Chapter Text
When Miguel fell into the abyss, everything was silent.
It’s foreign to him. As if he stepped into the deep end of the pool for the first time, only to realize that the shallow end was an illusion, the pool was the ocean, and the bottom was non-existent.
The Spider-Taskforce was a sentient hive of activity, of noise. Whether that be Peter B. Parker with his daughter, Ben Reilly coming over to mope out his mission reports, or Jess. The whir of his watch (goober, gizmo, he never could figure out the difference, could he?), the murmurs of different dimensions at his fingertips, Lyla.
Dusty tension ticks floated around him like memories. Xina. Tyler Stone. Lyla. Gabriella, his Gabriella. The Spot, twisting, stretching out, grasping Miguel. Dragging him into itself. He remembered seeing Miles. Miles Morales, breaking away from his father’s side, pale spider eyes ablaze as he reached out for Miguel. Tried to grab Miguel, but of course, failed.
There was nothing but darkness surrounding Miguel now. Maybe he was staring at his eyelids. Or, Miguel was dead. He didn’t think he was dead. He hoped he was not dead. It was too… underwhelming.
Miguel’s arms must have been transformed into lead somehow. Or they’ve been detached from his body. Tossed into separate dimensions, never to be seen in one place together again. A bubble of amusement sparkled in his chest. Oh god. Had he finally cracked?
“Lyla,” Miguel tried to rasp out. It was probably an unintelligible croak, but Lyla always understood anyway.
The silence persisted.
A cold knot formed in Miguel’s stomach. He tried to move again, but felt his fingers barely twitch. “Lyla,” he tried again, his voice a garbled croak.
He was alone. The cold clawed its way up his esophagus, choking him. Open your eyes, Miguel. He couldn’t. He had to.
A sudden pressure stabbed his ribcage, and Miguel felt someone stumble and fall onto him. Ouch.
“Move, ya fucking jagoff!” A man’s voice distantly rattled in his ears.
Miguel felt the urge to snap back at the man. All he could muster was a soft rumble from deep within his throat. His fingers twitched again.
Ground. He was lying on the ground. Gravel, to be more specific. There was a rock poking into his side, digging in right next to his spinal cord. The air was smoky with the stench of burning rubber. Slowly, sound sucked back into existence. People screaming. Car horns blaring. A crash of something heavy.
Open your eyes, Miguel.
Miguel’s eyelids felt weighed down, as if he was forcing two magnets to disconnect. The light was blinding, and there was a ringing in his ears. Miguel’s ligaments felt like they were replaced by clumps of glue, but he managed to turn himself over and push himself onto his knees. Hazily, the world became more recognizable. People were running away, cars were abandoned or flipped over and–was that Vulture?
“Move!” A woman jumped over Miguel, racing away. Miguel realized that he was lying in the middle of an alleyway, blocking the way out. The stench of piss and garbage hit his nose.
With a grumble, Miguel adjusted himself so he was a bit more pressed against the wall. Time was running out. This universe’s Spiderman could handle the Vulture, or, if Spiderman didn’t exist in this universe, so could the police. The Spot–or Miles Morales, with all the arrogance of youth–could have eviscerated half of Earth-1610B at this point.
He had to go back.
“Lyla,” he called again. His voice still came out as a rasp, but at least it was perceptible now. “Location?” He raised his watch to see the universe it would read out, blinking heavily so that his vision would focus.
There was nothing on the display.
A chill ran down Miguel’s spine, and a prayer formed in his mind. It had to be working. He tapped it, fingers slipping as he opened the watch and its settings. “Lyla,” he tried once again. “Where… where are you?” His voice was a hiss to himself.
Reboot, reset the watch. There were surface level scratches from the fighting, but all the important components were still intact. Good, that’s good.
“C’mon,” he murmured to himself, steadying his hands as he reconnected the last wire. He tapped on the map symbol on the watch. The watch glowed for a second as it computed, and then let out a beep to signify that a result had been found.
“What the hell,” Miguel’s breath tangled up in his throat.
Universe: Unknown.
This… this should be impossible. The algorithm was specifically created to calculate every single possible reality within the Arachno-Humanoid Multiverse. The fact that the watch couldn’t register this one is unfathomable. Something lurched in Miguel’s stomach. If this isn't a recognizable universe, then…
Right on cue, Miguel felt a spasm start from his stomach, before pure agony seized his body. For a second, his body was torn to everything, everywhere, all at once, before compounded back to the present.
Miguel keeled over, feeling bile rise up. He forgot how awful it was to glitch.
He stumbled up to his feet, taking deep breaths. Alchemax. If he found a collider, he could teleport into another dimension that was recognized. Or he could talk to the Arachno-humanoid in this dimension. Yell at them for not following protocol for the potential-end-of-the-multiverse-scenario either. Regardless, he needed to get back.
“Spiderman,” a voice slithered out. Vulture stood at the alleyway, conveniently blocking Miguel’s main exit point. Lovely.
Miguel’s head dropped into his hands. “I can’t with you right now.”
Vulture tilted his head as he peered down at Miguel. “You’re not my Spiderman.”
Miguel didn’t want to explain multiverses right now, especially not without Lyla’s hologram explainy-thingy. At least there was a Spiderman in this dimension. “No, I’m not, so where is–”
A bright flash erupted next to him, momentarily blinding him. Miguel stumbled to the side, the ringing sound back. “Dios mio,” he huffed out, instinctively touching his head. He rolled to the side again as the Vulture lunged at him.
The Vulture clipped his shoulder, sharp fingernails digging into the muscle of Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel felt the Vulture yank him and toss him into the wall. Right into a garbage container.
Pain flared up and through his arm, settling on his shoulder with an incessant buzz. The garbage container groaned and toppled over onto him. Insult to injury, indeed. Miguel permitted himself a single second to close his eyes and take a deep breath, for the pain. He opened his eyes. The Vulture stalked closer to him, another grenade in hand.
A red laser web shot out and grabbed the grenade. Another one of Miguel’s webs shot out to stick to the wall behind the Vulture, giving Miguel enough momentum to launch himself out of the pile of garbage. Miguel haphazardly tossed the grenade off to the side, distantly hearing it detonate, and tackled the Vulture.
Miguel just needed to subdue the Vulture just enough, and leave. He could feel a clock ticking deep within his blood. “I do not have the time for this,” Miguel spat at the villain. “Just stay out of my way.”
Electricity jolted through Miguel as he glitched again. Miguel let out a snarl, trying to stop the glitching. Vulture lunged at him again, slamming into him and punching his glitching face. Miguel could feel gravity take hold as Vulture started flapping up.
All Miguel could see was a pulsating red. He lashed out, claws wrenching into something soft. The Vulture let out a blood curdling screech, thrashing violently. Miguel dug his claws deeper to stabilize himself against the movement, a small part of him relishing the shriek the Vulture let out. He raised his other arm, claws out yet again, aiming for the Vulture’s face. Sanity gripped Miguel at the last second, and he changed his trajectory to latch onto Vulture’s wingspan, pulling himself up to the Vulture’s ear level.
“Just put me back down,” Miguel hissed in the Vulture’s ear.
Silence settled over them for a brief moment, only interrupted by the beating of wings. Vulture’s eyes are wide, Miguel can detect a hint of fear. A smile slices across Vulture’s face. “Fine.”
Miguel barely had a second to pre-emptively feel regret before the Vulture curls his wings to a free fall dive. Wind whipped against Miguel’s face. He could feel the g-forces through his mask, morphing his facial features. He grit his teeth, trying to shift the position so that Vulture would hit the ground first, or at least, reach an angle where Miguel wouldn't get too hurt. The Vulture was impervious to Miguel’s efforts, holding Miguel steadfast.
The ground was approaching faster than expected. Miguel flipped them both at the last second, a last ditch attempt to equalize the damage to be done.
Pain ricocheted through his arm. His wrist felt as though it was burned by ice and then dipped in a river of fire. Definitely broken. Miguel lifted his arm weakly to see that the watch was shattered through and through. His heart sank.
Nearby, the Vulture slowly rustled to his feet again in the middle of the empty plaza.
Miguel unsteadily got up, refraining the urge to grip his injured wrist. “You broke my watch.” It’s more complicated than a watch, he resisted adding. “I needed that.” Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure no civilians were nearby.
There were none. Miguel pushed down a strange chill in his gut. This was good. No one would get hurt.
“What did you need it for?” The Vulture’s eyes glinted. He was holding his plasma gun and a grenade, ready to launch.
“It doesn’t matter,” Miguel snapped, shifting to a more defensive stance. He would have to trap the Vulture, so that he could find the closest Alchemax–or whatever the equivalent was in this godforsaken universe–and fix his watch. Better to let the villain make the first move.
Vulture opened his mouth to say something. Miguel never heard what he would have said.
Electricity crackled along the Vulture’s back, seizing up his wings. “Hey Vulture. Been a while since I last saw you,” a disembodied voice said.
Vulture screeched as his wings fell apart, attempting to fire his plasma gun. An invisible force seemed to disarm Vulture and chuck his gun away.
“Really thought you retired, man.” Two webs shot out, wrapping around Vulture’s legs and pulling taut. The Vulture fell over.
“Retire?” Vulture spluttered out. More webs shot out to wrap around him.
“Yeah man. Haven’t seen you in years.”
“I was busy,” the Vulture ground out, twisting around and trying to get loose.
“Pension fund not enough? I feel you, the economy and all.”
Miguel could start to see the outline of the newcomer.
“Curse you, Spiderman! I was doing important things,” Vulture snapped.
A couple more webs wrapped around the Vulture, rendering the villain almost completely immobile. “Yeah, yeah, okay sure. Sorry I was late on my part, I was also doing important things when I got the notice.”
The new Spiderman was nearly completely visible now. A dark lithe suit with ghostly eyes, red markings with a strange combination of a red spider and skull at the center. A hood covered his head, and his hands had been adorned with clawed gloves. Miguel could not remember any database file for this particular Spiderman, but the Spiderman was as familiar as a migraine.
The Spiderman was examining Vulture. “Yeah, just make this easy for both of us, and stay there. Don’t move. The police should come in five minutes, tops.”
The Vulture snarled at him.
Spiderman nodded, more to himself than anyone else. “Yeah, he gets it.” The pale ghostly gaze turned and faced Miguel now.
Miguel, subconsciously, squared his shoulders. The new Spiderman wasn’t short by any means, but Miguel still towered over him. “Spiderman,” Miguel greeted curtly. “Where is the location of the closest Alchemax headquarters?”
Spiderman tilted his head. “Why do you want to go to Alchemax? And why would I tell you?”
Miguel felt a flash of irritation. “Because–” he was unable to finish his sentence as he glitched again. When he came to, he saw the other Spiderman next to him, holding him up.
“Oh. I see.” The Spiderman’s mask was unreadable.
Miguel felt his features contort to a scowl. Before he could say anything, the Spiderman let him go, stepping away. Miguel stumbled slightly.
“You should follow me,” the Spiderman said, swinging away into a nearby building.
Miguel groaned softly, before using his non-injured arm to shoot out a web to follow the other.
Spiderman was waiting for him in an empty office building, leaning against the wall. Miguel stumbled slightly as he landed. “So?” Miguel straightened up. “Are you going to tell me where the Alchemax is?”
Spiderman ignored his question. “Your watch is broken.”
“It’s way cooler than just a watch,” Miguel snapped. “And I need to get it fixed. Probably at—surprise—an Alchemax lab. So just tell me–”
“Why do you need to get it fixed at Alchemax?” Spiderman interrupted.
Miguel had a carnal desire to wrap his hands around the idiot’s neck. “Stop interrupting me. Because, I’m from–”
“You’re a Spiderman from another dimension, yeah I know that part,” Spiderman concluded casually.
The lecture Miguel prepped died in his throat. “You know ?”
“Well, yeah. Not hard to tell with the whole,” the stupid clown raised his hand and flailed around a bit, a pathetic imitation of Miguel’s glitching. Miguel definitely did not look that ridiculous. “So, what, is the watch what keeps you stable between dimensions? Is it like, your interdimensional travel gadget?”
“Gizmo,” Miguel corrected automatically. He had subconsciously shifted into a defensive position, nerves cracking in anticipation. Miguel wracked his memory for any idea of who this was, but only drew blanks. “And yes… that’s why it’s important that I need to get this fixed. I need to head back.”
“I think it’ll be a lot more complicated than that, man,” the Spiderman muttered.
“Compli–what are you talking about?” Miguel took a step closer, but the Spiderman held his ground.
“I mean, fixing the watch won’t help much, unless you know where you are, and where you need to go. I don’t really think you have a clue for both of those things.” The Spiderman shrugged. “For the record, I don’t know either.”
“I know where I need to go, Earth-1610B,” Miguel growled out.
“That’s all relative. Like, that doesn’t even mean anything,” Spiderman started to sound annoyed. “Listen, you think you know everything, but trust me when I say that you’re wasting your time if you think that watch is going to get you out of here. You need to find out your relative position here first, and then you can go back home. I can help with that, just, trust me on this.” He hesitated, before adding, “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” Miguel bared his teeth again, moving to loom over the other Spiderman. “Do you even know who I am? What I’ve done?”
“You’re Miguel O’Hara. You weren’t bitten by a radioactive spider. At some point, you create this taskforce of transdimensional Spider-people for the purpose of keeping the multiverse on track. Kind of like a Spiderverse. Right now, you think that you need to go back, because you think you’re saving the multiverse from some multidimensional threat. Right?” The Spiderman’s ghostly eyes bored into Miguel.
Miguel had no spider sense. He had heard rambling accounts of the sense through Peter, and clinical dissections of the sensation through Jess, and never quite understood either of them. He simply assumed that he never would, that it would be another thing setting him apart from the rest. But now, with the dread reverberating through his nervous system, the a priori knowledge settling like a funeral in his chest—he understood the spider sense now. “Who– who are you?” Miguel asked, the answer already a stone underneath his tongue.
Slowly, the Spiderman lowered his hood and pulled off his mask. He was definitely older, no longer the gangly kid that Miguel had met. Instead, he had gone ahead and grown into himself, a full blown adult, an equal. His face was more chiseled, the baby fat mostly gone. Braids now ran down his scalp, framing his face. But the deep brown eyes were the same, that same spark burned bright.
“I’m Miles Morales. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And you,” Miles Morales tilted his head. “You killed my father.”