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He was born to do great things: Rio had known ever since that first moment she held him—soft, heavy, and fragile—in her protective arms, staring into his big brown eyes. He looked around with extraordinary awareness, tracking each movement with an intense focus. One small, curious hand curled around her finger. It filled her with something indescribable. A warm weight that was paradoxical, both tethering her to the ground and lifting her into the clouds. Her bebé, small and round, will no doubt go miles and miles further than anyone could imagine possible. This image of him going places was so clear in her mind that it’s no wonder when a nurse gave Jefferson the paperwork, she told him to write "Miles".
***
Rio shakes her head with an amused puff as Miles rushes through the apartment, haphazardly throwing on his uniform and stuffing his face with mofongo y huevos fritos. He stumbles into familiar walls while slipping his shoes on standing—tossing his bag, a kiss, and a quick "te amo" over his shoulder—before rushing out the door. It’s bittersweet watching him leave every other weekend. Knowing her nene is going out into the world, becoming an hombrecito. She won’t always be there to protect him, and that thought comes with complicated feelings to sift through.
"No sé qué voy a hacer." She leans on Jefferson. They have had these discussions before, seeing him grow up so fast—too fast—with nothing they can do other than tell him they’re here for him. But lately, those conversations have become commonplace.
"Me either." Jefferson pulls her into his side, rubbing a comforting thumb along her shoulder.
***
Those feelings become more convoluted after a few phone calls from the school, a parent-teacher conference about Miles’ future (which he was conveniently late for and promptly left early from), and him being late to his father’s congratulatory party.
"Miles, ven a comer!" Rio projects as she walks into the apartment, "Even if you’re grounded, you still need to eat dinner!"
The apartment is quiet: no shifting sheets or dragging feet; no aggressive pen scratching paper, or clattering markers, or absent-minded humming to muffled music; no response to her call. Nothing at all. The air is still, only moving with her footsteps. "Miles?"
She opens his door, expecting to find him lying on his bed with his headphones in, but he’s not there. Instead, she finds an old and faded cardigan with mismatched patchwork. It’s filled with pelusa and frayed edges from all the (literal) wear and tear.
The counselor’s words permeate her mind and out into the silent air of the apartment as she picks up the cardigan. "Your son. He’s lying, and I think you know it."
Rio rejoins the party, supposably empty-handed, but the cardigan resting on her arm begs to differ.
***
In three days, Rio has become privy to many things. Her son has been putting himself in constant danger for the past year and four months, swinging around Brooklyn as the new Spider-Man. He has traveled miles further than she could imagine—and she’s tried until her brain sizzled like tostones—while simultaneously being in the same place. And his many friends that "left town" in reality left the universe, including the mysterious Gwanda.
During the first two days, Rio met Gwanda three times. First at the congratulatory party, then when she lost her son, and most recently when she brought him back and fought many Spider-People with the friends that "left town" and the new friends he made out of town so-to-speak.
Today is day three, and the surprises don’t end: "Gwanda is not really Gwanda—" ¿¡Qué!? "—her name is actually Gwen."
That cardigan leaving, sweater stealing, Spider-Ballerina, Emo-that-made-Miles’-eyes-light-up wasn’t even called Gwanda, but Gwen. What else does she not know about esta muchacha?
"Gwen, huh?" Rio bares her teeth and squints her eyes in the bleak attempt of a smile. "We need to have a talk."
***
Gwen is undoubtedly fucked if the look Rio gave her was anything to go by. Though maybe she isn’t, right? While Rio’s smile looks very sharp, and a jaw can clench with a force of at least fifty-seven pounds, maybe that's just how she smiles. After all, her own smiles are pretty wobbly, with her lips stretching up in awkward angles.
But looking at Miles—whose eyes switched between her and Rio—give her a cringing smile before turning back to his mother and speaking in hushed tones made her senses go haywire.
This chaotic feeling is one she has become well acquainted with—like when every atom in her body phased in and out of universe, being pulled apart towards the multiverse and back together to the current one, and was tossed a week back into a different dimension; or when she had the bone-chilling realization that Miles was in the wrong dimension, not including the blaring sirens warning of an impact that must have been for him, don't ask her how she knew, she just knew; or when her father could finally back "Spider-Woman" into a corner, the pistol’s glare pointed straight at her even after she revealed herself to him, and the absurdly comical image of him washed in blue and red as he chose his duty to the public over her again—and hits her harder than a train (which shouldn’t be taken lightly, since she has been hit by a train; a canon event if you will).
All this to say, she wants to web-sling herself out of Rio’s sight.
Gwen follows Rio up the stairs to the roof of the building. It’s bright out and warmer than usual, so it’s no wonder her palms are sweaty and her weak knees shakily hold her upright like an old easel with rusty screws holds up a large canvas.
"So, Gwen, when and how did you meet Miles?"
Okay, maybe it won’t be so bad for her if Rio is starting like this. Or this might be the informal questioning before getting to what Rio really wants to ask her. "Last year at school. I was in his science class, and we kind of kept bumping into each other."
"What do you like to do?"
"I like playing in bands." Especially if it’s one that she starts. "I’m a drummer."
"Who exactly are you?"
"Well, I’m Gwen Stacy." Rio looks expectant, and Gwen’s ribs rattle as she takes a shaky breath. Should she even say the next part? Flashes of red and blue glinting on metal and familiar wide eyes come to the forefront of her mind, and she forcefully pulls it back with a blink that’s more of a cringe. Lying is what got her here in the first place, and maybe this time telling the truth won’t end badly. There’s a first time for everything. So she steels herself with another shaky breath, careful footing, and a straighter posture. "At least, that’s who I am to everyone when I’m not Spider-Woman."
With each quiet second that passes after her admission Gwen shrivels in on herself a little more. Her shoulders hunch forward and her arms cross in front of her as she sees the cogs turn behind Rio’s eyes. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe this will inevitably be just like last time. It definitely feels that way with how her body aches; with the thick, heavy, empty pit growing in her torso; and with the fact that there really is nowhere to go without her web shooters or her bootleg watch. All that’s left is for Rio to call Jeff upstairs, for him to charge her with trespassing on both their apartment and their universe, and for her to be sent atom by atom back to her own universe. She doesn’t notice the trembling until Rio places a hand on her elbow.
"Sorry," Rio sighs. "I didn’t mean to intimidate you. It’s just—I can’t help but be protective of him. When he was born, he was so small—holding onto my fingers with his tiny hands—and then I blink, and suddenly he’s taller than me, and he’s eager to grow up and go out into the world.
"And I can understand that. I was the same way at his age, but even as he grows, he will always be my baby. He will always be my son. And I will always try to look out for him, but I know that I’m not going to be able to do that all the time, so the least I can do is support him and his decisions as best as I can.
"I can tell Miles cares about you a lot, enough to throw himself into another reality when he’s never even left Manhattan. And I know that you care about him too. I trust him, and because of that I’m trusting you, but I hope that soon I can grow to trust you based entirely on you as a person and not just through him."
The weight rises off of Gwen like steam rises off of May’s freshly baked bread, and she’s inexplicably warm too.
"Okay, enough of this; come on!" Rio ends the serious conversation with a clap of her hands and an inviting smile on her face. She puts an arm around Gwen’s shoulders, pulling her into her side with a chuckle. "The food’s going to burn if we stay here any longer."
"Oh." Rio’s arm slips off of Gwen’s shoulders and gives her arm a gentle squeeze. "And thank you."
It was kind of odd being thanked. It wasn’t something that happened all that often to her or her alter-ego. And even odder was not knowing why. "For what?"
Rio's face softens. "For finding Miles and bringing him home."
