyes. Usually their eyes were just brown. 

Miles removed his mask, looking right at Spider-Man 11743. Said spider-person looked at him like he had seen a ghost, heterochromic eyes blown wide. 

“Holy shit I didn’t actually think. . .” Spider-Man 11743 said in shock. “You look just like him. . .but. . .younger? Somehow?”

“Just like who now?” Miles asked, clearly confused by the older Spider-Man’s statement. 

A light flicked on overhead with a yawn and a click. 

“Peter, what’s going on?” a woman asked sleepily, dark curly hair pulled up into a bun, dark shadows under her hazel-brown eyes staining her bronze skin. She wore a grey bathrobe, holding a. . .spatula? 

“Heeeeyyyy MJ~” Spider-Man 11743 greeted, dragging out the words. He seemed nervous, a taint of fear coating his voice. “We have a-uh-a. . .a guest.”

1. Mary Jane. So that was MJ. Good to note.

“What kind of guest?” MJ asks, tone stern and without room for argument. She seems tired and irritable, likely both.

“A spider-one?” Spider-Man 11743 responds nervously. “He-uh-uh-er-” he stuttered. “-MJ allow me to introduce you to Miles, Miles Morales, well, him from another dimension.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Her voice was stern and questioning, confusion etching her features. “How the hell-?”

There was a knock on the window frame behind them and all three people turned around to see someone with a. . .black and red spider suit as they climbed in through the window?

“Hey guys, I heard a commotion coming from down here so I thought I’d come check on you---HOLY SHIT!” said a guy with a black and red spider suit that, weirdly enough, looked similar to Miles’s own. They fell back, hitting their head against the window frame in surprise.  “This cannot be happening, this actually can’t be happening. Peter, tell me this is a remnant of Mysterio’s illusions or something-”

“I can assure you, this is very much real, and uh-” Peter reassured. “Miles from another dimension-” he turns to face Miles. “-meet Miles Morales from this universe,” he finished, holding a hand out in the other spider-person’s direction.

Holy shit. Another variant of him, but as Spider-Man this time, and, well, not evil. Not like Earth-42. He hoped that this guy wasn’t like him from Earth-42. 

MIguel was wrong.

Miguel was wrong about him. He was meant to be Spider-Man, and this proved it. There were variants of him as Spider-Man. He was meant to be Spider-Man. He was meant to be Spider-Man!

The him from this universe took off his mask. He looked older, like mid twenties older. Pretty similar hair, eyes, body. Everything was pretty much the same, except the age, and the suit.

His suit was black with a red Spider-Man logo on the front, there red line going around his wrists, neck and a line going down the back of his suit legs pants.He wore red and black jordans, a style choice most likely and his mask, his mask. 

It was insane, sleek, yet stylish in a way. It was black with dark red webbing pattern running down the front and back with white-out regular spider-man suit eyes but they moved when he narrowed his eyes or changed his expression. He held the mask delicately in his slender hands.

“Holy shit Peter,” the Miles from this world said. “The multiverse is real. The multiversal theory is real. And there's a teenage me with that old suit!” he exclaimed, clearly in shock, nonetheless a hint of excitement in the last few words he said. 

“Hey, what’s wrong with the suit?” Miles asked, waving his hands around.

“You look like you’re bleeding out of your armpits,” Miles from earth-11743 responded, rolling his eyes fondly. “I remember that old thing, I think I stashed it in a box sometime after I turned seventeen,” he remarked. “It’s probably in a closet somewhere in my house, I’d have to look around for it though.” He chuckles. “But seriously, this is sick! I never thought that I’d ever meet or see a younger me from the multiverse,” he chuckleed again, “-that was definitely not on my bingo card.”

“You’re telling me,” Miles responded, tossing the older him a half smile. 

“Peter!” a voice shouted from outside the front door, knocking on it hurriedly. “What’s all that noise man? It’s like, one in the morning and you and MJ are making a racket,” the person paused. “Now that I’m thinking about it, that sounds kind-of wrong-hold on, hold on-I didn’t-” the voice fades a bit as 11743’s MJ speaks.

“I’ll go let him in,” she says, sighing. “This is going to be a long night-” she turns to Miles. “-you might as well go get Ganke, Miles,” she addresses her universe’s Miles Morales. “This is going to be a long night.” 

One open front door and an introduction later, Miles meets Ned, Ned stating that he barely remembers when Miles was that wee of a guy. Miles was not wee, neither small, he was taller than average for his age! 

“How old are you, you look so small-I scarcely remember back when you were this small , Peter was still training you how to punch!” Ned 11743 remarked fondly.

Not but five minutes later, the Miles from this universe returns with another person. Black messy hair, nerdy glasses and that old ratty beanie. . .Ganke. That was Ganke.

“Holy shit, they weren’t lying, you are him. . .just younger,” Ganke 11743 remarked. “I haven’t seen you look like that since our Visions academy days.”

“Well, I’m still at Visions right now, so-” Miles started, before being interrupted by 11743’s Ganke again.

“How old are you, 15? 16? I remember back then the most I was doing was stealing your Jordans and being your guy in the chair, man those were good times,” 11743 Ganke reminisceed, shaking his head fondly.

“I’m 15. I’ll be turning sixteen in a few months,” Miles responded, shrugging awkwardly as hundreds of thoughts ran through his head all at once.

“Man time does fly, doesn’t it?” 11743 Ganke commented.

“It-uh, it does,” Miles responded awkwardly.

“So what’s so different about your universe than this one?” 11743 Miles asked.

“Well, I’m assuming our-um, your dad is still a cop here?” Miles asked.

“Yup,” 11743 Miles chuckled. “Too stubborn to ever quit.”

He really, really didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere.

“Well-er,” he started. He didn’t know how to word it gently, or at all. “In-in my universe-my uh-well,” he paused for a second, collecting himself. “My dad is dead, and-and so is uncle Aaron.”

The silence in the room was thick enough to cut through a cinder block.

The first one to speak up was 11743’s Peter Parker, albeit with his face with a neutral-ish expression and his eyebrows furrowed.

“How-” 11743 Peter paused. “How did he die?” he asked.

“A criminal on his shift, one night he was on patrol as usual, stopping-stopping a robbery-“ Miles paused, forcing himself not to cry, not to shed a single tear. “When-when he tried to stop the criminal, the criminal-he-“ he paused again, taking a deep breath. “He shot him,” Miles finished quietly, practically whispering the words. 

The room fell silent again.

“Is Mami still around?” 11742 Miles asked with a small voice, barely a whisper.

“She is,” Miles sniffs, avoiding tears. “And-and she knows I’m Spider-Man, I-I told her-“ he paused. “I couldn’t look into her eyes and lie to her anymore,” he says. “Not after dad died,” he finishes quietly.

The room is silent until Miles speaks again.

“And-and in my world, Peter Parker is dead,” he whispered. The room’s atmosphere falls grim. “He-he died fighting Kingpin, trying to-trying to stop him from opening a multiverses portal,” he paused, sniffing and holding back tears, his voice cracking. “He died saving me, because-because I-“ he sniffed. “ I had gotten bitten by that spider and tried to help and I only made it worse ,” he paused. “ I’m the reason my world’s Peter Parker is dead.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” 11743 Peter said firmly, walking over to Miles and placing two hands on both of his shoulders. 

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.

“He told me that after it all happened, he would train me,” Miles said between sobs. “But he died against Kingpin and it was all my fault.”

“Listen to me Miles,” 11743 Peter spoke sternly, gaining Miles’s attention, his tear stricken face facing 11743 Peter’s. “Peter didn’t die because of you, and he certainly didn’t die because you couldn’t leave him or because you were there when it happened.”

11743 MJ, Ganke, Miles and Ned stood together as 11743 Peter spoke.

“You are a kid, you’re fifteen” he paused, taking a breath. “Hell, you were probably younger than that when this happened. How old were you?” he asks.

“I was thirteen,” Miles whispers.

“You were a child Miles,” 11743 Peter told him. “You were barely a teenager, younger than I was when I first took up the mantle as Spider-Man,” he continued. “You were a child Miles, it’s not your fault. It’s not his either. It’s Kingpin’s if anything, he’s the one who killed him, not you. It’s not your fault.”

“But I-“

“It’s not your fault Miles,” he insisted, interrupting Miles. “You may not believe that but it’s true, it’s not your fault he died. It’s not your fault that he’s dead. It was not your responsibility to save him, you were a child, a scared child who just wanted to help and learn how to control your powers. It’s not your fault, nor your burden to shoulder.”

Miles sobs. He sobs into 11743 Peter’s arms. In a stranger's arms. 

All this time, it’s been his fault. That’s what Miguel’s told him. What the multiverse practically taught him. And-it’s not-it’s not his fault.

He was a child. He was 13. 1610 Peter Parker was an adult. He was an adult and Miles was a kid. A scared kid. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. ItwasnthisfauktItwasnthisfaultItwasnthisfault.

“It wasn't my fault?” Miles asked, voice cracking as salty teardrops fall down his face.

“Never ever blame yourself for his death, you were a child. A confused kid who didn’t know what he was doing and just wanted someone to understand him,” 11743 Peter stated, wrapping his arms against the young spider boy and hugging him, letting Miles’s salty teardrops stain his suit. 

11743 Miles steps forward, writing his fingers.

“I remember when my uncle Aaron died,” he remarked quietly. “I was twelve and saw him fighting Spider-Man as-“ he paused. “-as the Prowler and when Kingpin wasn’t satisfied with his performance, he shot him through the heart, leaving him to die, bleeding out in my arms from a gunshot wound in his heart in an alleyway.”

The room was silent, Miles looked up at his multiversal counterpart.

“I remember being so angry and blaming myself for not saving him, for not stepping in. I sobbed and sobbed, barely coming out of my room for days. I felt numb. I went spray painting a few days later, just to get out of the house and do something, anything at all ,” he paused. “I got bitten by the spider and from there I spiraled, unsure what to do,”

11743 Miles’s eyebrows furrowed as he recounted the tough memories.

“At first I didn’t even want to ask Spider-Man for help, because I blamed him for my uncle’s death,” 11743 Peter flinched ever so slightly. “But I couldn’t avoid it, so I went to Queens and I sought him out, finding him and confronting him near the sewers. I chewed him out for what he had done, and for what he hadn’t done. I was so, so angry ,” he paused again.

“But that’s when Peter sat me down and explained it all to me. I ended up sobbing in his arms that night. Just so exhausted from carrying all of the guilt, it was like a weight had been taken off of my shoulders,” he sighed, exhaling deeply, his shoulders relaxing as he continued.

“After that, Peter started to train me, I became his sidekick kind-of for a short amount of time. A few years later I decided on my own name and the rest is history,” he smiled warmly, walking up to his Peter and his multiversal counterpart. “I wouldn't be here without him, he’s kept me afloat with my head over water and I’m sorry Miles,” he apologizes. “I’m so sorry that you didn’t have anyone to keep you above the water.”

Miles sniffed, untangling himself from the hug 11743 Peter was giving him. He rubbed his eyes. 

“Feelin’ any better, kiddo?” 11743 Peter asked, her tone of voice warm and fatherly--in a way. Kiddo. He’d called Miles kiddo . When was the last time someone had called him that?

“A little,” he responded, sniffling. “Thank you.”

11743 Peter smiled warmly at him. “Anytime Miles, anytime.”

Silence enveloped the room once more.

That’s when Miles glitched. Falling to the floor as he felt his lungs constrict against themselves and his head pound in his skull. 

Once the glitching stopped he lay on the floor, taking in rapid breaths.

“We need to get you home,” 11743 Peter stated, helping Miles up carefully. “Before that happens again.”

It had been a few hours since then. Miles had been handed a hot cocoa from 11743’s MJ who had nicely wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, as he sat on the plush brown couch of the living room.

He was tired. So tired that he didn’t even realize or feel the aches in his bones and soul until now. He felt lighter though, so much lighter.

11743 Peter, Miles, and Ned were conversing, more like arguing on how to fix Miles’s multiversal travel watch to get him home before he glitched out completely. A thing he hoped would never happen.

11743 Ganke sat down beside him, gently holding his own hot cocoa in his hands, taking a sip and sighing before turning to Miles. He sighed.

“This isn’t the best situation, is it?” he asked awkwardly, taking a breath.

“Could be worse,” Miles shrugged, taking a sip of his hot cocoa. “It could always be worse.”

“I know this is out of pocket-because it probably is-“ 11743 Ganke started. “-but do I exist in your universe?”

“Yeah, we’re roommates at Visions,” Miles responded.

“Oh thank god,” 11743 Ganke let out a sigh. “Do I still collect cards over there?”

“Oh big time,” Miles smiled into his hot cocoa. “And my Ganke steals my Jordans every time he gets the chance.”

“Sounds like me,” 11743 Ganke snorted, taking another sip of his hot cocoa. He looked down into his cup. “Are you doing okay?”

The question hit Miles like a brick. Or, you know, like a streetlight because that’s what he keeps bumping into on patrol.

“I’m-I’m doing better,” Miles responded, looking into his cup. His heart rate was high, higher then his spirits.``Better than I was.”

11743 Ganke smiled, pulling out a small booklet from the pocket of his robe. He flipped through the pages, pulling out certain cards, smiling as he did so.

He likes the few cards he had collected from the booklet, putting it aside on the couch beside his right side. He piled the cards into a pile, shuffling them to make them straighter, before placing the pile on Miles’s lap.

Miles put down his cup of cocoa on the table, picking up the cards. His eyes widened.

“These are-“ his mouth was agape, astonished. “-these are ultra rare collection hero cards-“ he shuffled through them. “-special editions too!”

11743 Ganke laughed fondly.

“Keep them,” he said. “Your Ganke will appreciate the cards more than I.”

“You sure that it’s okay for me to give them to him?” Miles asked hesitantly.

“Keep them,” 11743 Ganke waved a hand. “I have doubles of all of them anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“Just make sure to tell your world’s me that he’s going to grow up to be real cool.”

“I will.”

“Hey guys!” 11743 Miles called from the other side of the room, 11743 Peter and Ned by his side. “I think I’ve figured out a way to get other me home!”

“So let me get this straight-” Miles gripped his cup of hot cocoa. “-you can get me home, but you’ll need some highly powerful tech that you can only get at some sort of place called Stark enterprises?”

“Still can’t believe that you don’t have Tony Stark in your world,” 11743 Ned muttered, scribbling something else on the whiteboard of equations.

“-that aside Ned,”11743 Peter warned, turning to Miles with a tired smile on his face, dark circles coating his under eyes. “I just have to make a few calls and go to a few places. It’ll take a few hours at most!” he reassured. 

“I’ll come with you-” Miles insisted before being cut off by 11743 Peter. 

“I don’t want to risk you glitching like that again-” 

“It doesn't happen often, and it won’t kill me that quick, I know from personal experience,” Miles told them, some winced and others showed signs of concern towards the teenager. “Please, I can help-”

11743 Peter paused, taking a breath, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You can come with me, but keep your mask on and listen to me, okay?” 11743 Peter confirmed. “I don't want you getting hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Miles promised. 

“Let us both pray you keep your word,” 11743 Peter responded, pulling back his mask over his face. 

11743 Peter had taken both 11743 Miles and Miles himself, the one from 1610, to some sort of abandoned lab-building, which Miles thought was super cool. 11743 Miles remarked at his younger and other-universal self fondly when Miles kept raving about how ’sick’ this place was. 

11743 said that they technically weren’t supposed to be there, because they were stealing tech, but that they’d be quick.

And they were quick, getting in and out of the building within 10 minutes. And they would’ve made it to their next stop, save for a slight inconvenience. 

“Is that Spidey I spy?” a voice called out. A person dressed in a red and black suit with katannas criss-crossed on their back stepped forward. They wore blue crocs with an assortment of random shrek jibbitz. 

11743 Peter groaned, face palming. “Not now, please,” he whined. 

To say Miles was thoroughly confused would be an understatement.

“And who’s this new little arachnid pal you’ve got with ya’?” the person asked, pointing to Miles. “And why does he look like a mini Miles?” 

“Hello Deadpool,” 11743 greeted reluctantly, annoyance and exhaustion seeping from his tone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks rather sarcastically. 

“The author just really wanted a reason to shove me into this fanfic without a single hesitation whatsoever, or a single reason,” he remarks, right hand out in front of him. “And who is this little other mini spidey? He’s so small!”

11743 Peter sighed. “He’s Miles from another universe, another reality,” Peter explained. “-and right now we re trying to get him home D-P-”

“Well why didn’t you say so!” 11743 Deadpool exclaimed, slapping his knees. “I could help you out-!”

“NO-!” Peter shut him down loudly, holding his hands out in front of him before he smooths out how he stands. “No-no thank you D-P, we can  find a way ourselves-”

“Nonsense Petey!” 11743 Deadpool cried dramatically. “It’s no trouble at all!”

11743 Peter groaned and looked visibly annoyed, and tired. 

“D-P, we’ll hang with you another day, but we have to make a stop to-uh, to visit someone!” 11743 Miles chimed in. 

“I’ll leave, but only because the author has no idea what to do with my character now that she’s brought me into the story!” And with that he fell off the building, making Miles jump whilst 11743 Miles explained that Deadpool was immortal and couldn’t actually die.

“Well that was weird,” Miles commented as his multiversal counterpart snorted.

“Let's get going,” 11743 Peter told the other two.

They swung until they had ended up in a place called Hell’s Kitchen. There was a Hell’s Kitchen in 1610’s New York, but Miles wondered what was so important about this place that all three of them had to come here. Maybe there were more parts for a new gizmo to get him home?

 11743 Peter led them into a back alley behind some law firm Miles had never heard of, just what the heck was ‘Nelson and Murdock’?

So apparently ‘Nelson and Murdock’ were lawyers, really good lawyers. And Murdock was blind, a blind lawyer. And he was a vigilante, the vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil.

All and all, a cool experience. 

They were there because 11743 Peter needed to talk to Matt Murdock-Daredevil about something. Which left 11743 Miles and Miles with Franklin Nelson, who went by Foggy.

11743 Foggy Nelson spoke with 11743 Miles, conversing with pleasantries and chatting about life when Foggy tiredly spotted Miles in the corner being awkward and invited him to chat. 

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Foggy, Froggy Nelson,” 11743 Foggy introduced again. 

“Miles Morales,” Miles introduced, turning to his multiversal counterpart. “-but my universe code is sixteen-ten.”

“Sixteen-ten, huh?” 11743 Miles whispered.

“So, if the summary I got from Peter ten minutes ago is correct, then you’re in the wrong universe because your universal gizmo traveling watch broke and you’ll die if you stay here without it?” 11743 Foggy questioned. 

“That’s. . .” Miles paused. “-that’s basically what’s going on, yeah.” 

“Don’t worry, Peter’s one of the most responsible and strong-willed people I know, he’ll get you home,” 11743 Foggy assured. Miles knew that 11743 Peter had helped him so far, yet he didn’t fully trust the guy, he just seemed a bit. . .closed off to Miles.

“Yeah. . .he will,” Miles rescinded hesitantly. The room’s atmosphere became awkwardly quiet until Peter and Murdock came out of Murdock’s office. 

Matt put a hand on Peter’s left shoulder, “It was nice to see you Pete,” Murdock told him, a joke clearly in the words.

“It was nice seeing you too, Matt,” 11743 Peter responded, eyes distant.

“Come visit more often, it’s always good whenever you stop by!” Foggy pat 11743 Peter on the back, smiling widely, blackish-grey circles lacing his under eyes. 

“And get some sleep, Peter,” Matt mentioned to him, facing the older Spider-Man with a hand still on his shoulder. “-you sound like shit.” 

11743 Peter’s smile looked strained as he responded. “I know Matt, I know.” He turned to 11743 Miles and Miles. “C’mon guys, I got what we needed here, let’s go,” he told them.

As they left, Miles swore he saw the Murdock guy make a face, somewhat of a face between concern and disappointment. What had they talked about? 

It was none of his business. 

They made one more stop, outside some tower with a big ‘A’. 11743 Peter told the both of them to stay close, telling the to perch of a building nearby out of sight. 

So Miles and his multiversal counterpart crouched on the edge of a nearby building in an awkward silence. Neither of them wished to make it awkward by uttering a single word. 

“So. . .you’re me,” 11743 Miles began. “How’s. . .how’s Visions?” he asked. 

“It’s fine,” Miles responded curtly. “What’s with the weird name change?” he asks.

“Weird name change?” 11743 Miles inquired.

“RJS? What does it stand for? And why the name?” Miles questioned.

“Red Jumping Spider, because Spider-Man was already taken, and Spider-Lad sounded lame,” 11743 Miles admitted. 

“Spider-Lad is lame.”

“Oh totally, picking a name took me a week and a half until I landed on RJS, and even then, most of the citizens call me RJ.”

“Damn.”

“What name do you go by while you're swinging around?”

“Spider-Man, and for your information, it took me a day to figure out my name.”

“No need to gloat about it.”

“I’m not gloating, I’m-”

Miles’s spidey sense tingled and he dodged left, away from his multiversal counterpart, confusing the older him until a second later when an arrow shot through the glass of the area he was previously perching on. 11743 Miles dodged right to avoid an arrow, cracking the glass where he once perched and they both looked forward to seeing a man in a purple vest shooting trick arrows at them.

“Hawkeye,” 11743 Miles mutters, turning to his multiversal counterpart. “Little me, that’s Hawkeye, an avenger, I’ll explain later! But he’s a sharp shooter-” he dodged another arrow. “-with trick arrows!” 

Miles keeps dodging. “And why is he attacking us?” he asked, his voice descending downward. 

“Because-” 11743 Miles gritted out. “Let’s just say after Spider-Man quit the Avengers, they weren’t happy, also-” he dodged another arrow, “-he thinks we’re a threat.”

“How are we even--whatever,” Miles thought aloud while dodging another arrow that exploded a few feet away from him. “This act is getting annoying.”

11743 Miles paused for a second before jumping and dodging again. “You’re tellin’ me!”

Miles shoots a few at the next arrow, causing it to fall into the alleyway below. His multiversal counterpart does the same right after him. Hawkeye dodges once when Miles shoots a web at him but fails to dodge a second time when Miles shoots a few at him again, webbing him to the roof.

“Where the heck are you Peter?” 11743 Miles muttered as the two Miles’s landed on the roof of the building with the big ‘A’ at the front.

“Hey-!” the man named Hawkeye called out while struggling against the webs. Miles webbed his mouth whilst walking to the door to the roof with his multiversal counterpart. 

11743 Miles grabbed his shoulder. “Be on your guard.” Miles nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

The two Miles’s open the door to the roof, walking down the wall,, using the sticky spider ability to do so. Miles grabbed his universal counterpart’s hand and turned invisible, turning his multiversal counterpart invisible in turn, freaking the guy out. After a hushed explanation, they continued down the long winding walls of the staircase, 11743 Miles clinging onto his multiversal counterpart while the two continued down the wall. 

They got to the 34th floor before hearing a crash from inside said floor. The two Miles Morales’s honed in their ears to hear the argument, hearing Peter and some other guy.

“-don’t need your help, Tony-”

“Oh so it’s Tony now?”

“-yes it is, and as I stated before neither I nor the other Spiders need your help-”

“We both know that is a bold faced lie Peter-”

“So what if it is? I quit, I’m done with the Avengers-”

“So then why did you come back?”

At that point, Miles could hear the irritation in 11743 Peter’s voice and was tired of standing in the hall doing absolutely nothing. So with his incredibly genius brain he deduced one solution. Beat the shit out of them. 

He gave a look to his multiversal counterpart, before nodding and kicking down the door, spider-style, shutting off the invisibility. Two heads swiveled in his direction. 11743 Peter’s and the other guy he was arguing with, Tony.

“You got another spider-kid?” Tony asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Yo, Tony-whoever-you-are!” Miles shouted. “Would you shut up?”

Tony’s mouth twisted into a scowl, seemingly about to yell before someone else busted down another door. Some guy with a giant metal suit, different from the red and gold one in the corner, walked in. Miles would be lying if he didn’t say the guy was fucking terrifying.

“I thought I told you two to stay on the roof,” 11743 Peter muttered angrily. 

“Yeah well, when someone’s arrow-head tries to attack you, usually you fight them,” 11743 Miles responded sarcastically. Tony scowled.

“I didn’t know that you had taken in a new spider apprentice, Peter,” Tony remarked, crossing his arms.

“He’s not-” Peter started, but Miles, with all of his spider wisdom and sass, interrupts him again.

“I’m from an alternate universe and the only reason I’m here with Peter and alternate me is because I have no way to get home because my way of travel is gone. And if I don’t get home within a certain time frame, I'll glitch out of existence. Peter is trying to help me get home before I die , and you are being a selfish prick who won’t listen to Peter when he’s trying to ask you for hel-”

“Hold on,” the person in the large metal suit says, as the suit opens and they walk out. “Let me get this straight, the multiverse is real?!” 

“Yeah, and you’re looking at living proof, Optimus Prime,” Miles responded, leaving the man sputtering. 

“We already have living proof that the multiverse is weird, we know a damn wizard,” Tony rolled his eyes whilst he made the comment, clearly annoyed with the spider-folk's commentary.

Miles chose to ignore his comment. “All Peter’s asking is for a way to get me back home, that’s literally it. That’s all he needs and then he’ll get out of your hair-”

“Arachnid here, is not getting jack shit from me,” Tony practically growled. 11743 Peter grimaced. 

“What the hell did he do that was so bad?” Miles asked, clearly annoyed at this point. His multiversal counterpart seemed to try to warn him of something, shooting him an expression that was perceived as a ‘do not ask.’

“He quit,” Tony stated blankly, crossing his arms with a single glare. 

“Is that it?” Miles asked in disbelief. “So you’re pissed at him because he quit your little boy band? That’s it?”

“He didn’t just quit,” Tony practically growled. “He left . He abandoned the cause that he had been practically chanting from the start of his career as Spider-Man, quit the Avengers and cut contact. I didn’t know where he was for years! I thought he was dead!” Tony screamed. “All because I decided to be his mentor!”

“I was fourteen!” 11743 Peter blurted out angrily, fists curled up into balls. “I was fourteen,” he repeated quieter. 

“I was fourteen when I was bitten by that damned spider and it gave me my powers. I was fourteen when I made the decision that I wanted to help others, making a costume for myself to go out and protect my people. I was fourteen when you saw videos of me online and came to my apartment, lying to my aunt-!” he paused for a moment after speaking so loud. “-lying to Aunt May about some internship I never applied for in hopes that I would help you and join your boy band to save the world. I was fourteen when I was taken to Germany and fought Captain America and several others with no actual reason to know why I was fighting them!” he continued.

“I was fourteen, Tony. I was a child that you decided to want to mentor, who you never trained to fight or defend themselves. I got taught by others who made me realize how shitty of a mentor you were to me, how you only helped me when convenient!” he shouted. 

“I was fourteen,” he whispered, looking up into the eyes of the older man, his ex-mentor. “I trusted you.”

Hurt flashed in 11743 Peter’s eyes as he looked to his ex-mentor. He looked close to crying, angry words exiting his lips. 

Miles watched as 11743 Peter had shouted at Tony, at his ex-mentor. 11743 Peter had seemed so collected, so grown, so responsible. Miles barely knew the man but at that second, all he felt for him was respect. 

“I-” it seemed that Tony was unable to speak, listening to Peter verbally assassinate him. He watched as Peter slowly got more upset, to the point where he was close to crying.

“By god, you were fourteen?!” the metal suit man shouted, turning to Tony. “Why in the name of all that is, whatever’s up there, let a fourteen year old fight crime?! Not just let him, but endorse him?! And now I learn that you never once taught him how to fight!”

“Rhodey--he was fighting crime and I made him the suit to protect him-” Tony tried to justify before being interrupted.

“Oh so that wasn’t a damn teenager who fought Captain America?” Rhodey asked rhetorically. “Tony-” he pressed. “-he got a building dropped on him! He fought two soldiers stuck in ice and several adult heroes! Emphesis on the ‘adult,’ as everyone but him was an adult. He could’ve been crushed! Crushed, Tony!”

At this point, Miles only felt like he was intruding in the conversation. It had started to get personal and Miles had no idea what had remotely happened between the two heroes. 

What Miles did know was that this man, no matter how much of a dick he was, was his only opportunity of getting home and avoiding dying-by-glitch. This man, no matter how pathetic and how terrible of a person he was, was Miles’s only opportunity home.

And Miles, stubborn and very exhausted, decides to hatch another plan. 

He placed a hand on the shoulder of the much taller, 11743 Peter, as a sort of reassurance, before speaking.

“It’s been made abundantly clear that way back when this all happened, there were way too many communication errors to create any stable central bond ever,” he started. “-and I get it, I really do. I didn’t exactly part with my old mentor on better terms either-“ he paused, collecting his racing thoughts. “-but it’s clear that you both still care about each other, whether too stubborn or prideful to admit it, you do. And because of that, it’s caused way-“ he pulled out the word. “-too much discourse between you two that needs to be settled sooner or later,” he pauseed again, chuckling. “Preferably sooner as the later you do, the sooner I die here. And believe me, I don’t think anyone here want that to happen-“

“Wait, what do you mean die?” the metal suit man, Rhodey, asked.

“I’m from another dimension, and if I don’t get back soon, I start glitching. Eventually, if I stay here too long, I’ll glitch to death-“

“Jesus-“ he turned to Tony. “-Tony, we gotta help this kid-“

Tony, however, was zoned out. His eyes, tired with dark circles under them. He had been fully present only moments ago, though he didn’t seem so much anymore.

11743 Miles had ended up trying to oddly comfort his Peter. His mentor. Not really knowing what to say, yet knowing everything.

11743 Peter, who seemed to be tired after the whole thing. Dried tears staining his face. He rubbed his eyes, looking defeated.

“Peter-“ Tony started, looking up at his ex-mentee, meeting his mismatched eyes. “-I would’ve fixed the damn multiverse for you, hell, I would’ve destroyed it for you. I—cared about you kid, I cared a lot-and—I still care about you, kid-I just-I don’t-“ he stammered. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

Rhodey, in all of his glory, seemed to frantically whisper in Tony's right ear, seemingly convincing him to do something.

Tony sighed heavily, like he was exhaling all of life’s stresses all at once. “I’ll help you get back home, kid.”

Success!

The next few hours were filled with awkward tension, genius minds and even communication, actual communication, not miscommunication, for once.

Miles heard 11743 Peter and Tony chatting quietly, seeming to re-bond their old mentor-mentee relationship slightly.

It wasn’t completely forgiving and forgetting, but rather, they managed to not hate each other and bone over old memories. They didn’t seem to be perfect as they might’ve once been, but it was better than nothing.

Miles and his alternate universal version had bonded over their practically same interests and art, along with physics and chemistry. They had talked about Uncle Aaron and how he had treated the both of them. Miles was truly glad that he’d met another version of himself. 

Even later, Tony and Miles had spoken to each other. And even though Miles wasn’t fond of Tony, he had to admit that the man wasn’t that half bad of a guy. He was quite literally a genius, and was brilliant with multidimensional tech.

The sun had risen high into the sky and fallen back to nightfall when they had finished the device.

Tony and 11743 Peter had been chatting and laughing a bit with each other. It was the most peaceful the two had been. 11743 Miles had even seemed to relax around Tony

Miles was honestly proud of this world’s Peter. He didn’t immediately forgive the guy for whatever he had done in the past. But he had let the man talk to him and laugh with him again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

A doctorate PHD guy named Bruce Banner had ended up joining the group to help Miles get home, finding out how to power the portal so that it didn’t destroy Miles on impact, which Miles was eternally grateful for.

His alternate version had been so great to him, showing him that he did have a future, and that, despite what others may have said, he was meant to be a Spider-Man.

Even though he had only been there for a day, he had bonded with the people there. 11743 Peter was like the mentor he’d always wanted to have. 11743 Miles was like an older brother to him, giving him tips and tricks and being an overall funny guy. Tony was a genius inventor and sort-of dad figure. Rhodey was a nervous guy, but he warmed up to the group and chatted with everyone else. 

Heck, Doctor Bruce Banner had been such a role model for Miles that day, that he wondered if everyone in the universe knew this guy, or if he had universal variants.

Tony had set up the portal outside on the landing pad for the helicopter and had wiped his hand, which had oil black as dark as tar on his face. 

Miles couldn’t help but feel sad that he was leaving. He really liked these people. 

Once he got his watch fixed at HQ, he would visit them, without ending up stuck back here again, that is. 

“The portal is only going to stay open for five minutes max,” Doctor Banner warned. “You ready?”

Miles nodded, a pit dropping in his throat. He forced his arms to his sides, preventing them from shaking. 

“It was nice. . .knowing I’m not the only, well, I’m not the only me in the multiverse,” Miles laughed nervously. “-thanks for everything, man.”

“No problem dude,” 11743  Miles responded. “Stay safe, and update your suit, will you? You don’t want to be bleeding out of your armpits forever.” He chuckled, punching his alternate universal version playfully on the arm. 

Miles walked up to 11743 Peter. The two stood faced each other for a few seconds before 11743 wrapped Miles in a hug. Miles hugged back.

“I’m going to miss you, Peter,” Miles told the older Spider-Man. “-thank you for helping me and teaching me. I’ll come back to visit when this all blows over, I promise.”

11743 Peter looked Miles directly in the eyes. “You are one of the brightest people I’ve ever met. Thank you Miles, truly. I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for me for the short time I’ve known you. You’re a bright kid. Never lose your light, you hear me?” he told Miles. 

“I won’t, I promised.” Miles faced 11743 Peter again, seeing a man who had grown much more in the past few hours than he had in the past year or two. He smiled warmly at Miles, walking over to 11743 Miles, patting the other man on the back. 

Miles walked up to Rhodey and Tony, thanking them for helping Miles get home. 

“Don’t thank us kid,” Tony responded, blowing off the praise. “It’s the least we could do.”

“What he means to say is-- we’re glad that were were able to help you get home, kid. Stay safe,” Rhodey stated. “Be a kid.” 

“Don’t get yourself into trouble, or get killed,” Tony warned, seeming to convey a little bit of concern despite his closed-off demeanor. Miles grinned, understanding the message he was trying to get across. 

Miles turned to Doctor Banner, nodding to the doctor as he nodded back, turning on the portal.

“It was-” Miles paused, trying to convey what he wanted to say. “-I’m glad I got to meet you all. Thank you, I won’t forget you.” 

And with that, Miles walked into the portal, that swirled with orange and white, beaming with warmth, And for the first time in a long time, he felt content with everything going on around him.