Chapter Text
"These web-shooters feel a little tight…"
"You'll get used to it." With that, Peter tipped off the edge of the skyscraper where he had taken Miles to officially begin training.
Before, Miles had tested the webs a little lower off the ground, but this was the first time his life depended on them working. He had faith in Peter's and his own engineering, but he doubted himself. Just aiming the webs while hurtling through the air at terminal velocity was hard enough; getting the timing for swinging was nigh impossible at this point. He knew Peter had taken years of practice to be as adept as he was now, but Miles couldn’t help but compare himself and wonder if he might not be cut out for the whole vigilante thing. Each web was a challenge to aim and swing, and it took his full concentration and a lot of shouted advice from Peter just to keep Miles moving through the air.
The two Spider-Men had just rounded a corner when Peter abruptly slowed. Miles was already mid-swing, and whipped past as Peter zipped to a nearby rooftop. Distracted by Peter's sudden stop, Miles realized too late that he had missed the window to shoot the next web. He had already let go of his last one, and now he was free-falling toward the busy street.
The only thing going through his mind was a joke that Peter had repeated when Miles first questioned him about the dangers of swinging hundreds of feet in the air: "It's not the fall that'll kill you—it's the sudden stop at the end."
Miles was suddenly stopped, but not by becoming a bloody splatter on the sidewalk. He opened his eyes and realized that Peter had dove down and caught him. He'd caught him, like a little kid. Blood rushed into Miles' cheeks, and he was glad to have a mask on to cover his face.
"Thanks, man. I think I had it, though." He mumbled. By this point, Peter had deposited Miles on the rooftop where he had stopped before.
"Yeah, you definitely had something coming. Certain death, sure, but you had it." Peter was joking, but the words stung nonetheless. Peter continued, "Hey, I'm sorry man. Look, the webs took me a really long time to get the hang of. You're picking it up way faster than I did. I can't tell you how many times I came into school with a limp because I messed up a swing. It's like riding a bike—once you get the hang of it, it'll be smooth sailing. Just takes practice."
Miles was silent for a moment. "Hey, why'd we stop, anyway?"
"Police report just came in—there was another Ryker's breakout. I don't know who helped him escape, but Octavius is on the loose again." Peter's voice had involuntarily shuddered a little when he said the name. Miles knew about Peter and Otto's history, about the betrayal. He also knew that Peter was still afraid of the guy, even if he wouldn't admit it. Otto had been a father figure to Peter after Uncle Ben's death, and something in Peter had broken when he had turned on him so brutally. Peter still carried a scar on his shoulder from when Octavius had impaled him during their last battle. Octavius was also one of the few people who knew Peter’s identity, but so far he had apparently kept it to himself.
“This is my chance to get some practice swinging in and beating up some bad guys!” Miles jumped from one foot to another like a boxer. “Who else got out? There must be some low-level goons out there that I can take.”
“Nope. No. Nuh-uh. What makes you think you’re even close to ready? Miles, you’re learning fast, but you’re learning. I can’t risk you getting hurt. Plus, they haven’t reported anyone making it out of Ryker’s except Doc Ock.”
“Can’t risk me—you didn’t hesitate to risk me falling to my death a minute ago! I gotta take some risks to learn. Let me fight with you. Two have better chances than one, anyway.”
“For the last time, Miles, no! This is my fight, and you’re not ready. End of discussion. Give me your web-shooters.”
“What? No way!”
“I know you, Miles. You’re going to come after me because you’ll think I need backup, and then you’ll get yourself killed either by Octavius or by your own web-swinging.”
Miles was about to argue, but he knew he wouldn’t win this one. He followed Peter down to the alley behind the building and he handed over the web-shooters. Peter had his backpack, and he put them inside. Then he rifled around and pulled out a subway pass.
“Get yourself home. You did good work today, Miles.” Peter looked like he wanted to say more, but he looked away.
Miles hesitated, but took the pass and slouched out the back of the alley while Peter stashed the backpack by webbing it to the fire escape. As he was about to turn the corner, he turned back to say something, but Peter was already gone.