Chapter Text
“Papá?” Gabriella slides up to Miguel on the couch, calling his name in the tone she uses whenever she wants something from him.
He made a show out of rolling his eyes at his teenage daughter, who stuck her tongue out to him in retaliation. “¿Qué quieres ahora, mija?”
“I just wanted to ask,” She picks gently at her nails, nail polish chipping away with every flick. “What’s the budget for my quincé?”
Miguel wraps an arm around her shoulders, lowering the volume of their television. He stops the World Cup highlights video he’s been watching for the past hour and turns his attention fully to Gabriella.
“Money isn’t an issue for us,” he reminds her gently. “As long as you don’t spend the entirety of your college savings away, you know I will get you whatever you want.”
Gabriella has never taken anything in her life for granted, despite Miguel’s terrible habit of spoiling her. She was the best thing the universe had ever given him, other than his wife, of course.
Gabriella’s mother saunters into the living room right on cue. “Mijita, mira lo que encontré.”
She drops onto the spot next to Gabi with a soft ‘oomph’ and smiles at Miguel. She holds out her discoveries for her husband and daughter to look at. Miguel cranes his neck to catch a glimpse: it was some magazines of the latest ballgowns from a nearby boutique, one that the family had been considering going to for Gabriella’s quinceñera.
Miguel’s heart flutters with fondness as he watches the two most important people in his life. Somewhere in his mind he thinks to himself of a life without them and shuts down the idea altogether. If there was a Heaven after death, he would wish for it to be this moment in time, frozen to this very second so he could relive it again, and again, and again.
Miguel awakes with a jolt. The vitals on his watch tell him that his heart rate is abnormally fast.
He drags a hand down his face as he tries to slip back into the comfort of the dream he awoke from.
It was warm.
He had felt happy.
He remembers a conversation he had with the Dr. Strange of Earth-19999.
“The dreams we have are often glimpses into the life of another us, somewhere in the multiverse.”
His stomach churns uncomfortably. He hated the way his unconsciousness deliberately chose a life where he was with a family to show to him in his dreams. It was always either that or a nightmare. He doesn’t know which is worse anymore.
There is a single ray of sunlight that peaks through the gap in his blackout curtains. It paints a thin stripe on his bedsheets, molten gold bleeding into white linen. “LYLA, activate ambient lighting.”
His room glows to life as he trudges to the bathroom. He meets his own gaze in the reflection of the mirror. He can see why Jess came to talk to him yesterday; he looks like he was run over by a bullet train, and the fight with Electro didn’t exactly rejuvenate him physically.
Right. The fight with Electro.
Miguel turns on the shower and tries to let the sound of water drown out the sound of his thoughts. It doesn’t work–running water only further reminds him of the events that went down in the rainstorm of Earth 928-G. He twists the knob to the hottest setting, wincing as scalding water runs down his back. The glass of his shower fogs up quickly, and for a moment he just lets himself exist in the steaming, muggy, rectangular prison of a shower. His mind betrays him and whispers her name in his ear, reminding him of her in a spider suit she was too young to be wearing , teary-eyed and bewildered at the sight of his face.
He turns the shower off and forces bile down his throat.
“LYLA,” he croaks out, wrapping a towel around his lower body. “Schedule a training session for me today.”
She materializes in front of him, filing her programmed nails. “Sure thing. The training grounds are unoccupied today, you can go whenever. How long would you like to train for?”
“For as long as it’ll let me.”
She stops tidying her figurative nails and looks ludicrously at Miguel. “That’s not very healthy of you, boss.”
He grumbles and activates his suit. “I didn’t program you to chastise me on my lifestyle choices.”
“Actually,” she takes off her heart-shaped shades and wipes them with the corner of her fur coat. “My programming instructs me to caution you when you continuously make bad decisions that are detrimental to either yourself or others. So, yeah, you did program me to chastise you.”
He ignores her and takes the elevator down the building. “Well then remind me to re-program you when I get the chance.”
LYLA huffs at him, offended. “That’s not nice.”
“You’re an A.I. assistant. You don’t have feelings.”
“I have programmed feelings,” she protested, crossing her arms. “If you had listened to me when I tried to warn you about Gabriella’s variant being Spider-Girl, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Miguel shuts his eyes and the elevator doors open with a ‘ding!’ . He knew she was right, but those were not the words he had wanted to hear.
“Peter B. volunteered to give her a tour today,” LYLA sighs. “Go brood in the training room if you want.”
– - - - –
Training simulation: Initiated.
Program: Manual.
Duration: - - -
The red blades of Miguel’s arm spikes materialize from his elbows in particles of nanotech. His claws unsheath with a quiet click as he rolls his neck, feeling the joints of his bones pop and crackle at the stretch. The training grounds whir to life as lasers build up the forms of enemies he has seen one too many times. They surround him in a circle and there is a malicious glint in the eyes of every single one. Miguel tells himself that it’s just the simulation, but his mind takes it as a trigger to activate his fight instincts, and red bleeds into his vision.
They speak in unison, voices ugly and distorted. “So long, Spiderman. ”
Miguel grunts as they all charge at once, dodging the hologram-generated arms and reinforced bullets.
I found a world where I had a family. Where I was happy.
Jump, duck, swing; web a hologram of Dr. Octavius and pull hard. His mechanical arms flail uselessly as Miguel brings a crushing fist down to his face.
At least a version of me was.
Shoot a web, kick them down. Rip the hologram of the Green Goblin off his glider and slash his chest open with the arm spikes.
And that variant of myself was killed.
Twist the gun out of another hologram, and point it back to aim at their head instead. Pull the trigger, and shoot without hesitation.
I thought it was harmless.
Claws out, split another hologram’s neck open.
I was wrong.
Kick another in the legs, and bring them down to the ground. Show them his fangs as he sinks them down into their neck.
You break enough canons, save enough captains…and we could lose everything.
Miguel pants as he comes face to face with the final villain, an eyesore that reminds him of the very thing he had sought to forget with his training.
Electro.
Her voice echoes in the chamber of his skull. Let me help! I can help you!
Miguel shoots out his webs and pins the hologram’s hands to his sides. He webs two obstacles on either side of Electro and launches himself toward the simulation.
…Papá?
His foot is planted right on his face, and the hologram’s head swivels at an unnatural angle. He can almost hear the sickening crunch of bones, but it’s just a simulation.
“ Simulation Ended. Would you like to continue?”
Miguel pants, disabling his mask to heave deep breaths of air through his nostrils. “No.”
“Thank you for training with Spider HQ. The data from your most recent session has been added to your personal file. Please be mindful that in reality, you are only meant to apprehend anomalies, not kill them. For more instructions on anomaly handling, please visit–”
He shuts the program down.
From the corner of his vision, he sees a man making his way over in an obnoxiously pink bathrobe. Miguel is about to give Peter B. some snarky comment about never leaving him alone when he spots the person that’s following Peter.
Gabriella, but not his Gabriella, is trailing after him, eyes wide open in amazement at the facilities he was showing her. In his chest, Miguel feels a pang of pride to see her awestruck expression at the place he built up from the ground.
They’re coming closer and closer to Miguel’s facility, and all of a sudden he can’t move any of his muscles. His bones feel like lead, and he’s left rooted to the ground, watching them approach helplessly.
“--and here are the training facilities! The tech here is pretty advanced. I mean, probably not anything you’re not used to since you also technically come from Nueva York. It’s very useful though! Group training is definitely fun. Oh, I’ve gotta introduce you to Miles and their little group! You’ll love them, they’re the best group of kids. Did I tell you I was Miles’ mentor? Man, you should see all the things he can do! I think you would be right at home with him and Gwen–”
Peter looks up and stops mid-sentence, frozen at the sight of Miguel behind the glass walls of the training grounds. Gabriella follows his gaze to see what prompted the sudden interruption, and suddenly Miguel’s eyes are locked with hers.
His blood is roaring in his ears. He can’t breathe.
“Hey, Gabriella?” Peter B. puts a firm hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you head on over to the cafeteria? It’s almost lunchtime, you should get something to eat.”
She snaps her head up at him and registers his words, nodding stiffly.
“Remember Gwen? We bumped into her on our tour, yeah? I’ll let her know you’re going down there, and she’ll pick you up, okay?”
One more nod, and she’s shuffling her feet to go. Miguel feels defeat roll over him in waves and sighs, dropping himself down on a resting bench. He doesn’t miss the way she pauses and turns over her shoulder for one last, lingering gaze at his face.
“You look rough, buddy.”
Peter B. sits down next to him, pink bunny slippers squeaking under his feet. Miguel’s eyes are still trained on the figure ahead of him, growing smaller and smaller with each step she takes.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Peter asks, chuckling lightly.
“Yeah,” he rasps out. “It is.”
They sit in comfortable silence for a couple of seconds, before Peter heaves a sigh.
“She’s a great kid.”
“Her dad would have raised her well.”
“Yeah. He did.”
Miguel turns to meet Peter’s knowing gaze and drops it. “I’m not–I’m not her dad.”
He hums in understanding. “The other you is, though.”
The words should sting, but they don’t. Miguel knows better than to feel bitterness over his variants’ lives. The universe worked in mysterious ways, and they didn’t let him keep his daughter past the age of eight. Maybe there was a reason for that.
“You know, her dad–the other you–was her canon event.”
Miguel frowns, causing the space between his eyebrows to crease.
“She gave me the rundown, told me she lives with her Uncle Gabriel.” Peter nudges Miguel with an elbow. “You didn’t tell me you had a brother.”
“We’re not exactly on speaking terms,” he replies softly. The childhood memories of his baby brother are blurry in his head; it was as if he lived through them while he was underwater. “I haven’t heard from him in over two years.”
When he’s met with silence from Peter’s end, he takes it as his cue to continue.
“Our father was abusive,” he murmurs, wincing at the unpleasant flashbacks that are getting unearthed along with the memories. “I…I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could. And I did. But I didn’t bring him with me.”
He squeezes his eyes shut.
“When he found out I was Spider-Man, it was his last straw. What kind of a hero saves so many people, but doesn’t find the time to save his own brother?”
“And then…and then when I became a dad, it just felt right to name her after him.”
Peter observes the way Miguel exhales shakily. He’s got a faraway look in his eyes, trapped in a time he can’t go back to. “He never got the chance to meet Gabi. Not in this universe, and not in the one I destroyed either.”
Miguel feels a firm hand on his forearm, a gentle warmth pressing into him to keep him grounded.
“Maybe he’ll get a chance soon,” Peter B. says, cocking his head toward the direction of the way Gabriella left from. “Miguel, maybe this is the universe–no, the multiverse–sending you a second chance.”
A second chance. The words echo in his brain. He thought he had run out of those a long time ago.
“Everything will work out,” Peter states confidently. “You have to believe in that, Miguel.”
He stands up and reties the knot on his bathrobe.
“Where’s uh,” Miguel stands up too. “Where’s Mayday?”
The man perks up at the sound of his daughter, and he squints his eyes as Miguel. “I knew it! You’ve become attached to my baby!”
Oh boy. Miguel’s made a mistake.
“I am not attached, ” he puts extra emphasis on the last word. “It’s just strange seeing you without her."
“She’s with her mom. It’s girl’s day, or whatever,” Peter B. shrugs. “I think MJ’s just trying to make sure she’s May’s first word. We both know it’s going to be ‘dada’ though.”
As Peter B. talks Miguel’s ear off, he finds it oddly comforting, in a way that he’s never felt it to be before. He thinks back to what Peter said earlier, about second chances and the multiverse and believing that everything will work out.
Something flickers in his chest, and for once, he doesn’t snuff the flame of hope out.