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“Where are we going first, Ganke?” Miles asks as he swings his backpack over his puffy coat, climbing the steps of the subway station and skirts to avoid a sandwich on the ground in front of Ganke. “We just have to make sure we stop by Battery Park first.”
Ganke takes a wide step in front of him, stopping him in his steps and he flails his arms to avoid a collision. Dramatic, of course, it’s Ganke. He huffs, grimacing while he tries to avoid the angry people getting off near Williamsburg Bridge from Brooklyn. “MIles, I already said no !”
“But did you even listen to me, Ganke? There’s no give and take between us!” Miles complains, shooting his hands up in complete melodramatic exasperation.
Miles squeaks the moment the jacket of his shoulders are being yanked, “The pigeons are not evil!”
“I can still smell the hotdog from lunch on your breath,” Miles deadpans, falling limp in Ganke’s hold. “You know, you were the one who desperately wanted me to become Spider-Man, just in case you don’t remember. I explicitly remember being lectured by the original Spider-Man about the pigeons!”
Miles and Ganke could be on Broadway. Really.
To be truthful, he is dragging his friend through Manhattan streets to get to Battery Park, across the street there was a rooftop next to the dock that the birds especially sat on. It was simple math: feed the pigeons, they’ll stay out of your way. They’ll stay out of everybody’s way. If you were late to feeding them, they’re very particular about that, as in they’re a stubborn lot and will poop all over you while you webswing.
He’d promised Peter to take care of the city while he’s gone, and his word is a bond that can’t be broken. The birds must spot Miles from half a mile away, lightly hopping around along the dock. “Look, they’re already waiting.”
“Well, when you show up in my room at 1AM showing me you have some sort of electrical shocker and you can turn invisible and stick to walls, of course I’m gonna tell you to be Spider-Man!”
Miles exhales once he realizes he hushed his voice for the last part and once he feels Ganke’s hands loosen from his jacket, he tosses a leg in the air to balance him as he falls backwards, in a good-fashioned Spidey style. He yelps, plunging backwards into the ground. “I’m telling on you.”
Like a respectable member of society, friend to many, son of Rio, not a petulant teensger, he slides his cellphone out of his jeans and dials Rio’s number. He lies on his elbows on the ground, hoping she’s out of her campaign meeting. “Mama!”
“Que paso? Are you on your way home? ” Rio asks over the phone, and Miles plasters a shit-eating grin across his face.
“Si, Mama, I have a pregunta, though,” Miles offers, and his best friend is already picking up his pace to leave him, abandoned, on the sidewalk with snow flurries all around him to steal his mom’s Guava sauce.
“Que, papa?”
“Is Ganke allowed back in the house if he’s bullying me?” Miles asks, “Just kidding, ma. He just won’t let me feed the pigeons.”
“Aye, you and those pigeons are driving me loca.”
Ganke reaches his hands out, too guilty to continue walking away. Miles grabs on, letting himself be pulled up and dusted off. “I know, ma. We’ll be home soon, antes de el snowstorm.”
“Okay, hurry back. The snow is picking up in Harlem, I’m sure it is in Manhattan, too. Te quiero.”
A wave of relief rushes over Miles that wasn’t there before, having Ganke’s arm wrapped around his shoulders while they walk in the powdery flurries falling from the cloudy sky. It only lasts a moment, because the responsibility of having to be New York’s one and only Spider-Man while Peter is away with Mary Jane in Symkaria. He hasn’t been a vigilante for long, and his mentor recently did give him his first suit as a gift, but he was still reluctant.
New York has always had Peter Parker to rely on, though they haven’t known it. He wasn’t sure what brought this incredible fear-- maybe it was the fact that only Ganke and Peter know of his alter ego. Peter did take the time to train with him, teaching him to web-swing before they raced across the city’s blocks, surrounded by Christmas lights and the ever-growing pollutants of the not-so-fresh air. He seemed to do well, knowing Peter was a phone call away if he needed him.
But now, as he mentally prepares himself for his first patrol covering Harlem to Manhattan, he doesn’t want to fail his city or let Peter down.
Miles sighs, adjusting his bag over his shoulder while they reach the pigeons and sit down on the edge on one side of the wooden dock, the water lush-green and Brooklyn towers over the ripples in the distance - Ganke tossing his head back to squint at the snow falling down.
“You’re going to do great, I’m so proud of you,” had reassured him in the most good-natured way, after he admitted he was scared he was going to lose someone. “That can happen at any moment, Miles.”
“That’s exactly my point, it can happen with you, it has happened to you, but you’re better prepared,” Miles had replied back, his head spinning in the moment. He couldn’t understand how a 25 year old could leave a 16 year old in charge of the city.
“You think I was prepared ?” Peter had asked, not unkindly. “I was also a 15 year old, dawning the city. I was alone, terrified, and felt like the city would implode on itself if I took one wrong step. Sometimes New York will betray us, but it’s up to us to help everybody else.”
The conversation sat complacent in the back of his mind, bringing him back to the end of the quarter and beginning of his winter vacation with his alter ego with the hope that New York would treat him kindly his first time alone, and that he’d honor his oath to Peter Parker. He doesn’t want this responsibility, he doesn’t feel ready for it.
Having the snow fall on him, angry pigeons steering away from the angry weather - he doesn’t think he has a choice in this matter.
---
The hour-long journey turned to two is full of snow that doesn’t seem to let up but at least he got to watch the sunset with Ganke, as they continue to search for any open subways due to the weather.
Miles has already abandoned Ganke’s side on the way home after a buzz in his Spidey sense became louder, something he didn’t know how to handle. But Ganke understood he needed to figure out where the imminent danger was, lurking in Central Park and sending possible signals to Miles of the location and what it could be by checking local crime updates.
“I’m so sorry, Ganke,” Miles apologizes once again through the suit, keeping his cool so they can get back in time before his mom becomes too suspicious of their trip back home.
“I said don’t worry, you’re my best friend and I know you’re going to help someone, like you always do,” he replied in his sweet-tempered way he’s grateful for, “you do owe me a movie now.”
Miles scoffs before jumping rooftops, sending webs to each corner of the buildings, Ganke busying himself and sending any info he has.
He’s learned from weeks of practice that his best friend is his new guy in the chair, if he’s ever caught in any type of trouble -- he’d be right there for him. He had been juggling his Spider-Man life with Visions Academy life, apart from learning to live without his dad, but from each Rhino fight, each Demon related brawl that ended in him becoming a bloodied mess, he seemed to be doing well enough with Ganke and Peter supporting him.
“You’re really this nervous?”
He must be tracking his vitals in the suit from the recent upgrades he’s added to it after sneaking the suit into their school labs, he sighs into the phone and looks over the park from a twenty story building, seeing if he can spot his best friend.
“I might be stopping a robbery, a kidnapping, or a shooting at any moment now,” Miles says, watching two cars following each other and zipping through the crowd of cars, which isn’t alarming - yet. He sees pigeons from the corner of his eye, surprisingly lurking nearby him and pooping all over the nearby building tops. It was progress.
He sends his webs out, thwip , deciding the two cars look suspicious enough heading towards a nearby jewelry store, “Yes, I really am. If Peter couldn’t help me, I could call MJ and ask for advice.”
“You haven’t even reached this mob of goons,” Ganke sighs, pulling up a feed most likely onto his phone to watch from Miles’ suit. “Approach from 73rd.”
Ganke cheers, despite not realizing how distracting it is as Miles leaps down, ambushing the goons holding machine guns to the locally-owned NY Diamonds, dropping down onto one goon in the back’s shoulders. “You see, you’ve already knocked out one of six men in this super scary hold-up.”
“Hngh!” Miles grunts, webbing up two more of the guys while avoiding ringing gunshots in the air, sending an electrical impulse to knock the goons out. The air smells of ash, artillery, and web-fluid, and now his own venom strikes light up the snow that now sticks to the ground below him, turning into his own currents.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Miles,” Ganke says into his ear, and behind him he can hear the erupted yells and turns to see everyone hiding under street lamps and behind dingy trash cans. He sobers up when he hears another cry - a much younger cry and ebbs away once the last electrical shock brings down a guy and the sound of sirens chases him from around the corner.
With the school year after losing his dad, after FEAST and Peter Parker’s loss of Aunt May, it feels like his life is unraveling like thread, forcefully pulled and spun. He felt like he was being watched as he was unravelled, but this was just the beginning.
He wanted Manhattan and Harlem to be safe, for the city to sleep just for once and forgive every soul in its vicinity.
“What’s wrong? Where are you heading?” his best friend asks over the phone, cutting into his thoughts like a knife.
“Not sure yet,” he says, hearing a familiar sounding cry from a nearby alleyway, further away from the crime scene. The alleyway is covered in snow, soot, trash, and an orange lamp filters the entire backstreet.
“I think you should come here.”
--
“Shit.”
MIles’ suit heater was altered to elicit heath externally, and they ran away from the open sky as much as possible to avoid the snowfall. They searched the alleyway for some sort of carrier, Miles hoping they would have left something behind, much less where the squalling infants parents were.
“Where the hell do we get baby formula and a bottle?” Ganke asks over the comms, frantically searching the block after running away after seeing the thing in MIles’ arms, held a foot away in front of him. He had never held one before, not even at family parties or through one of his friends’ siblings.
“Check the bodega,” MIles frantically says into the phone. There’s a bell ringing, a door opening on the line. “I only found some for newborns. Is it a newborn?”
Miles strained to hear him from the hidden alleyway, with the new Spider-Man looking like he kidnapped a shrilling, desperate-noised baby. If any New Yorkers leaving Central Park were surprised, none of them showed it. “I think so?”
“You go find a blanket then,” his guy in the chair says. “Or two.”
“What do you want me to do, yank it from some homeless person?” Miles shrieks, feeling like he’s already failing all of Peter’s tests for maintaining New York and its wonderful characters. He didn’t know what to do with a squealing baby, who reached for his suit and tugged repeatedly at the fabric of his arms. He glances around, hoping he’s guessing what the baby is scared about.
He glances around, the nearby Chinese restaurant windows tinted enough to where he can see the red glowing lights and people staring at each other in conversation, picking at their food and not staring at him. The street has bikers, joggers, and strollers despite the steady snowfall turning heavier and more persistent.
Despite Peter making it clear that he believed Miles could handle the responsibility, in his own protective nature he set ground rules for him to follow, he had made it very clear he didn’t want to be bothered over “minor inconveniences” during his vacation - very pointedly and gentle as he can be as a mentor while putting his foot down and embarrassingly shoving him into the petulant child role.
That, as well as MJ smirking in the background of Peter’s made up on the spot TED talk, meant that on his first night patrolling the city he was going to accidentally kill or hurt this baby and let a fretful, worried family down. He would get this baby back home, though it was probably abandoned or left there on purpose, which makes it his responsibility to get it into proper care.
Miles wanted to handle this on his own, but the older man always taught him it’s okay to ask for help if you’re overextending yourself. The thing is, he should be able to handle a crying baby with lullabies and holding it.
“Did you mix the formula?” Miles asks upon Ganke’s return, upon inspection is just as frazzled as he is.
“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” Ganke says, swirling the contents of the bottle one last time, nearly slipping on the crunchy snow sticking to the ground at least an inch high. They walk closer to the street once its cries settle and it sucks on the bottle. He holds the tiny being in his arms, observing Ganke holding the bottle upright and examining the baby himself.
They reach the park again, the babies suffering pains dying down the more he walks around. And now that it’s quieter, he could feel himself calming down along with them. He knew he was tense from holding a crying infant for the first time, feeling his muscles loosen when he tells them to.
Curiosity - from his best friend’s big round eyes staring into the soul of the baby and the soothing sounds coming from his mouth, keeps him from breaking down on the spot. His own jaw loosens, and he turns his head over the baby's shoulder to see its tiny face. The baby’s eyes were wide with wonder, half of the liquid in the baby bottle drained. He covered the tiny head from as snow as he could, pressing his lips together in thought.
Miles had saved one child before, pressed to his chest while he jumped out of a burning building with a dog in his other arm. It was the first day he realized he was sticky, and Ganke had urged him to do something instead of watching them die, the block smoking. He assumed he was fairly good at it, and he liked to think he was comforting towards every age group.
But this, an infant with nowhere to return?
“I think we need to call Peter,” he whispers, arriving back at the bark and watching the last of the sun on the horizon behind the snow disappear.
The phone rings for an ever-lasting thirty seconds, and he unapologetically freaks out over the baby. “I swear I checked the entire park and listened out for any sounds of any parents freaking out, and Ganke is calling local schools with preschools that may be missing a child that are even open .”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter hushes over the phone, abandoning whatever he’s doing to talk to him. “Hy, bud, it’s okay. Take a deep breath. I’m glad you called me. I'm proud of you, okay?”
“You are?” Miles wonders how the hell he lucked out with a mentor like Peter, but he’s sure he can pin it down to Aunt May’s love for her nephew. He’ll admit it, he loved hearing Aunt May talk about Peter's uncle Ben during his shifts at FEAST; He’d be there by May's side, chopping onions and telling May he’s totally wiping tears his own tears because of the onion, not her stories. Though, he loves her stories.
He can hear bustling on the other end of the phone, which he now has on speaker phone and is holding it between him and Ganke, their heads pressed together - it must be MJ who ends up on the other side of Peter. He hears her running water and brushing her teeth in the background.
They’re perched on a bench now near a bronzed statue in Central Park. The tree above them blocks some of the snow.
“Okay. You found a baby outside of Central Park? Easy,” Peter’s voice fills, blocking out the noise of the rest of the park bustling with children playing in snow. “Swing to the building on 86th that is the tallest, you’ll have an aerial view of everything. You’ll know which one I’m talking about. If that doesn’t work, the restaurant three blocks away, Thai Valley, has the best manager ever, she’ll let you feed the baby, I’m sure.”
Miles takes a deep breath in, preparing to leave the baby with Ganke to change out of his suit somewhere, to seem less dubious holding a crying white baby. “Okay, okay. I’ll update you.”
“Wait!” Peter shouts on the other end, he and Ganke reel their heads back and sigh from the loud noise. He bounces the fussy baby on his leg, letting the tiny human play with his suit. “Miles, I need to see the baby. Flip the camera.”
“Hh, God, to check it for injuries right? I’m so stupid! I didn’t even think about that, Peter I can't do this! I’m no good at watching over a tiny human being. I’m good at tech, building things, and robotics, but you know how I get with babies!”
Ganke receives a phone call from one of the schools that hung up on him, so he scurries around the corner, so he shifts the little white baby in his arms and holds his phone out in front of him, letting the baby chew on his jacket zipper. The tiny baby babbles in his arms, and this is the first he’s heard, very intent and focused on him.
The phone camera is on selfie mode, he’s hoping Peter doesn’t laugh at his freaked out face. “Hey Miles, you’re doing great, kid. The same thing happened to Peter once, he called Mr. Stark.” MJ’s voice chimes in from the side, and he can see her bright hair in the frame now, Peter sighs.
“Yeah, yeah. We know how that turned out.”
“Okay, so is the baby fine? The tiny toddler’s not malnourished or something? Why’d you need to see it? Oh my God, I failed, didn't I?”
Peter and MJ are cracking up on the other end,their chuckles filling up the noise of the park and settling the churning in his belly. Peter looks like a literal ray of sunshine under the white lights of his bathroom in Symkaria, and MJ looks well rested and happy. “You’re not checking on the baby, are you?”
“Say cheese!” Peter says, Miles receiving the notifications that he took a Facetime photo. Miles groans, throwing his head back and hitting it on the bench, startling when the baby squeals at the phone, enthralled by MJ’s baby voice and coo’s.
“What's the nickname Rio calls you that I begged her to teach me? Porecito?” He groans even louder into the world, hearing his white boy accent.
Miles tries to facepalm, he knows Pete’s doing this on purpose and likes to cause him pain. Okay, no, he could never say anything mean about Peter. He loves him. So, he betrays himself when he answers, “It’s po-BRE-cito.”
“Pobrecitooooo, my baby Miles,” Peter coos on the other end of the call, chortling on the damn line like he won’t punch Peter in the face again.
“Oh, my God,” he sighs.
“No, but really, kiddo, you’ll find the parent. They’re bundled up, they get along well with strangers if they’re not crying, so she probably crawled out of daycare or away from a parent not paying attention. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Call me back if you really need anything.”
“Pete's right, Miles,” MJ grabs the phone, her melodious voice calms his nerves. “It sucks, but sometimes kids just get away. Be patient, and take her to the police station if no one turns up.”
“Okay, okay, thanks, guys. I'll text you what happens, I'll talk to you later then.” He can accept the help they offered him, seeing Ganke come back out of the corner of his eyes and sits next to them.
“Mkay. Bye Miles, love you.”
Miles groans, burying his face into the kids tiny purple jacket, smelling of baby powder, milk, and diaper. MJ laughs sweetly, grabbing Peter's cheeks in a pinch and telling him he’s going to be the best dad someday. “Loveyoutoo, bye! I’ll tell mom you both say hi. If we ever make it back home.”
Ganke and Miles frown simultaneously on the camera, upping the dramatics for sympathy, of course. They’re cold, hungry, and holding a cold and hungry baby.
“Please! Tell her her pobrecita Peter misses her and her home cooked meals, I might need the recipe for pasteles again,’ Peter says, and Miles just now notices how much more relaxed he looks. With Aunt May’s passing, the fire, and getting a ‘break’ during a mission with MJ, he looks like he needed this, to catch his breath. He doesn’t bother to correct his pronoun usage in Spanish.
“Hey!” Ganke says, shoving his face into view once more after they ended their dramatics.
“Ganke, bud! We’re about to go to bed, but remind Miles this is good practice for the future when he has his own babies!”
“Peter!” MJ says, “leave the poor boy alone. Hey, Ganke!”
Miles laughs, noticing Ganke’s cheeks redden. “Hey, this one misses you guys a lot. I expect vacation presents when you get back, by the way,” Ganke responds, opening his extra umbrella he just now finds in his backpack while the snow steadily gains traction, small snowflakes fill the frame. They jump once the baby squeals and reaches her hands out, she demands to be put down on the ground through her flailing signals.
“Bye, guys! Miss you, talk to you tomorrow unless you really need us,” Peter says, yawning, and hangs up the phone before they can get another word out. The call helped more than it needed to, his head clearer than before.
“Pete told me a place where we can get the correct baby food, and MJ says to take her to the police station as soon as we can-- Oh, God, I forgot to ask about diapers.” Ganke laughs instead. It’s syrupy, fills his body with warmth, as does the tiny baby in his arms. He supposes he’s okay with kids, or that she isn’t very fussy, and this thing is dependent on them , they can’t let the baby down.
Images of mistreatment pop into his mouth - will she be safe in custody, what if the schools find a false lead. For a wild moment, he wondered what would happen if they kept the baby, fostered her until they found her a safe home. He knew how cruel the world is, seeing the city collapse just a year ago, and Peter held himself up. Maybe he remembers what it’s like to be safe again, and maybe he can hold the baby to remember feeling that way.
He cradles the infant now, propping her neck up correctly so she can fall asleep sucking on the nipple removed from the bottle, eyes flickering while it stays safe from the snow and the chill, stealing his body heat and suit heat. He can’t imagine how bizarre it looks to see Spider-Man holding a baby in the park, but no recognition flickers across any faces.
They decide the police station is their best bet, and as soon as they decide, it feels like impending doom. He rises from the bench, sucking in a deep breath and looking back to the small purple bundle with fluttering eyelids in his arms. The baby stirred, but chose to settle inside of the crevice of his jacket and he made himself relax, changing his posture and moving his arms. The swelling swirled around inside him, ridiculous fondness overwhelming him.
He wrapped his other arm around the baby, nestling the bundle to his chest. Its cheek rests against the Spider emblem on his chest, he bends forward to cover the baby further. If this was his truce to the city, a promise whispered into stillness, sending a rush through his body. Acceptance. He needed to be strong for everybody, wondering what he should do in this situation. Not Peter. Not Ganke. Not even his mom. It was his responsibility, his promise, his oath.
And if Miles returns home with Ganke - after their hand-in-hand walk after delivering the baby to the authorities with a promise lingering in the air, keep her safe , after they fed her at the Thai restaurant, changed a diaper just for her, were told by the owner they are both just like Peter back in the day, who reminded him of his own gentle mother. The underground subway stations felt too quiet and empty without the baby between them, would she be delivered to safety? Were her parents searching for her? Is it true, she was left in the dirty alleyway on purpose? They watched the snowfall through the window, Rio had food ready when they got back to fill them up, and to, “descongelar los, you two can be so irresponsible sometimes,” while pressing a kiss to both their foreheads and giving them extra blankets to bundle up while they eat - He would wonder forever if the baby would only know solitude, or her own meaningful bonds like this.