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He lasted all of 4 days back at Visions before everything just got too much. Three trips home on the 8th Avenue Express- something he’s not sure he’d ever get used to, leaving school and leaving Brooklyn- watching the doors open and close at each stop, willing himself not to jump through at the last moment and swing the 40 minutes to Forest Hills.
His Mom had met Pete at the funeral. He’d told her they knew each other from work, but Peter stood alone under a golf umbrella, away from where the guys from the force huddled and shared stores about Detective Davis, none of them even glancing his way. But no one gains anything from being at a funeral for someone they don’t know, and Peter’s dark eyes are misty and genuine when he tells Rio how sorry he is.
Miles has imagined telling her about Pete. Actually about Pete. The guy Miles hadn’t even realized he’d looked up to for years, who’d walked somewhat unassumingly into Miles’ life at his Dad’s funeral and despite Miles’ initial efforts to push him away, had just… stuck around.
Life rarely granted the circumstance and presence of mind to tackle things the way he planned in his head though. His Mom finding out about Spider-Man – him, not Pete- had been messy and confusing and if he was honest with himself, it still felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d been supportive so far, but he could see it slowly dawning on her, remembering the lies he’d told her, watching her put together the pieces of the last few months.
And the thing that sucks is that right now, he really needs someone. He’s been careening down a steady slope since his Dad’s funeral in a perfect storm of grief, adolescent angst and honest-to-God superpowers, but since that night at Roxxon Plaza, it’s turned to a freefall.
So, after three of those 8th Avenue Express moments- six months of Spider-Man, eight nights haunted by visions of Phin’s tear-streaked face and glowing gloves, four days of high expectations and college applications and too many AP classes- Miles finally breaks.
May’s place is a few blocks out from Corona Park, near Meadow Lake, where his Dad used to take him boating in the summers. It’s a neat little redbrick sat in the shade of a sycamore, unassuming in a terrace of houses just like it, with a low ornate garden wall and a disused air conditioning unit sat on its side in the front yard.
It doesn’t look like anyone’s in, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been in for a while, he thinks, making the first footsteps in the snow across the yard. Heavy curtains are drawn across the front windows and there are no lights on even as the day wanes. A menorah sits on display in the downstairs window, even though they’re well into January now.
Miles rings the doorbell, and there’s no chime from inside the house. After a few seconds, he rings it again, and suddenly there’s a movement on the other side of the door, and he rushes to drag the mask off his face.
Peter opens the door, and Miles finds himself surprised- partly because he really wasn’t expecting Peter to be in, but mostly because he realizes how out of place the young man in the doorway feels here. Miles knows Peter the FEAST volunteer, Peter who drinks coffee on rooftops and sleeps on top of buildings; Miles knows Spider-Man.
The man in front of him is wearing soft sweats and bags under his eyes.
“Hey Pete,” Miles tried not to look out of breath, leant coolly on the doorframe, but Pete looks pointedly at the mask scrunched in his fist, then back at Miles.
“Miles,” he blinked. “I was just replying to your text.”
Miles wanted to roll his eyes at that excuse, but sure enough, Peter flipped his phone to face him, where he was part-way through typing out a response to the texts Miles had sent before he’d left school- four of them, in embarrassingly quick succession.
Real cool, Spidey.
“I… uh… Happy New Year?”
Peter grins at that, throwing a hand on Miles’ shoulder as he brings him through into the house gently. “I missed you bud.”
Miles’ heart glows at that, because damn, if he hadn’t missed Pete too. And not Spider-Man, either, he’d missed Peter.
“I missed you too man. Hey, I liked all the training stuff you left round the city though, ‘s cool. Hologram work was tight.”
It’s dark inside, and when Pete closes the door behind them there’s barely any natural light left.
The last time Miles had been here had been May’s wake. He’d sat on the sofa in the front room, watching MJ rub a hand up and down Peter’s back in soothing motions while the man himself stared into the middle distance, not saying anything except to bid them goodbye at the end of the evening. He remembered MJ had torn her gaze from Peter every few minutes and smiled softly at Miles, and when it had gotten dark and the crowd had thinned out, she’d gotten up and made the three of them hot chocolate in matching teacups. It was sweet and warm like a hug, and probably the best hot chocolate Miles had ever had.
That’s the only time he’s met Peter’s girlfriend, but it’s enough for Miles to decide he likes her.
“Where’s MJ?” he asks before his brain could stop him.
“She still lives in the city,” Peter shrugged, somewhat nonchalantly, but he really wasn’t that good at hiding the expressions that crossed his face. “She, uh, she wants to take it slow.”
“You guys just spent like, two weeks together in Symkaria.”
“New York’s different,” he says, and doesn’t elaborate. Miles gets the feeling this isn’t about Spider-Man.
Though knowing how all-encompassing the Spider-Man mantel was, it probably wasn’t not about Spider-Man either.
The sofa looks different now- there’s a throw laid across the top and a comforter bundled at one end, as if Peter’s been sleeping in front of the TV. The coffee table’s been pulled closer too, and seems to be the setting for some kind of engineering project, if the loose screws and scattered tools are anything to go by.
Peter seems to notice him looking, and apologizes. “Sorry, I would have cleaned up.”
“Nah, ’s my bad for coming by unannounced,” Miles shrugs, and tries to divert his attention.
The air’s thick now, and he’s not sure it’s just because Peter clearly hasn’t opened a window in a while. Maybe he should have waited for Peter to text back before coming over, but his panic had taken over when he’d been throwing himself breathlessly through Bushwick and all he’d managed to concentrate on was the rhythm of tap, release, tap, release, and the burning sensation the cold January air left in his throat.
Had he overstepped? Dios mío, he’d projected all this stuff on Pete and now he was just some stupid Spider-Man wannabe super-fan…
“Do you want a tour?” Peter said softly.
“Huh?”
“Of the house. You didn’t get to see much of it, uh, last time. And I honestly need someone to appreciate my handiwork with the bathroom. Maybe. It’s not very good,” he chuckled. “At least let me take your coat…?”
Not quite able to find the words, Miles let Peter take his jacket and his bag (Peter had to be the only person who wouldn’t make a terrible joke about the weight of his rucksack, though he could see he was itching to anyway) and hung them neatly by the front door, before tossing a pair of sliders over his shoulder at him.
“I don’t know if there’s still…” he paused, and waved his hand at the floor, “…Drek on the floor. And I’m trying to make this a “no climbing on the ceiling” household because it’s hard enough to keep just the floors clean… Also. Nice outfit,” he smirked.
Miles looked down at his school uniform, then back up at Pete, decidedly mortified. What he wouldn’t have given to have a single iota of self-awareness before barging through Peter’s front door in crisis; he might have made it to the living room with his pride still intact.
He only looks more ridiculous when he slips off his sneakers and puts the sliders on; they’re at least two sizes too big.
“I’m being mean Miles, it’s a heck of a lot better than Midtown. I think a black eye was part of my uniform when I was there… High school sucks. The uniform is nice, has prestige I guess, but they’re so pricey, never sure what it’s supposed to say to us scholarship kids…” he rambled, but Miles had stopped listening at the mention of Midtown. Phin was supposed to have started back the new year there on Monday. Or at least, he thinks she was. She would have still been a senior like Miles, but with all the stuff with Rick and Roxxon and the Underground, he didn’t even know if she’d have dropped out or not by now.
He imagines the Phin from his childhood, reuniting with her friends after break, blowing on a takeout coffee under the awning round the back of the school. Would she do normal high school things? Would she laugh, would she talk about crushes and who’s dating who, plan projects that had nothing to do with Nuform, moan about homework, skip class to go to the museum?
They’d never found her body.
“Miles?”
Pete’s part way up the stairs, looking down at him. “You ok? You sorta… spaced out.”
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m good.”
“We don’t have to talk about school,” he smiles. “How’re your friends? It was Ganke, right, the guy staying with you and your Mom?”
Miles ignores the tightness in his throat and follows Pete up the stairs and to the left, maneuvering round a vacuum and parts of a single bed propped up on the landing. “Yeah, Ganke’s cool. He’d love to meet you, he’s a huge fan.”
“He knows about…” Peter makes little thwip thwip gestures and Miles can’t help but laugh at that. There’s no one around but them, but he gets it- old habits.
“Yeah, man, we’re… he’s cool. The MJ to my Pete, or something.”
Peter doesn’t turn round again. “You guys are dating?”
“No! I mean… no, uh, not yet, I meant like, he knows about stuff and, I dunno, I get the feeling MJ knows a lot about you, maybe I’m wrong… it’s nice to have someone like that on your side, in the suit and out of it,” he finishes awkwardly, but Peter’s smiling.
“Yeah, I get it. And even if- or when- we’re not dating, MJ’s still there for me.” There’s a fond glimmer in his eye, and Miles can’t help but smile too. “Wait, you said “not yet?”
“I dunno… You said it, high school sucks. I’m just trying to hold out until graduation and not let the assignments kill me, dunno if I wanna throw “coming out” into the mix too.”
“Yeah, been there.” Peter pushes open the door at the end of the landing to reveal what was probably once a bathroom- and damn, he wasn’t kidding about the lime green, it was positively nauseating. Unfortunately for Peter, who’s definitely waiting on a positive reaction to his handiwork based on his expression, Miles is a little distracted by his mentor maybe having just come out to him.
“You’ve been there?”
Pete looks back, tearing himself away from admiring the tiling (which, given it was the only thing in the bathroom not lime green, Miles is going to assume he did- which, fair enough, it looked really good). “Yeah, uh, I… OK you might not believe this but I dated Norman Osborne’s son for like, a year in high school. Another lifetime now, but… yeah. I’m here if you want to come out and stuff, but I found it much easier to be accepted as bi in college,” he shrugged, and scratched the back of his neck. “But it’s your choice, Miles.”
“You’re bi too? That’s cool!” Miles tries- in vain- to keep the excitement from his voice.
“Hey, I always wanted to go to New York Pride, maybe we should do it together. Y’know, in the suits, if you want,” Pete suggests, leaning on the door handle, and Miles grins.
“I’d love that.”
A silence comes over the pair, but this time it’s a comfortable one. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea. Pete was just so… easy to be with.
“So, now we got all the unimportant deep life stuff out the way… Whaddaya think?” he threw his hands out in a grand gesture even Tony Stark would envy, and if he didn’t look so earnest about it, Miles might have snickered. “The, uh, actual utilities are a work in progress because, well, do you know how much a new bath and toilet and sink are? I mean, you’re 17, so no, but life lesson from your old man Spidey: expensive. Though not more than you think actually. Pretty fair pricing. But anyway… the walls were green, so they’ve been painted, and I did the tiling. Which I think is OK.” He climbs over into the bath and onto the wall, crawling upwards to inspect a particular tile about two-thirds of the way up.
“What happened to not walking on the walls?”
“I specified ceiling, and the other keyword was trying. It’s a really hard habit to shake. Does this tile look like it sticks out from the rest?” He ran his hands over it and the tiles next to it, and Miles couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of Pete casually squatting on the wall. Sure, Miles could do it too, but it was something else seeing it from a third-person perspective.
Peter was waiting for an answer, so Miles cocked his head to the side and made a face that he hoped look like he was properly considering it. He doesn’t think Peter will accept the answer that they just look like tiles, so he says “Looks fine to me,” shrugs, and leaves it at that.
“Hm,” is the only reply Miles gets, and the man scrunches his brow as he picks at the grout. Eventually he climbs off the wall and into the bath.
“Let’s see… I also fixed the washer on the hot tap but that’s not that exciting, except that I have a wrench set now, which feels very adult. Painted the hallway, but, yeah still needs work. A second coat and, um, maybe get rid of the textured ceiling.” He leant past Miles and flicked on the light. “Or maybe I should wait until I stop walking on it first.” It’s one of those popcorn ceilings, and the thought of walking over the little spikes of paint makes Miles wrinkle his toes.
“Oh, you wanna see my childhood bedroom?”
The room to the other side of the hallway is not so much a bedroom as a storage room, with a wide space to one side of the room where Miles supposed the bed that was currently propped up in the hallway used to sit, judging by the dents in the carpet. The walls are a muted blue and covered with remnants of a younger Peter: old movie posters, some pencil drawings, academic certificates from Midtown and printed pictures of friends and family- May is in a good few of them, along with a kindly-looking man Miles assumes is Ben Parker. Peter’s younger than Miles in most of the pictures- in some of them he’s still wearing glasses, which, if Peter’s stories hold up, would put them before Peter got bitten. He looks less tired than he does now.
Underneath the window is a large trunk, on top of which sits an endearing-looking stuffed elephant, and parts of an old Nokia. The whole room feels stuck in an earlier time, even though there’s newer things scattered about too- an oversized pile of laundry, cardboard boxes labelled “CHINATOWN LAB” in scrawled Sharpie, and clean paint rollers and brushes and sandpaper stacked in a neat pile by the door.
“I still can’t believe she kept it all this time. I thought she’d repurposed this room.”
“You didn’t come back here?”
”Not enough,” Peter smiled sadly. “Even when I did, it was usually just for, y’know, dinner and stuff, so it’s not like I came up here.” He chuckled to himself. “When I didn’t have anywhere to stay, she offered me to come back here. I always thought she meant, y’know, the couch or something, but jeez, who knew my old twin bed with the Captain America bedspread was still here… Anyway, also a work in progress, as you can definitely tell. I want to put some shelves up, maybe get a desk in here and use it as, I dunno, a workshop or something. Maybe a spare bed. Eventually.”
There’s a twinkle in his eye at that.
“And that’s May’s room,” he nods to behind Miles, at a closed door. “I, uh… haven’t done much with it.”
Miles remembers how his parents room looked after his Dad died. His Mom didn’t sleep in there for a month, and when she did, she moved round the space as if disturbing anything was sinful; a thin layer of dust coated everything by the time it came to pack up the house.
Even when they moved, so much of his Dad’s stuff got put into boxes and taken with them.
He hadn’t really thought about it, but maybe the move to Harlem had been good for his Mom. She’d sure gotten further than Peter, who only stares sadly at the door for a moment before seeming to snap out of it and leading Miles back downstairs.
“So, Miles, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, anything.”
Peter grinned. “You don’t know what it is yet.”
“OK, nearly anything. Maybe… Can I retract my previous statement, I don’t like that look you’re giving me,” Miles teased as Peter wandered into the kitchen- surprisingly neat and clean compared to the rest of the house, but Miles couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Peter never used it.
“Don’t worry. Nothing bad. Ish. I haven’t tried them yet, so they might be terrible.” He pulls open the freezer while Miles pulls out a chair and sits out from the table, leant partly on the wall as he watches Peter extract a stack of Tupperware from the freezer drawer.
“May always went all out for Hanukkah, and I didn’t want to let her down this year. Only, well, we ended up going to Symkaria, so I had to freeze all this,” he cracks the lid of a Tupperware and sniffs it, before showing Miles. He’s not sure what they are, but even frozen they smell good. “Latkes. They’re little potato things. You fry ‘em, like everything you get round Hanukkah. I made so, so many, you wanna help me eat them?”
The sandwich Miles had for lunch was so soggy a tomato slice had slid out and onto the page of his loaner math textbook. Which, what the hell, why did the school sell sandwiches like that if they wanted their textbooks to come back in good condition? The pages were probably going to be stuck together now.
But yeah, he’s pretty hungry. Hungry enough to try food made by Peter Parker.
Miles grins, and raises one eyebrow. “I’m down.”
Pete punches him lightly in the shoulder and gets to work, rinsing his hands under the tap and flicking water at Miles before digging a skillet out of a drawer and setting it down on the burner.
“So you’re going all domestic now?” Miles teases as Peter lights the gas. Pete smirks.
“MJ would say otherwise. To be fair to her, I have a bad habit of getting… distracted. Once, I tried to make dumplings for date night, only someone was getting mugged outside her apartment so, obviously I go help, as anyone would, that’s not even a Spider-Man thing-“ Peter’s throwing his hands up in indignation, “And the pan boiled dry and the dumplings exploded. And, you know, they’re sticky. But hey, so am I, so I don’t know why MJ won’t let me live it down because sure I stuck dumplings to her ceiling but I also stuck to the ceiling to scrub them off…” Miles is laughing, and despite his charade of frustration, Peter eventually caves and chuckles too.
“OK, here goes…”
He slips the first latkes in the pan and the oil makes an angry hissing noise on contact.
“I think you’re supposed to defrost them first,” Miles points out as Peter steps back from the pan in alarm. He reaches to turn the heat down until the pan stops spitting oil and Peter throws two Tupperware into the microwave, filling the kitchen with a low hum.
“I don’t do this a lot,” Peter shrugs, and he looks a little sad about it. “May would probably be disappointed, she spent so many Saturdays trying to teach me to cook and bake and I just… don’t get time to do it.”
“Did you celebrate in Symkaria?”
“I thought about it, looked up a synagogue and stuff, but… It was hard enough ordering a glass of water out there. Plus MJ’s not really religious, so it would’ve been just me. And, y’know, it’s… it’s like Christmas with you guys, it’s not about the food or temple or whatever, it’s about people. And, uh… yeah. Wasn’t feeling it.”
“I get it. Felt different after this year.”
“Mmm,” Peter hums in agreement.
He turns the latkes over with tongs, and Miles can’t see what the look like from where he’s sat, so he gets up and joins Pete at the stove. One of them falls apart as Peter flips it and they share a look of faux despair.
“How’s your Mom?”
“She’s OK.” Miles bends towards the latkes, relishing the warmth on his face. “Busy.”
“She got elected in the end, right?”
“Yeah. I’m real proud of her. And it would’ve been some kinda conclusion after everything that’s gone on for her not to get it anyways. None of the other candidates were out on the streets in the middle of a storm y’know.”
“I’m really glad for her. You’ve both achieved so much… You should be proud of yourself too, Miles.”
“I am,” Miles says, but he says it too quickly, too defensively, and he won’t meet Peter’s eyes as the older man watches him stare at the latkes.
There’s a pause, and the microwave beeps. Peter doesn’t go to open it.
“What’s on your mind, Miles?” he asks gently. His voice is steady, and Miles can feel his gaze on him.
Miles had stayed up late the previous night watching the snow fall from his fire escape. Throughout the day the roads would turn to slush and the banks would pile high, but at night, when the neighborhood went to sleep and the streets got quiet, the snow would continue to fall, blanketing Harlem anew in unending grey.
He’d come here because he’d wanted to ask how Peter did it- how he kept being Spider-Man even when it seemed futile, even when he couldn’t save who he needed to save. How he dealt with the nightmares and the secrets and the guilt.
But they’re making holiday food in Peter’s dead aunt’s kitchen because Peter doesn’t have anyone to share latkes with anymore, and Miles realizes Spider-Man might not have the answers after all.
“Hey, hey… It’s alright,” Peter soothes, and Miles hadn’t noticed his vision blurring with tears until Peter tucks him gently under his chin, and they fall down his cheek and onto Peter’s shirt. Once he starts crying, it’s hard to stop, and somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware he’s probably ruining Peter’s t-shirt. Peter doesn’t seem to mind, though.
They stay like that a while. Peter’s still cooking over his shoulder, one arm across Miles’ back. He breathes deep and even, almost sighing, and it’s not until Miles’ own breaths even out in time with Peter’s that he realizes he’s doing that for Miles’ benefit.
If someone had told Miles a year ago he’d be hiding from the world in Spider-Man’s arms, he might have had some choice words; but now it seems right.
“I didn’t save her,” he mumbles. Peter’s movements are rhythmic, and he allows himself to close his eyes as he continues. “She didn’t deserve to die.”
“I know, buddy. No one deserves to die.” Peter’s voice rumbles in his chest.
“Why her, though? Of everyone, in this whole… mess. I know I shouldn’t think that way, but… Y’know?”
“…You wonder why Roxxon and Krieger didn’t seem to get the short end of the stick.”
“Yeah. They did all this in the first place.” In his heart, the words are full of fire, but the words come out muffled.
“I know.” Peter leaves it at that. Until, after a moment, he says, “You know it’s not your fault Miles. I saw the footage. What you did was nothing short of amazing. You saved a lot of lives. Phin saved a lot of lives. I think that would have meant something to her. I might not have known her, but I know you, and I know the kinds of people you keep close. Pun somewhat intended, since, y’know…” Miles feels Peter gesture to himself.
Miles chuckles wetly.
“I know it’s easy to get caught up in what you could have done, but that’s a dangerous slope. Phin knew what she was doing, you told her what the reactor would do. She made it right. We both know she wouldn’t have done what she did if she didn’t want to.”
Peter was right. Maybe she’d lost sight of it after forming Underground; hell, there was a moment where Miles wanted to make Roxxon pay for what they’d done after seeing what happened to Rick. Grief like that could tear you apart.
He sees Phin at the reactor again, her tear-streaked face, and she’s still scared- so, so scared- but she’s also determined. She’d only ever wanted to make things right again, protect what was important to her.
Miles knew that feeling.
Eventually he pulls away from Peter and rubs his eyes, while Peter shares steaming latkes onto two small plates. The first few are a little burnt on one side, but the current batch are a beautiful golden brown, and Peter looks pretty pleased with himself when he catches Miles’ eye.
“Let’s take these to the sofa. It’s comfier.”
Pete takes both plates and leads him back into the living room. He seemed to have forgotten the mess because he frowns and hands the plates to Miles for a moment so he can tidy up- which is less tidying and more throwing stuff aside, shoving the blankets and comforter into a pile in the corner and shuffling dissected web-shooter parts to one end of the coffee table.
He sits Miles down and takes one of the plates off him and sets it down. Then he disappears back into the kitchen and returns with a jar of applesauce and a carton of sour cream, and two teaspoons.
“I didn’t know which you’d prefer,” he says, examining the top of the sour cream before setting it down in front of Miles.
“I’ve never had these before,” Miles admits, looking down at the plate in his lap and picking a burnt piece of the side of one of the cakes and eating it. He was expecting them to be like chips, or maybe hash browns, but they’re different- they’ve got onion and a hint of cumin in.
Pete looks like he’s about to settle, but he dashes off again- this time returning with a heavy blanket and draping it over Miles’ shoulders. It smells like May: some specific brand of washing powder she used, and those candles she used to light in her office at FEAST. He remembers being surprised when he went to sign out once and her and Gloria were lit by a myriad of candles, and he’d wondered if that was allowed- but by then, May was Director. She could do what she wanted.
Gloria’s been bugging Miles to remind Peter to pick up the last of May’s things. He wonders if Peter will use the candles.
“So, what do you think?” Peter’s retrieves a crumpled ESU hoodie from the pile on the floor and sits next to Miles, one foot tucked up under his thigh. “If they’re bad, you can leave them, I really won’t be offended. MJ’s probably right, there’s a reason I live off takeout pizza…”
“…I haven’t tried them yet. What’s better, sour cream or applesauce?”
“I prefer sour cream, but May was all over the applesauce. So I guess it depends who’s taste you trust better.”
Miles locks eyes with Peter as he reaches for the applesauce and grins.
“Oy, I get it, I get it, I have terrible taste. Eat your damn food.”
Miles lathers one with applesauce with a teaspoon and shoves it into his mouth whole- which was a bad idea, because they’re still hot. They’re good, though- perhaps better not burnt, but otherwise they’re warming his insides.
“Hm. Not bad,” Peter concurs as he bites his in half, and Miles nudges him with an elbow.
They eat in comfortable silence for a while. It’s so quiet here; the piping creaks every now and again as the house settles with new warmth, and if he strains he can hear the rush of traffic on the Parkway, but otherwise, it’s almost silent.
Miles is the first to break the moment, setting his plate aside.
“Thanks for this, Pete.” He doesn’t just mean the food.
“It’s no problem.” He chews thoughtfully, and wipes sour cream from the side of his mouth. “I worry about you. Mostly about you, y’know, getting shot or snapping a web and falling to your death or something like that, but I also realize it’s all a lot at your age. I mean, I’ve been there, and I think it had me all kinds of messed up at one point. If not still.”
He turned to face Miles. “My point is, I’m glad you came here. I know I can’t stop you being Spider-Man, and I don’t want to either- you’re good at it, and you’re already making a difference- but that doesn’t stop it being hard. And I want you to know, we’re in this together, OK?”
“Except when you go away.”
“I’m not doing that again in a hurry,” Pete says, leaning back into the couch cushions. “I should know by now you can’t just let things be for even an hour in this city. You did an amazing job though Miles. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been there.”
“I thought about calling,” Miles shrugged, “But you’ve been doing this forever. I thought, y’know, this was my mess, I had to cle- oh. Oh. I see what you did.”
Peter turned to face him, and smiled knowingly. Miles slumped back in defeat, and then lets himself fall into Peter’s side.
“I know it’s hard,” Peter says quietly, “But you can’t get caught up in trying to decide what’s right and wrong in the world. Some of what we do isn’t totally right. You think I wanna work with the cops, after what they do in our communities?” he huffs, “But we do what we need to to protect the little guy, right?”
“I guess…” Miles did always wonder how Peter managed to work with the NYPD, even though they always seemed to be chasing Spider-Man. He really had to hook Peter up with Ganke’s app.
“I always think of that bit in Frozen…” he continues thoughtfully, “…Do the next right thing, or however it went.”
“Frozen?” Miles wants to laugh.
“Look, I could give you some excuse about how I watched it with MJ,” Peter gives Miles a light shove, but Miles just shuffles in closer, head leant against Peter’s shoulder, “But give it a few years and you’ll be in your early twenties watching kids animated movies by yourself too.”
“It’s not the animated movies bit that’s my problem. Everyone needs cartoons in their lives. It’s… the Frozen bit. Gotta introduce you to like, Moana or something.”
“It’s on my watch-list,” Pete says, and moves the arm Miles is leant against out of his way. Miles is just about to start panicking that he’d been too clingy and starts to move away, but Peter’s arm simply pushes him back down again and comes to rest on top of him, patting him twice in reassurance.
“I should cook more often.”
He adjusts Miles’ blanket so it covers the two of them, and gives a long, contented sigh.
---
He doesn’t know when he dozed off, but when he comes to, he’s still nestled into Peter’s shoulder, only this time there’s someone seated by his feet, and soft murmurs fill the air. Before he can work out what they’re talking about though, they stop, and someone says his name.
“Miles?”
“Ma?” he cracks his eyes open and sits up, and sure enough, Rio Morales is sat against the arm of the couch, Miles’ legs in her lap. It’s gotten even darker than before- he wonders how long it’s been- and the only light in the room is coming from the kitchen.
“Hey baby,” she runs a hand softly down his cheek, and Miles can feel the tears dried there from earlier.
“Ma, I’m sorry, I fell asleep, I… Pete?”
“It’s OK, nene,” she soothes. Her face is soft in the low light, and she glances between the two boys. “Peter called me, told me you were here. I didn’t realise you were struggling baby, you can always talk to me.” Her eyes move past Miles to Peter. “But I’m glad you came to Peter, I’m sure there are things he can help with better than me.”
A little panic rises in Miles throat and he turns to Peter- he hadn’t told her, he swears-
“It’s OK. I told her a couple days after I came back from Symkaria. It wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark. Also…” he stage-whispers, “She struck the fear of God into me.”
Miles laughs at that.
“I never thought I’d have both Spider-Men under my little finger,” Rio teased, pulling at Miles’ cheek, and he swipes her away, hoping Peter didn’t see. “What a good villain origin story, huh, mijo?”
She probably sees his face fall, and knows he’s thinking about Phin again.
He misses her, but right now, sandwiched between his Mom and his mentor, it hurts a little less than it did.
“You ready to get going, Miles? It’s still a school day tomorrow,” she says gently, pushing his legs off her and moving to stand. Miles follows her, and Peter lends him a hand when his movements are still a little woozy. He really shouldn’t have napped in his uniform either- the blazer is crinkled up one side where he’d lay on his arm.
The snow’s falling heavier outside now, and he hadn’t realized how warm it’d been inside until the wind bites at his flushed cheeks. Peter’s followed them to the door, and he’s holding out Miles’ coat while simultaneously curling into his hoodie.
“Are you guys gonna be alright? Do you want me to check the subway’s still running?” Pete says, mostly to Rio, as Miles bundles himself up, glad of his Mom’s insistence of a jacket that morning, even thought it had been too warm on the subway to school.
“It’s OK, thank you,” Rio smiles, and fusses over Miles momentarily as he struggles to pull his coat on without putting his rucksack down in the snow. “It was very good of you to let Miles stay,” she says, and if that doesn’t make Miles cringe, he doesn’t know what will. Peter can’t judge though; Miles had seen his aunt fuss over him enough that they were on the level when it came to embarrassing family.
“He’s always welcome,” Peter says politely.
He can feel his Mom getting restless as he pulls his backpack on, but he turns back and pulls Peter into one last hug. This one is different though- it’s strong, brief. An expression of gratitude. Miles will be OK.
“Just concentrate on school tomorrow, OK?” Peter mumbles into his hair. “One more day. Then we’ll go out Saturday if you’re free, breakfast then, y’know…” Peter’s tensed, and Miles turns to look at his Mom who’s glaring daggers at Pete. Yeah, she still wasn’t warmed up to the Spider-Man thing quite yet. “I uh, I’ve got some good stories about Sable that’ll make you laugh too,” he grinned sheepishly. He pats Miles on the shoulder as they part. “Take care, OK? You can always text if you need me.”
“Thanks Pete. See you Saturday!”
They only made it halfway down the front path when Peter yells out, “Miles, wait!” and he’s walking out in the snow behind them, tiptoeing carefully in his sliders. He holds out something dark, and Miles immediately recognizes the mask. It must have fallen out of his coat pocket.
His Mom is laughing behind him, and Miles feels his cheeks heat up- it’s a wonder his secret identity lasted as long as it did.
He reaches out to take it, and Peter doesn’t say anything; just winks.