Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Miles's dimension, if he was asked to describe it, was a scale of extreme colours—which doesn't make sense in words. Simply, it is bright in the day with the art and people glowing under the sun's light, it is the hustle and bustle of living that's loud enough to ground him in reality when his head gets messy. It is bright even at night, the streetlamps and fairy lights, the late-night cars, the glow-in-the-dark spray paints—it's quieter and Miles is the most alert during this time.

In broad daylight there are too many people to get away with stealing information, at night when they least expect it—at odd hours when he keeps changing when he comes and leaves, leaving them none the wiser, it is almost easy.

Miles is, as much as his dad would have a heart attack if it wasn't already stopped, good at his work. He's good at sneaking around, he's learned how to blend into things, how to loop cameras yet know when he shouldn't, and he leaves them guessing—Osborn and Alchemax do not realize he's stolen more than two drives, too sure that their activities have been hidden and been kept quiet.

So, his steak of quietly collecting data has to end and the ending comes in the form of Hobie Brown. Miles doesn't trust him, and he doesn't trust any Spiders from the Society, but his instincts don't scream distrust as loudly towards Hobie—it still tells him to not trust him because Hobie is in on whatever the Spider Society is keeping quiet about and Miles's work doesn't leave space for failure. Failure means possibly dying by Osborn or some mad scientist's hands and Miles's Aunt would resurrect him to get grounded and lose all weekend dinner privileges—he knows which battle to pick and his recklessness has lessened only because the duo of Aunt Theria and his Mami terrify him.

Miles digressed. He would like it to be known that burning up the new Alchemax HQ wasn't part of the plan. The plan was to take the information and leave after messing up their calculations in minor ways that would take them years to fix—Asteria was a godsend for doing that, making it difficult for other AI to fix it too if Alchemax has an AI. On that note, he did steal their AI base code, he should probably update the security and update the base code to not look so similar, he needs to wipe his hands off any criminal charges after all.

Skipping on that concern, the thing is that Miles has lessened his recklessness, he works with Asteria or Ganke—both of them have the caution of knowing one mistake or failure could end terribly for Miles and as such keep him in check when he gets mildly chaotic ideas. Unfortunately for everyone, Hobie Brown is the definition of chaos and somehow, brought Asteria onto his side for burning down the Alchemax HQ. Miles is a single person with like a little hunger for chaos and the possibility of being a pyromaniac, he stood no chance against his AI and Hobie Brown hyping him up to burn the place down—Miles had taken the backup hard drives before they did that though, at this point, it was like being given candy from a kid.

The place blowing up was unexpected and Miles know consequences for his actions would come, he just didn't expect them to come at him instantly.

His shoulder was hurt, not terribly and a little bit of burn cream would fix him up by morning. It was Hobie's careful eyes which made him pause, feeling the sudden and dizzying rush of distrust—it makes Miles wonder why Hobie was here, was Miles being monitored or was the Spider Society trying to do something in his dimension?

The mere thought of the Spider Society thinking they are powerful enough to decide which dimension to experiment on sent shivers and warth down his hands. He felt the flex of claws, his suit was more black and purple than the red Hobie had seen at their HQ, and Miles wondered—would he report that?

“Oi, stop assaulting that brain of yours.” Hobie is beside him, not in front or behind, not gearing up to hurt him and Miles feels the confusion rise. The question of what does Hobie get by being in his dimension. A quiet puff pulls his eyes to Hobie, the teen is looking at him with open eyes and Miles doesn't know what he gets by being like this. “I'm tryin' to be friendly mate, no spying or whatever you have been thinking about in that smart brain of yours.”

“Friendly?” A person is usually friendly when they want to befriend someone, get to know them or gain benefits from them. Miles doesn't think he fits in any of those categories.

There's a smile on Hobie's face, behind that mask, it shows through the colours of bright yet soft shades. “You don't gotta come to HQ, my thoughts on em ain't good either but there are only so many teenager spiders.” It's a half-truth and Hobie must know that Miles knows, he's hinting at something that makes Hobie visit and it's not just the prospect of friendship—and Miles is many things but one of the few that makes him reckless is curiosity.

He walks away and Hobie doesn't follow but they both know this isn't the last time they meet—and Miles would cruse Hobie for this curiosity if he hadn't already known of it, the simple explanation is that Miles had been avoiding it in hopes that those in the know would be decent enough to tell the strangeness of them looking so uncertain around him as if he's a ticking time bomb.

“Aster, do not show yourself to the rest of the Spider Society.” Well, if they plan to keep secrets about Miles then they shouldn't be mad when he uncovers them. Miles doesn't take lies or secrets about him but is kept away from him, he prefers honesty and being confined—he likes knowing he's trusted.

Asteria pops up beside him, glowing on the dark rooftop lacking lights. A long coat over a simple informal shirt and crop sweater, baggy pants and platform Oxfords—decked out in black and white with circle black glasses and silver jewellery. Miles knows their taste collide but Asteria had a set of appearances she picked for different moods, this was an illegal activities-specific outfit. Miles had maybe taken notes from her when it come to exploring fashion, turns out an AI connected to the Internet could find the best clothes for the best prices with ease.

“Uh-huh, what's the plan, mi Vida?” This trust, this total knowledge that Miles is trustworthy with plans and secrets. This is what he wants and he already has it, if the Spider Society is so unwelcoming because Miles is simply different in canon events to them then he doesn't need them, he has done fine without them.

“Slowly extract the data files about me and our dimension.” He isn't avoiding it anymore, he's given them two weeks to tell him. “Carefully, mi Corazón, I'm not losing your progress because of Miguel's AI.”

“I got it, Jefe.” Miles smiled, he had an HQ to plan multiple visits to it seems.

His first visit, if his accidental one isn't counted, is unplanned. Miles doesn't expect it, after months of silence and two extra of nothing to be asked to join them in missions—specifically to go to Pavitr's dimension to help with an anomaly. Miles thinks to step away, to not meet the teen whose dimension he made unstable because Spider-People seem to hold these canon events so highly—something Miles cannot do because he's lost enough if this canon so much as tries to take anyone else Miles will destroy his dimension himself.

Miles isn't bright and good like Pavitr, with no warmth for strangers he just met, no jokes and a welcoming aura. Miles had been that once, more awkward but polite than the outright guarded politeness that shows his harsher edges—Miles is like fire, to his loved ones he's the warmth of a fire on a snowy day or the sun's rays, and to his enemies, he's hell-fire that leaves them with third-degree burns. He's never been a monster but Osborn and Alchemax have left a lasting fire in him, one that leaves his blood boiling, because they think they can play like the Gods' in myths.

Miles had once been able to stand aside, not be angry even, but that had been when he had his Uncle and Dad by his side to tell him that anger helps no one—something they would have been right about emotionally but when that anger is sharpened, becomes clawed blades directed at someone and something, then that anger is a powerful beast.

By these observations, Miles means to say, that Pavitr and he would have once been similar—if the world had been kinder, if Peter Parker's DNA hadn't ended up in labs to be experimented on, if his Dad or Uncle were alive, and if that will never be.

More than all of that, Miles knows that Pavitr would look at him with gentle eyes and manners, would smile behind that mask to welcome Miles into his dimension, and Pavitr would go so far as to ask Miles to join him and his Aunt Maya for tea—probably drag Gayatri along too. And, the thing is, that would make Miles attached. These simple acts of accepting Miles as he is, of his fire and venomous thoughts, his claw-based tech with shape steel that could gut a man, to ask such a person and accept them into a community would leave Miles coming back.

It would hurt more, Miles knows. When he figures out what they are hiding from him, it will hurt so badly that Miles would be left with blood on his claws—his blood because he would hurt, would ache, would hate himself for his attachment to someone who knew and didn't say anything.

It's bad because he's attached by the end of the mission and Miles's doomed to hurt.

Miles doesn't stick around HQ, the awe of being surrounded by Spider-People is a short-lived feeling when they all make his spider-sense buzz about secrets kept and danger to come—of future betrayals that lie quietly at the back of his mind. Miles almost wishes he was like them but there's nothing to gain from wishes, false hope does more damage than good, and Miles has always done things his way—he doesn't do half-assed work nor does he go below an A, sometimes he wants to be idle but there's only so long he can stay still in an ever-moving world.

Though he doesn't stick around HQ before or after missions, he does explore Nevau York when they have to wait for the debrief before and after missions. He finds the upper city the expectations all science kids have for the future, the clean and simple futuristic architecture, the easy transport, and the automatic lifestyle. It's boring, lacking in the colours on the streets which show humans had been there, lacking in community, and based on work-life with no family life.

The under-city is the opposite of the upper city. This underground world is a different city altogether, lacking the attention or care for perfection that the upper city holds but filled with communities—ironically, Miles is more welcomed in the underground than he is in the above HQ.

Teens his age or older ensure he's not going to harm their community and then ask him to tag along on random outings, he denies most of them but sometimes when the itch to paint mixes with the gnawing grief in his chest, he agrees. Forgoes the claws and mask to be Miles Morales who has the hands of an artist instead of blood-soaked hurt—and he doesn't expect any of the Spiders to come looking for him, he's an unwelcomed member who they allow along because their boss says so.

Yet, Jessica Drew finds him with Lyla—though Layla blinks away after guiding Mrs Drew to him. Miles is quick to say goodbyes to the teens, waving off the worries, and promising to visit another day—it almost tastes like a lie because Miles knows if Miguel tells him he's not allowed to meet them again, he has to follow till he can sneak off without being detected. He doesn't consider any of them friends, all of them know little of each other, but there's a sense of community between kids who have similar heritage or skin colour or grew up in similar neighbourhoods.

He pulls his mask on, seeing a note on the side, unseen outside his mask, about the files Asteria has been able to extract—there are hardly a few documents, pretty basic explanation of the gizmo and freely available discussion about anomalies but there are one or two things he hasn't seen in the information package given inside the gizmo, something to read later when sleep doesn't come for him.

Mrs Drew seems to be staring, her eyes searching for something about him that Miles doesn't give—it's a strange game of keeping secrets with Miles at an advantage. If Mrs Drew or anyone else asked then he gets to dig into them and question them in return, and no one seems brave nor comfortable enough to dare try it—Miles thinks the lack of expressions and snark from him during missions doesn't help. Though, what did they expect of a teen who's learned to break into top priority labs with enough security that without invisibility he wouldn't have gotten away with so much so easily?

Miles feels the nauseating amusement when she sighs, a mother's gaze looking at him and worrying for him—there's something so painfully funny about keeping secrets and continuing to care about the person who they will likely hurt at the end.

“Kid, I won't say anything about this but be careful.” She looks at him with kindness but Miles sees the caution, it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue to be an outcast from a community he rightfully belongs to but nothing's fair and that's just how it works. “The undercity is dangerous.”

That gets a laugh from him, distorted by the voice filter he decided to add earlier this week—it makes it harder for Miles's identity to be found and easier to scare his opponents. After all, when the villains and criminals believe heroes are light-hearted jokes and bright personalities, someone like Miles seems terrifying enough to leave them stuck on the spot—leaves them vulnerable and easy to leave knocked out or webbed for the police to take. It leaves Miles an unknown because fear distorts their memory of what he looks like, the added height from his shoes and the hood he wears sometimes makes it even harder—Miles revels in it because it feeds his anger into satisfaction when Osborn and Alchemax begin losing promising employees, leaving fewer scientists for Miles to put behind bars or with a black mark on their profile.

Dangerous is how Miles lives, he runs towards danger and when he has to wait for it, it's on nights with danger in his hands—Miles answers to danger, to Osborn's misdeeds and Alchemax's terrifying projects. Miles doesn't wait for the danger to come knocking because it's too late to fix the situation by then, he's not someone who lets it get bad and the Spot is enough of a consequence for Miles to learn to be better. Danger is Miles Morales with his eyes set on someone or something, even spider-people can feel it when he looks over them and he wears it like a badge of honour.

“Mm, you should worry about others.” Because Miles doesn't need nor want a worry covered by caution or distrust. “I have a habit of running towards danger, no one's broken it yet.” He walks away, their gizmo had been buzzing for a few minutes.

Later, Miles returns for a last time to finish the art piece he began and to leave the others with spray paints to continue learning—an image of someone whole, someone who had been the hero that lived up to Spider-Man's legacy, like the sun that sunflowers turn to. An image that lives in Jessica Drew's mind and changes her perception of Miles Morales to see the actual person rather than what she had known before meeting him, this change is something Miles notices but it doesn't fix the quiet glances—Miles hates when he feels warmth for being told he did a good job by Jess, hates that he calls her Jess, hates because it will hurt and Miles might as well be a masochist at this point.

If someone asked Miles, he would say that it was inevitable that a mission would go horrendously wrong—it was in Spider-People's terrible luck and two spiders together did not make the luck better. Three with a baby was even worse because the report of there being only a Rhino was wrong, goddamn Osborn joined the party halfway and that's when things began crumbling—literally, Osborn had chemical bombs.

Having Mayday close made Peter out of commission when it came to fighting the Goblin or Rhino, so it was Gwen and Miles who had to work on it while he called for backup while saving the people from the fight's range. Rhino went down first, knocked out by Gwen and webbed down while Miles kept Osborn distracted, things were going well and then, of course, Osborn hit a support beam of the building they were in and its supports crumbled with the rest of the building titling till they were in a falling building.

It shouldn't be bad, the Green Goblin can survive being buried under the building—yes, Miles is fucking salty that Osborn keeps ruining things for him, even one from a different dimension. But, well, Miles's spider-sense tells him before he hears it—Gwen's web snaps and Miles is jumping to catch her before he's thinking or planning some way out. They don't crash into the ground but it's a near thing, Miles lets Gwen go immediately because his senses don't stop—they aren't out of danger yet.

The Green Goblin appears and Miles wants to gut him, he really wants to use his claw to leave blood on the pavement but he's being good and his Tìa told him giving into his murderous thoughts is considered more illegal than repeated breaking, entering, and stealing. He takes one look at Gwen, out of breath and a limb arm—dislocated, which isn't good because fighting with one is a pain and Miles would know, he did that once and never again.

He almost screams in frustration but instead directs the anger towards something he can take it out on, the Green Goblin is the easiest answer and Miles has never been so ready to fight. He rolls his shoulders, flexing his hands as the claw mechanics set into motion, and stares down the alternative version of Osborn who seems to hesitate—a smile tugs on his face and he thinks it shows because there's genuine fear growing in that man's eyes, it makes him amused almost that a villain is scared of him.

“Gwen, connect to Peter and guide back-up here.” The distortion of his voice disconnects him from unnecessary worry about what Gwen or any of the Spider-People think about him, he's focused on the Green Goblin who's stood still—prey know predators best and Miles is danger knocking on his door, the door might be missing from being clawed down. “I'll handle him.” Handle, as if the Osborn is no threat and to Miles who's been playing a highly dangerous game with his dimension's Osborn, this one is no threat. There are no hired killers after him, no supervillains disturbing a chill afternoon, and no plans of creating soldiers from spiders brought through multi-dimensional portals that rip the fabric of their dimension apart to do so.

The next few minutes are blank to him, his eyes and senses focused only on the Green Goblin and giving his best to not tear him apart—but the anger needs a sense of satisfaction, of a give for what it takes, and invisibility is a terrifying ability if the person knows to use it well. Miles has perfected it, after all, he knows his disappearing and reappearing attacks instil them with honest fear—of horror, respect, and ironically awe.

By the time Miguel and Jess find them, Miles has destroyed a hover board and the Green Goblin is trembling—Gwen on the other hand has awe and gratitude written all over her masked face, wide eyes and all. Miles rolls his eyes while helping her get up steadily, keeping an eye on the arm with his homeschooled version of medical knowledge, and he sees the stares from the three adults as they leave.

Attachment is a curse, it gets Miles opening up even with his guard up and leaves delicate skin to be bruised—but, Gwen, Peter, and Mayday are safe and the mission is completed so, for this small moment, it's okay.

Miles doesn't know how it happens a second time but Peter brings Mayday for another mission—and, no offence to Mary Jane, but who allows their husband who's Spider-Man to take their kid for a multi-dimensional mission where there's fighting and possibly terrible situations. They're in Pavitr's dimension with Hobie, Gwen, Jess, Peter, and Mayday—which, again, what the fuck Peter. Miles won't question father-daughter bonding but bringing a kid to missions is a recipe for disaster, no matter how smart Mayday is both intellectually and emotionally.

Things go well, for most of the mission that is, and after the debrief Miles is too tired to stick around—he's usually too tired of his spider-sense continuously buzzing around everyone by the end of missions to ever stay, he ditches debriefs sometimes too and Hobie's told him it leaves Miguel a worried mother hen. This, again, is stupid because Miles gets hurt the least out of everyone—he has gone through trial and error to have the measurements of how much strength, electricity, etc to know when to pull his punches and when to not hesitate.

But, Miles supposes that's part of the worry for them. To them, it's probably a question of what makes a fifteen-year-old so thorough about his abilities and Hobie clearly has not said a word of his work, which is appreciated.

Miles will think of it tomorrow, after a full night's sleep and later packing for his return from the weekend home to the dorms. Or he would, if he didn't return from the bathroom—fully dressed thankfully—to find Mayday with his Mami.

“Mijo, why do you have a nena in your room?” It's the embarrassment that flushes him and not the warm shower he just had because he didn't hear Mayday nor felt his spider-sense tell him the nena had travelled with him.

“I didn't know, Mami.” Miles knows she hears and sees the small hints of tiredness in him, though she knows he's always tired after a mission because of his spider-sense buzzing endlessly around the others—she doesn't trust any of them either but she trusts him to come home to her and Miles keeps the promises he's made since Apá's death.

He's tired enough to let himself be treated with his Mami's special care of his favourite dinner and Tìa Theria doesn't even bat an eye at Mayday's sudden attendance to dinner, she takes everything in stride Miles knows that without her or Mami, he would be a lost soul on a path to self-destruction. He agrees to share his bed with Mayday, they didn't exactly have a cradle for her and Mami had had a twelve-hour shift—Miles was not going to have his Mami stay up nor be woken because Miles brought a baby home by mistake.

Peter would be knocking on his door soon enough and Mami didn't need to deal with that whole situation, Miles knows that Peter would not survive the judgement of his Mami and Miles was going to rip into the man for losing a baby—he's quiet with his judgment for bringing a baby, even with spider powers, to HQ and missions but there was only so long before Miles was going to lose his mind over the worry his spider-sense has towards Mayday or any kid in his area. He's pretty sure his spider-sense is fucking biased though, there's no way it always leads him to kidnappers before they nap the kid but he's glad for it—he doesn't like the idea of children being taken off in his clear view.

He digressed. He's tired, Mayday fell asleep on him a few minutes ago, and he's waiting for Peter to show up—he messaged him on the gizmo a few minutes ago. It's almost comforting and warm enough to feel normal, reminding him of memories he's not visited since his Tìo and Papà's death—remembering the nights when the bright yellow lights would blink in the window or come through the doorway while he slept on his Dad's chest.

That warm is mixed with a weighted sorrow, feeling the lowest he's been in months yet the lightest since their death, and it's stupid that when the portal opens and Peter shows up he feels worse.

Attachment to a baby is such a strange thing because he cannot even hate it. Mayday has done no wrong to him and he sees that innocent yet warm smile on her sleepy face as he passes her to her father—it's so wrong that from that, he almost doesn't hate Peter. Almost feels a smile that's lacking in lies and full of tired warmth itching around his sharp edges, it's such a bad idea—to let go of his guarded walls to let one baby enter because they would all follow suit and it'll be destruction when everyone knows everything at the end of this month.

It's been four months since he joined, he hates that they grew on him in that time—hates that old respect of a dead boy clings onto him when he looks at Peter.

“Keep an eye on your spawn, Mami already has a terrible impression of you.” His words are lacking in that respect, they are rough but his face has lost its firmness to make space for a gentle kindness—he knows that Peter's shoulders loosen, that there is relief on the man's face because Miles looks like the kid he had met trying his best to live up to the Spider-Man legacy.

Unfortunately, Miles isn't that kid anymore. That boy died with his Apà and it's just the way grief goes, Miles doesn't only grieve his Tìo and Papà but also himself—of who he could have been, of what life would be like with either his Uncle or Dad alive, of how much happier his Mami could be. But, he wouldn't have Tìa Theria, wouldn't have Asteria, wouldn't know that Osborn was playing with fire and that the only one to burn them down was Miles—it is what it is, or, if he's allowed to joke, it was a canon event as they all like to say.

“I'm sorry kid, I didn't think she would sneak onto a person. She doesn't do this normally.” Apology is not accepted because Miles will start worrying in Peter's place if the Nena can jump dimensions so easily, they really need to add protection against babies and toddler's before they end up somewhere they shouldn't. Miles is gonna skip over the second part of that sentence, he's too tired to consider what that even means. “I'll apologise to your mom tomorrow, I know this is the worst first impression possible.”

It's almost nice, this normal conversation, but Miles feels the slow itch of his spider sense and feels heavier. Good things between Spider-People don't last or at least, not for Miles.

“Gwen did worse, ask Hobie or Pavitr about it.” He waves it off, Miles doesn't want Peter to meet his Mami. He knows that neither of them can be welcoming to them when he's snitched everything he's learned from the files till now—it's not a good idea and Miles is going to shut it down before it begins. “Don't do that, Mami is busy enough with shifts and I don't want her to feel stressed about Mayday's safety. Fix that issue of her being able to travel along without others knowing or whatever, I don't have enough energy to care.”

Peter laughs, as if Miles didn't just tell him to politely and kindly fuck off. He feels the warmth of a hand mess up his hair and his eyes sting because his Dad did this every night he came home before dinner—and Peter's gone with Mayday but all he can do is stare ahead.

The hurt was supposed to come after he finds out because he is going to, no matter how badly it ends, but it already hurts. This trust that goes one-way, it's so fucking harmful, and Miles is stupid enough to grow into it—as if this could all end well as if he wouldn't be hurt by what he finds because they are hiding it from him to save him from the hurt and Miles doesn't need that protection. He wants the trust to be told and he doesn't have it when they have his, the bruises have already been there and Miles has been blind to them because, for a moment, he wanted to believe that everyone trusts him too.

Young people trust the wrong people sometimes, but it's not returned and Miles is just engaged—if these self-made lies are what he has to believe in for it to hurt less than he will.

Miles doesn't bring his sketchbook outside his dimension, it's not something he's willing to do in case it glitches—Miles has some of his best and worse art in that and he loves the progress it shows page by page of growth, so he doesn't usually bring it. But, Asteria needs a few hours before she can exact the files that will finally tell Miles what they are hiding and he gives into bringing it along to sketch everyone in before he leaves—his gizmo's tracker, used in missions in case any of them get knocked out or wounded and require backup, has been hacked long ago. He's figured out the basic code and Asteria has the code to completely disconnect it from Miguel, Layla and the Spider Society's eyes—he has a feeling that whatever he finds will require travel and it's going to be related to the one anomaly no one has caught yet.

So, in these final hours, he brings the dimensions and people he's seen into his sketchbook—sat with earphones on the top of HQ, the rooftop which conveniently no one visits. It's like a New Year's countdown, he even has one on his phone counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours left.

It's almost a numbness that fills him, an acceptance for all the hurt and grief—of what he's felt and what's to come. There was never a safety measure for Miles Morales of 1610 and he knows that whatever he finds, he won't be able to walk away with the words it is what it is. It doesn't help that his playlist, made by him, fits song by song—fills him with emotions and he feels them wholly because when his anger comes, it will be hellfire that will burn the rest of his emotions away.

Unlike water, there's nothing to be washed away to be thought of clearly and calmly—Miles is danger and he burns, he lives with highs and so each low feels the lowest he's ever been, it's a repeat performance and it leaves harsh lessons to be learned because no one likes a repeat performance.

Miles doesn't expect to be found, to be searched for, because no one knows he's here but if there's one person who would, it would be Miguel O'Hara—or, rather, his AI Lyla. The man sits down beside him on the rooftop, cross-legged and doesn't say anything. Staying quiet as Miles waits, when nothing comes—no accusations, questions, heated words of anger Miguel is prone to—he returns to sketching, drawing the man and his AI into his book. The simple sound of his pencil fills the comfortable silence and that's a strange thing to think, Miles has grown attached to even the boss of the multiverse operations—he's set himself up to be irreparably damaged.

“You're pretty good at this, Solecito.” Miles feels something in his chest warm and yet, that warmth hurt—Miguel had never used nicknames for anyone, one or two for Mayday but no one else. It had been a while since he felt this sudden engulfing warmth of a community member accepting his affectionate titles or nicknames and returning with one for him—Solecito meant little sun, he thought while turning his face away to hide the smile that felt permanent alongside the warmth.

“I've been drawing since I was seven, I better be good.” This is one area where he doesn't feel insecurity rise, there's no need to compare his art with others and he feels free the moment his hands touch a pen or pencil onto a blank paper that's so bland with the lack of places, people, and doodles. “Tìo Aaron would be disappointed if I stopped before I got to truly begin exploring.”

Miles doesn't regret his words, it's difficult to talk about them but referring to them as if they are still here is easy—it's like talking about a friend who moved states and plans to return soon, only it's not real and Miles doesn't want to truly think about it yet. He rather feels it, fully and wholly, wait as he gets used to it and when he's finished learning to live with it, then he'll talk—shout and break from this neutrality he's taken hold of.

Lyla appears between them, looking at the sketch he's done of her—three different ones to try to get every essence of her. She's cool and gets Miguel to joke, makes him feel human when Miles begins questioning if any of them are, and keeps them all sane when things go south. Miles drew a full body of her first, he hadn't considered it but he had no clue what she wore under the coat so he drew her a full white suit instead. The other two were half-body and he kept her original outfit, trying to understand how the coat would be drawn.

He blinked and the next second she was in the full white suit he had drawn her in, decked out in gold heart-shaped glasses. Huh, AI really had it easy when it came to getting clothes—she didn't even have to pay the artist to use it, that felt unfair but he didn't mind it because she was looking towards him with the most joyous grin he had seen on her.

“Someone on this rooftop has good fashion sense and it's absolutely not Miguel!” Lyla boasted proudly, laughing at the inaudible grumble of Spanish that Miguel spoke but Miles is sure he heard an affectionate nickname for Lyla between it—Precious, precious.

Miles felt light, sitting here at the sunset with Miguel and Lyla—listening to them banter or argue and laughing at the new insults he's learned in Spanish and English. It's easier than it's been for months but maybe that's because he's accepted it'll hurt, that he'll grieve, and won't look back when he's gone. After all, none of them will look for him.

It's a one-sided trust and it doesn't hurt as much to know that anymore.

Miles Morales of dimension 1610 was bitten by the spider meant for dimension-42.

That's the first sentence of the file labelled with his dimension number and another, 42—which makes sense as he reads further. Of course, Miles Morales would steal the good from a version of himself who likely deserved it more than him—Miles hasn't even done the best job of it and he feels his mind cloud with each sentence.

Consequently, it has led to 1610 losing their Peter Parker—He stops, breaths in and then out to stop the panic that grips his chest. Miles was the reason his Peter Parker was dead, he knew this, but the confirmation made it harder to handle it—he hated his curiosity, why couldn't he continue avoiding it, continue lying to himself, continue letting himself be led by one-sided trust?

Because it wouldn't work, Miles has never avoided his issues, he's self-aware of everything he's done, and he knows staying in a one-sided trust friendship would do enough harm to leave him with trust issues. Tìa Theria would be proud of him if he walked away from this document this moment to focus on himself rather than what a digital document says about him but this is important, he needs to know if the Spider Society will hurt his family or friends—and he feels the numbed aching pain of not considering any Spider-People as friends after this.

He continues reading, he continues hurting—and gaining a new Spider-Man while 42 has no Spider-Man. 1610 was supposed to be the Prowler and 42 Spider-Man, 1610 and 42 are anomalies—oh, Miles thinks, repeating this line and the last in his head. Did his world force itself to correct or was it always meant to end like this, with his Uncle and Papà dead? With Miles as a villain, is that how the Spider Society sees him—a villain to be interacted with caution and kept close in case he starts a fight?

His eyes sting and this time, Miles doesn't try to stop the tears because he cannot blame anyone for this but Alchemax isn't it so ironic—Miles Morales and Dr Johnathon Ohnn are the consequences of their experiments, they created each other and both of them want to destroy what made them who they are. He sits on the cloak tower alone, hurting and feeling grief without reason but should he have a reason for it? Can't he feel grief that a version of him who was supposed to be Spider-Man isn't, that Miles isn't trusted because he is an anomaly, that he hates himself more than he hates everyone else who's hurt him?

Miles cries so that the overwhelming emotions escape him, leaving him with his anger, self-hate and steeled heart—if he's an anomaly then it shouldn't matter if he deals with Ohnn alone, after all, Miguel likely only invited him to keep an eye on him. Gwen nor Peter said anything, Jessica and Lyla have always been Miguel's friends before his acquaintances, Pavitr had tried telling him once before he got cut off and Hobie kept pushing for him to learn about it—but it hurt and Miles doesn't want to see any of them.

He doesn't want to know what he'll do if he does but he has a fellow anomaly to hunt down. The Spot told him he would return to his dimension but Miles has had enough of waiting—he wants blood on the pavement, the taste of electricity in the air, and the satisfaction mixed with guilt of fighting with taking his anger out on them in mind.

He wants to hurt and be hurt, and who better to have such an exchange with, if not his nemesis? Miles doesn't think hard on it, turning the tracker on his gizmo off alongside replacing the base code—he knows which dimension the Spot is going to because, of course, a science graduate has a healthy dose of theatre kid in him and it would be poetic for their last battle to be in the dimension 42.

There are only the dried tears on the cloak tower and a closing portal to indicate that Miles Morales had ever been there—but in the far future when he returns there, it's like he had never made one of the most dangerous decisions in the multiverse there.

Chapter Text

1610 and 42 are meant to be parallels, two dimensions where Miles Morales became either the Prowler or Spider-Man—though, Miles thinks that idea doesn't fit when both sides of the coin are equally weighted in similarities. Yet, when Miles sets his eyes on this parallel dimension, he sees the differences before any similarities—sees the sunset into pinks and yellows, and sees the green rise instead of blue at night. If they are parallels then the major difference comes in colors and through an artist's eyes, seeing such differences with a clear mind is easy.

Blue is the opposite of red, and green is the opposite of green. Their dimensions are a contrast, shown in simplicity because humans are too complex to put into boxes what's the same and what's not—Miles knows this Miles, he's going to refer to him as Gonzalo for his sanity, lost either his Father or Uncle, unlike Miles who lost both. There was only the mention of a canon event, which he still hates the idea of, that had happened in this dimension before it was set onto a chaotically steady course.

He had been here multiple times, slowly figuring out his way through Alchemax and finding the same old Osborn involvement—he had to consider if burning a different dimension's Osborn industries was worth the possible multi-dimensional consequences. The answer was an easy yes but unfortunately, he needed Alchemax to find the Spot—whenever Alchemax was, the Spot made his way to gain power.

Miles doesn't think about the HQ when he sees villains—doesn't think of piercings, hot chai with biscuits, drums and watercolours—he had gotten no request for missions and he doesn't want to think about them. Miles feels the sinking feeling, the questions of—would they even look for me?

Miles doesn't think about tiny hands gripping him, a father who keeps losing his kid, the warmth of praise from a mother-to-be, nor the comforting presences of the leaders of the operation—he doesn't think about them but he keeps feeling and it leaves his heart hardly beating. He wonders, morbidly, if it will stop beating if he takes enough damage like his Papà's had.

Miles wouldn't consider his first encounter with Gonzalo a meeting, no exchanges of names or questions—no, Miles dodges a punch which would have knocked him out because Gonzalo had metal glows with claws like him. They were similar, ironically, as supposed to be contrasts—it was hair and minor differences in the details of their suits which made them different.

Where Miles had his afro, well-kept as he spent hours sneaking around Alchemax and Osborn industries to the point he had a hideout in this world—he crashed at his Uncle's old place in his dimension on other days because he doesn't think he can face his family just yet. Gonzalo had an undercut and deadlocks which he braided, it looked good on him and Miles wondered if he should learn to do it too—he remembers his Mami would do his hair before he learned how tired she would get after shifts, he used to love having her hands in his hair and the braids would hurt sometimes but his Mami would try to soften that, give him ice-cream if it hurt too much, and Miles began using that to get free ice-cream during weekdays.

Though, Miles should probably focus on the kick coming next but it's almost predictable—they both use claws, and they have learned to fight with everything they have to not kill but leave a trail of unconscious bodies behind them, but only one of them knows who the other is. To Gonzalo, he's an intruder, possibly an imposter, and to Miles, this is another possibility he couldn't have avoided.

He had been assaulting his brain as Hobie had said before, and there he goes—Miles will feel the guilt later but at this moment he takes hold of the kick, his claws don't dig into Gonzalo's leg but it's a steady hold which Miles doesn't give a chance to break or use as an advantage. He's pulling him forward, forcefully and painfully, returning a punch for the missed hits. The guilt is immediate but Miles doesn't have time to be stuck fighting a version of himself when the Spot's messing with this dimension, he hopes that Ohnn hasn't gone so far as to work with the companies that left him when he was at his lowest—it's an unheard wish because Miles doesn't work on wishing and the universe has the tendency to take his spoken wishes and reply with retribution for asking anything from it.

Miles leaves Gonzalo to deal with the headache of being punched to the head by a metal glove with claws, a taste of his own medicine—there's so much irony in these thoughts, Miles thinks he'll drown in it soon.

Miles isn't special, he's not the only one who's been hurt and he won't be the last—he's a sixteen-year-old with more responsibility than most others his age but he's not special. Every teen's life is hellish, simpler than adulthood but still so complicated—do they have enough time to finish their assignments, do they have the time to find themselves, do they have time for everything they have been told they would have as teenagers? Questions and confusion, wondering if anyone else feels something similar but being unwilling to ask—not wanting that attention if they are wrong, if they are the only one feeling so utterly lost because the universe will move without them and it's all so stupid.

Responsibility was a thing given slowly as they aged but Miles had it by thirteen going on fourteen, had struggled with it for most of his early teens, and at sixteen he had grown used to it—become so dull, lacking in the colours his world is made from, and Miles is not special.

He's not the only one who's felt so betrayed yet hated himself more than those who hurt him, he's fucked up and fixed those mistakes—he's fixing most of them still. He's felt the edges of crushing so harshly and gently on someone, feeling that go as he takes friendship instead because he needs that support more than the romance he's seen his parents have—he needed his friends, needed the adults, and he loved them.

It was such a bitter thing from the start that standing before the Spot makes him feel less picked on—he's not the only one suffering, he's not the one in the millions chosen to be hurt beyond words, and it's such a bitter thing to hope for. The Spot looks at Miles and sees a kid, he can tell by how the darkness and distortion quiet for a moment—we're are the same—it's that bitterness which makes them hate each other too. They are a reflection of being hurt and having hoped they weren't the only ones hurt, two people who wished for someone to be as hurt as they were and hating that they hoped because the Spot has to look at a kid he had hurt and Miles has to take responsibility for what he accidentally made Dr Ohnn into—it's a bitter fucking thing.

The similarities between them grow because both loved so deeply and were outcast by the community they grew up in, they had created a home and been kicked out of it—they were so fucking similar and yet, they saw different paths. Miles chooses the middle ground, an unstable yet steady path for justice born from bruises and pain—Dr Ohnn chooses vengeance created through Alchemax, going dimension to dimension to grow in power so he could be stronger than them all. So, he wouldn't feel so hopeless again.

It's all such a mess, filled with bitter self-hate, and they both want the other to stand aside—don't fight me, they want to say, let me fix this. Miles wants to fix it semi-legally, to witness these scientists be jailed and never find a job in their respective fields again, to see laws support their safety over advancements that could end their dimension within days. Dr Ohnn wants them to regret, to feel the pain he felt, to tear them apart like he was torn when he became who he is today.

Neither of them gets a chance and Miles feels the anger he has towards the world turn further inward because Gonzalo doesn't know what he's interrupted and the Spot is leaving so fast—Miles doesn't mean to but he rushes forward, tries to get a hold onto the energy the Spot uses for his jumps, and feels defeated when he goes through it like it had already closed. He hits the ground and his anger makes him grind his teeth so hard it leaves a painful ache, he wants to punch the floor but that might crack it, so he stands up—the frustration is the worst part of this, the old feeling of being helpless when his Apà was dying and Miles was a fucking kid who had no experience when he couldn't push aside the shock and panic to get help.

“Did you have to fucking show up?” He's unable to stop those words, he didn't have the Spot agreeing to stop but he had softened him to behaviour more like Dr Ohnn than an eldritch horror in the making—he had almost got him to think about it, to feel rather than hunt for power, and Miles is so fucking bitter.

Gonzalo is quiet, still on the edge of the building he climbed to find them and he's tense—as if Miles would hurt him, he can hardly hurt anyone who doesn't plan to hurt him and his dimension. It's all so fucked, these fragments of situations where if Miles had not been bitten, not sneaked out, never found Peter Parker and distracted him—maybe it would have been better. No strange mixture of Spider-Prowler, no dead Spider-Man with a legacy heavy enough to drown a teenager, and no Spot.

It would be so much easier. To be Miles Morales with plans of double majoring in Physics and Arts, to have his Papà and Uncle every step of the way, to become a scientist and make his Mami proud when he breaks the ceiling to reach higher—it would be easier if he didn't have these abilities and responsibilities but Miles made his bed with it and he's laid in it for years, there's no time to be thinking about what could have been easier.

Miles leaves the roof with Gonzalo staring at his back, intense and confused—a part of him whispers, he's like us, and Miles wants to crush it between his hands. Nothing good comes out of being similar.

Miles takes a moment to sit and stare at dimension 42, to truly see the differences because the similarities are too easy to find—the green is so beautiful, the city glows under it and the green isn't from chemicals or anything toxic. The city is born with these colours like Miles is born with blue, the yellow lights make it bloom into paintings—so different in colour but the same in appearance. It's raining, the world is drowned in static as the droplets become his noise-blocking earphones, and it leaves Miles with a feeling of serenity—and it doesn't leave when Gonzalo takes a seat beside him.

They had run into each other multiple times, it was almost like Gonzalo was following him and Miles hadn't given himself time to think about it—the Spot was planning, trying to get to the collider with Miles standing blocking the easy route. Miles wouldn't hesitate to blow it up, he was planning to rig it, or to pull the energy in—and, as stupid as it may be, Dr Ohnn wanted to fuck over this dimension's Alchemax as much as 1610's because they were so similar. Add the fact that the Spot brought 42's Spider, which was experimented on by this dimension's Dr Ohnn who was laid off afterwards with no rights to his research, and that's enough reason for the Spot.

Miles digressed. The rain made him feel less like the sun, less like hellfire that would burn anyone who got too close—because Miles is so bruised, with bloody hands, a hardly beating heart, and missing pieces of himself. Miles is incomplete in a sense, lacking the fundamentals that made him who he was—he hasn't touched spray paints since he painted the mural for his Uncle and Dad. It doesn't help that there's a mural in this dimension too, only of Jefferson Davis, but it's there—no dimension with a Miles Morales who is either Spider-Man or the Prowler allows them to have their father it seems.

“You are fucking drenched.” It's a rough voice, distorted by the mask Gonzalo wears—it's another similarity with mild differences, Miles's distortion sounds unsettling to instil a discomforting sort of fear. Gonzalo's distortion sounds rough, it adds a vibe of different horror—Miles almost laughs at the idea that Gonzalo likes giving chase, likes hunting. “Are you ignoring me? Is your hearing shit?”

He's so rude, that's the thought that pushes itself into Miles's focus alongside such stupid endearment—like an annoyed cousin, though Gonzalo would be considered a twin since they're literally the same person, it sounds so similar to his Mami being annoyed when Aunt Theria doesn't listen to her and continues ignoring her in favour of doing the house chores she set as hers. It leaves him warm whereas his spider DNA leaves him cold, he hates that he cannot thermoregulate—it leaves body heat a flitting thing during winters and leaves less time for him to feel the rain.

“Oi—”

“Fucking hell, do you ever shut up?” Miles doesn't want to snap, he doesn't like snapping at people but he likes the serenity of disconnecting from the world—being in a different dimension makes it easier but Gonzalo makes it so much fucking harder. “I'm trying to disconnect from the world, it's easier.”

The quiet doesn't last long but those few seconds feel louder than when Gonzalo had spoken beforehand, they feel like an eternity and Miles misses home with a sudden ache. There was always chatter at home.

“Why?” It's a simple question but the curiosity is sharp—why is it easier? It's such a weird question but Miles understands, they are similar that way—both so bruised and hurt, while Miles hasn't learned to guard himself, Gonzalo has. “Don't you have Mami? Disconnecting doesn't do shit, it just leaves us defenceless.” Ah, there's that difference. Miles lost his Papà and Uncle nearly two years ago, Gonzalo lost his Apà younger—lost him before his Dad could help him grow before Gonzalo could grow soft under his protection before the world was built around him.

They both lost but they lost so differently, that's the part that hurts. Miles smiles but it's because he cannot cry, he hasn't cried since the funeral, and he hasn't lost control of his abilities in angered grief for so long—Gonzalo grew up without the protection and Miles grew up with it but whereas Gonzalo had to become a vigilante, Miles took it up because his anger needed a direction. He remembers that week, the hours before he returned to the ruins of Alchemax's ruined HQ—Miles had cracked pavement and blasted electricity so harshly it left the street without it for the rest of the week.

“I haven't seen Mami for a week, Gonzalo.” Miles isn't all there when he replies, his voice is too far and the rain is too—Gonzalo is close though, his warmth radiates and Miles is colder than ever. “Been chasing Dr Ohnn, that eldritch horror guy you ruined my persuasion, slash, meeting with.”

“You gotta go home, man.” Those words break the serenity, the disconnection Miles had thought he mastered shatters and it's such a gruesome reminder—he remembers those words vividly, they had been the beauty before tragedy. That's just what it is Miles, a leap of faith—he remembers hearing, and it's a leap that left Miles grounded. It left Miles crippled with himself to build it everything back up because no one could replace his Dad or Uncle and everyone could only support him at his lowest.

Those words knock something into focus and Miles remembers—he had almost forgotten about it, the promise he made during his Papà's last breath. He didn't remember it because he was focused on pleading and hoping—he was focused on the blood on his hands, the burning Spider-Suit, and finding things to be busy with. Take care of your Mami, okay? Promise me, Miles—and he had, he had promised him and told him to stop asking because his Dad was strong and he would live. It's a memory he doesn't have a solid hold on, it's scattered, and Miles feels like he sees it in a third person's perceptive—but he hears his voice, shaky and yet so steady as he promises because even then, Miles knew there was too much blood and too little time.

“Yeah, I do.” Miles doesn't move though, he closes his eyes and stays for another hour—he remembers his Papà in those hours and his memory has never been so kind in its cruelty, he remembers golden lights and his Dad standing under its glow. He remembers a strong man and a good husband, he remembers a protective father who wanted the best for his son and loved his family—even the brother he had disagreements with. Miles remembers love, wholeness, and protection—and he knows it won't be okay for a long time but for this moment, Miles is better.

When he walks onto the centre of the roof, he doesn't expect any words to be exchanged but they are similar—the portal to his universe is open, he knows that Gonzalo is staring in the same amazement he once had but his portal is different than it was before. It has the colours of his dimension, the colours blend into this dimension and they make a beautiful painting—Miles wants to paint it in his sketchbook.

“Call me Milo or Prowler, Hermano.” Miles doesn't look back, he steps through with sure steps and a straight back but he feels the lingering warmth of Milo, the heat sticks to him and it's like stars colliding—he knows attachment well and there's no going back from the collision.

“Mijo?” Miles hears his Mami's voice the moment he slips through the window into his room, he's drenched and dripping but he still stands there shivering to find his Mami—tired, relieved, and as beautiful as his Dad would say. Endless words of love were exchanged in how they spoke of each other, how to look at each other, how they had endearing nicknames specifically for one another—Miles feels like the tiny kid in the big world he had been, turning on the light and knocking on his parent's door, his Papà would hold him but his Mami would brush her hand through his head till he was on edges of sleep, kiss his head and he would wake up between them into the morning.

“Mami...” The tears mix with the droplets but Mami sees the hurt, she hushes him and brushes his hair back—he cries harder because he misses Papà, he misses his voice, misses his presence, misses his laugh and how his Papà was open with his love. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't—” Her hand is on his cheek, it's warmer than the tears and Miles cannot stop sobbing but Mami doesn't tell him to stop, she shares in his tears because they both miss Jefferson Morales and Aaron Davis.

It's quiet, she smiles with the love and grief that's normal. She tells him to wash up, she'll get dinner warmed up, and they'll talk. Miles follows, and he realizes it's easier to do that when his Mami guides him because she doesn't mean harm to him, with her he's always safe and protected—Papà had protected him but Mami guided him, they did this together and Miles still has a guide when he doesn't have protection. He's not lost in the sea, he doesn't have to learn to live without Papà alone, and it's a bitter thing but they have each other. Miles had promised to take care of Mami and she would always take care of him, this is what they had always had and Miles was just too afraid to realize it—afraid it wouldn't be real, which is stupid in retrospect.

When he sits down for dinner, his Mami stares at him through it all—he realizes that while he had checked in on her, she hadn't seen him for a week. School had made it easy but it was the first time he hadn't returned for the weekends. He feels guilt but his Mami adds more food to his plate, looking at him to make sure he eats, and Miles forgets guilt for a moment—let go of responsibility, anger, and hate to be in this moment.

It's after they clean up that his Mami takes hold of his cheek again, one on his hand and he returns the hold by interlocking it—he missed feeling like a kid who could look up to his Mami but while he cannot look up, he can still be that kid.

“I don't think your Papà and I ever said anything about responsibility or what we thought of it.” She starts, braver than him when Dad is referred, “But, you aren't supposed to carry it alone, Mijo. Your Papà may not be here to support you through it but I am. No matter what you do, where you go, whoever you become—tú eres mi Hijo, nuestro Chiquito.”

Miles used to shy away from it—from the terms of little one or baby boy but he doesn't remember why. Why he thought it was embarrassing or awkward to be his parents' little boy when all he wanted to be was that, why he hated when his friends heard it, why he didn't take pride in it fully—being referred to as Chiquito or Nene by Rio Morales and Jefferson Morales should have never been embarrassing but he wanted to grow up so fast, wanted to be an adult, and he ran towards it rather than take in the moments he had. He wasn't embarrassed by his Mami or Papà, not of his Uncle, but rather himself—because Miles Morales couldn't find himself to be worthy of them and the thing is he never needed to be.

A parent brings their child into the world, they protect them, nurture them, and guide them till adulthood and even then, their child is a little one to them—no matter the age, Miles will always be Mami and Papà's little one. He doesn't have to prove himself worthy of love, he's never had to but he's always felt like he has—and maybe, that was what Miles had been doing wrong. His Mami had taught him he would always have her and their family but she was telling him he would have his Papà even when he's no longer there, he would have his love and his world would be remade without Papà but the love would still be there—his Mami would still be there and her love would still be there.

“I didn't take care of the Chiquito, Mami.” Miles is honest, more than he's ever been—he didn't care for that little kid in his chest that loved and loved, that screamed distrust but couldn't stop from loving, that wanted his Papà and Mami, that wanted to be loved and trusted. Miles didn't care for that kid because he used the hurt to hate himself and he hated that little kid for loving, for something so fucking pure and innocent—Miles hated himself and he still does but he thinks about it differently. He doesn't want to hurt the kid he promised Mami he would protect, the kid who has never done anything wrong, the kid that loved his Papà and Mami and the one Miles embodies in his love.

“Mijo, what happened?”

Miles cannot stop it, the words that spill from him and he sobs again but this time Mami holds him and she listens to each hurt—she holds him so firmly, grounds him with love and brushes his hair. “I hurt that little kid, Mami. I hated how I couldn't stop loving when everyone didn't tell me the truth and then I hated myself for loving them because they didn't do anything wrong. I hated how I loved them, I hated how easy it was, I hated that Papà was dead because I didn't call for help, I hated how I hurt you, I hated so much.”

His Mami doesn't say anything, she waits because there's more and Miles wants to pry open the place he thought his heart would be guarded best and give it to her—because it wasn't guarded, it took damage again and again till Miles was left with hell-fire and anger.

“I thought if I took down the Spot, I could cut them all off. Maybe it would be better if I did it before they do but it wouldn't! It would hurt no matter what because I couldn't help but get attached—can't stop myself from loving them.” It slips and slips, like water in his hands and dips down to extinguish the flames till there is heat left for a new beginning—Mami is the one who'll rekindle it, bring it back to be gentle where Miles had become harsh. “I still want to take the Spot down but I want to help him. Alchemax and Osborn don't care about us but they hurt us, they hurt me and Papà without a care in the world! I want to see an end to them because I want to see an end to the people who ruined lives just because they believe it doesn't matter when there are advancements to be made.”

“Oh, mi Chiquito—nuestro Chiquito, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You're hardly sixteen and you fight companies made of super-villains! It gives your Mami a heart attack sometimes but you do that to protect us and I never stopped Jeff from protecting our city, I won't stop you either.” She holds him through it, calms his cries to sniffs and he laughs a little but it's rough from all the sobbing. She pulls away, not far but enough to see his face and holds him there—she stares at him as if he's the sun in the sky, the stars that make up the night sky as if he's the little kid who looked up to her as if she hugs the sun and stars. “You do everything all by yourself and I can't help fight the battles but I can be your support, I can care for your wounds and so can Ria. The thing you hate, the kid you hate, for simply loving isn't good but you know that—I can see how you love easily and I always feared how it would hurt you but you're so much stronger Miles, it took time but you came to me with these worries and didn't shy away from these emotions others find ugly.”

“Maybe you'll feel better cutting them off, maybe you won't but that's something you have to decide because your love is worthy and as beautiful as the stars and planets that make up the milky way—you have to decide if they are worthy of a second chance but never forget what they did, keep them in check of it, build that trust with truth and honesty.” She has tears in her eyes but the love is overwhelming, she's smiling and it's softer than they have been since Papà and Uncle Aaron passed—and it leaves Miles steady because even through this all, his Mami is stronger than the world and he wants to be just as strong. “Whatever you do, whatever you choose, no matter how it ends—you'll always have me and Ria, and Asteria, even Ganke. You'll always have people in your corner because we love you Miles, te queremos tanto.”

Miles feels raw, having rubbed his wounds as he tried to make sense of all that he felt but he feels lighter—stronger and the relieving feeling of a wound being treated. As much as it hurt to discuss it, to say it, to feel it—Miles did and his Mami took those wounds in, gently caring for them as they burned to be treated but in the end, there was only an ache left. Miles felt a little more whole, a lot less lacking, and more loved—more worthy of being loved and loving than before.

“Te quiero más.” That got a laugh out of his Mami and Miles knew, even if it would continue to hurt for a little longer, that everything would be okay. Miles will be okay.

Miles continues going to dimension 42 in search of Dr Ohnn, he returns home on time and runs into Milo more often—well, more so that Milo finds him and then sticks with him. They don't talk much then, Miles is too busy setting up discrete scanners for Asteria to keep a constant lookout, Milo focusing on how he moves and learning from it—then, it becomes a challenge for Milo to see if he can sneak up on Miles. It doesn't work, either his senses or Asteria's scans notifying him—and it doesn't ever work but Milo finds him on an off-day with Asteria busy calculating when the Spot will show up, and Miles too tired to play, and somehow, someway, they begin talking.

It starts slow, about Miles's abilities, how to cover his tracks, how to break without alerting anyone, and Miles realizes that Milo isn't that different in responsibility either—they both want Alchemax and Osborn Industries gone, Miles has advantages with his spider-powers whereas Milo has to figure out the technology to get his way. Miles doesn't mean to, he has enough on his plate, but he extends his hand to work together—Miles will cease Alchemax and Osborn's name from prestige, leave them in the records as the companies which were hated by the general public and committed crime after crime without care.

They have an agreement by the end of the day, Miles will help Milo with his tech and gathering information, and Milo will keep an outlook for anything on the Spot from the gossiping streets or on his patrols. Day to day, with a break or two, they exchange words and it slowly breaks from their agreement to more topics—Miles's mourning of high school Spanish, Milo's love for running on rooftops, Miles's love for street art, Milo's untouched sketchbooks, the shared loss of a father. It takes longer to get into the closer guarded things about each other, takes longer for the masks to be put aside, and still, there are days where they sit in silence because of old aches and fucked up little memories—of blood on hands because both of them held their Papàs' as they died, of the steep hill they fell from, hero-worship that grew into bitter poison, and there's yet one difference. Miles hasn't learned to stop loving, Milo had to grow up with a guarded heart—the difference in how long they had their fathers show so clearly when they discuss it. Milo doesn't know what it would be like to have a father expect highly of him, Miles knows only the highest of expectations that he fears he won't reach—there's a glass ceiling and above it is an ocean waiting to drown them.

Then, one day, weeks and months after—Milo takes off his mask, braver than Miles to show himself and his guard goes down quietly with it. He looks so jaded, tired by the harsh reality, and hoping for companionship—Miles wishes it was harder to give in, harder to take off the mask and look Milo in the eyes but they aren't so different yet aren't so similar. Miles knows Milo sees himself but softer, fewer years spent without a father doing Miles favors yet he also sees the sharp edges of fresh grief—of betrayal, of self-hate, of lies that broke something deep and left a sharpened blade in its place. A blade Miles made because he wasn't going to let himself be crushed, wasn't going to let the world move without him, and Milo shows his respect as Miles does his—two boys whose lives crumbled years apart yet still ended up on the same path.

Miles doesn't need to do more, and neither does Milo but they have walked this far to close the gap between them—to build trust, to form a connection, to reach the point where they can joke about their lives and not have to feel worried about the other's reaction. Yet, they continue pushing. Miles shares his sketches of Milo and tells him about all the things he's learned, quietly leaves a new sketchbook with newer art supplies behind—he gets a messy sketch of himself later that week and Miles hasn't smiled so hard in months. Milo drags him away from work, tells him his work ethic is shit, and pulls him around his dimension to show all the corners he's found—secret places where Milo tells him about this and that, one of them has an old drum set with the sickest glow in the dark paint that Miles figures out is Milo's. Miles gets to hear him play them, though they need a good cleaning, and he tells him about Uncle Aaron teaching him the guitar—Miles's is much rustier than Milo but they make it a thing because Miles brought Milo back into art so Milo wants to bring Miles back into music.

Miles asks about his hair, sharing his memories of his Mami doing his hair before he got older and busier—his Mami loved how his hair curled but Miles loved when she would create deadlocks, even if it hurt, because she would spend hours with him and he would get to enjoy talking about anything and everything with her. Milo saw that, the little boy in him that yearned for it again, and he hinted at his hair being done by his Mami—and Miles despairs that he immediately feels the thing Ganke said siblings feel when one of them had something done by a parent. He didn't have his hair in deadlocks because of Milo, even though he was sure he saw his stupid irritating face smirking like the asshole he is—sometimes Miles left his deadlocks as they are, other times where he couldn't be distracted, he kept them in either a low pony or bun,

It's a give and take, an equal exchange, a trade—but they both are lying through their teeth, using words to base their distance when they continue to seek each other out, to find new places to paint, return to regain musical abilities by memory, to have bad days with comforting company. They are lying and it isn't till 42's Aaron catches up to them that they have to truly consider the truth, the honesty that could lead to hurt, and it's not fear that makes them keep this baseline of a distance—it's self-preservation, it's knowing things don't last forever, especially across dimensions.

Yet, Miles meets Milo and Aaron in their little workshop. Returns to it when he promises he won't, brings snacks, exchanges upgrades, and he keeps coming to them. Running when the grief catches up, rushing for the next high, the next distraction—finding something or someone to keep his focus, to keep the need for disconnection outside his grasp, and continue moving. The world hadn't stopped turning so Miles won't stop moving.

He keeps moving, running, jumping as much as his upgraded boots allow—Milo threw those at him when he found out Miles didn't wear shoes in his Spider-suit/Prowler get-up, he was personally offended that time because it led to Miles telling him about the spider of 42 bit Miles and he had thought Milo wouldn't want to see him afterwards. He was proven wrong, Milo came after him when he didn't show up and it had left Miles bittersweet—if he was so easy to track with a bit of effort then where were the Spider-people? He had gotten messages and turned down all inquiries about meeting up, Miles shouldn't have but he hoped that one of them would show up to tell him after he found out about being an anomaly—he hated that he expected at least one message from Miguel where he got none, it left Miles feeling like he was underwater somedays.

The boat he had gotten on to survive had flipped and Miles was being dragged down by the sea, a whirlpool under him and the storm above water—endless struggle till Miles was losing consciousness, feeling water replaces air in those last moments, and then there were hands grabbing him.

Asteria, Tìa Theria, Mami, Aaron, Milo, Ganke—one by one, it was like the world which had titled righted itself. It felt like vertigo and yet, relief filled him when he felt his lungs regain the reason for their existence—felt his heart beat louder as if no one had crushed it with the strength Spider-people tended to have. They kept him steady when he felt weak, he kept them steady in return—Miles felt the trust invested in him he had thought he would forever lack, felt the honesty like the fire he was made of, and it lit a universe within him. Each of them a star that would burn brighter, become a bigger explosion, lose the spark to reignite into a bigger and brighter star—because stars die out sometimes but other times they blow up, in stardust that the universe created them from, and get reborn stronger.

Stars continue even when others collide with them—even when, eventually, Hobie and Pavitr come looking. They find Milo instead of Miles, they fight where Miles had hoped they would talk, and Miles doesn't feel bad—trust was a two-way street and Milo wasn't going to give away Miles's location to anyone, especially not Spider-people who had hurt him when they should have guarded the love they were given. Miles feels hollow though, he hadn't done much outside to stop the fight when it began overwhelming Milo, stood before Hobie and Pavitr—felt the echo of his Mami's words and gave them a shake of his head, he didn't say it but he left the messages to tell them he needed time. That they had hurt him, even unintentionally, and it would take longer to regain any relationship they had beforehand—expectedly, both of them accepted it fully and Miles knew he would see them more often, both would try to gain his forgiveness one way or another because that's the way they were.

Milo and Aaron would be harder to get accepted by, Mami and Tìa Theria even harder—Ganke and Asteria would follow him, keeping both him and the others in check, though mostly the others. It would be slow but it would happen, eventually, they would all see what he had and Miles wasn't excited by it—he expected it but he was still bitter, holding more anger than his heart could handle.

Miles doesn't know what he wants but there's a small child in his chest which wants to change it—because Hobie and Pavitr welcomed him as if he was always a friend, tried telling him, pushed him to find out likely knowing it would hurt him but they wanted him to know and Miles felt something quiet beat in his chest. It was like the taste of coffee, bitter but sweetened into something quite good—it was the feeling of cold water washing away the burned and charred parts of him. Miles doesn't know what he wants but he wants to give this a try—one final time.

The punk, Hobie Brown—Milo thinks that's what Miles introduced him as, he didn't give much of a fuck when it was clear he was one of the Spiders who thought they could keep important information about Miles from him. Milo thought the work ethics these heroes have is bullshit, keeping secrets to protect someone is the worst thing Milo has ever heard—he witnessed what broke in Miles, it was fucked that they both were burned by love where they were told it would keep them warm. Milo has lost a father, lost friends he knew dearly because Alchemax and Osborn decided to have an obsession with portals, has lost his Peter Parker—friend, Peter Parker was his friend and he lived with his Aunt a floor below theirs and Milo could do nothing as he died between alleyways for being Spider-Man—and it has left Milo less willing to openly love.

Loss kills parts of a person, it leaves a hole that never fills, and a part of a person that will never come out again—because those people made it appear, made Milo good, and made him want to do and be good. After his dad, after Peter, Milo gave up on being better—his dimension was beyond it in his eyes and he wished another dimension had it better but Miles had it worse. He had those spider-powers, had lost Peter before he could know him, lost Uncle Aaron, lost Papà—it was one loss after another, within a week. Miles was stronger than him, he couldn't imagine living through that and continuing to love so freely—though, he saw that same hate and self-hate reflect, that anger at the universe, that dangerous impulsive need to do stupid shit that could get them killed one day.

Milo is dangerous, with mechanical claws and the recklessness of an angry teenager running towards danger with excitement—Miles though? Miles can kill without the claws, his super-strength a danger but his electric powers a nightmare to machine-based villains—what can they do when their whole system is drained of power which comes back at them ten-fold? Miles is dangerous but he knows the weights of his punches better than Milo, knows how much strength to use, and knows how much electricity a human needs to be knocked out without permanent damage—Miles is more dangerous because he's precise, he considers those who he fights with the understanding Milo is unwilling to give, and Miles is stronger than Milo in every way.

Yet, Milo isn't jealous—no envy comes to him, no hatred, no ill emotion. Only understanding, knowing that if his deaths had come later he would be similar and feeling lighter at the knowledge that he didn't fall onto this path because he was always bad—Milo thinks it's a bitter thing, knowing similarities and differences that made them who they are, feeling thankful they are similar, and being glad in not being alone. It's asking for someone who suffered as much as oneself and it's the cruellest wish Milo has ever held onto.

Milo digressed. Hobie, with all his strangeness, wants to be inconsistent and keeps consistently coming to find Miles. Milo doesn't need to find the irony, it's staring at him like the eyes of one Hobie Brown—he doesn't understand him. Hobie is the closest to their grief, most similar in that feeling but they are not the same, and Milo cannot stop thinking about one thing—why the fuck did he push Miles to figure it out and not go looking till a month after the unsteady set of janga had tumbled.

So, with Miles out but surely on his way back—Milo asks him and wants the answer to be said so that Miles hears it too with his frankly wack senses.

“Why did you not come looking for Miles?” He cuts off the slow strums of the guitar, the easy-going atmosphere they have established because Miles was getting sick of the hostility and wouldn't come over for dinner—which, no, Milo did not feel like absolute shit because Miles didn't come to dinner that week. It's mostly because both of their Mami's have the same schedule most times and they both hate eating alone, their respective Uncle and Aunt are not always available. But, that had forced them to their first argument, and Milo would like it known that having a twin fucking sucked because both of them had the same temper, the same attitude of saying shit in anger they later regret, and the same way of using food, drinks, or upgrades to gear to apologise.

Milo waits, patience is a requirement with his recent work and Miles—Milo can wait hours, days even, for the answer because he hopes it wasn't intentional. Miles has truly infected him, he wasn't so easily drawn into other people's lives—it was him, Uncle Aaron, Mami, Aunt Theria, and Ganke. Those were all the people he held onto like the dimension would cease to exist tomorrow. Then, Milo rushed into Miles's life and it was a little too late to hold anything against Miles—two sixteen-year-olds forged into the people they are by grief and love, by the burning anger and self-hate. Neither of them knows what they want, why they were created, what they could have been if their close ones weren't dead, what their close ones could have been—endlessly filled with questions with answers that would never come. Though, maybe soon, they would know what they want—but neither wants to know the reason for their creation, for who they have become if canon is real because they didn't want a reason.

Milo wouldn't have worked it out for years if Miles hadn't come along but, against many odds, Milo wants to try to be happy—to be whole, be imperfectly human, to love and not have to look at those he loves as if they'll die or hurt him any moment. Milo wants to try and he's trying.

“Honestly, I ain't know what I was thinking.” Those words create a strange sound, one of an image Milo has of Hobie being crumbled—because he's never met a more self-assured teen, one who would look danger in the eyes and stay for his friends but also one who doesn't care about being himself. It crumbled that image partially. “I just wanted Miles outta there and, well, none of them adults are good at this shit. I was winging it and the only reason it worked was because Miles is incredibly fucking smart, the best strategic mind I trusted.”

Milo cannot help it, to pull every question he's not asked to keep the steadiness they had built. “You trust him?” Do you love him? Care for him as he does you? It's all layers, questions asked in one but holding multiple—a puzzle and yet, Milo expects nothing less than a yes.

Hobie doesn't say anything for a moment and Milo feels his chest sinking, knowing Miles is around the corner somewhere—it should hurt him, why does it feel like it'll hurt him?

“Yeah, I trust you two.” Oh, Milo think, there was one question more he had asked without knowing—he hadn't considered it, being attached to Hobie Brown or Pavitr but that's what it was. Attachment, the dreaded thing that's so tempting yet hurts harshly at whichever ending they find—but, well, Milo is trying, isn't he?

Chapter Text

Miles has days where he's lost, far from the assuring presences, and even further from the world he swore to keep running with—his feet are tired, they ache and he's out of breath. He's on the clock tower, alone with the darkness of the night as he watches the city sleep—it should be peaceful, and fulfilling to see such quiet, to hear the world lose its constant chatter to be replaced by the harmony of sleeping hearts. Yet, Miles is nowhere near that feeling.

There was a question, one he had pushed aside in his anger, hate, and wrath—if Miles Morales was meant to never be bitten if he was meant for all this agony and this script he was meant to follow didn't work word for word, then what did that mean for him? If he's not what he was meant to be then what is he? Who is he if he's not fit to be the villain he was supposedly made for—is Miles a cruel person in the making? It would be ironic enough with the bad luck all Spider-People seem to carry like burdens as if it doesn't matter how badly it will end for every single one of them—dying slowly or quickly in an alleyway sounds fucking terrible.

It's strange, that other teenagers get to worry over their futures, over who they are going to become and Miles has to deal with the idea he's not good, that he's meant for terrible things, and that if not those things then he's an unknown variable who has no clue what he's made for—he almost wishes for the warmer days of early childhood where the world seemed so big yet a place he could one day hold within his palms, given to him by his parents to live in.

Miles has been good for so long, he's done things against the law but he's done them to be good—to honour Peter Parker, to ensure justice prevails, to be the best of them all as his Uncle told him, to keep his Mami safe as he promised his Papà. He's tried to be good, to be the best, and yet, he was supposedly destined to be bad—to be one of the villains he takes down monthly, quietly before they become truly damaging because he has seen what the Spot can do and he doesn't need a repeat. He's bled to prove to himself that he's a better man than he was yesterday, that he's getting better, that he's good.

Miles has no clue what he is when he doesn't follow the lines written for him to follow, it's terrifying—because everyone else has never had someone tell them what they were made for, who they were meant to be, how shitty of a person they were created to be. Others don't sit on the highest clock towers late at night and question their existence, wondering in circles of who are they, what are they made for, are they good, and were they ever good.

It tastes as bitter as the hope of meeting someone similar, the hope that someone is as fucked up as Miles—the bitterness of his past being made up as a story to be followed, of a dead Uncle and Father to light his way to villainy. Which, Miles could laugh hysterically, meant that in that situation he didn't have his Mami or Aunt to balance the flaws he digs his claws into to use as a base for how terrible he can make himself—no one likely there to stop a young man's fall into grief so heavy that he's on the ocean floor with lungs full of water, heavy as blood as he chokes to a slow death.

It is in these moments where no one knows he's awake and haunting the clock tower or streets of Brooklyn, that Asteria is the solo presence which grounds him—every day a different outfit but her change is as normal as his change of clothes and styles. She doesn't speak most of the time, knowing better than him that silence is what he needs, and it is only the days when he's truly blurry-eyed that she speaks—about everything and nothing, from colours to philosophy that he never taught nor coded into her. She's grown, from something coded to nearly human—of course, there's nothing purely human from someone created by them but she's someone, she's a creation that's alive, that learns and grows with time, and she's beautiful as she is.

“I wish I was there earlier sometimes.” Asteria does not believe in wishes like Miles doesn't, his harsh edges having rubbed off on her and sometimes he hates that his experiences impact her grown so much—but, when she speaks of wishes, she only means to say that she wanted to be there to support him when things went to shit. That she could be there at his lowest so that it wasn't lonely, so she could ensure he never felt so harshly into grief that he never fully got back up—Miles has never healed, there's nothing that could heal the endless amounts of holes in him, puzzle pieces that will never be returned and he has learned to live with the hollowness. “I sometimes think about your Uncle and Papà, they don't seem as cool as your Mami and Tìa but they... Sound like they were good.”

“They were,” The words hurt to be spoken, an ache in the back of his throat which hurts but doesn't at the same time—it's a mental hurt, the pain of acknowledging them as 'were' instead of 'are'. “Uncle Aaron wasn't always good but when it came to family, he tried his hardest to be good. Papà once was a known name on the streets but he too tried his darnest to be good. They were good.”

Asteria hums, standing beside him with hands in the pockets of her long coat—she's looking at the city but her eyes flicker towards him, they stay there and he doesn't look away. “You're good, Miles.” She doesn't use his name often, preferring to use endearing nicknames—he used to flush when she did those at first but slowly, he began to get used to them and returned the favour with nicknames for her. “You're trying to be good like they were, you don't have to prove it to anyone and especially not some asshole who created a single theory without backing it with proof outside his one-time experiment.”

She holds his eyes, her own reflecting more than Gwen and Hobie's world can—she tells him he doesn't need this theory, doesn't need validation from people who never loved him like he did them, and she's right. It fills him suddenly, that acknowledgement he's fought with because he fears being wrong—but he isn't. Miles Morales has loved the world since he knew what it was, what it was supposedly made for, and even it doesn't know so why does Miles need to follow some unknown script—no one else has, destiny is a fickle thing and Miles knows himself better than anyone.

He's good, he's worth the love he gives and the love that's returned—he's his parents' Chiquito, he's Asteria's Vida, he's his Aunt's Dulzura, he's Ganke's best friend, and he's partially adopted Hermano of one Milo Morales.

Miles Morales was made to be the Prowler, made for blood on his hands and grief in his mind—he's fulfilled that. He has no reason to be bad when being good still fulfils it all, Miles Morales is made to be the Prowler and he's not exactly that but it's close enough—he's not made to be bad, he's made to be someone unstoppable till death embraces him.

Miles knows his family has never been perfect, his Papà and Uncle had disagreements many times but there was one he heard that truly took years to fix—and, it wasn't something Miles was going to ask about at first. No one spoke of it, the tension that stayed even till two funerals were held and Aunt Theria had rushed a move to their building—but he wanted to know, to hear about why Aunt Theria wasn't around as often, why she had taken care of him as a child but vanished during his teen years, why she never spoke of Uncle Aaron.

It was during a weekend morning when Mami wasn't available that he asked her. She had stared him down, brown eyes he would consider like dangerous black holes but with the sun entering their humble home, they looked more like the embers of burning wood—the strange thing is that Miles's family is built of fire or wind, they burn themselves or others and deal with those consequences. Aunt Theria understood that more than Mami, he didn't ask why or how but where there was understanding, there was hurt and grief of things that could have been.

“Aaron and I had a heated disagreement.” She began, setting her work aside and leaning back on the chair—her eyes unmoving from him but she didn't see him, she was seeing someone or something else where he sat across her. “Well, not a disagreement but he didn't like a thing about me and it took him years to grow out of it—and by then, well, it was too late.” Because they were cut from the same cloth, Miles knew that Aunt Theria used the second chances method too—which meant, that somewhere, Uncle Aaron had lost two chances and Aunt Theria had decided for everyone's sake to not create more conflict and left.

“Your father was a good man, he accepted me as soon as he found out but your Uncle, he hadn't had the chance to grow out of their father's beliefs.” She smiled then, her eyes returning to focus on him and he knew the hurt there was of being unable to hate yet never being able to connect. “He said some things I could never forget but, in the end, I pitied him.”

“Why?” Miles sounds like a broken record, repeating as if that one word could speak for all the questions he has.

“Aaron Davis could have been an amazing friend if he had the chance to outgrow those beliefs before we met, I would go as far as to say I would have introduced him to my circle of friends.” Those words, of introduction and welcoming, were enough to tell Miles that Aunt Theria was hurt even more by the fact that Uncle Aaron didn't get the chances he should have—she was protective of her friends and family, she had a small close-knit group who all were amazing and cool people that Miles had met in the last few years in passing. He knew she talked about him to them, by the way, they all talked to him as if he was a smart man yet taught him anything he asked about or answered all questions he had—they didn't push nor pull for him to be better but rather, they waited for him to take the first step and then helped pave the way to what he wanted.

“Aaron Davis always had the ability to be a good man, he just didn't get the chance to be one.” And that, alongside his early death, was a tragedy none of them can move on from.

Miles doesn't hate Hobie nor Pavitr, he doesn't trust them either, and he certainly doesn't want to avoid them—but he avoids them, unwilling to face them hours before the countdown they are unaware of reaches zero and Miles finishes what he started. He has always been unwilling when it came to being a Hero, when it came to living up to legacies, responsibility is a heavy weight on adult shoulders but teenagers feel it much more harshly. Responsibility is new and sudden when it's set onto one's shoulder without warning, all Spider-People have this moment and Miles cannot hate them.

He cannot hate Hobie Brown when he's a year older, seventeen and leader of a revolution—Hobie's dimension is beautiful in its cruelty, it's filled with teens whom Miles once hoped to find because they all hurt and grieve and burn but it's so normal there. It hurts more that the world is so similar to what one wants, it hurts that the hope has a bitter answer, and Miles should stop hoping when he knows it will hurt and never have better outcomes to hoping. Hobie loves his thoughts about his dimension strangely, he looks at it differently after that, and maybe he finds the same beauty Miles did by first impressions—maybe he sees what Miles had felt when he met Hobie.

Beautiful yet cruel is how he describes his first impression of Hobie Brown—because Miles wanted to love, wanted to know Hobie, wanted to be friends, to see if there's more than friends, and Miles wanted deeply. Miles's view didn't change about Hobie, a beautiful cruelty—Hobie wanted to protect him from attachments that would hurt but the more Miles struck around to figure it out, the more attached he was. Isn't that beautifully cruel?

But, Miles forgives, because Hobie Brown is seventeen and has lost as much as Miles—has never had some things that Miles did and they are so hurt yet strong. There's no trust yet but Miles has forgiven Hobie, he did what he thought he should have and Miles doesn't hate him for trying to do good—he does blame Peter for not saying anything, not even hinting at anything. He cannot blame Jess because she was always Miguel's friend but he feels bitter that she spoke about protecting him in hints yet never hinted at what they hid from him. Miguel was someone Miles did not want to speak of, less so think of, and even less see again.

Pavitr is the easiest to forgive, the guy hardly knows Miles but he's as affectionate as Hobie and Miles has never been burnt by him—Pavitr kept dragging him away from adult Spiders when they would be in HQ, to exits and getting him to tag along outside because Pavitr felt danger for Miles. Pavitr wouldn't agree to what Miles planned, he would try to stop him because it would require things out of Miles that would force him out of his stable morality—he always was the sun, more like the rays than the burning fire that Miles's star had become and he didn't mind it. They were almost friends before and, with caution, friends still.

Miles has never been good at telling his friends the truth though, this time isn't so different.

He hadn't thought of it, not fully, when the plan was considered on the dark rooftops—it wasn't unusual to find Miles and Milo there, at night the rooftops and dark alleyways were their play zone. It had gotten to the point that the streets gossiped about how the Prowler could travel so quickly between crime scenes, how it was safer to exist on the streets because the coverage was wider, and that something big was brewing. They weren't wrong but it was funny that neighbourhood grannies knew better than street gangs to not mess with them, they weren't heartless but ruthlessness came with growing up in the dangerous streets of Brooklyn—it came with knowing about human experiments held by companies who are renowned for their research, it came with the loss of fathers, it came with responsibilities heavier than usual teenager ones.

He knew it was inevitable, the Spider-People would come chasing when they realized that the Spot hadn't moved from his dimension for months, that there was more than one anomaly in it, and they would think they had the upper hand—egotistical bastards stuck on high horses. Crashing into a dimension in dozens, disturbing the dimension's peace through an active invasion, he feels the recklessness his family questions his actions on the rise—its energy, its fire, it's the thrill of running and completing his mission. It's the fun of the chase against DNA-altered Spider-People who have no right to hurt others through existence alone, who have wronged him by wronging others, and he's going to destroy their confidence faster than they can catch up to him.

It's a race against time, starting the moment their leader—Miguel O'Hara with the unnecessarily advanced AI, LyLa—sets his eyes on him. Milo has never been more ready for a chase, a fight to be witnessed, and an ending where Miles shows that the Morales family is not to be messed with—they cannot see the sharp smile but he knows the Spider-Suit's eyes are heavily expressive, they can at least guess what he's doing.

It sucks for them, that they cannot tell they have set eyes on the wrong Miles Morales.

Miguel knew he had done wrong by many people, the count in the hundred thousand when he led a dimension to unravel from the network of spiderwebs—glitches showing more often, warnings to leave, to fake his death because Miguel took the life a version of him had. He was given it by that version but he couldn't even keep the promises he made to a version of himself, all he did was hold onto things he should have let go—the dimension was meant to move forward and Miguel was holding it down, unrelenting and something had to give. It clasped.

That's when Miguel saw his flaws fully, saw how he had walked away from the family that existed in his dimension—his brother hadn't been willing to look at him, let alone talk. Miguel learned that he was too good at holding onto things he shouldn't and too shit at holding onto things he should. So, he locked himself into a dark room deemed an office and hoped he didn't ruin another good thing with his clawed, mutated, hurtful hands.

He stuck to fixing the anomalies that a dimension's clasp left behind—even then, Miguel knew that the anomalies were an issue born of something unrelated to dimension 1610 but he was grieving, he wanted someone to blame that wasn't himself, he was being childish and his aversion to his faults didn't stop it from being his fault.

Meeting Miles, hearing the kid—because that's what he was, a sixteen-year-old trying to live up to two legacies, both drenched in blood and grief—and witnessing how little Miles cares for his heart, how willing he is to fight alone when his teammates are right there so that he gets hurt but they don't, to converse with the kid and see how strong he is. He's stronger than them all, better than all of them, and Miguel never says it because he knows those words are a responsibility too—Miles never says it but he once showed Miguel his sketches, of an Uncle and Father drawn with care and painstakingly loving hands, and in an almost erased sentence he saw it.

Best of us all, keep going, I'm proud of you Miles—Miguel never asked, went so far as to not mention anything because he knows that Miles carries responsibilities as if it's his duty, something he cannot let go of, and something he hates as much as he loves.

Miles Morales, above all he was supposed to be, is good. He has harsh edges, moments where Miguel sees a peak of who he could have been, but Miles never goes lower than the baseline—he and Miguel follow a similar path but they are on different grounds of grief. Miles is different, better, than Miguel with grief—because Miles accepts it, sees it and learns through it, and Miguel runs from it and hurts others to feel less flawed.

Miguel is wrong and he's known this from the moment he met Miles, he's wrong and he knows that on the rooftop when he speaks with Miles—who smiles at Lyla, calls Miguel Tìo, and allows Miguel the honour to call him Solecito. It is in that moment, the last Miguel and Lyla get to have with Miles, that he knows he has to tell the kid—Solecito, he has to tell him. Miguel can be an asshole, he knows that better than anyone, he's cruel, a monster, with a temper that is as bad as a nuclear explosion—but, Miles is good and he isn't the problem. Being an anomaly doesn't automatically make him bad or a mistake, Miguel has checked on dimension 1610 for months and he knows that Miles is the one who gets the least anomalies—shock, the kid is holding down two powerful companies with enough evidence against them to write a historical study that could go down for generations.

Miguel never gets that chance, Miles dodges all calls and messages—all missions, questions, everything with the ease of excuses that work so well that Miguel nor Lyla see anything wrong for the month he's unavailable. It's nearing the end, when Hobie and Pavitr's jumps hold inconsistencies that Lyla catches immediately, that Miguel realizes what's happening—the inevitability of the situation is dropped onto him like cold water during winter, It leaves him in that moment where he held onto a daughter glitching out of existence, and the dimension ceasing to exist around him.

Miguel is not a good man, less so a good Hero—but he has to fix this, he doesn't need forgiveness and he doesn't deserve it. Miguel will fix this.

Dr Ohnn looked unstable, out of mind, glitching, and the colours which had been white and black had inverted—similarities were cursed things and this was no different. Empty space gave rise to black holes and exploded nebulas gave rise to scorching stars.

Miles knows he won't lose here, he knows himself well and he's willing to go to lengths the others fear to fix his mistakes—he's willing to do everything to fix this and Dr Ohnn knows this. He sees the way the man hesitates, unwilling to fight someone not considered an enemy but not an ally either, and perhaps, scared of the outcome. Miles had sworn to end it and, maybe, it's the darker linings of his being screaming for destruction—maybe, it's the blood on his hands that is his own, and maybe, it's the tiredness of being the reason for his family's constant worry.

But, there's also the thrill in his veins when faced with danger—a clash of chaos to come because Miles is danger, anyone can be danger, and it is proved in these moments that danger is created by and through humans. Most dangerous things are done, born, and made by human hands—delicate and so pure, warm or cold, kindness and blood held together in them.

Miles is fire and much like all the natural elements, there's no prediction in the choices he makes—that he attacks first, claws dangerously close to the neck, and he follows the Spot through the portals. With each pace he takes forward, the Spot takes one back. It is harsh, to push and push someone into a corner but Miles has few possibilities to end this swiftly and quietly—to ensure it's not a singular victory, that he gets the rewards of a different battle because this is but a minor stepping stone to plans he had thought would take years to accomplish.

Two predators pacing around each other, power at the base of each hit and dodge, a reckless yet merciless rhythm—Miles doesn't land all hits, Spot doesn't dodge all, but there are moments where the suddenness of a move has changed the field they are playing on. Imbalancing as Miles gets dropped through a portal mid-air and lands on the side of a building, dropping down when the expected debris follows, he hears the sounds of Milo cursing as their ruse is unravelled—the Spot is smart, he has to be as a man who worked on multidimensional travel, but his misconceptions lead to terrible plans.

There's no one, outside his Mami or Tìa, who could stop him from winning this fight. It's made obvious when he rushes back into the portal before it can close, leaving the Spiders and Prowler behind to finish the stakes he's claimed—victory or nothing.

The pace changes, and the Spot notices it too but it's a little late to retreat—Miles has lost patience, he planned to tire the man out but it seemed he would have to force him to quiet down after all. He's learned, through theory rather than experience, that energy can be forced into a solid formation beneath him if he focuses enough—it's something Asteria had calculated to be a 50/50 chance and Miles could lose or win by trial and error. He doesn't have many choices surrounded by enemies.

It isn't seen, it's not something Spot notices, but Miles had decided on a cloak tower at his new lowest that he would do anything to fix this—he proves it when Spot is cornered, walking back into portals because he cannot find a space to attack and Miles is tireless. It takes one grasp on the hand for things to fall into his favour, electricity coursing through him as Spot goes down—it is a force of endless nothingness taking all the energy, a blackhole coming into contact with a more powerful one. Dr Ohnn is down, on his back to crawl away—to escape even when the collision of two black holes does not allow for such things—and Miles has his other hand, steel claws out, razor-sharp and he just rests it above the man's head.

The energy peaks at two places for the Spot, his heart and brain—and the brain is the one he chooses based on all the possibilities he had Asteria run—the energy seeks him out and the instant connection of electricity, powerful surges of matter beyond the science of his world has truly studied, of what dimension travel is formed through courses into Miles' body. It sends ripples surging through the very fabric of space, Miles sees it and he thinks that Dr. Ohnn had a blessedly cursed ability for a scientist—to see the surges of multidimensional connections, see them cleaner than Miguel and LyLa can, to see universes of colours so bright, bold, and deadly.

It is an infinity for Miles, an endless tunnel, a blackhole that tries to make Miles into power itself—overwhelming, haunting, beautifully dangerous and something he can love but does not want. He takes till he sees human skin, this isn't a total fix but Miles allows Dr. Ohnn the features of a human face again and tries to give him as much as possible and it is only till the neck but it is enough—then he begins pulling away, the energy tries to grip onto him, and he's stronger than it from all it's freely given him. He breaks the connection, leaving a resounding and deafening finality with the blast of air that ensures the energy vanishes from human eyes.

Milo rushes to him first, Aaron on his tail alongside other Spider-People—Miles doesn't move, he breaths and yet the energy surges within—and it must show because Milo stops before he touches him, the expressiveness of the spider-suit amusing to no end because Milo didn't know he could turn that function off, but he's speaking and Miles is unable to hear it.

The dimensions are loud, he doesn't get how Dr. Ohnn did anything with this much noise around him—though, on second thought, maybe that's where grief built him into the Spot. But, it's artistic, it's colours that mix, colours which are the dust the universe is made of, tiny atoms and matter that make them whole, and it's is bewitchment. His senses narrow themselves down to it and he knows his mask has been removed, Milo had been nearest to him so it has to be him—and, well, Miles trusts Milo.

Miles doesn't hesitate to close his eyes, hearing echoes of all he's loved, grieved, lost, and gained as the universe comes into focus and this energy slowly dims—somewhere, a black hole has evaporated, slowly returning its energy to the universe it came to be from.

It is an endlessness, a soul flowing with the dimensions, and being beckoned to stay—it's unfair, those are the words that Miles would use to describe what he's feeling. That energy is slowly loosening, returning to its set place, and yet, it seems to want to favour him—to show him what his dimension was made for, what he was made for, what his family was made for—and that's utterly unfair.

He blinks and he's stood before Peter Parker, the one that died, and he's Miles' mentor—and he didn't die but Miles is still bit, he still has powers, and yet. His uncle is alive, still, the Prowler but no longer a contracted killer, and his dad has retired from active duty but retained the job of advisor and trainer for new and old officers. His Mami has no new grief, and neither does his Tìa, but their parent's death is a thing older than Miles and something no one can fix. And it's fucking unfair because Miles wants this—wants these moments of pain healed by both his parents, the simplicity of being able to see his Uncle and Tìa get along as if there was no hurt between them, to have Peter Parker alive and happy—but this is not what his dimension is presently and he will not be the one to choose to make it real. Miles wants this but he's the person he is because of his grief, he wants his Papa and Uncle but he's long acknowledged their death, and he wants Peter Parker alive.

He won't make the choice when billions of others' life he could fuck up through it, Miles has learned to not fuck around and find out when it comes to possible multi-dimensional situations—so, no, Miles won't allow it to become reality but he will take the moments he can get. Take the memories of his Papa's hugs, his Mami's hand in his hair as she speaks to him, and say the words of affection in return because he didn't do it enough when he should have. Take the new, never to be, memories of his Uncle and Aunt sharing their insane adventures in his teen years, before either had met the other and been supported by them in his street art. Hold these memories close when he's at his next lowest, making himself believe that the agonizing warmth that leaves him sobbing are all the hugs he never got to have, and at his highest, think of the rooftop celebrations with his family, think of the laughter, think of the acceptance of being Spider-Man, and think of his Papa.

“You are the best thing that's happened to me,” Miles hears the words before his vision clears to his Papa, his strong and courageous Dad who smiles at him with all the love of a parent who's willing to make or break the world for their child. “Your Mami agrees too, I was hopeless before she told me about you, and she was so scared I would reject her but I knew that with both of us, we could give you a good environment to grow in.”

“You made me realise that this was the best possibility in every future I hadn't dared consider, that I had let my fears stop me for years.” His Papa laughed, it held a tinge of nostalgia but no sorrow, and Miles felt something in him unwind. “I'm not my father and neither are you me, Miles. You gotta stop comparing yourself to adults who have years of experience and yet still have no clue what they are doing. You were a child who did what he could, you think your hands are too bloody and rough to be loved, but as your Papa I could never not love you. You are my son, and no matter what you do, I will be proud of you—I am proud to be your Papa, to support your dreams, and to watch you grow into your person.”

Miles hadn't been able to say it much back then, too stubborn and insecure, but here—in this non-reality, in this dreamland he's imagined from the moment he heard his Papa's heart stop—he can return the affection even if this isn't his Papa. To move on, he knows is unrealistic, but there are some truths he has to accept to fully let go of this want—Miles was a fourteen-year-old kid who was looking for guidance, he did not kill his Peter Parker, his actions were not the reason for Aaron David's death, and Jefferson Morales would not have survived even with medical aid. Miles has blood on his hands and has had it since he lost parts of himself and his world, but he had not killed anyone—death had come to take but never had Miles given death someone to take, he had tried holding onto them each time and that blood was what coated his hands.

“I love you, Papa.” This is the final truth he didn't get to say after Kingpin—something that has held him in grief, continues to do so, and likely forever will. He doesn't get to hear it when it's returned, the world blurring around the edges, and he's closed his eyes to try to steady himself but it all slips past him, and he wants to reach for more but he doesn't—in these last moments in a reality that will never be, he's in his Papa's arms, and he feels weightless.

Milo hadn't expected his Mami to take one look at a variant of himself knocked out cold and immediately adopt him—metaphorically, because Rio Morales of 1610 would not have her son being taken easily, no variant of Rio Morales ever would. But, well, there's nothing but dreadfully good warmth in Milo when he sees such easy acceptance of not only Miles but Milo—he had rushed home, still in Miles's suit and decided it didn't matter what his identity was because his Mami was sharper than any street kid and likely already suspected it, which turned out to be right but the oncoming lecture was set aside for a later date.

What mattered then, and continues to matter now, is that Miles was okay—heavily exhausted from taking the energy that made the literal portals for dimensional travel into himself, which was fucking unexpected and Milo will be having words, but otherwise fine, he was asleep for the lack of better wording.

That calmed his hectic heart and hysterical mind. Allowing him to turn his focus onto the Spider-People, who were the most unimpressive people he had ever met—no, this was not his annoyance and anger at the fact they had hurt a variant of himself he saw as his brother. It was not Milo having experienced similar hurt and never getting the apology, it was not Milo wishing hurt unto those who paved the bloody pavement he walked to become who he is, and it is not him wanting to get one good punch at the three adults meant to be better than teenagers—who, by the way, tried harder to tell Miles but didn't want to rip off the bandage.

His Uncle had dealt with the conversation of what happens to Spot and, Milo would deny it till his death, had reluctantly explained the terrific, hysteric, and possibly sadistic plan Miles has been brewing for months in his dimension. To Milo, it was the best plan he had ever fucking heard but all the guiding figures in his life disagreed—he supposedly had no right to speak his opinion on it because he was just as insane in his planning, which was a fucking lie because he accounted for certain outcomes and did not purposefully plan those, again they disagreed.

Milo digressed. The simple result of this shit-show was that The Spot—no, rather, Dr. Johnson Ohnn had the chance to regain his life and ensure the companies went down in historical records to be the reason for a revisit on how dubious science could be and where the metaphorical line should be drawn. He had the choice to take Miles' offer, become a protected victim by law, regain his status in society, and possibly get millions as compensation, or return to life while Miles destroyed everything he had ever had to do as an employee or the Spot—two choices and full freedom to choose either, and Dr Ohnn knew no other would be as kind as Miles in this sort of planning.

It was obvious what would happen, and while Milo wouldn't be there to see it—he had to handle the situation of Osborn and Alchemax being exposed and the change in power coming like a bat with nails, full power swing his way and dodge the possible bounties on his head—but, both dimensions get to watch these companies burn to nothing but a shameful and horrifying lesson for future scientists.

Ironically, they got to make the history they were so lovingly looking for.

Miles wakes gently and steadily, senses filling him in on everything as he gets his bearings—his body aches, sore from filling his storage fully of energy, and he knows how far he can go in that sense too now—and he tries to get used to the emptiness that he hadn't expected to come from letting that energy return to its rightful place. It's similar to grief, reminding him of losing something he hadn't needed, but his mind and body remember it in his place with that unnecessary want—it leaves him bitter with the sweet, intoxicating warmth of doing things right.

What is right is never easy, but what is easy is not always right—that's just how it is, Miles has had enough chances on easy, lost enough to it, and he isn't willing to take it easy. He pushes himself up, to move, to return home—promised to care for that little kid, to care for himself, because his Mami is waiting and will always stand with him in his choices. Miles needs to go home, he loves this dimension of Milo, but that dream-scape has dug something wretched in him—grief like a new and raw wound, bleeding out and in, his lungs feel clogged.

But—the window opens and he knows who it is, few people are allowed near this sanctuary and fewer Spider-People. Hobie is one of two, he's as tall and confident as ever, but there's that quiet and usually unnoticed hint of unsteadiness—Hobie knows who he is, what he wants, and how to get it but he's a teenager who doesn't know how to handle situations where adults are actively watching his words. Hobie had warned him, that every conversation with him had been a push to run before it hurt as badly as it had, but Miles had known himself as danger and he needed that push off the edge to set the boundaries around himself.

Equal respect, communication, and no lies that involved him—Miles can live with being lied to, he will figure it out in time, but secrets about him kept from him when he should know them more than the Spider-People he had never heard of had left something irrecoverably damaged. Miguel O'Hara, Peter B. Parker, and Jessica Drew had said so much about protection and yet they were the ones who kept him on the sharp edge of the knife—Miles doesn't think he can trust them for a long time, doesn't think he can look at them without bitter poison on his tongue, doesn't think he can live without knowing them. It's all so fucked.

Being hurt and yet wanting to keep those relationships, it's toxic—it has to be, It cannot be Miles forgiving, and it will not be him staying without endless apologies and explanations on what made them think they had the right to lie to him.

No, at this moment, what Miles should focus on is Hobie—tired, warm, and powerful Hobie Brown—who looks at him with unsure eyes yet a firm set to his eyebrows, opens his mouth and speaks everything he had been unable to say and Miles listens. Then, he replies, telling Hobie everything he had wanted to. It is needed, this exchange of perspectives, of how they had hurt themselves and each other—because the secrets had hurt Miles and keeping those had hurt Hobie, there was nothing good about their situation—and, yet, it had them laughing at how stupid it all was.

“Adults think they know everything but I ain't believe that shit.” Hobie had said, resting on the bed beside Miles and there would always be something here in these moments—the whole world nothing between this quiet yet comforting conversation. “Clueless, that's what we all are, and I know we're all figuring it out by making stupid decisions. You, though, took a jump start to it.” It's light, the teasing jab and Miles feels light even with the aches and emptiness.

“Not my fault you lagged behind on breaking the supposed stereotypes for stupidly dangerous decisions.” Miles smiles, watching Hobie grin with all teeth—they are similar but not like Dr. Ohnn and Miles. No, this similarity doesn't make Miles burn with hurt and hate, with desperation and grief—it burns him with warmth, lightness and something close to a word he doesn't speak of in this context. “I thought you hated those.”

Hobie hums, “You are trouble, luv.” His eyes are only on Miles and, well, he can stay in this sanctuary a little longer.

Miguel finds Miles on the cloak tower—he had visited it before, followed the signature and realized what had transpired here—and when he lands, Miles doesn't turn to him. He sits here, in this high place where the sound beneath is unable to reach without superhearing, and he looks lonelier than he had all those months ago—no, he looks content but wishful and Miguel doesn't need forgiveness, he will apologise every moment with never the thought of forgiveness.

“Are you going to take a seat or just stand there, menacingly?” That drags him out of his mind, Miles doesn't look at him even more but Miguel knows an invite to speak—a silent demand about the why, why would you lie, and Miguel doesn't know what to say. He takes a seat beside Miles, letting his mind wander endlessly on words and expressions—and Miguel had been a son, a brother, and a father but he had never truly fucked up this bad. He had kept himself honest to his family and friends and had ensured he would never be so cruel to any child, and yet he had broken that ideal in his grief—he was at fault and it was the truth, they all were guilty but Miguel headed the operation and he should be the one Miles' anger, bitterness, all those negative emotions are directed towards.

Miguel huffs, walking forward but not sitting down—standing and watching the city Miles watches over, a land of colour that pops and darkens, a canvas painted onto—and knows he should allow the kid his time but he rather rip this bandaid off before he's second-guessing his words.

“I'm sorry.” It's steady, these words, and hold more in them than Miguel allows to hold on him nowadays. “I was an insensitive asshole with everything.” He doesn't say more, wanting to give Miles as out if he wants it, give him whatever he needs because he's done enough damage and if the kid wants them out of his life then that's what he will ensure.

Miles hums, staring at the city but their eyes further off, and it takes what feels like hours before the eyes land on him and he wonders what's going on in Miles' mind—if it plans upon plans, picking apart the colours and structures to sketch later, or maybe, it's the endless question of forgive and never forget or not.

“I don't want you out of my life.” Those words are softly spoken yet they feel like thunder, filling something in Miguel with dreadful hope and he wants to grind his teeth to squish it. “But, I don't think I can go on if you continue holding information about me from me. Everyone else knew what should have been told to me first and foremost by you.”

There's a moment where the words sink into Miguel, he accepts them for what they are and—“You hurt me.” Those words strike him, an opening to wounds Miles has had to tend to alone or has taken help to heal from but those sorts don't scar easily. “You were the one I looked up to because I couldn't be the kid Peter last saw, there was too much blood and instincts, and then I saw someone as dangerous as I had become and thought that maybe you would help me understand.” Miles surprises him, as always, by speaking and spilling and he thinks this is a long time coming.

Those brown eyes burn, a flicker of electric blue and firm into a stare at Miguel to shut up and listen—hear me, hear me out please—and Miguel sits down beside Miles, he listens because he's spent too long telling others what to do and think, this isn't his place to speak and ask for things.

He's better than all of them, he knows now, the best and yet he's hurt beyond words by them too. Miguel also knows that nothing is fixed, no apology is acceptable nor justifiable, but Miguel has Miles on the same network for his gizmo, has met his AI, and there's the quiet allowance to call on Miles for missions—that Miles will come to HQ when he wants, stick to the rooftops or undercity, maybe leave painted walls behind—and that's enough of a chance given to continue gain forgiveness, to wait till Miles allows a build of trust to be built, to know Miguel hasn't ruined another kid's dimension.

Gwen comes to him, and she's his age—he's younger than her by a year but if he doesn't know anything then how can she know better—and explains everything. She speaks about her home first, her story in full without the breaks before, and he listens because she doesn't need his sympathy nor pity, she needs to be heard and told what she did wrong, what she can do better in the next high-stress situation, and it all explains why she chooses to do what she did—it explains but that does not mean she isn't at fault.

“No,” Miles starts, they are in her dimension and he feels her colours darken—she thinks it's rejection and Miles shouldn't feel so numb to her colours. “You hurt me but everything hurt you too, we all hurt each other and there's nothing we can do to change that.” He tells her, that honesty is a harsh thing he's learned to love—if harshness is honesty then poisoning sweetness are lie. “But,” And here's the kicker because Miles loves throwing these emotionally stunned people into self-awareness, “You can become better. I get that you couldn't return home because you feared your dad but that's resolved. So, focus on what you did wrong, figure that out, get external help if needed, and then work on that.” Because Miles sat through therapy, he spoke and spoke, felt the sharpness of being told what he was avoiding and fought to become better when he could no longer avoid the issue.

Miles can hold back because he knows his anger isn't something he should physically hurt others with. Miles can handle his emotions in high-stress or emotionally compromised situations because he learned to detach himself from them, unhealthily, but then he learned to reattach himself to them and feel it all fully till he's in tears but lighter each breath. Miles is whole, full of conflicts and contradictions, but he's whole and there's nothing more he could want.

“Grief isn't meant to hold you down, it's a thing to carry.” Because grief can be the love Miles still feels for his Papa and Uncle, it is the love he wanted to feel forever and will—grief is the aching, hurtful, and chocking hold of love as it tells you that it's the end, there's nowhere for it to go, you can either carry it with you or leave it behind—and Miles carries it with ease of all his losses.

Gwen stares, she looks surprised but the smile—the pinks and yellows bloom like the sunrise in his dimension, the blues and purples like the moon setting, and it's all relieving yet painful—and she laughs, then she cries.

Miles stays with her, and they don't talk afterwards, but things are better—there's an understanding of the hurt, an acknowledgement of being hurt and hurting someone, and that's better than never speaking about it.

Peter B. Parker alongside Jessica Drew was unexpected, Miles is used to stranger things but this one felt straight out of the left field and he had instincts beyond spidey sense after these many years—later, he learned, he just had leaned into the spider instincts like few others did in the Spider society, the rest never giving in to the urges or wants unless in highly grieving or panicked states.

Miles digressed. They were here to apologise, likely having gained the steel after Miguel had returned lighter but not free of all the harm he had caused—and, Miles is too forgiving but his Mami knows this, but it was his Aunt who knew by one look that he does not forget. Forgiveness isn't easy, forgetting is impossible, especially when it had paved the path he ran on. That was one thing she told him that matched between Miles and Tìa Theria without hesitation, their policy on forgiving but never forgetting, on second chances but never third, on cautious acquaintance that takes decades to become trust.

So, when they apologised, Miles told him simply—forgiveness is easy to give, but forgetting is not. They took his words, and accepted them even as Peter B stood with regret and guilt—and, the sadder thing is, Miles looked to Peter B because his dimension's Peter had died so close to their meeting, he had imprinted on him as the closest to his to-be but never was Mentor, and look at them. Peter B is happily married with a child, one who sticks to Miles whenever possible as if she's imprinted on him, and Miles has had to remake himself and his perception of the world, pick up all the pieces and regain a sense of self outside his responsibilities—one regained all he was losing and the other lost it all, Miles pushed Peter to be better and Peter couldn't be there to help Miles feel supported in a time of grief.

It wasn't Peter's fault but Miles wondered if he had a gizmo when Miles was on the edges of buildings and allowing himself to slip off, catching himself last moment, and taking all the chances at possibly crashing into the ground—losing his mind, screaming at night to take his anger off because if Miles hit something it would crumble under his blooded hands, and yet, there's claw marks all over some rooftops.

“It is what it is,” Miles tells them, oh so sad and thinking himself into exhaustion, wanting to be done so he can go get a hug from his Mami and Tìa. “Take the chance of gaining my respect and trust again or don't, it isn't like I lost so much for the first time.” And those words are jaded, harsh, and raw—the honesty he wanted from them, the honesty he's willing to give as easily as breathing.

They accept it, he doesn't see them till he's at HQ again, but they both accept his words and work rather than hope for a fix to the trust they lost—one before they could gain it and one who already had it, though, both suffer through the same distrust, so the experience isn't so different.

Pavitr warns him before he makes his visit, Miles expects him but not the bag of bottles—he's so shocked that he almost falls off the rooftop he's sitting on, Pavitr laughs at him and it's the most embarrassing thing someone has witnessed since his early days—and the explanation is simple. A celebration for both, Miles's work paying off by tonight as the final verdict for both companies is publicised and Pavitr wants to celebrate his friend's victory.

It's irresponsible of both of them with more responsibilities than simply Spider-Man, but it's one night of pure comfort to both—Miles for the relief of never having to venture into Osborn's labs again, never seeing his never-got-to-be Mentor's DNA in experiments, never be against Dr Ohnn again; and for Pavitr it was the relief of knowing his friend would be okay, that he wouldn't have to fear being in danger for wanting to be honest to his friend, that at the end, they were still friends.

So, Miles leads Pavitr to his quiet place, with all the old and new graffiti he spent hours perfecting to his standards, and they drink—it burns but it's easier than the burns of lies, it's so much more bitter but they drink and drink. Somehow, someway, Miles is laughing and Pavitr is too—they are exchanging stories of the stupidest lies and shit they have done, of Miles's homework once truly being eaten by a dog and no one believing him till he, in his sleep-deprived state, pulled up CCTV footage and possibly terrified everyone in his class, and of Pavitr trying to see how high he could get in his city on his first swing and almost becoming a splatter on the roadside, the whole sequence recorded and highly popular in his dimension's youtube.

It's all those silly moments that make it worth it, and then, it's all those hard moments they fought their way through—of their losses, from natural or sudden death.

Pavitr tells him about his grandmother, a strong woman who had told him to never let anyone depict who he should be, and how she hadn't been able to do what she wanted because of the expectations of women following their husbands' wishes back in the day—of how Pavitr never met his grandfather and never wants to, that he's always mad at how unfair it was to his grandmother, that she was the smartest woman he knew and he wished she got the chance to chase whatever she set her mind to.

Miles tells him about his Uncle and Papa, the two trouble-making teenagers who parted ways in adulthood for different occupations—how one ended up on the wrong side yet still held to protecting family before the job, how the other died on the job but loved his family just as much. How Miles is haunted by the words 'just keep going' and 'you are the best of us'—those sentences make Miles whole and yet they have hurt him so much, he's set unreasonable expectations for himself based on those and he's had to break those to become better as a person than a duty-bound vigilante.

They talk till they are drunk beyond words, simply laying on the couch and looking at the graffiti—existing, quietly and contentedly, at this moment together.

The hurt lingers, for decades, and the trust isn't built easily—they progress and regress, moments where everything is okay and nothing is okay—but there's never been happy endings in life. One has to work to create happy or content moments in the short yet long lives of humans.

Miles works with what's thrown at him, he suffers and thrives in danger—wins more often than not, but there's never a feeling of victory with the work he does—and grows into the person he knows his family is proud to call their son or nephew, and friends proud to stand by his side.

Endlessly, like stars that explode only to be reborn, life goes on.