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Chapter Text

“Your dad’s alive?”

“...What?”

“Your father… you said he’s still alive.”

“Yeah…”

“...Huh.”

Miles felt an uneasy lurch in his stomach at the other person’s statement. His dad was alive - at least for now. He wouldn’t be alive for much longer if he couldn’t get out of here. Get out of this insane dimension where his dad was dead, where the city constantly burned, where his mami struggled just to make any money.

He’d thought he was home. But he wasn’t.

Instead, he was staring into the eyes of his interrogator - someone who was apparently the Prowler but wasn’t Uncle Aaron. He was confused. And scared. But he couldn’t show it right now. He was practically helpless, tied up in a place that felt like his dead Uncle’s apartment but wasn’t. Instead of comforting ivy and soft cushions, the walls were covered in iron-wrought chains. This wasn’t home.

He tried to keep his chin up despite the terror that tingled furiously in his veins, looking into the white holographic eyes of the Prowler. He just asked a simple question.

“...Who are you?”

A few moments passed in silence. The holographic eyes on his mask flickered away. Metal unfolded, and underneath was the face of a teenager.

His eyes were a muddle of electrifying greens and browns. His frame was scrawny yet strong at the same time. He had a gaunt, stoic face.

Yet, despite all of their differences…

He was looking at an alternate version of himself. He didn’t need to introduce himself, yet he did anyway.

“I’m Miles Morales… but you… you can call me the Prowler.”

Miles couldn’t help it when his eyes went wide. He couldn’t help it when his heart seized with so many emotions; terror, concern… sadness. A bit of grief.

“If I don’t get home…” Miles whispered, barely breathing, “...our dad is gonna die-”

“Your dad.”

Just seeing his face, he could tell that this other version of himself had been hurt. The way his nose curved slightly. The way his lips were uneven. The way his gaze was so painfully ice-cold.

“Please…” he breathed, the other's stare feeling like a heavy weight on his chest, “... you have to let me go.”

The corner of the other Miles’s mouth curved slightly. It almost felt like he was being mocked as he strode towards him.

“Why would I do that?”

One of his clawed gauntlets raised, clicking slightly as it clamped into a fist. He began to move it toward Miles’s face. He was stiff with terror. He thought he was about to get hurt. Tortured. He didn’t want to be here.

His left ear was grazed by the warm buzzing metal, settling next to his face against the punching bag Miles was tied to. He didn’t dare even blink, scared of what this version of himself could do in even a millisecond. The Prowler leaned forward, studying his features with an unreadable expression. Miles was cornered. He couldn’t run.

At some point between being knocked out and waking up here, rubber gloves had been put over his hands, keeping his venom strike contained - his only defense mechanism. Miles had to try to get out, and there was only one thing he could think to do right now.

He started rubbing against them with his fingers, holding the predatory gaze of his alternate as he tried to calm himself, to stop himself from trembling.

He felt the cold chain against the rubber, trying to free his fingers at least. He was desperate, thinking that maybe he could make a hole in them if he was fast enough. However, as was becoming apparent with everything in this dimension, the gloves were in disrepair. The teen quickly found a pre-existing hole in one of the fingers, his fingertip breaking free.

He touched the cold metal of the chain that bound him, all the while holding the gaze of the other Miles in front of him. He couldn’t tell what he was trying to do, he was just… observing him. Maybe he was trying to intimidate him. Hell, it was working, but Miles couldn’t let that show. He couldn’t let him win in any way while he was trapped like this. He just had to wait for the right moment to strike, the right moment to try to fidget with the chains so he could just run and never stop running until he was away from these people. He couldn’t go home, but he could at least evade the shadow of his Uncle and a terrifying fatherless version of himself.

The Spider managed to keep a level head now, looking at the other Miles. He just had to keep him interested in what he said long enough to escape.

After several long seconds of his sharp eyes studying his features, taking him in, the Prowler spoke.

“Now… what should I call you?”

“I’m Spider-Man,” the teen simply answered, holding his probing, dark gaze.

“...Spider-Man…” the Prowler began, saying the word as if he were getting used to the feeling of it on his tongue, not tearing his gaze away from Miles even slightly. “Who are you, Spider-Man?”

He wanted to say ‘I’m you,’ but he wasn’t. Maybe they looked the same, maybe had the same name, maybe knew the same people, but they were nothing alike.

“I… I’m from another dimension,” Miles tried to explain. Maybe if he gave them enough information, they’d leave him alone. That would be stupid of them, but he could only hope.

“I didn’t mean to come here. I just want to go home. My dad’s gonna die if you don’t let me go.”

Something in the Prowler’s expression changed; a slight narrowing of his eyes.

“I don’t care if your dad’s gonna be dead soon. You’re not getting out of here.”

Miles bit back the wave of fear that sentence brought, continuing to wiggle his finger further out of the glove. He couldn’t see what he was doing, only able to feel as he curled his finger in between a chain link. He had a good grip on the metal now; all he had to do was wait. And for now, that meant answering any questions thrown his way honestly.

The Prowler leaned a hair closer, intent on making him talk.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

Miles's eyes widened, trying to think of a satisfying answer. "Because… I-"

His words were cut off when electrifying pain seized every fiber of his being, a spectrum of colors blinding his vision as he glitched. It felt like every molecule in his body was individually ripping as he let out a distorted cry of pain, only for it to stop just as quickly as it had come. Miles's breathing turned heavy as the sharpness inside of him began to fade, trying to get a grip on his surroundings again.

The Prowler barely looked surprised, only giving him some room so he didn't get caught in the crossfire of whatever was happening to Miles.

"Because of that-" he immediately began to explain in a scratchy voice, pushing past the way his head was spinning fast enough to make him throw up. "That's happening because I'm not from here - I came to this universe by mistake, and the longer I'm here, the more I'm gonna deteriorate."

That information seemed to interest the Prowler, his brows furrowing slightly. Miles didn't even wait for him to say anything before beginning to tell him more.

"My cells - they're decaying because I'm in the wrong dimension. Something happens where they don't belong in this universe, so now my cells are freaking out. I - I don't know anything else, but there's this watch I had that prevented it from happening. I don't know where it is, I didn't even have it before I got here, I promise."

The Prowler leaned closer to him again, his piercing eyes looking straight through him before he spoke.

“Does your watch have something to do with why you’re here?” he asked in a low, even voice. Still, it held a bit of venom to it as if saying the wrong thing would lead to more pain. It didn’t seem like he fully believed Miles yet. It looked like he’d have to explain everything.

“Kind of…” the teen breathed, trying to figure out how to tell the entire story of why he was here without making himself seem dangerous. “There’s… there’s other Spider-Men - like me. In a bunch of universes, there’s all different versions of Spider-Man. One guy made a society for all of us - except there’s things that are supposed to happen to every Spider-Man, like our stories. My dad was supposed to die. I - I didn’t want him to, I was gonna change my story, but they didn’t wanna let me. I was just trying to get home and stop it from happening before they could get to me, but I went here by mistake. My… I could use my watch to get home, but I don’t have it anymore. I don’t have any way to get out of here, and they don’t even know where I am - there’s no way they’d know I’m here because I wasn’t supposed to be here at all, I swear.”

He was trying his best not to show how afraid he was about this entire situation, but having to explain it really put into perspective what was happening right now. Miles didn’t have any friends or family who could help him. Even if his friends were here, he couldn’t trust them anymore. He didn’t have any way to actually go home. He was completely alone and had to look at a walking ghost of a dead family member who only held hate in his eyes. He was here while he knew his Dad was going to die at any second.

Miles’s eyes began to sting a little. He scolded himself, biting his cheek slightly as he tried to maintain the never-ending stare-off with his alternate self as the anxious pounding of his heart slowed to a deep ache. Don’t you dare cry, Miles. Not now.

The Prowler was bound to notice anything though, no matter how well he thought he could cover his true feelings up. It felt like Miles was exposed and couldn’t hide from him - or Aaron, who just leaned against the counter, observing the entire situation in dead silence like a policeman watching an interrogation through one-sided glass.

Their silent exchange continued for what felt like an eternity as Miles fought to contain his emotions. It was as if the Prowler was just waiting for him to break. As if that would give him more answers. Miles didn’t even know what else he could tell him, though. That his only friends weren’t really his friends anymore? That his entire universe could collapse? That it hurt just to sit there and know that this version of himself knew his Uncle but had lost his father, and he just wanted nothing more than to run home and be met with the warm, safe embrace of his parents instead of this terrifying lonely hellscape he’d been forced into?

He didn’t dare to even move a muscle, frozen in place with tears building in his vision as the Prowler continued to just stare at him. Miles didn’t know how long it was before the other finally let out a small sigh, his shoulders tensing less before he looked away.

The weight of his stare being lifted finally gave Miles room to breathe as the Prowler turned his head, instead directing his gaze to Aaron. He couldn’t see the other’s face, just breathing heavily as he desperately tried to figure out what was happening. Was he going to be hurt? Killed?

Whatever silent communication the Prowler gave to his uncle led Aaron to come forward. Then, the two walked to the other side of the room together, standing near the back of their couch. Miles could still see the both of them, but they had their backs turned to him.

This was his chance.

This could be his only chance before it was too late.

In any other circumstance, he would’ve considered it too dangerous to do anything while they were right there, but he didn’t care. He just had a desperate urge to escape, like a spider trapped under a cup - he wasn’t thinking anything other than get out NOW.

Miles tensed, sending electric pulses through his exposed finger and onto the chain. He felt the tingling sensation growing stronger, trying to send as much as he could through only one hand while he had the opportunity. He kept his eyes trained on the two, making sure they didn’t notice what he was doing.

The chains wrapped around his torso started to crackle with electricity, he just had to keep going until something happened. His heart thrummed in his ears, anxiety flooding his system as he heard and saw the blue buzz that his venom strike started to send around himself.

Aaron looked over his shoulder at the crackling sound, his dark eyes reflecting the blue lightning that thrummed around Miles. They’d noticed what he was doing.

He didn’t care about trying to be any kind of careful now. It felt like his heart was going to plummet through every floor of the apartment building when they both started to turn around.

It was either do it all now or die.

With his full survival instinct kicking into high gear, a huge blast of lightning erupted from him. The entire room was illuminated in blinding energy as that buzzing sensation filled his entire body. He felt and heard the sensation of an explosion of some kind.

Miles fell to his knees, stunned for a few moments before blinking the spots away from his vision. As he regained his senses, he noticed that the punching bag he’d been tied to had been obliterated. Instead, it was completely blown apart, stuffing and shreds of red leather surrounding him. The chains and bungee cords that once held him in place had equally been blown to pieces and scattered all over the floor.

Miles was free. Relief washed over him, but soon a newfound sense of ice-cold dread flooded his veins when he realized what was about to happen next.

He didn’t even waste a second to see what the Prowler and Aaron were doing before scrambling towards the door.

Chapter Text

His heart thundered in his chest faster than his feet hit the ground as he sprinted into the hallway of the apartment building. Maybe he should’ve gone out the window instead, but he wasn’t thinking. He was barely even breathing as he tried to escape his two captors.

Miles just ran as fast as he could, not processing anything until he found himself going down a flight of stairs, his body hitting the drywall at the end of every floor before he pushed himself toward the next level. He wasn’t even sure how far the bottom floor was, just letting the instinct of years of visiting his Uncle's apartment carry him outside, even though this wasn't his uncle's apartment.

He knew he was getting closer to ground level the more stairs he ran down. He had to be close, and nothing else was on his mind as his heart pounded in his ears.

As he stepped on the next landing and turned towards the next set of steps, something slammed into his back. His face slammed into the wall as he was pinned to it, sending a jolt of pain and panic through his system as he saw a flash of purple light at the edge of his vision.

Miles just let out a panicked yelp, immediately jabbing his elbow into the Prowler’s gut. The grip on his back was released, allowing him to wriggle out of his alternate’s grip before taking off again.

He kept dashing at full speed down every step, unsure of how close the Prowler was following behind him. Everything passed by in a blur as he finally reached the lobby.

As soon as his feet hit the tile, he immediately barrelled across it, not looking back once. His hand desperately reached into the pocket of the coat he’d accidentally borrowed, finding the fabric of his mask and pulling it over his head. He scrambled to shrug the coat off, abandoning it on the ground as he shoved through the front door and finally got outside, now in his full spider suit. There were still long tears across the fabric and gashes across his chest from his earlier escape from the Spider Society.

As soon as the doors closed behind him, he froze in confusion as a sharp tang entered his nose. It smelled like... burning?

That wasn't exactly unusual for New York, but something felt off about it. The smell was familiar yet wrong somehow; too much of it at once, like it was constricting his lungs.

The sound of heavy footsteps behind him snapped him out of his worried daze and back to the present moment, and that moment was when his alternate self was on a warpath to kill him.

He panicked, realizing he had to keep moving instead of just standing there and waiting for the Prowler to catch up. However, as he prepared to bolt towards the tall buildings, he realized something: they could both run, but the Prowler couldn’t swing.

He pressed his fingers onto his palm, finding the button of his web-shooter so he could pull himself away.

Except nothing came out. Actually, his fingers were pressing down on nothing.

A wave of terrifying realization washed over him.

Shit. They took his web-shooters. Of course, they did. He needed to think fast.

His train of thought came to a screeching halt when he suddenly crumpled to the ground. Miles's atoms glitched and sent waves of incapacitating pain through every molecule in his body, ripping through him before stopping like nothing had happened. Miles felt weak and disoriented, groaning in pain. He needed to get up, now. It didn’t matter if he was hurting, the Prowler wasn’t going to give up the chase.

Miles felt the familiar warning of his spider-sense buzz in his brain before instinctually turning his head, eyes locking on the Prowler careening towards the door that Miles was right outside of. He didn’t have time to do anything but use what was in front of him. He staggered to his feet and turned before leaping upwards, gripping the front of the apartment building as he started to climb.

He pulled himself up brick by brick, not daring to look behind him. Not even when he heard the sound of metal scraping below his feet, not even when he saw that violet glow growing closer and closer.

Miles reached the top of the building, but froze, looking around desperately. There was no more wall left. He didn’t have anywhere left to go but forward, but he didn’t have his web-shooters. Either way, he didn’t have time to decide the smart thing to do as he felt his pursuer coming right up behind him.

He propelled himself into the air, leaping backward off of the building just as he felt a claw graze the bottom of his foot. Miles scrambled as he fell before managing to careen forward and grip the nearest building with his fingertips. He stuck to the wall with one hand for a moment, planting his feet on the brick before he bolted, a mess of arms and legs desperately trying to get away.

He heard the rough sound of whirring combined with loud scraping and cracking behind him. He didn’t even look behind him or waste time trying to catch his breath; it felt like the buildings were closing in around him and his lungs were strangled by anxiety as he leaped from building to building as fast as he could.

Miles had no idea how he was supposed to get away from the Prowler. He didn’t have his web-shooters and he didn’t think he could get close enough to shock him or anything –

Oh, wait. He could turn invisible.

As soon as he realized this, he used his ability to camouflage into his surroundings. He immediately dove into the nearest alleyway.

The Spider pressed himself against a wall, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a few deep breaths as he hid in the shadows despite his invisibility. All he knew was that he had to hide.

He held his breath, remaining silent as he expected the Prowler to run right by where Miles was hiding. That should get rid of him.

He was proven wrong when he saw a furious blur of violet round the corner and start sprinting towards him.

How the hell did the Prowler know where he went – whatever, it didn’t matter right now. He just had to move.

Miles scrambled on the concrete in a panic before he began to scale the building he’d been pressed against.

But he wasn’t quick enough; he felt metal claws close around his ankle, yanking him down with brute force. He was flipped backward over the Prowler’s head until his spine slammed into the concrete.

The impact forced the air out of his lungs, but he barely had time to recover before he felt the warning buzz telling him to move. He rolled to his left on instinct, barely missing the gauntlet as it came down where his head had been moments ago.

He immediately kicked at the Prowler’s stomach while he had time, his heels making contact with his attacker’s abdomen. The Prowler reeled, stumbling back and hunching over at the impact. Miles immediately pushed himself away, crawling backward as fast as possible. His back met a car on the street as he stumbled to his feet. Miles just pushed off of it, sprinting down the empty sidewalks.

He had to think of some way to escape. Running wasn’t working, turning invisible and hiding wasn’t working, and there was no way he was going to take him in a fight when he didn’t have his web-shooters and was terrified out of his mind. He desperately looked around, looking for somewhere, something, anything that could help him.

As he ran, he spotted an entrance to the subway in the middle of the sidewalk. It was busy, and it was easy to lose someone in a crowd. It could be his way out.

He didn’t think twice before turning invisible again and propelling himself down the stairs. Even if the Prowler was somehow able to see him, it would be easier to get away if nobody else could.

He found himself tumbling onto the hard tile, rolling at the bottom step in one smooth motion and getting to his feet, heart beating against his ribcage.

Small clusters of people were waiting for their trains to come, and Miles nearly passed out from relief when he saw one being boarded a few tracks away. Maybe the station was emptier than he’d anticipated, but he didn't care when he saw a way out.

He carefully yet quickly moved towards the vehicle, weaving around people silently before he leaped over an empty track, jumping once and landing on the other side. Then he burst into a full sprint towards the train on the other side, not wasting a second as he sprung forward, hands slamming onto the train car. Miles clung to it desperately, his back fully pressed onto the cold metal as he tried not to let himself be vulnerable in any way.

Body frozen in fear, his eyes darted around the station as he prayed for the train to just go already, expecting the Prowler to leap out at him and rip his head off. But he didn’t see him anywhere; no unusual purple glows, no figures speeding towards him. It was just normal crowds of normal people.

Then, finally, the train started to move. A huge wave of relief crashed down over his nervous system as he breathed out heaps of tension in his heavy breathing. He clambered to lay on the top of the train car, leaning his head back as he tried to calm his rapid heartbeat9. He was submerged in darkness as the train entered the tunnel, unable to see anything but the soft, dim light of the train cars below him.

The cool wind brushed softly against his face as the train traveled to its destination, the sound of it rocking and clattering against the tracks echoing around Miles as it gained speed. He was finally able to take a moment to think of what to do next.

I need to find a way home. I don’t have my watch, so… is there an Alchemax here? Maybe they have a collider or something I can use. But there’s no Spider-Man here. I’d have to sneak in, – but I have no idea what this Alchemax has. Is there even a collider? Is there even an Alchemax?

I’ve gotta find something here, it doesn’t matter. I have to get home, one way or another.

But… how?

Just the thought of having to figure all of this out on his own felt like it was looming over his head. Miles had nothing and no one to help him, and he wasn’t even sure of every difference between this New York and his own. He decided to just close his eyes and stop thinking about it. Resting while he could was better than stressing over things he had no solutions to.

The darkness around him faded into a blue glow as the tracks led the vehicle outside. The train stayed below ground level, concrete walls on either side forming a half-tunnel. The air immediately felt more difficult to inhale than it should’ve been, heavy and thick with smog. His eyes opened in confusion, and then his heart dropped. His eyes widened as his gaze focused on the city in the distance.

Black smoke spiraled upward from between the buildings, fires scattered almost everywhere. The sounds of police sirens echoed faintly, a haunting wail that had been ringing since he’d first gotten here. The buildings themselves looked… wrong. They were the same as the ones he knew from his dimension, but they seemed worn, somehow. It was like the city itself was tired.

Seeing this place that felt like home reduced to a shell of its former self, empty and broken, made unease settle in the pit of his stomach. He had to wonder how it had turned from the familiar bright city he knew into… this. It looked terrifying.

Miles’s quiet moment was interrupted when his spider-sense rang in his brain.

His heart began to pound immediately, fear coursing through his veins in a moment as he tore his focus away from the New York skyline, eyes darting around frantically. He didn’t even have to look around to know exactly why his spider-sense had been triggered.

Why wouldn’t the Prowler just let him go?

A streak of purple emerged from over the top of the tunnel, rushing towards the train in a purple blur outlined by the navy sky. Miles didn’t need to see anything else before he scrambled to his feet.

He crawled forward as fast as he could despite the speed of the train he was on top of trying to force him down. His muscles were burning, but he couldn’t stop moving. If he waited even a moment, the Prowler was going to hurt him.

He had to stop when he suddenly saw train tracks rapidly going by in front of him instead of the next train car. Miles felt his stomach plummet in horror.

He’d reached the end of the train. There was nowhere else to go.

He’d fall to his death if he tried to keep going, but he honestly wasn’t sure if it was worse to get himself killed trying to jump or getting caught by the Prowler.

Either way, he knew he was trapped again. All of that running and trying to escape was pointless and had only led him right back to where he’d started. Miles had no idea what to do to evade him. At this point, there was only one other thing he hadn’t tried, and he was terrified of that option – but he didn’t have a choice.

He couldn’t run anymore. He had to fight.

He saw the glowing figure of his alternate in the darkness easily scaling the train and barreling towards him. As soon as the Prowler was close enough to him, he aimed his gauntlet towards Miles’s gut.

Miles rolled to the side, dodging successfully – except the surface of the train was slippier than he’d thought.

His own sudden movement caused him to start rapidly sliding sideways off of the train. His stomach dropped along with his body as he let out a yell, flailing to grab something as he started plummeting towards the ground. His palms managed to slam onto the roof of the train at the last second. He made the mistake of looking down, seeing the gravel-lined tracks pass by in a blur beneath his dangling feet.

Pure fear surged through his veins. He grunted, trying to pull his body back on top of the vehicle as quickly as possible, but he didn't do it in time.

Miles only saw the Prowler standing over him for a moment before he felt his fingers get crushed. Miles winced as his hand was stomped on, eyes watering with the surge of stinging pain. Still, he refused to let go – if he did, he’d fall to his death.

His eyes wildly darted around as he tried to find a way to get out of this, but then he realized the answer was right in front of him as soon as he studied the Prowler’s glowing shoes. They looked the same as Uncle Aaron’s – Miles’s Uncle Aaron’s. They helped him stick to surfaces, evident by the fact that he was able to stand on top of a moving train right now. If he was right, then that meant that this Prowler’s equipment was the same as his uncle’s and could hold the weight of both of them.

Gritting his teeth, Miles gripped onto his assailant’s ankle with his untrapped hand. The Spider pulled as hard as physically possible to get himself back onto top of the train, and sure enough, the other’s feet stayed planted. He wriggled his hand out from under his shoe before kicking off of the side of the train, pushing himself upwards as he used the Prowler’s ankle as an anchor. Once he’d managed to push himself off of the side of the train car, he immediately wrapped his arm around the Prowler’s neck, holding himself steady against his alternate’s back as he clung onto him and started punching the top of his head.

He relentlessly brought his fist down as hard as possible as many times as he could, not giving his opponent any time to recover. The Prowler blocked some of the blows with his forearms, but most of the hits landed. The sounds of breaking and fizzling electricity became clear as his hits started smashing his helmet in. White sparks and purple glitches flew up in front of them as the Prowler staggered from Miles’s hits, losing balance.

Immediately, the force of the train’s speed used the Prowler’s descent against them both, pulling them downwards as they tumbled through the air. Miles refused to let go of his attacker, even when the Prowler’s metal gauntlets ripped Miles off of his back and forced them to fight face-to-face. The two traded hits, dodges, and blocks equally, struggling in a mess of fists and kicks in midair.

Between hits, he caught glimpses of the train’s silver surface rapidly growing closer as they continued falling. Even if Miles and his opponent were currently matched, the Spider knew how he could use that fact to his advantage.

Using the momentum of their descent, Miles pinned Prowler’s legs down with his feet and forced him to land early, grabbing and pushing the back of his head so that his face made contact with the train. There was a loud crack as he did so, but Miles was unfazed. He forced his forearm to lay across the Prowler’s shoulders despite his opponent’s attempts to get up, using his other arm to repeatedly elbow his back with the most strength he could muster. He was just so desperate to go home and see his family again. He was barely registering that his blows might be fatal.

His successful attacks were interrupted as the sensation of every inch of his body ripping apart overcame him. He lost his grip on his attacker, letting out a pained cry and seizing helplessly as his atoms glitched.

The Spider felt the Prowler’s claws sink into his forearm before he was flipped onto the train. His vision swam with prismatic colors as he was forced onto his back, their positions swapped. Miles felt a wave of sharp pain flood through his spine when the glitching finally stopped, wincing at his new injury as he saw the Prowler standing right above his head. Too disoriented from his seizure to react in time, his adversary’s gauntlet finally came down onto his head.

Miles choked on his breath at the feeling of hard metal bashing into him, head spinning and ears ringing at the blow. His hands clutched at the train beneath him as he struggled to pull himself onto his feet again only for the Prowler to force him back down with another slam to his chest. He fell hard onto his back, body slamming into the hard metal of the train again.

He felt like he was suffocating as warm liquid flooded from his nose and filled his mouth with a metallic tang. He coughed, his lungs aching and blood pouring down his face as he tried to blink away the spots in his vision.

He couldn’t see the other’s face. He could only see the blur of the gauntlet that threatened to hurt him again. The Prowler reeled back, preparing to land a finishing blow. If he didn’t do something, he was going to die. But Miles wasn’t ready to give up yet.

The Spider bent his knees to his chest, trembling with terror and pure strength as he forced both feet into the Prowler’s ribs, hard. His alternate self choked after the kick and stumbled back a step.

As soon as the Prowler was disoriented, Miles let go of the train and slipped between his staggering attacker’s legs, the momentum of the train easily pulling him forward. He slid several train car lengths away, the slippery back of his suit gliding across the metal. He dug his heels down after a few seconds, gripping with his hands and feet as hard as possible. Miles managed to come to a rough stop before turning onto his stomach to look behind him, finally able to focus his vision again.

What he saw was the Prowler raking his gauntlet through the metal roof of the train car behind Miles as he struggled to regain stability himself, leaving deep gashes in the steel as he stopped moving and turned to face Miles. Then, his head snapped to look up at him.

His helmet had been almost completely crushed. The once-steady holograms were glitching, cracked holes in the metal revealing small glimpses of his face – Miles’s face – illuminated by sparks of white-hot electricity.

Terror filled Miles’s body, causing every muscle in his body to tense. He could feel the rage radiating off of his alternate, even from this distance.

And in that single moment that he froze, the Prowler sprung forward, falling towards Miles before tackling his chest full-force. Miles was knocked backward, the sparks of the other’s broken mask filling his vision with stars.

Miles gripped the other's forearms, dodging swipes of his claws and struggling in a blur of arms and legs as they fought for control of the fight. But buzzing metal clasped around his throat, forcing his already labored breaths to stop. His head was slammed into the hard metal surface as he was forced to stop fighting back, letting out a weak sound of pain. He felt like he was suffocating.

He saw one wide, rage-filled eye through a hole in the Prowler’s mask illuminated by sparks as he leaned down into Miles’s face and growled, his expression contorted in animalistic fury. The other Miles’s words were distorted between his natural voice and the voice-changer in his mask, cutting in and out in a rage-filled reflection of himself threatening his life.

"There's nowhere left to run!"

Miles's fingers desperately scrabbled and pried at the metallic claws around his neck as the pressure started to build in his head. It did nothing. He couldn't breathe as the metal of the gauntlet dug into his throat.

"Who are you? Why are you here!?"

With every word the Prowler shouted in his face, the grip against his throat strengthened. He just choked helplessly in response, trying to get some air into his aching lungs, feebly kicking his legs at nothing in a desperate attempt to escape. The gauntlet wouldn't loosen.

“You look like me, you sound like me – but you’re not me. You said you’re not from here, but you’re lying! What are you!?”

Miles wanted to argue back, to try to say anything, but he couldn’t even take a breath. The mask of his suit felt like it was closing in on his face, preventing air from reaching his lungs.

Desperate to breathe, he moved his hand up to start clawing at the Prowler's broken mask despite the dangerous sparks emitting; despite how terrifying it was to be this close. He felt the electricity burning at his fingers as he hooked them right into the hole that showed his alternate’s eye.

Yet through the burning, he felt the small volts of electricity seeping into his nerves, giving him a flicker of energy. Finally, something he could use.

Miles didn’t even think. He just gripped tighter onto the exposed technology, grimacing as he began to absorb its power. This was his last chance to fight back.

And then, he used every last bit of energy in his body to shock the hell out of the Prowler.

There was a crackling sound as his powers combined with the already exposed electricity. Miles could feel it surging through his whole body, giving him newfound strength. A loud buzzing filled his ears as blue lightning surged around his hands before flowing right back into the Prowler's mask.

He shot the buildup electricity back out as forcefully as possible in a burst of light. The sudden amount of energy caused a loud explosion as he finally felt the metal claws around his neck loosen.

Miles gasped for air, watching as the other Miles flew backward. The Prowler’s body slammed against metal as he relentlessly tumbled. He managed to stop his descent by digging his claws into the train. However, the violet glow of his technology had been killed. Now, all of his equipment broken – all of his weapons rendered useless.

The Spider coughed, letting oxygen fill his lungs, finally. Then, he looked down at the Prowler, heart thundering inside of his chest at the danger he’d faced as he shouted with determination.

"I'm Spider-Man! I’m gonna save my dad, and you’re not stopping me!"

Then he leaped backward, not wasting a single second.

He fell off the side of the train, landing on the elevated ground next to the track before he disappeared into shadow, finally slipping away as the train kept moving without him. And in his wake, he left the Prowler broken and defeated, a shell of his former self.

Chapter Text

Miles didn’t know how long he had been running.

He’d never looked back once he’d gotten away from the Prowler. To him, looking back felt like a death sentence.

His lungs ached. He’d been hit over and over again by his alternate self, knocked down onto concrete and metal, kidnapped, and chased while his body bled and muscles ached and his heart begged to go home, but he was alive. He was just running before something killed him and changed that. He could barely breathe, his feet flying beneath him as he dashed back between the towering buildings of the city.

Miles only managed to stop once he’d scrambled into a concrete alleyway, pressing himself firmly against the nearest wall with his heart in his throat. Miles’s mouth was parted desperately, gasping for air through the fabric of his mask, the heat of his breath feeling like waves of thick steam suffocating him.

Squeezing his eyes shut, his hands found the neck of his suit before his fingers clasped around the hem of his mask and pulled it off, squeezing the fabric in his hands as he fought just to breathe.

Breathe, Miles, breathe. Just breathe. You’re safe. He’s not coming back. Right?

Just the thought that he could be wrong made his panic spike. He pressed his cheek against the cement wall, his gaze darting to look past the shadows between the buildings where the street lay. He was only met with the sight of a barren sidewalk — no Prowler in sight. He was safe.

The realization hit him like a wave, his muscles finally losing their fearful tension as he let himself slide down the wall into a sitting position. His lungs were finally allowed a break to recover. Miles slowed his breaths, forcing his pounding heart to slow as the air filled his lungs. That was what he needed for the moment; a break, a moment alone. He didn’t want to see the place that he was trapped in.

What he really wanted was to go home. What he wanted more than anything was to just get out of here and hug his parents. To see that his dad was safe. But no matter how much he hoped, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He shoved the thought away. There was no point in hoping over something that felt impossible.

That wasn’t too hard to do anyway, since he was now fully processing that the sidewalk was empty. Sure, it was the middle of the night and most people were at home, but New York was never this abandoned. His head turned to look out of the alleyway again, and he saw… nobody.

Distantly, he knew that something about this wasn’t right. While he knew that this dimension wasn’t going to be exactly like his, the silence that had settled over the city made anxiety prickle on his skin. Why did the city feel abandoned? Did something happen?

His worries were cut off as pain shot through his nerves, his wounds demanding attention. Throbbing filled most of his body accompanied by spots of raw stinging along his chest and arms. Miles hissed at the rush of aching and burning, wincing and scanning over his forearms carefully. He could worry about the weird differences between this and his dimension another time.

The damage was a lot worse now than it was when he’d first arrived on Earth-42. Along with the long gashes inflicted during his fight to escape the Spider Society were now several additional injuries. The new holes torn into his suit showed off even more of his dark skin that was punctured by Miguel’s and the Prowler’s claws alike. It was hard to see his body in the darkness, but his arm was sticky with blood which just added another layer of discomfort.

The Spider grit his teeth slightly, sighing and resting his head back against the wall. He’d have to live with it for as long as it took for it to heal. He didn’t even have any clothes to change into or a bed to sleep in. It was clear that Miles would just have to tough it out and make do with whatever he could find in this place.

The first thing he does after getting used to the pounding, persistent pain that tries to paralyze him is put his mask back on and stumble through the shadows of the city. He avoided any roads or sidewalks just in case someone happened to see him despite how barren the area seemed. He knew that he couldn’t just start looking for some kind of portal or collider or something in his current condition, and he didn’t want any random people to see an injured kid in a superhero costume with cuts and bruises all over him sleeping on the streets. So, the first first step is finding something to wear over his torn-up Spider-Man suit.

Unfortunately, it was probably the middle of the night meaning that a lot of stores were closed, not to mention the fact that he didn’t have a single penny on him. So, he found himself doing something he never would’ve imagined doing in a million years.

I can’t believe I’m doing this right now, the Spider thought to himself as he perched on the ledge of a building. He glanced between some sets of clotheslines he’d found, trying to find something to wear — or steal was more like it.

Not like I’ve got a choice. I’m not just gonna waltz into some store with no money looking like this. No one here even knows who Spider-Man is, you’d look like a psychopath — just this once, Miles. Never again.

That didn’t make the guilty pit in his stomach any better as he tried to convince himself that this was okay. He was Spider-Man. Spider-Man wasn’t a criminal. But stealing clothes from some random people in the middle of the night was definitely a crime.

He let out an exasperated sigh as his gaze landed (unfortunately) on what he needed — a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. It wasn’t anything fancy, and he didn’t even know if it would fit right, but at least it would cover up his suit and injuries.

Frowning in disappointment over his own actions, the teen clung to the brick wall and reached out for the articles of clothing which gently blew in the night breeze from where they hung as if almost begging to be taken. Miles, on the other hand, wanted to beg the universe for any option other than this.

“Sorry.” He muttered an apology to the unknown people he was stealing clothes from into the night air, tugging the shirt and pants free of their clips and into his arms. He felt bad that he couldn't even leave a note attempting to excuse his actions as a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. He wasn’t even being neighborly though, and it wouldn’t make any sense because Spider-Man didn’t exist here. He’d probably just look like a clothes-napping criminal who decided to tell his victims who had robbed them.

After a moment of inspecting his loot, he realized that even this wouldn’t be enough since it was cold out and chances were he’d be sleeping outside. Hesitantly, he carefully advanced across the clothesline before he found something to keep him warm. He snatched a black bomber jacket, the extra theft feeling like another weight in his gut before scuttling away with his stolen goods and a newfound sense of shame.

After ducking into a nearby alleyway to put the clothes on – the shirt and the pants were a little big, but the jacket fit well enough – Miles’s objective was to find somewhere to sleep. He knew he didn’t have any chance of finding anywhere to rest inside, so he’d have to deal with the cold, unsafe environment outside. The location he’d ended up with was the underside of a bridge.

He lay on one of the support beams, the road stretching below him. As he idly looked through the gaps in the overpass, he saw a car or two pass by every now and then. Everything was still too quiet and empty for his liking. He would’ve expected to have to avoid people or at least see cars driving by, but he realized that it wouldn’t be that hard to remain hidden during the night. It wasn’t like anyone was out to see some random kid sleeping above the road, anyway.

The night air around him was filled with that same suffocating smell of smoke that seemed to be a constant, the silence of the empty night air disrupted by the sounds of his soft breathing as he laid his head back on the cold metal. Miles wished that the streets weren’t so quiet so his thoughts weren’t so loud.

The last few days had been hell for him. At first, he thought that maybe he was lucky. He’d seen his friends again. Peter had been there, and he’d had a kid. That felt insane. Miles didn’t really know how to handle little kids like that, but Mayday had seemed to like him.

Peter had gone behind his back, though. He’d planned to keep him from saving his own dad the whole time. How could he do that? What would he think if he knew that Mayday was being forced not to save Peter?

A small flame of anger sparked in Miles’s chest, but he decided to shove that train of thought away. He was trying to sleep, not think about all of those things that hurt him, like Gwen—

Miles didn’t want to think about that.

The wave of thoughts that came flooding at her name didn’t care whether he wanted to think about it or not. It felt like he was drowning in his own head.

After months of wishing Gwen was there, praying for her to somehow hear him or feel him instead of only seeing her face when he drew her, she suddenly appeared in his room one day. Miles had been so excited and happy to see her again that he didn’t think to ask why she was there.

She wasn’t there for him. Miles would’ve dropped everything for her, and all she did was lie about why she was there after being away from him for over a year. She could’ve come to see him, but she didn’t. He knew that Gwen didn’t do friends, so why would she lie to the only one she had?

He’d thought that he mattered to her.

A deep ache festered in his chest as his thoughts relentlessly poured down on him. Miles really didn’t want to think about that. He turned onto his side with a heavy sigh, trying to focus on something other than Gwen as he stared at the empty road below.

She had to care, even after all of that. She’d cared when they’d gotten that moment alone together on top of the Williamsburg Bank Building. He’d memorized every detail of it.

The sunset against the sky had mixed like paint and water streaking across the sky. From where they’d been sitting, the upside-down skyline had looked like a star-splattered galaxy, the window in each building shining brightly. Nothing had been brighter than Gwen’s smile, though. Her pink hair was nice, too. He hadn’t been expecting her to have dyed hair, but it suited her really well. The light, vibrant color in her blonde hair really brought out the pretty pastel shade of her blue eyes. Everything about her was graceful and calm and flowed together like a work of art.

Miles wanted to go back to that moment. It had been so simple; just the two of them talking for hours on end without stopping, connecting, and realizing that they were the same; that the two of them had so much in common with each other that nobody else could understand. It had felt like a relief to finally see each other again after all of those months of wishing that Gwen would magically come back. And she had come back, only to leave Miles with an even deeper wound than last time. The hole in him had been filled with memories of what she’d done that proved that she wasn’t going to help him when he needed her.

The icy temperature of the metal he laid on seeped into his side as he tried to get comfortable. He hoped that sleep would take him away from his thoughts soon enough.

Miles’s gaze landed on his hand which was curled into a fist next to his head. He let it relax, his fingers losing their tension. His eyes drifted shut as he felt the cool air brush between his fingers.

He wished that he’d had the courage to hold her hand.

Miles woke to a dull ache in his head. And after peeling his eyes open, he was met with the twist of a painful emptiness in his gut.

In the frenzy to figure out what to do after last night, he’d totally forgotten to eat. There was too much to handle at once – trying to sleep, finding clothes, finding a way home – that he’d forgotten that he had to take care of that, too. At least he’d been lucky enough that he hadn’t glitched again while he was trying to sleep.

His injuries weren’t too bad this morning. His powers let him heal a bit quicker than the average person, the long scratches across his chest reduced to faded marks that dully stung if he moved the wrong way. He discovered this as he let himself fall unceremoniously onto the street below, the sensation of his feet hitting the ground causing his head to pound as he gained his footing.

And, to Miles’s surprise, when he lifted his head he found himself surrounded by people. People were walking up and down the sidewalk crossing below him like nothing had happened. He could’ve cried out of relief, but then, confusion replaced that feeling. Of course, no one really paid attention to him seemingly falling from the sky. Even across different dimensions, it looked like New York was New York and nobody cared about whatever weirdness happened around them.

As much as the teen wanted to let his head spin thinking about why the streets had been barren last night compared to now, his attention was stolen by an uncomfortable tightness building in his gut. Food first, thinking later. That was if he could even find something to eat. He still didn’t have any money, so it was looking more like “hope for food first, think again anyway.”

Aimlessly wandering, civilians and buildings alike passed in a slight blur. Everyone here seemed normal enough; not like criminals or like they were particularly struggling to pay the bills every month. They just seemed like average people going about their average lives. He wondered what had gone so wrong for his family — he didn’t wanna think about that.

Despite this place being in another universe, the layout of New York seemed the same as his own universe’s. His feet carried him down the familiar sidewalks and he found himself heading into the heart of the city without thinking. The sky above him was shifting from the orange sunrise into the pale blue of early morning, though Miles would have described it as gray more than anything. It was weird how something as simple as the color of the sky filled him with unease.

He was able to slink through droves of people going about their business, managing not to attract attention to himself with his stolen clothes covering any suspicious wounds along with his suit. The morning was cold, a sharp breeze piercing against his exposed face. Now more than ever, he wanted to be able to find something hot to eat. Maybe it was a dumb thought, but the only way he could think to not steal breakfast was to walk somewhere busy and hope someone was giving out free samples.

Miles almost couldn’t believe that this was what it had come to, but he knew from experience that it could be worse. He could be watching the people he loves die. He could be facing lies from his friends again. He could be held down to a moving train feeling like he was about to die. Funny how that happened twice — and back–to–back. All he had to worry about right now was where his next meal was coming from.

The more he walked, the more the sounds of the people around him increased — people talking on their phones, various news screens on the sidewalks or on large displays surrounded by advertisements that were twenty stories high, car horns honking as traffic increased to the volume he was used to — all of it brought a small sense of familiarity that Miles let himself ease into as he found himself in a large plaza.

He couldn’t be sure just how far across the city he’d gotten since he was in Times Square now. Between him running for his life, the train he’d fought the Prowler on, and trying to find a place to sleep, being a solid few hours’ walk away from Brooklyn wasn’t surprising. He could at least be grateful that he knew where he was.

Maybe being somewhere so busy was better, anyway. No one would pay attention to a disheveled kid wearing clothes that didn’t fit when he was in one of the busiest places in the city. If he was lucky, he’d manage to get his hands on some food if people were feeling grateful. Miles didn’t want to steal again.

His hazel eyes cast upwards as he moved with the flow of civilians, trying to figure out anything. He noticed that some of the brand advertisements were different. Instead of Koca-Soda, it was Coco-Cola. He’d never seen the details of any alternate dimensions before, but it was a little funny how the small stuff was different. The amused huff that played on his lips quickly died when he saw a different, much larger sign nearby.

It was a news report of some kind. It was from some alternate–dimension–ripoff news station called CCN, but his eyes were glued to the headline.

Normally, the news was about normal things like stocks or politics or something, but no. Instead, the news read the following: Brooklyn City Council Extends Curfew.

Curfew? Brooklyn didn’t have a curfew — or at least, his Brooklyn didn’t have a curfew. No wonder the streets were so empty last night, but… why was there a curfew?

Miles felt like throwing up the longer he stood there staring at the giant screen above him. Something bad had to be happening here – something bad. He’d seen the city on fire, his alternate self acting like the vigilante-for-hire that his uncle had been in his world, but a curfew proved something. People weren’t even allowed to be outside after a certain time because it was too dangerous. He wasn’t sure what the danger was, though. At least, he wasn’t sure until he heard the woman on the news begin to speak, her voice echoing out across Times Square.

“Due to the recent gang war in the city, the new curfew stipulations mean that citizens should be indoors before 8 p.m., setting it an hour back from the previous 9 p.m. restriction. The stipulation also states that citizens are to stay indoors until 6 a.m. unless they are leaving for work-related reasons or emergencies…”

Gang war. That was the explanation. There was a gang war happening in Brooklyn that was bad enough for the curfew to change; bad enough where the police couldn’t get it under control.

A stab of guilt sunk into his chest when he realized that the police were the only people who could deal with it. Without a Spider-Man here, this was how bad things had gotten. This universe had needed the spider to bite someone from this dimension, not him. Miles had already had a Spider-Man in his world, but now he was dead. He wouldn’t have died if Miles hadn’t interfered — it wasn’t his fault, though. He had no control over everything that had happened and how awful things had gotten here.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel guilty.

He heard the blood rushing in his ears. He felt like running away the harder his heart pounded. He felt like doing anything but standing here, dumbly staring at the news that had just made him realize what it meant for a universe to have no Spider-Man.

This wasn’t Brooklyn. This wasn’t home, this wasn’t somewhere safe. This was a war zone.

His eyes stayed glued there, paralyzed as he helplessly soaked in every detail that he could. Maybe if he watched for long enough, there wouldn’t be something that was a pure nightmare. Maybe there’d be some hope, just not… this.

“... here, we have footage of local politician Wilson Fisk’s statement on the situation.”

There were a few moments of silence from the screen before a transition revealed the supposed footage the anchorwoman had been talking about. He’d thought that he’d heard it wrong, but what he was seeing on the screen in front of him now proved otherwise.

A large man stood at a podium. His figure was dark and looming against the morning sky like an ominous shadow blocking out all traces of light. His voice was deep yet clear as he spoke, his New York accent evident in his words as he delivered his speech.

“... I’ve never agreed with the statement that curfew could solve crime. We would have been remiss if we said that, but that was not what we said. Instead, the curfew is a tool that has been added to the city’s toolbox to combat the rise in violence. And although it is a tool, and we are combatting some elements successfully, we can’t let our guard down. New York itself is being attacked at the heart by this disease, and we must work together as the life of the city to keep ourselves strong and healthy. We can’t give up now. I, Wilson Grant Fisk, will do everything in my power to make sure the city is cleansed!”

Panic rose in Miles’s body like it was going to consume him until he suffocated.

No. No, this can’t be real. This isn’t real.

Yet no matter how hard he wanted to deny it, the truth was in front of him. The man he was seeing was none other than the man who had killed his uncle. Miles had seen him gun down Uncle Aaron. Those fists that gripped firmly onto the podium were the ones that had beaten him until his whole body had nearly been crushed. That voice was the one that had told him how worthless and weak he was.

As he finished his speech, the audience on the news cheered for a few seconds before it cut back to the woman’s report, but he couldn’t pay attention to that anymore. The only thing he could pay attention to was how it felt like his lungs were being squeezed and the world around him felt too big and too small all at once.

That man had killed someone he loved, and now, there he was, with everyone loving him. People loved him.

Everything in this universe was so different, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Kingpin had to be evil. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions, but it felt like there could only be ill intent in the smiling face of Fisk as he addressed a crowd of New Yorkers on the giant television in front of him. How could he possibly be a politician that wanted to fix the city? How did a gang war even start to begin with? What the hell had led from New York being so normal to all of this?

That spider was supposed to bite someone from this universe so none of this happened. Spider-Man had gotten here far too late, and now all he wanted to do was leave. He didn’t even know how to leave, though, and all he was seeing around him was destruction because the spider had bitten the wrong person.

Miles didn’t know how to get home. He didn’t even know where to get something to eat. But what he did know was that he was feeling the nagging pull of regret overtop his hunger.

Over what, though? It wasn’t like he chose to leave this universe without someone to protect it like this, and he definitely didn’t choose to get those powers.

Yet, somehow, he found himself wondering if things would be better off if he’d never been Spider-Man. It wasn’t like his dimension had needed him — if anything, maybe Peter would’ve survived without Miles getting bitten and done a better job.

He had to stop thinking like that, though. It wasn’t helping anyone. Hell, those were the words of the people around him, not his own — Miguel, Spot, Kingpin.

The teen shook his head a bit, forcing his feet to turn so that he walked away from the sight of his enemy giving an inspirational speech to these suffering people. He was Spider-Man, and he was meant to be Spider-Man, and everyone else who was telling him otherwise was just trying to get in his head.

It wasn’t like the thoughts were unfounded, though. These people were struggling, living somewhere that should be safe because there was no one like him around to protect them. That was supposed to be his job, and… the spider that had given him powers wasn’t meant for him.

Was he failing these people?

Miles paused at the thought. It wasn’t like he’d known that these people were in danger, but he still had some level of responsibility to everyone. The spider had been created here in whatever timeline–fate–stuff for this New York to have a protector, and the spider had made Miles. Even if he wasn’t from here, he owed it to this place that he was Spider-Man to begin with.

Maybe he couldn’t find a way home right now, and maybe he was unsure of what was going to happen to his family, but he was here now whether he liked it or not. This place needed a Spider-Man, and here he was.

Maybe it was his job to try to get the situation under control. He had no idea what his other Prowler self was up to, but this whole thing with the gangs needed to stop as soon as possible.

Maybe the only way for this to stop was for him to step in. These people needed Spider-Man’s help, and in a way, he was the Spider-Man of this universe. All he had to do was figure out the full situation here, and that would start with some simple investigating. And when he found out how to stop the full situation, he would. It was his responsibility.

…After he found something to eat.

Chapter Text

The city sunk into dark, unwelcoming shadows and a chill bit into the air as nighttime fell once again. Miles huddled on a shadowed rooftop, the bomber jacket he’d found last night being his only shield against the cold air and the tears in his suit. He felt like it was colder than New York in June should’ve been.

It could’ve been because he hadn’t found anything to eat earlier, though. Sure, he could’ve stolen food, but he really didn’t want to do that after already stealing his clothes. He also didn’t want to dig through a dumpster for scraps because while he was hungry and felt gross and had no money, he was trying to hold out for a little longer. Miles wouldn’t go that low if he could help it. Besides, he was just trying to deal with some criminals. It was light work for Spider-Man.

So currently, Spider-Man was doing what any Spider-Man stakeout required, regardless of the severity of the situation or what his personal deal was: perching on top of a building and waiting for something to happen.

With gangs in this dimension running the streets like they were, he figured that he could wait around and a crime would fall into his lap before too long. Still, sitting outside while struggling to exist wasn’t what he imagined he’d be doing when he’d first gotten there. And struggling to exist wasn’t even an understatement; the fact that he wasn’t from his dimension also meant that he could be waiting for his body to glitch at literally any moment.

When Peter went through the same thing a couple of years ago, Doc Ock had (invasively) studied him and said that he was slowly dying. While Miles didn’t have a time frame for his own demise, he didn’t imagine that it would take too long for him to disintegrate into nothing. He could only hope that he either found a way home or found a way to stabilize himself before that happened. In the meantime, he’d just have to endure the pain of every glitch-out that crept up on him without warning. But the first step was helping to tame the gang activity in this city. It wasn’t like he could do anything else anyway.

The idle, quiet sounds of Queens under curfew were interrupted by the familiar sensation of ringing filling his head and energy conducting up his spine. Miles snapped to attention, immediately trying to figure out what his spider-sense was alerting him of. The answer was obvious when police sirens howled into the night air, followed by red and blue lights cascading along the windows of the buildings down the block.

Spider-Man leaped off of the building and through the air, catching himself with his hands along a shorter rooftop across the street. The vigilante vaulted over alleyways and balconies alike, keeping up with the two police vehicles the best he could without having his web-shooters on him. Those cars were leading him to something important; likely to the kind of problem he was looking for.

They seemed to be racing to catch whatever culprits had been discovered, quickly whipping around several blocks with determination. However, Miles’s senses went off again before the cops had reached their destination, his eyes instinctually darting towards a car dump as he ran past it.

Was it something in there?

In the darkness, he was barely able to see a few figures moving along the shadows of some abandoned cars, scattering and running away upon the sight of the cops rolling by.

There.

He immediately changed direction. The Spider leaped towards the ground, wrapping his body in camouflage. Then, he rolled to his feet and crouched in the darkness. The mystery people were still making a break for it, three men dashing across the gravel before two of them hopped into a silver car parked nearby and peeled off towards the road. The third man kept running away, but Miles sensed that the other two could lead him to something bigger. He was too familiar with street-level crimes from his home dimension to miss it.

Miles jumped onto another building and followed the silver car, watching it effortlessly cut corners and speed with the curfew emptying the city this late into the night. Their trail was confusing and winding, leaving Spider-Man struggling to stay behind them as he landed from building to building, racing along walls without his webs to pull him along. He was definitely gonna get his web-shooters back as soon as he had time to.

After the arduous chase, the vehicle finally stopped in front of a warehouse on an offshoot road. Miles stopped along with them, peering over a rooftop across the street to survey their next activities while he tried to catch his breath.

The area was coated in shadow, empty and abandoned at first glance. However, Miles’s instinct that it wasn’t empty was proven true as he watched a new figure exit said warehouse and approach the car, knocking on the window before saying something illegible from this distance. Both of the criminals from the car promptly got out to open the trunk. More conversation was exchanged as they observed the contents inside, so Miles took the chance to leap above them and stick to the side of the warehouse instead.

As Miles clung to the brick, he was barely able to make out the sight of one of the men entering the building while the other two started grabbing what looked like black crates of something—definitely something illegal— to bring inside. The Spider then directed his gaze towards a small window nestled near the roof, crawling towards it and spying at the events unfurling inside.

There were more people, milling about with… guns. They each held a weapon, idly patrolling a maze of crate-laden metal shelves, led by flashlights on the barrels of their weapons. And, if it hadn’t been for his advanced hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the conversation between the three figures who’d been talking in the car. He watched the locked boxes being set down on the ground as a gunman approached them.

“We got the load,” the first man said in an almost satisfied voice, crossing his arms as he approached the guard on duty. “Guy sellin’ them said that they were Oct 8’s newest model.”

Immediately, Miles’s heart lurched with recognition of what these people were doing: they were buying guns. Maybe this entire warehouse was filled with other weapons for these people to use. What sat unfamiliar in his mind was what ‘Oct 8’ meant.

The teen wasn’t given much time to figure that out as he watched a container’s lid be opened. Sure enough, upon an impressed whistle from the guard, the Spider’s eyes widened in horror as he saw that there were more firearms in there. Yet, they almost looked alien, with white material enveloping their sleek design. Miles didn’t know what they did, but they looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.

This was even worse than he’d thought, somehow. The gangs were making shady deals and getting away with an entire warehouse full of weapons because the cops couldn’t catch them. A part of Miles was frustrated that this much was sliding by unnoticed because of how hard it was to pin down every felony happening in this dimension. Were things here really that hopeless?

No. They couldn’t be. Miles was here, had seen the situation, and it was now his responsibility to try to fix some of this after these people had been left without a hero to save them.

So, maybe it was dumb to try to take down some group of criminals hiding a bunch of high-tech guns in a warehouse on his own, but he couldn’t do anything else. Even if he made a small dent in a large problem, he’d consider it a victory. Plus, maybe he could figure out what those guns did if he got them away from those people.

With a determined furrow of his brow and a tense sigh, Miles tested the small window in front of him before discovering that it tipped open under some pressure. It was almost too easy when none of these people knew how to stop a Spider from getting in.

Slipping through the narrow entrance, his hands and feet stuck to the ceiling as he watched the encounter from above, creeping carefully towards a better surveillance point. He let the invisibility coating his form drop, trusting the darkness of his suit and jacket to merge with the shadows surrounding him. None of the people below seemed to notice him, as per usual with situations like these. Nobody ever thought to look up when they were guarding their secret stuff.

Now, all Miles had to do was wait for the right moment to strike. He could take them out stealth-style, one by one until there were only a few guys left that he could easily take on. Then, he’d have full access to everything in here without anybody to interrupt him. Maybe he could even find a phone and get the cops in here–

His train of thought regarding what could’ve been his only victory ever since he’d come to Earth–42 came to a screeching halt once he realized that there was a pair of glowing white eyes a few feet away from him, staring at him. Purple glowed from the figure’s wrists as he clung to the ceiling.

You’ve gotta be kidding me right now.

Miles immediately tensed, his gaze locking with none other than the Prowler. Of all of the places to run into him again, it had to be here, when he was about to deal with this gang. It made sense, though Miles realized with a newfound rush of dread.

He must’ve followed him here. And now, out of all places, he was gonna have to fight him while he'd just been starting to get a grip on the issues in this dimension. Maybe he was even working for somebody; Miles’s Uncle, the Prowler, had been hired to work for Kingpin in his universe. Who was to say it wasn’t the same here? After all, Kingpin was shown to be alive and powerful in this dimension.

However, instead of being attacked like his pumping heart was preparing him for, he was met with a quiet voice.

“What are you doing here?” the Prowler asked lowly, his voice modifier—actually, his entire mask—seemingly fixed despite how Miles had bashed it apart on that train. Even in the darkness of the warehouse, he could see the squareness of his counterpart’s shoulders, equally as tense as the Spider’s.

“Leave me alone!” Miles hissed in reply, his jaw tensing. “Stop chasing me! Don’t you have anything better to do than to come after me right now!?”

“I’m not here for you!” the other teen growled, shifting ever-so-slightly closer to Miles. “I’m trying to handle my own business, so tell me what you’re doing here before I take you down, too.”

“I’m tryna deal with these guys! You’re not gonna stop me from doing that–”

Wait. ‘Deal with you, ‘too?’

“... You’re trying to take them down?”

Pure confusion washed over Miles’s expression, seemingly reflected back at him when the diamond-shaped eyes of the Prowler’s mask stretched wider. The tension between them dissipated, leaving a mixture of shock and skepticism in its place.

“... Yeah. And you’re… not attacking me right now, either.”

Miles went silent for several seconds. Suddenly, everything seemed even further out of his grasp of understanding, because what?

“Because I’m trying to deal with criminals,” the Spider muttered blankly, “and you’re… also trying to deal with criminals.”

“Yeah, I am. What did you think I was here to do?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you were gonna try to kill me again just for showin’ up here?”

“Wait, wait, no. You didn’t just show up, and I wasn’t trying to kill you, either! You pretended to be me in my apartment, and you talked to my ma, and now, you’re acting like you don’t know what’s going on, but you gotta know something, so stop lying!”

“I already told you: I got sent here by this machine, by mistake, and I didn’t have any control over how I got here, and I didn’t even know that–”

Miles’s argumentative explanation was interrupted as sharp pain seized his atoms, clawing and ripping and tearing at him in a flurry of rainbow light that caused him to lose his grip on the ceiling.

“HE’S HERE!”

So much for not being noticed.

His vision was blurry, a set of exhausted gasps aching at Miles’s lungs as he found himself on the ground post-glitch. Then, his spider-sense rang in warning, his limbs scrambling as the sound of gunfire bounced off of the warehouse’s walls. He breathlessly clambered to his feet, initially attempting to use his webs and tug the gun away from the thug that he’d landed a few feet in front of. However, at that moment, he was reminded of the fact that he didn’t even have his web-shooters on him because the Prowler had taken them.

He stared at the person wielding the gun with his arms extended panicked. Two middle fingers hovered over where the triggers for his webs should’ve been, frozen. Meanwhile, the man opposite him seemed to freeze in confusion as the two came to a standstill.

“... Who the hell are you–!?”

The thug’s confusion was silenced as the Prowler effortlessly elbowed the man’s skull as he dropped from the ceiling. Miles’s attacker crumpled forward in a matter of seconds, out cold. The teen winced slightly, relating a little too personally to how that attack must've felt.

Even though he was burning with questions about what the situation had turned into, he had a building full of people who knew that both Miles and the Prowler were there. Looked like stealth wasn’t really an option anymore.

More gunfire was met with the Spider ducking behind one of the various shelves of storage, ironically protected by the weapon containers around him. He barely caught the sight of his variant hovering opposite him, not hesitating to fling a barrage of questions at Miles.

“You’re not trying to get information from them? Then who the hell are you? How do I know you’re not some robot spy or something after your glitching fit!?” the Prowler asked, shouting over the bullets being fired and missing them.

“What? I’m Spider-Man, like I said, not a robot! And I thought you’d be trying to get me by now—ah!”

The two teenagers ducked as some goons rounded the corner, firing more bullets in their direction. Miles narrowly bounded off of the shelves between them in response, pushing himself towards the closest person before kicking him square in the face. Out of the edge of his vision, he saw the Prowler wrangle the weapon out of another’s hands before flipping him over his back.

With how things were going, Miles realized that they were gonna end up in a fight no matter what. Still, his goal of getting a handle on that crate of weird futuristic-looking guns was quickly nearing the top of his list since he didn’t want to find out how they worked the hard way.

Miles dashed towards where he’d seen said guns being opened, elbowing a gunman’s ribs against a nearby shelf before bolting through the maze of storage as quickly as he could. Whatever the other Miles was doing didn’t matter much right now, especially since it seemed like he was gonna take out criminals either way.

A smidgen of relief dawned upon him when he spotted the crates from earlier because thank God they seemed to still be untouched. However, he didn’t anticipate the fact that the guys who’d brought the weapons to the warehouse to begin with would still be standing there.

The three men seemed just as shocked as the previous guy upon the sight of Spider-Man before one of them let out a growl of frustration.

“I don’t know who you think you’re supposed to be, but let’s test out if that thin, raggedy little costume of yours holds up against this!”

The man reached for one of the high-tech guns, pulling back some loading mechanism that caused the sides to glow with red light and buzz.

Shit.

“Uh… I guess talking about it is off the table then?” Miles nervously replied. His question was answered by a bullet of said red light flashing towards him. He barely ducked his head out of the way, the heat narrowly grazing against his temple.

Before he had time to do much else, metal was clamping down on the collar of his jacket before he was yanked forcefully to the side, now face-to-face with the Prowler once more as he was wrangled down a hallway.

“What are you doing!?” the vigilante shouted at him, springing ahead. The pair found themselves in a smaller, empty garage-type area, nothing but the two of them and some spare boxes inside.

“I was trying to get those laser guns away from the people trying to kill us with them!” Miles jumped up, sticking his fingers to the garage door before using his weight to pull it closed and lock it. Hopefully, that would cut off their attackers for a little while.

“No–” His alternate self bowed his head in frustration, raising a clawed hand to his forehead before gesturing towards Miles with the ferocity of his mom when she caught him coming home late. “You show up at my house, talk to my family, have damn superpowers lookin’ like me, and then, what? You decide to show up here and beat up an entire gang by yourself? Who are you working for?”

“W-What?” Miles stared wide-eyed at his other self as he went on a small tangent, revealing that one, he wasn’t trying to kill Miles for no clear reason, and two, he thought that he was working for somebody. He let out a quick sigh, stepping closer to the other teen.

“I’m not working for anybody—just—look, you wouldn’t get it. You just have to trust me for at least five seconds so we can deal with these guys before they get to us. Then, after we’re not being shot at with lasers, you can ask as many questions as you want. I’m not trying to hurt you or anybody you know, and I’m not looking to cause a problem, alright?”

Silence fell over them, broken only by the criminals shouting and trying to lift the garage door from the outside. The eyes of the Prowler’s mask stared into the lenses of Spider-Man’s, who was praying that they could work together instead of fighting each other on top of the angry gang.

They stared and stared. And stared for a few seconds more. Then, finally, the Prowler’s shoulders dropped before he lifted his gauntlets, the tech clicking and whirring into fists.

“Let’s just get it over with. Don’t try anything.”

Miles wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved at his offer being accepted. He still didn’t know too much about the Prowler; although he’d seemed intent on beating him into a bloody pulp after practically kidnapping him, he almost seemed to be not entirely untrusting of him. He could worry about it later, though. They were gonna deal with this warehouse full of bad guys, and that’s what mattered right now.

He assumed a position near his counterpart, raising his own fabric-covered fists in preparation for the fight that was about to ensue.

After a few seconds, the door crashed and lifted open, allowing the angry gang members to flood in and start firing wildly.

Spider-Man dodged bullet after bullet, attempting to single out a foe amongst the cacophony of wild gunfire. Beside him, the Prowler ran straight into the fray, slamming heads together and throwing punches like it was effortless.

Meanwhile, the Spider performed various kicks, using each opponent as a means to stay airborne, landing a hit with every movement. Even without webs, he found himself at an advantage when none of these criminals seemed to know how to handle someone who barely touched the ground.

After managing to knock a good handful of them down, Miles’s flow was interrupted by red flashes joining the chaos. A glance provided that a few of the guys had managed to figure out that the normal guns weren’t working on him or the Prowler.

“What is this, an alien invasion or something? You guys really shouldn’t be using those without a license–”

“Stop talking!” the other vigilante yelled, darting around beams of laser bullets before sliding between one guy’s legs. He wrangled the gun and barred it against the thug’s neck, knocking him out with a firm tug.

“Are you always so serious when you’re beating people up? Sometimes, you gotta lighten the mood a little, or not, or not!”

Unfortunately, his comedic break was ruined as a barrage of lasers flung toward his body, his sixth sense barely saving him from looking like a human-shaped block of Swiss cheese. Maybe yelling out quips about how serious his counterpart seemed wasn’t such a good idea.

Miles followed his variant’s lead, twisting and leaping around the volatile streaks of red energy before managing to disarm one of the gunmen in a swift move. After the weapon was sent skidding across the ground, the Spider easily gripped his arm to flip him over his shoulder. That sent his opponent flying towards another enemy as the two were put out of the fight in one go.

He watched as the Prowler took an alternate approach, picking up the gun that Miles had thrown away before watching him hurtle it at another guy. It hit its target perfectly, knocking the criminal clean on the head and sending him to the ground. Okay, then.

More men ran around the corner as if there hadn’t been half a dozen already. Where were these guys even coming from?

Still, Miles rushed forward, catching someone who was trying to load his wack laser gun and kicking him in the chest. As more electronic bursts filled the air anyways, he was starting to think that he was gonna struggle against all of these people without his web-shooters.

Fortunately, he was wrong. Surprisingly, his savior came in the form of the Prowler, who pulled something off of his back. It looked like some kind of baton, but quickly revealed itself to be the handle of a grappling hook. The other teenager aimed it, causing wire to wind in a loop around a group of goons before he tugged it, causing them all to tighten together in an easy-to-handle bundle.

“You had that the whole time?” Miles dumbly stated, watching in bewilderment as the purple-clad vigilante yanked the cluster of men forward. They all faceplanted into the ground in a chorus of pained groans.

“Like I said, I wasn’t trying to kill you yesterday! Just shut up and stop getting distracted!” the Prowler firmly restated, pulling the wire a certain way for it to retract into his backpack with a click.

The two Miles’ had managed to thin out the masses for now. When they weren’t immediately met with more gang forces, the moment's pressure was alleviated, causing Miles to sigh in relief. Still, that didn’t mean that the fight was over. They had a chance to get their bearings and turn the tide in their favor. If it were up to Miles, he would’ve knocked out the rest of the guys, left all of the weapons, left the police to deal with the aftermath–

“Let’s get that crate and get out of here.” He watched his usual plan crumble to pieces as soon as the other vigilante ran forward, not waiting for Miles to catch up before retracing their steps toward the heart of the warehouse.

“Hey—Wait a second!” he called out in confusion, dashing to catch up with his counterpart despite his opposition. Upon rounding the corner, he saw the Prowler taking down more guys left and right, not stopping before continuing his path forward.

Miles gave chase, unable to think about dealing with the bodies his other self was leaving in his wake. Despite how his legs were aching, he managed to catch up, only to watch the other vigilante attempt to battle off a half-dozen people wielding laser guns freshly grabbed from the open container they were fighting in front of.

Even if this guy didn’t seem to believe in the concept of teamwork, he wasn’t just gonna let him deal with all of this on his own. So, compromising himself to follow along with the more straightforward plan of his variant, Miles ran in alongside him.

“You really gotta start warning me about what you’re doing, man!” he called out in frustration, sweeping his legs under a nearby enemy before punching another in the head. He managed to duck under the Prowler’s arm as he went in to hook his gauntlet into the jaw of the guy next to him. Miles then tugged the final goon down with him, delivering a knee to his skull.

Thankfully, once again, it seemed like they had a moment of peace. He readied himself for what was probably the final wave of enemies to come, only to see the Prowler wrap one of his grappling hooks around the open crate of laser guns before making a break for the front door.

All that the Spider could do was let out a small scoff of annoyance, frowning but following behind. As much as he was used to doing things one way, this guy had another way to do it, and he wasn’t going to give him another reason to hate him. Besides; who cared about what he would’ve preferred to do, or what was safer, or what would deal with the gang permanently? Not the Prowler, apparently.

The Prowler held onto the box with one hand, using the other to grab a second grappling hook. He expertly swung it forward, hooking it against a rooftop before pulling himself onto it in one swift move. Meanwhile, Miles heard angry shouting from behind him as he watched this all happen, the remaining gang members seeming to realize that some of their new stash had been stolen. God, Miles would’ve killed to have his web-shooters back right now.

Left with no other choice, he sprinted away, clambering up the side of the structure despite how utterly exhausting it was. Spider-Man reached the rooftop successfully, his lungs burning for a good breath. He’d caught up to the Prowler, thought, and watched him stare at his newfound loot.

“H-Hey! Maybe… maybe tell me about your plans next time?” He wanted to be angry, but he had to remind himself that one, the Prowler wasn’t attacking him now, and two, he should keep it that way, or else he’d be even more screwed than he already was.

The other Miles’s head snapped up, his attention redirected from the crate of guns towards Miles. His holographic eyes narrowed, followed by his body turning as he stepped towards the Spider.

“You were just trying to stand there. I don’t know what your deal is, but I wasn’t about to wait for them to come and hurt me before I could hurt them. Besides; I got what I came here for, whether you were gonna help me or not.”

Spider-Man did a double take, blinking as he tried to figure out what the Prowler’s motivation was. He was consistently confused, learning something new and feeling even more confused than before. Yes, he hadn’t killed Miles. He’d also just stolen from a gang.

“... Yeah? Well, what are you gonna do with those?” he asked as calmly as he could. Miles couldn’t help the slight doubt leaking into his tone, causing it to waver.

The Prowler tensed in response, everything in him visibly tensing.

“None of your business,” he defensively uttered, lowering his hands to his sides as his gauntlets curled up. “What is your business is whether you’re gonna start answering questions honestly or not because the way you were buggin’ back there tells me you’re a robot, or a clone, or something that came here to stop what I’m doing.”

“Just… listen, alright?” His voice shook slightly with pure frustration, because why would nobody just listen to him? It didn’t seem to matter where he was at this point. Everybody felt like deciding what he was trying to do for him. Apparently, his alternate self wasn’t any exception.

“I’m not trying to stop you from taking a bunch of guns. I’m not trying to stop you from beating up those guys, and I’m not trying to hurt your family, I promise. I’m not even supposed to be here. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I’m from another universe, okay? I wasn’t trying to find you—I didn’t even know you were here until you tied me up and interrogated me, I swear. I don’t know how many other ways I can say it—agh–!”

Miles's voice distorted into blocky fragments, his body curling on instinct as the familiarity of another glitch ripped through him. He’d seen how many times Peter had glitched before he’d managed to get home, but every time it happened, it felt like the pain was gonna go on forever.

His entire being burned once the fit ceased, leaving him nauseous and disoriented as he found himself kneeling on the roof’s ground. The shadow of the Prowler lingered in front of him, watching the seizure in silent observation.

“... Please,” the teen rasped out nonetheless, his patience waning thinner than he could handle with his impending deterioration making itself known. “Please. I just want this all to stop. I just wanna go home. I don’t wanna be here giving you or your mom or Uncle Aaron any more trouble than they already seem to be dealing with. I just wanna see my parents, and my room, and save my dad before it’s too late, and I can’t do anything while I’m stuck here…”

Everything from the past few days started surfacing in a tidal wave of emotion; frustration, fear, anger, helplessness. He didn’t have control over anything. He didn’t even have control over his body decaying slowly when he was in the wrong dimension. If he didn’t get back to his world, he was going to rot away while his dad was busy being killed by the Spot, and he hated it, so much.

The silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity, only interrupted by the sounds of Miles barely containing his composure as tears finally started to soak into his mask. All he could do was sit there, ashamed of what he’d become, because everything was his fault. If he hadn’t…

… He didn’t even know what he could’ve done differently. Listened to Miguel? Paid attention to the Spot? Been more suspicious of Gwen? Not skipping homework during his first day at Visions, never letting his Uncle take him down to the subway station, being the good student his parents had wanted instead of this: letting person after person die, unable to stop it now that he’d started?

With how empty the city was right now, Miles was trapped in this waking nightmare of a world with just him and this twisted, corrupted version of himself. It felt like he was going to be stared at forever, judged ruthlessly, and picked apart while he cracked further and further. He couldn’t even control the fact that he wanted to sob.

Before he was unable to stop himself from doing so, though, he heard the Prowler let out a sigh above him before speaking slowly.

“... If you so much as think about breaking into my place again, I’m not gonna hesitate to do something about it. And I’m not gonna let you just run around either, but… you better explain everything to me and my uncle, and don’t lie about it, or else.”

He fought past the crushing weight of the guilt in his body, managing to lift his head to look into the mask of his other self. Was he actually going to be given a chance, even if it was nearly a threat?

Clearing his throat, Miles ignored the way his heart soared at the opportunity being presented to him. He shifted to stand up again, attempting to shake off the embarrassingly vulnerable moment he’d just had in favor of focusing on the present. Finally, over the past three days, he was being given something, and he could only hope that there were no strings or deeply buried intentions attached like every other time he’d been lured into trust.

“Y-Yeah… I can do that."