Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

…He was still alive.

Miles laid there for a second, panting, as the pain that had been tearing through his body a moment ago slowly receded, leaving his limbs tingly and off-feeling.

He’d landed… in cardboard. He blinked, pushing a flat cardboard box to the side with a frown. What?

The air was cold and damp. It smelled like he was outside. There wasn’t much light to see by.

He rolled over onto his back, a piece of cardboard pressing into his shoulder blade, and blinked up at a dusky blue night sky, framed by the two buildings he’d fallen between.

He squinted up at the sky.

…Okay. That was… different.

He’d just been in class a second ago. It had just been the middle of the day a second ago.

He sat up, shoving flattened cardboard boxes off of him. He was still wearing his Visions Academy uniform, which supported the fact that he’d just been in class a second ago, and he wasn’t going crazy.

He looked around the alleyway he was sitting in. Everything looked… different. Smoother, like a dream. Like somebody had put a subtle blur filter on the world. The light from that streetlamp across the street fell differently somehow, and the shadows around seemed more shallow. Less gaping. Lighter, maybe.

He blew out a measured breath, glancing over his shoulder. Nobody watching. Good, ‘cause he wasn’t sure how he’d explain any of this.

Okay. 

He’d just been in class and now he wasn’t. He’d heard about people being… disappeared, before, by the Sinister Six—nobody would say it in public, other than JJJ, but everyone knew. Get too involved with the Cartels in the wrong sort of way, and you just disappear one day. Experiments, one of Miles’s childhood friends had always said. They do experiments on them. I know cuz my older cousin knows some people.

…But Miles couldn’t disappear. His mom would—his mom…

…Okay. First things first. Find Uncle Aaron.

His uncle would know what to do. He’d dealt with weird shit for years. And if something had just… happened… to Miles, his uncle would have the resources to track down the solution. Or revenge, maybe. Or disaster mitigation.

Miles struggled to his feet, half-stepping half-sliding down the pile of cardboard he’d landed in. His limbs felt more discombobulated than normal.

He stepped towards the opening of the alleyway, hesitating and peering out onto the street. 

Just a minute ago, he’d been free-falling through a dark void, dragged like being pulled underwater into the deep ocean. Sharp pain, like hooks under his skin, the sensation of being yanked and torn in a thousand different directions at once. And now he was here, discombobulated.

…He wasn’t sure what that meant. Or if it had even been real.

Which was why he needed to find his uncle.

He blew out a breath, shaking his head to clear the thoughts out, and stepped out onto the street.

The streets were the same—same names, same layout.

But.

Miles walked like a tourist, spinning in a slow circle as he headed towards his uncle’s.

An ad for Koca-Soda hung in the window of a bodega. As if it hadn’t gone out of business years ago. And that restaurant—Krysoulas?—he’d never heard of it before. Even though he’d been walking this route for ages.

Miles pressed his lips together, taking a steady breath in through his nose and then blowing it out his mouth. He turned to walk in a straight line again.

This was probably what a bad trip felt like, right? Had somebody drugged him? Was that what this was?

He itched for his gear. His uncle hadn’t let him use anything but training gear—this grappling cord system that his uncle had built into a backpack, and these red booster shoes… they looked stupid. But using them was insane. And it’d be a more comfortable way to travel, right now. He wasn’t supposed to be out walking on the streets this late at night anyway—he didn’t know what time it was exactly, but he could tell it was late- late. Past curfew, the time when the Sinister Six should be out on the streets. 

But nothing was happening.

He missed his mask.

A couple tourist-y looking people glanced at him when he crossed the street. There was a loud group of friends standing near a fruit stand Miles had never seen before.

They’re watching you, a voice in his mind whispered. They all know you’re not supposed to be here.

Here? Brooklyn? Miles darted across the street and hopped up the curb. Dame un break, he told the voice in his mind. This is my home. It belongs to me.

He couldn’t make himself feel it, but at least he knew it logically. Probably.

It was maybe probably halfway the Visions Academy uniform. He always felt uncomfortable in it. And like everybody could see him.

But it was also probably a lot how everything was wrong.

A green taxi lumbered down the street. Miles slowed, staring, a heavy feeling pressing down on his chest. Then he realized he was staring and quickly turned away, picking up his pace.

Something was really, really wrong.

He could see his uncle’s apartment building across the street. Miles ran across, stopping another (weird green) taxi in its tracks, and headed for the fire escape.

The words were already bubbling up in his throat as he climbed up to his uncle’s floor— tío please help I don’t know—uncle Aaron have you noticed—tío is there something, like—

Miles froze halfway through pulling himself up onto the landing of his uncle’s floor.

He stared through the window into a beige and cream apartment. Some flowers sat on a coffee table.

His breathing function shut down. For approximately six slow seconds. His chest locked. He stared into the apartment, brain stalling out. 

His chest rebooted on its own, and he sucked in a shaky, stuttering breath, clenching the bars of the fire escape harder—he peered closer into the apartment, as if that’d make it transform into something else.

It didn’t.

…That wasn’t his uncle’s apartment.

Miles turned and looked out over the area. This was the right building. Even if… even if. Even if there were all these little differences. The buildings were similar enough that he was sure this was the right one.

His uncle just… wasn’t in it.

He blew out a breath.

Okay, Miles. What now?

Before he could come up with any immediate answers, something… happened.

His bones splintered and erupted outward in sharp shards, tearing through his muscles. His vision went kaleidoscope, blurring out. He tried to cry out in pain, but his throat was being ripped apart, and it came out all garbled—for a few seconds, his body was entirely torn into bloody shreds.

It stopped.

Miles sucked in a breath. His throat and lungs were somehow where they were supposed to be again. A tingling unstable soreness washed through his body like waves. Aftershocks.

He rolled over on his back and stared up at the rusty red floor-strips of the fire escape level above him. He’d fallen down the ladder a level, he realized.

He stared up, breathing ragged and heavy.

Okay.

That was what… that was the same thing that had happened before. When he was being… dragged here.

He blew out a shaky breath, clenching his hands into fists.

He’d been dragged into something big. And he had no idea what it was, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be healthy for him to stay… wherever he was… for too long.

And his uncle wasn’t here. So.

Figure out where he was, figure out how to get home, do it all on a time limit—and do it alone, with no help. Sure. Great. Yeah.

He sat up, staring back out at the surrounding area. It still looked as weird and off as before. He bit his lip, cold sharp fear pooling in his stomach.

Stop that, he told himself, looking away—scooting back, to sit with his back against the wall. As if he was just casually getting some fresh air. You’re going to be the Prowler. You can totally handle this. It’s going to be fine.

He tipped his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

…Right.

On the far side of the building, a spider branded with the number 42 skittered down the wall.

Brooklyn Visions Academy wasn’t Miles’s favorite place in the world. It was… it was fine. The teachers were fine. The classes were fine. The students were… fine. But it wasn’t his favorite.

It was a good place to blend in, though. Miles had gotten good at blending into a crowd by now. And he’d been dragged here in his Visions Academy uniform. So like, objectively this was a good place to lay low while he figured out what was going on.

He stared up at the bright shiny new building and kept telling himself that, face carefully blank.

Around him, blue streams of students trickled towards the main doors. They all looked the same as Miles—except maybe he looked more run-down, or something. He’d stopped trying to calculate out what time it was in his dimension, based on when he’d been dragged out of his class, but he was pretty sure it was at least getting close to sunset. Not here. It was early morning. Slightly-too-cold sunshine in pretty orange rays glanced off the glass of the skyway.

He wished he had an energy drink or something.

But he hadn’t had money for it. He’d been able to buy a sandwich from a vending machine with the few dollars he’d had in his pocket, but that was gone now.

He took a subtle breath, forcing himself to relax. There was no reason for anyone to suspect him as long as he just… acted like he was supposed to be there. Fake it til you make it. Just a totally normal day at a super normal school.

He drifted towards the main entrance, following the flow of the crowds. If he didn’t go in while everyone was holding the doors open, he’d need a keycard. And he wasn’t sure his would work here.

He hadn’t made it to the steps yet when a short siren yelp blared. Too close. Just a few feet away. Miles tensed, then forced himself to relax because he hadn’t done anything wrong. Yet. And if he blended into the crowd enough, maybe the police would pass over him.

A voice, broadcast over a PA system: “You gotta say I love you back.”

“Dad, are you serious?” a different voice called from the steps. Younger. Vaguely familiar. Miles sidled to the left, trying to see what was going on in the now stopped-and-silent crowds. He was able to get a good enough angle, looking over some shorter girl’s shoulder.

“I wanna hear it.”

That was.

“You wanna hear me say it?”

That was him.

“I love you, dad.”

That was Miles Morales. Carbon-copy. Different hair. Same face. Same body. Same outfit. Standing on the steps with his shoulders tense, expression incredulous, arguing with.

“You’re dropping me off at a school—”

Miles didn’t want to look. His eyes turned that way anyway. It was too easy; nothing stopping them.

“I love you, dad.”

“Look at this place!”

“Dad, I love you.”

Miles could feel himself staring, but he couldn’t stop.

He had pictures, of course. Some videos, even.

But there was something about.

The way his dad’s mouth was crooked in a knowing smile, easily teasing the other-Miles—an expression Miles had forgotten existed. The way his arm leaned relaxed on the back of the seat. His glasses tilted down his nose. The way he was breathing. The way the light fell on him through the car window.

Miles didn’t blink, drinking the image in, hoping it would burn into his brain permanently.

“Dad… I love you,” the other Miles said. Like it was degrading to say. Miles glanced that way, saw the annoyed look on his other’s face. Something ugly and embarrassed twisted in his gut.

“That’s a copy,” his dad said. The other Miles immediately turned, marching towards the front doors with rigid shoulders. “Tie your shoes, please!” his dad called after him—after the other Miles.

Miles looked down at his own shoes as the students around him burst into awkward laughter. Jordans. His uncle had bought them for him. They were untied too. At his old school, all of Miles’s old friends had agreed they looked better untied.

He felt nauseous. His head was buzzing with something heavy and uncomfortable.

God. Okay. …Okay. 

His feet started moving, because he vaguely knew they needed to, and moved past the doors, against the current of the crowds. His shoulder thwacked against someone—some blonde girl who gave him a startled look. “Sorry,” he managed, then darted past her, picking up the pace. His heart thudded in his chest, vision blurring.

No. 

No no no no no no no. 

Everything is fine, everything is normal, this is some kind of weird dream—

He ran across the street, past another green taxi.

He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to be here.

He turned blindly down different roads, avoiding the ones he knew too well, because he didn’t want to see anyone he knew. If he—if that—

He wasn’t supposed to be here. This place wasn’t his. He was intruding in someone else’s life somehow, what the hell, and he didn’t know how—he didn’t know—

He slowed to a stop in an alleyway, gasping for breath. His hands were trembling and he couldn’t make them stop. Was he going to pass out? Maybe. He crouched down, leaning up against the rail of some rickety steps, and tucked his head into his knees, body shuddering with heaving breaths that he couldn’t control.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.

The image of his dad speaking into the PA system burned in his head, crystal clear. Every line, every color.

…And his double had looked so annoyed. Because it was—because it was easy for him.

He pressed his eyes into his knees, throat tight and burning. He couldn’t stop freaking out. Someone was going to come and murder him in this alleyway, probably, and he wouldn’t even be able to fight back because he could barely control his own fucking body. He couldn’t stop shaking.

He heard himself whimper, as if it hadn’t come from his own throat.

“That’s a copy,” his dad’s voice rang loudly, overlapping with itself in his mind. “I love you, dad. That’s a copy.”

Chapter Text

Miles wasn’t his uncle’s nephew for nothing.

Mental breakdown? Check. Setting the rest of it aside for later? Also check. He had to figure out what to do about being in… probably some kind of alternate universe or possibly an elaborate illusion. His uncle was good at staying cool even when everything was falling apart—but his uncle wasn’t here, so Miles would have to do it himself. Just sort of… raise his eyebrows slightly at the situation and move on.

He was Miles Morales. He was in training to be the Prowler. He could totally handle this on his own.

…Because he had to.

The first thing he did was scrub the tears off his face and go to track down a jacket. He had to cover up his Visions Academy blazer, at least, if he wanted to stay inconspicuous as a kid roaming around during school hours.

That part sucked, actually. It was boring and all of his limbs were sore from crouching in an alleyway… convulsing? Was that too dramatic? Something like that. Anyway, he had to walk for ages to track down one of those free-clothes bins that had a good jacket that he could wear. He was pretty sure they were placed in different locations than in his Brooklyn. But he managed to find a jacket—more like a coat? It was pretty thick—that worked for him. It smelled like smoke and cleaning spray, but it was purple and sturdy and it had a good amount of pockets and a hood, and it was only a little bit too big on him. It felt vaguely adjacent to one of his uncle’s jackets, so it was sort of comforting to wear, like when his uncle picked him up from school early when Miles got sick and gave Miles his jacket to wear on the ride home, like a blanket.

Plus it was warm. Which was good, because it was getting cold out.

Anyway. The second order of business was to figure out what was going on.

Luckily, the news was weird here.

While he was tracking down a jacket, he’d caught snippets of the news on TV displays and the like. From what he could piece together: some costumed guy called “Spider-Man” was going around saving people from the recent string of earthquakes happening in New York.

Which was weird.

Firstly, the string of earthquakes—earthquakes didn’t happen in New York. Not that frequently. And as far as he could tell from the snippets he’d stopped to pay attention to, nobody knew what was causing them. But there’d been more than one in the past week.

Secondly, the Spider-Man guy—Miles couldn’t figure out what his deal was. Some news channels seemed to be reporting on him like he was a superhero, like, out of a comic book. A rack of The Daily Bugle newspapers sitting outside a bodega claimed he was a menace.

It seemed like he was the only costumed weirdo vaulting around New York. Or if he wasn’t, he was the only one the news was reporting on. Miles hadn’t heard a single thing about the Cartels, even from The Daily Bugle, which was… unsettling. Just this red-and-blue spider-themed weirdo who was running around saving people.

Miles knew a thing or two about costumed weirdos. In his Brooklyn, anyone wearing a costume was doing it because they were affiliated with the Cartels somehow, or were bottom-feeding off of what scraps the Cartels left other criminals.

Here, there was no trace of the Cartels. There was just Spider-Man, and most people were saying he was a “good guy.”

…So something was up with that. Miles wasn’t sure what. But somehow, Spider-Man had this version of New York on lock. Maybe in a more… subtle way than the Cartels acted in his own home Brooklyn.

Either way, Miles figured he knew how this worked: follow the guy wearing the mask, and you get to the bottom of things.

He spent most of the rest of that day tracking down every scrap of information he could on Spider-Man. Magazine articles, news reports—literal comic books, which seemed to be for kids. A disclaimer on the back said that names and key details were changed to respect Spider-Man’s privacy.

He had some kind of cult following as a “hero.” Once he was looking for it, Miles saw Spider-Man everywhere—on a kid’s shirt, on a sticker in a window, painted on the walls. Miles wasn’t buying it. The story sounded weirdly similar to Scorpion’s story, in his own Brooklyn, and Miles knew firsthand what a great guy he was. Anyway, it didn’t matter. As far as Miles could tell, if the stories were even half true, finding Spider-Man would come with finding information. 

And Miles needed information. This place was a shiny penny, new and smooth and full of sunlight, and Miles couldn’t find any threads to pull, any cracks to chip into. In his own Brooklyn, grimy fingerprints were everywhere you looked—there was always evidence scattered around of something. Nobody was really hiding what they were doing, not completely, even though they weren’t saying it out loud. Crime and shit was too normal to bother hiding it like that, unless it was the big stuff, but even that could be figured out if you had the guts to dive in and do it. Most people didn’t.

Anyway—there wasn’t any of that here. The whole place seemed perfect, like the smooth white frosting on a cake from the bakery, like sleek sharp cuts of spray paint, like an ironed and starched suit. Miles was at a loss for how to approach any of it. It was like walking through pillows.

Things changed that night.

Miles had taken a break from figuring out how to track down Spider-Man to get food and maybe try to figure out some kind of sleeping arrangement—technically, he was homeless right now, which wasn’t great, because it was too cold to sleep outside and he didn’t have any money. He’d literally had to pick the lock on a vending machine in the hallway of a gym to steal a drink and some sad peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And also some energy shots, which he was saving for later.

He was sitting on top of his uncle’s building—or, what should’ve been his uncle’s building—and mechanically chewing on one of the sandwiches, looking out over the glimmering lights of the city at night.

Even that looked different. More soft blue, less gritty. Miles didn’t like it.

The wind was getting colder. He’d zipped up his jacket all the way and put up the hood, but there wasn’t much he could do about the stiff chill settling into his legs and feet.

He closed his eyes, tipping his head back. He wished he had a bed. Or even… something soft to sleep on. A few blankets would be alright.

He sighed, then opened his eyes again, taking another bite of the sandwich.

Then—a blast. POOM. Some kind of eruption from a taller building on the other side of Brooklyn. Kaleidoscope colors and lights rippled out into the city in a shockwave. It washed over the building Miles was sitting on, bright colors and shapes rushing over him in a tingling flood. For a split second, Miles was falling through the roof, and he almost dropped his sandwich.

Then it was gone.

Miles sat up straight from where he’d fallen over, staring out at the city with wide eyes.

That was the same thing that happened to him. That— glitching thing.

He squinted at the building it had originated from, keeping his eyes trained on it as if it might disappear. The lights in the surrounding buildings were coming back on again in blocks.

“Fisk Tower,” Miles breathed.

That was a start.

“Sad news tonight. The hero known as Spider-Man… has died. After injuries related to another powerful earthquake in Brooklyn. Multiple sources are confirming that Peter Parker, a 26-year old grad student and part-time photographer operated as Spider-Man for at least a decade…”

Miles jogged through the streets, weaving around the people wandering outside. Everybody had their phones out. Some people were gathered around TV screens. Quiet murmuring shock filtered through the air.

Something had happened. Maybe it was the glitch. Miles didn’t care—he needed to get to that building.

But the streets were crowded and everything seemed to be slowing down. Miles huffed, breath fogging in the air, and steered around another group of people gathered around a TV window display.

“...He is survived by his wife, Mary Jane, and his aunt, May Parker…”

He glanced back over his shoulder. Oh. Somebody had died. The mayor or something? But nobody would be this cut up over the mayor, would they?

He slowed to a stop. Turned around. Sidled up to the TV display.

A picture of that Spider-Man guy on one side—a picture of some blonde guy smiling at the camera on the other. And running across the bottom of the screen in a big bold banner: NEW YORK’S HERO, SPIDER-MAN, FOUND DEAD AT 26.

Ohhhh.

Of course.

He glanced sideways at the other people watching the TV display, and then wished he hadn’t. They were all watching with wide eyes and tight mouths. Shock and horror—he’d seen it before.

“Our hero, Spider-Man, is gone,” the news reporter said on the TV.

Miles stepped away, back from the light of the TV screens, and moved back into the crowds. Slower this time.

If Spider-Man was dead, that meant either this place didn’t have a hero to protect them anymore (if that guy had been a hero), or there was about to be a power vacuum in the criminal underworld. Or both. Either way, it meant Miles’s best chance at finding information was gone.

…Left a lot of grimy fingerprints, though. Something strange for a shiny penny, like Miles had brought a backdraft of corrosion over from his New York.

He ducked his head down and avoided the faces of the people he was weaving between.

By the next day, Miles had figured some stuff out.

1. Wilson Fisk, the weirdly-philanthropic owner of Fisk Tower, was charitably funding a few different research projects under some organization called Alchemax.
2. One of the research projects was gearing towards possible communication and even transportation across hypothetical other dimensions.
3. The head overseer of that research project was named Dr. Olivia Octavius—yeah, Octavius, as in, Doc Ock of the Sinister Six—and,
4. Alchemax had a private lab out in the Hudson Valley.

Miles had figured all that out on the public computer at the library. And then he’d fallen asleep in the back of the library for several hours—which he hadn’t meant to do. It had just happened. But he’d still woken up (via painful-glitch-as-alarm-clock) in time to get out before the library opened for the day and make a beeline for the bus stop.

The next hurdle: his double was getting on the bus Miles had wanted to get on.

Miles ducked behind a pillar and peeked back out at his double: his other self was following some raggedy-looking guy up the steps of the bus, rolling his eyes dramatically. Miles squinted after him, rapid questions and theories buzzing in his mind. His double should be in school… unless he was also a Prowler-in-training and he was doing some kind of undercover thing? Or something? Or maybe he was just playing hooky. Miles’s life was different in this dimension. Clearly. So. It could be anything.

But Miles was almost certain that his other self wouldn’t take kindly to seeing someone else with his face… which meant Miles couldn’t get on that bus. But he had to get on that bus.

He ducked back behind the pillar and leaned up against it, frowning to himself. Okay. 

Solution: hitch a ride.

Miles had only ever done that briefly. And with his Prowler equipment. Usually swinging down from up high to land on the roof—he couldn’t do that here.

But he could climb up over the awning of the bus stop and jump from there onto the roof of the bus.

…If anybody noticed him, there’d be a huge scene. But. He had to get on that bus, because the next bus going out to the Hudson Valley was in the afternoon, and he was still glitching out at random times, and he needed to get home as fast as possible, and this was his only lead— now that Spider-Man was dead.

And the bus was about to leave.

Miles took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and darted out from behind the pillar to duck around the awning and boost himself up.

He’d climbed harder things before. Usually with equipment, and with his uncle spotting him.

He didn’t look down.

He pulled himself up over the side of the awning and scrambled across the curving glass roof—running leap—he landed on the white metal roof of the bus, tipping towards the edge before finding his balance.

He blew out a breath. Okay. Okay. Okay. He ducked down, flattening himself against the roof and gripping the cracks of the sunroof like they’d be a good make-up seatbelt.

The bus jolted beneath him. Shifted forward. And then it was moving.

“Ohhh my gosh,” he murmured under his breath. “That worked.”

Once they got out of the city proper—more into the Hudson Valley forest—Miles relaxed enough to sit up. Ate another half-squished sandwich out of his pocket. Downed one of the energy shots. Thought about how he was going to maneuver himself to get off—because obviously, he had to get off without anyone seeing. And without falling, if the bus stopped really suddenly.

It was, like, four hours to Alchemax. Almost peaceful. He laid back, watched the leaves go by in a blur of orange and red above him, and tried not to think about what he was going to do once he was at Alchemax.

Normally, breaking into anywhere would require a ton of planning. Not that he’d… ever broken into anywhere yet. His uncle wouldn’t let him. Not until he had “the basics” down, which so far meant training on his uncle’s gym equipment until he could collapse after school every day, and learning how to use the other equipment. He hadn’t even picked up a glove yet.

…But he could do this. He had to do this.

He’d just… say he was an intern or something.

Alchemax was a shiny glass-and-steel building sitting in the middle of the forest. If Miles had had his Prowler gear, he’d have boosted himself from the trees to the roof to get to the main access vent. Enter with the high ground, that’s what his uncle said to do. But he didn’t have the stuff to do that. Instead, he managed to sneak in through a warehouse-like loading and unloading zone in the back, hiding on top of a truck and slipping off and through the doors when the workers were busy loading steel beams into the back of the truck.

Inside the main building: not much. A glossy brightly-lit hallway, one doorway branching off from it, and just a few yards away, a glass wall with a keycard-screen lock on the door.

Miles drew up to a stop, brain whirring. He glanced over his shoulder. People couldn’t see him like this yet—he’d ditched the jacket near the bus stop, but he was still a random kid in a Visions Academy uniform. But there wasn’t anywhere to hide… and he needed a keycard.

Keep moving. Figure it out. Miles headed for the one doorway set before the glass wall and peeked inside.

A small room. Cheap-looking table with a computer sitting in one corner, lockers lined up against a wall, cheesy science posters on the wall—a mound of paperwork sitting in a yellow metal basket next to the computer.

Empty. Miles darted inside, heading for the lockers.

He didn’t know what would be in there, but it was a lock he didn’t need a keycard to open. Which meant he could pick it. Which meant it was an advantage, right now.

He crouched in front of a random locker and examined the padlock. It looked standard enough. He slipped the paperclip he’d been using out of his pocket and again wished he had his Prowler stuff.

Didn’t matter.

It only took a minute to get it open. Miles held his breath the whole time, glancing over his shoulders periodically at the entrance—but then the lock clicked open and he slipped it off the door, easing the locker open.

He blew out a quiet breath, shoulders dropping. Thank you, Prowler training.

Some personal-looking pictures on the inside of the door. A few binders stuffed with paper sitting in the top cubby. And, hanging off the back—a white lab coat. With—Miles rifled through the pockets—with a keycard.

Jackpot.

He slipped the lab coat on easily, shut the locker door, and clicked the padlock back into place, patting it gently before heading back out into the hallway. Like he’d never been there.

Something Miles had learned, both from school and his uncle: if you acted like you were supposed to be there, people usually wouldn’t question you.

He walked through glossy hallways and work areas separated by frosted glass, trying to be in the mindset of an intern. Not too casual—he had work to do and he was trying to do a good job as an intern—but not stressed enough that he looked like someone who needed help. Professional. Normal. He’d totally been here before.

Nobody stopped him.

Meanwhile, he kept an eye out. All he knew was that Alchemax was being funded by Wilson Fisk to research the multiverse. So he needed to find wherever the information on that project was being stored—not good, since he didn’t even know the project’s name. He did know Olivia Octavius was heading it… so it’d be a good idea to try and find her. Even though he hated the idea. His uncle had been training him, yeah, but even his uncle had avoided outright confronting the Sinister Six back in the day, before he’d retired. Miles’s odds of winning there were… not great.

As far as he could tell, the head scientists had their own office spaces that were on the Eastern side of the building, and there were different projects happening on different levels. So hypothetically, if he found the level with Olivia Octavius’s office space, he would find the information he needed.

He stepped out onto the fourth floor—the final floor—into a wide open cafeteria-looking space with various people in lab coats sitting at tables. He glanced them over (super casually), then steered in the direction of the workspaces. Behind a set of double glass doors, of course.

An arm wrapped around his elbow.

Miles tensed, shoving down the urge to jerk his arm away. He looked over at the person next to him: a blonde girl, a bit taller than him, with glasses and one side of her hair shaved off. She was staring ahead, face casual but determined. She steered him away from the glass door and towards a hallway off to the side of the elevator, gripping his arm firmly.

“Um, excuse me,” Miles said, mind racing. “What—do you think you’re doing?”

He tried to slip his arm out of her grasp. She held on tighter. She was a lot stronger than she looked.

“We should talk,” the girl said under her breath. “I think I know what you’re doing here. I’m doing the same thing.”

She steered him down the hallway. No witnesses. Shit. Miles tugged at his arm again, with no luck.

“I don’t know what you think I’m doing,” Miles started. “I’m just trying to do my job—you know, internship—”

She yanked open the door to a cleaning closet and pushed him in, following after him and shutting the door. Total darkness—and then the light flicked on. The girl was staring at him with a frown.

“Miles, I know that’s—” she started. Then stopped.

Miles drew back. Fuck.

The girl tilted her head, examining him more closely. “...You’re not Miles, are you.”

Miles’s brain stalled out. Bad time for it. 

…Play dumb.  

“...Who’s Miles?”

The second he said it he wanted to kick himself. The girl didn’t seem to care, crossing her arms and tilting her head at him.

“I mean, you’re not Miles from this dimension,” the girl said. “You’re not from here.”

Miles stared. 

“...Who are you, exactly?” he said.

“My name is Gwen Stacy,” she said, holding out a hand to him formally. “I’m from another dimension. I was pulled through a portal into this dimension randomly last week—I’ve been trying to figure out how to get home. And so are you, right?”

Miles blinked at her, the new information seeping into his mind slowly. “...Yeah,” he said, then reached out to shake her hand hesitantly. “Miles Morales. But you knew that.”

“I met the other version of you earlier,” Gwen said. “I know he’s mixed up in this stuff too—I thought you were him at first. Sorry.”

“...Don’t sweat it,” Miles said. “He’s mixed up in this too? What do you mean?”

Gwen glanced furtively at the door, then leaned back, crossing her arms again. “I don’t know. He’s got powers… my Spider-sense told me to track him down.”

“Spider-sense,” Miles deadpanned. The pieces started to fit together in his mind.

“In my dimension, I’m Spider-Woman,” Gwen said. She glanced at him nervously, then looked away. “Weird stuff happens to me a lot. But landing in a dimension where someone else is swinging around with Spider powers kind of takes the cake.”

“I feel that,” Miles said. “In my dimension, there’s no such thing as Spider-Man. …Or Spider-Woman. It’s been a weird few days.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows in agreement. “Tell me about it,” she muttered. “Anyway—we both need to get back to our dimensions, right? That’s why you’re here.”

“Right,” Miles said. “Research into the multiverse headed by an Octavius? Gotta be bad news.”

“Headed by Octavius?” Gwen hissed. “As in, Doc Ock?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No,” she said. “I watched a video of the head scientist at Alchemax asking for funds to build a supercollider to travel across dimensions. …I must’ve missed her name. In my dimension, Doc Ock isn’t a woman.”

“A supercollider… so that’s probably what brought us here,” Miles said. He frowned to himself. “And I’d bet good money I know where it is.”

“If Doc Ock is here, that complicates things,” Gwen said. “You said you’re not Spider-Man?”

Miles tilted his head yes.

“I was going to try and sneak in, download the schematics to the supercollider, and sneak out,” Gwen said. “But if there’s going to be a fight… I’m not that good a hacker. I would need time. And focus.” She frowned to herself, eyes darting over invisible calculations.

“I’m good at hacking,” Miles said. “My uncle taught me how. If you can take care of Doc Ock, I can get us whatever schematics we need.”

Gwen studied him with a bit more interest. “Alright, Miles Morales,” she said. “That works. I’ll buy you time, you get what we need.”

Miles’s shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. This he could do. Gwen wasn’t his uncle—wasn’t anything like him, really—but she was still a lot closer to what he was used to. At least he wasn’t entirely alone, now. Even if it meant teaming up with a total stranger… he’d take it.

They walked together through the glass doors, as if they were maybe friends from school who’d both gotten internships, or maybe they’d both been sent to complete the same task. Gwen took the lead, shoulders squared, flashing her keycard against the card reader like she did it every day. Miles followed a step behind her. Just in case. If they ran into Doc Ock, Gwen could take point while Miles slipped past her to get to the computer.

“East side, right?” Gwen muttered to him lowly, slowing down a bit. Miles nodded. “And you’re sure it’s this floor?”

“I’ve checked all the others,” Miles said under his breath. “It’s gotta be.”

Gwen didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard him, pulling out the clipboard she was carrying under her arm and checking it. For nothing, of course, because it wasn’t her clipboard. They were drawing near to the end of the hallway, closer to the floor-to-ceiling window showing off the bright orange forest outside. Closer to Octavius’s office.

A loud crashing sound came from the office around the corner.

Miles and Gwen stopped, glancing at each other with matching frowns. 

That’s not good.

Gwen tilted her head towards the sound, raising her eyebrows. We need to keep going.

Miles nodded. Let’s go then.

Gwen started forward again. Miles followed after her.

Someone—something—barreled around the corner, crashing into Gwen. She stumbled backwards, dropping her clipboard in surprise. Miles’s feet fell into a fighting stance automatically as—a figure flickered into existence where it had been invisible before. Someone around Miles’s height, maybe an inch or change taller, wearing one of those Spider-Man merch costumes for kids. And carrying an entire computer monitor and case.

Behind the figure, someone else Spider-looking crashed through the glass walls of the office, thrown by artificial-looking tentacles through the wall on the other side of the hallway. A woman with tentacles on her back launched herself after him, calling, “Oh, you’re chatty!”

Doc Ock. That wasn’t good, either.

The figure who’d bumped into Gwen didn’t say anything, just darted past them, running down the hallway. Miles turned, watching him go—that was the computer they needed, wasn’t it.

“Who would be stupid enough to steal an entire monitor?” he muttered.

Gwen stood up next to him, brushing herself off and squinting after the figure as well. “You,” she said lowly. “That was the other you.”

Ugh. …That complicated things. Miles glanced over his shoulder at the fight happening, then back at the other version of him running down the hallway.

“We need that computer,” Gwen said, then looked back at the fight. “...And we need to get out of here.”

Miles nodded at her. “New plan. Get out, get my double, get the computer.”

Gwen nodded back. “Let’s go, then.”

She grabbed the sleeve of his coat, pulling him in the opposite direction of his double, towards the now-shattered office of Olivia Octavius.

“What are we doing?” Miles hissed.

“Look, it’s right next to the window,” Gwen hissed back, pulling him into the office and gesturing at the huge window. “And Doc Ock is occupied, she won’t be coming back in here for a minute. Let’s just—” she swung her leg in a graceful roundhouse kick at the window, shattering it completely.

Miles blinked in surprise. Oh, right. Superpowers.

Gwen shrugged off her lab coat, revealing a skin-tight suit underneath. A costume. Black and white with pops of webbed pink on the arms. She took off her glasses, tossing them to the side, and tugged a mask over her head. When she turned to look at him, the lenses of her mask were the same as the Spider-Man he’d seen on the news. …Except, pink.

“Do you trust me?” she said, putting up her hood. 

He did a double take. “What? No.”

“Fair point, stupid question,” Gwen said, not missing a beat. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay? Hold on tight.” She slung an arm around his waist firmly.

“Um, what exactly—” Miles cut himself off with a strangled yelp as Gwen ran and leapt out the window into thin air.

They were falling through crisp cold air for a fraction of a second before Gwen threw her wrist out, back at the building, and something shot out of it. The webs—like the other Spider-Man had used, on the news. Miles and Gwen swung in a tight arc up to the roof of the building, where Gwen skidded onto the concrete and started running, leaping over air conditioning units and exposed pipes with ease. The wind whipped in Miles’s face.

He held on, gripping Gwen around the shoulders tightly. “You know, there’s something kind of degrading about this,” he told her as she vaulted over an open vent.

“What, being carried by a girl?” her voice was teasing.

“You being a girl has nothing to do with it!” Miles said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I don’t think anyone’s picked me up and carried me since I was a kid!”

They reached the end of the roof. Gwen skidded to a stop overlooking the balcony, setting Miles down next to her. “Fair enough,” she said. “I guess I can’t remember the last time someone carried me.”

Below them, people in white lab coats were flooding the balcony, shooting laser guns after—Miles looked beyond the balcony. After his double. And what looked like another Spider-Man. Both swinging into the forest with the computer.

As they watched, Doc Ock burst onto the balcony, gliding like a shot across it with her tentacles. “Go down and follow them!” She called to the scientists. “Shooting from the balcony won’t do anything!”

And she launched herself off of the balcony, tentacles reaching towards the trees.

Miles and Gwen glanced at each other as the scientists dispersed. “We need to get down there,” Miles said.

Gwen nodded, the lenses of her Spider-Woman mask narrowing. “And make sure Doc Ock doesn’t get her tentacles on that computer. Hang on.”

Miles put his arms back around Gwen’s shoulder, Gwen wrapped an arm around Miles’s waist, and then she leapt.

He didn’t yelp this time, because he saw it coming. He’d done similar stuff with his uncle—except that Miles had been in control those times, shooting the lines himself. This was different. But not so different that it was completely new, at least.

Gwen stayed to the side of the main chase, swinging in arcs through the foliage as Doc Ock and the gun-scientists raced after the computer to the right. Miles squinted ahead, through the trees—

“She’s going to catch up with them,” he muttered. “They’re not moving fast enough.”

“They’re speeding up,” Gwen said, but she didn’t sound sure. “They might make it.” Then—

Blinding pain. Shooting through his bones, splintering out through his muscles. Miles’s body started pulling itself apart, splitting into pieces. A glitch. Blinking lights and flashing colors flooded his vision, but he could still feel the sensation of falling through open air.

A thud against his body—he blinked the stars out of his eyes, gasping for breath. The tingling aftershocks raced through his limbs. But it was over. Next to him, Gwen didn’t look much better, pushing herself up weakly on—on the tree they had hit.

“That’s great,” she wheezed out, then looked up sharply. The lenses of her mask were wide. “Oh no.”

Miles followed her gaze. Through the trees, he could see it—his double and that Spider-Man collapsed against a tree branch. His double holding onto the computer case by the cord.

It was going to fall.

“Wait here,” Gwen ordered, pulling herself up onto the tree branch they were on and then leaping off of it.

“Gwen—what—” he protested, but she was already gone, swinging towards the others.

Great. He pulled himself up onto the tree branch, wincing at the soreness in his ribs and the stinging cold of the snow against his palms. He squinted after her.

His double’s branch splintered and broke. Miles’s double and the other Spider-Man fell through the air, reaching for the computer case—a tentacle snatched it away. Doc Ock. Miles cursed internally. He’d spent, like, a whole day on trying to get that thing.

Gwen strung up Miles’s double and the other Spider-Man, cat’s cradle style, then swung around through the trees. Miles squinted, trying to keep his eyes on her as she flitted in and out of view.

Octavius was following Gwen—Gwen swung around and aimed with her wrist. Miles couldn’t see where she shot too well, but then Gwen flung herself at Doc Ock and roundhouse kicked her in the face. She flew backwards, but then ricocheted back like a slingshot. Ohh. Gwen must’ve webbed up her tentacles or something.

Gwen aimed another kick at Octavius’s head that sent her flying backwards, the computer case sailing out of her arms. Miles watched it fly towards him—Gwen snatched it with a web, swinging around and heading towards the other Spiders.

“Oh, come on,” Miles muttered. She could’ve gone back and grabbed him first, at least.

Doc Ock was hanging limply from her tentacles, which were stuck to two different tree trunks like a weird Central Park hammock. Miles pulled himself to his feet tentatively, watching the ground. He edged forward along the branch, towards a promising-looking handhold on the next tree over.

Gwen had taken her mask off. Her back was to him, but he could see her tilt her head and shrug a bit. She was talking to them.

Take your time, Miles thought at her sardonically, and jumped to the next branch.

He almost slipped. The snow was slicker than he’d calculated. But he managed to grab on to a branch above him as a stabilizer.

He blew out a breath, examining the trees ahead of him. Gwen was snapping the webs that the other two were strung up in. And leading up to that… he could see the path he was going to take in his mind, like how his uncle had taught him to do in parkour. As long as he got enough momentum going…

He stepped around the trunk of the tree, onto another branch, and leapt forward again.

He managed to make it through the trees like that, jumping and grabbing onto branches above for stability when he landed on branches below. His hands were freezing and kind of scratched up from the bark, and the whole process was shakier and slower than he might’ve liked, but he made it.

Gwen had let the other two down from the trees—they were standing below him, on the snowy ground. Miles dropped down a branch, ready to jump down completely, but stopped.

“...I couldn’t save my best friend, Peter Parker,” Gwen’s voice filtered up through the trees. “...So now I save everyone else. …And I don’t do friends anymore—just to avoid any distractions.”

Her voice was faux-casual, peppy and practical, like she was trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. But Miles knew that trick. He’d used it often enough himself, when people started asking about his dad. The whole “It’s okay, it was a long time ago and I’ve still got a great family,” routine.

He pressed his lips together, annoyance evaporating. …Mostly.

The nervous, almost-guilty look she’d given him when she’d told him she was Spider-Woman—it made sense now. Of course she’d want a chance to talk to other Spider-people alone. She probably didn’t have that in her home dimension.

He sighed internally, settling onto the branch and watching her talk. A warning would’ve been nice, at least. But then again, they were kind of in the middle of something.

“My Spider-sense told me to head to Visions Academy,” Gwen was saying. “I wasn’t sure why, until I met you. Though I guess it didn’t matter in the end—seems like everybody involved with this had the same idea to go to Alchemax.”

A pause. “...Everybody involved in this?” the other-Miles said. He sounded awkward, for some reason. “You mean—us three?”

“Well…” Gwen glanced back at where she’d left Miles hanging. Literally hanging, ha ha. “Not just us.”

That was as good a cue as any. Miles slid off the tree branch and landed in a crouch on the ground, a few paces behind Gwen. He stood up, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe you abandoned me in a tree.”

Gwen smiled back at him. “Hey, I was just about to get you.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “A little warning would be nice before you swing off next time.”

“Wait, you’re me,” the other-Miles blurted. Miles looked over at him—his eyes were wide, gawking at Miles. Hey, his double was taller than him. That had to be some kind of stupid joke—it wasn’t enough that he had a living dad and a world that wasn’t run by the Cartels, he also got another inch?

“...From another dimension, yeah,” Miles said, suddenly feeling awkward. Everyone was staring at him. “But I figure you get that by now, with these two.” He gestured at Gwen and Spider-Man.

“Wait, so… are you Spider-Man too?” his double said. He was looking at Miles with hopeful eyes, for some reason—Miles winced internally.

“...No.”

“Really?” the other Spider-Man said. “What’s your deal, then?”

Miles made a face at him. “That’s a weird thing to ask somebody, man. And besides—” he looked over his shoulder, in the direction of Alchemax— “We need to go. We can all sit in a circle telling fun facts about ourselves later.”

“He’s right,” Gwen said, even as the other Miles said, “But—”

Gwen pulled her mask back over her face. “We need to get out of here. C’mon.” She handed the computer case to Miles, who took it in one hand and put an arm around Gwen with the other. Gwen wrapped her arm around his waist again, and then they were off, launching into the trees.

Chapter Text

On the trek back to the bus stop, Miles learned a few things: the other Spider-Man was named Peter B. Parker, he was from another dimension where he’d been Spider-Man for twenty years, and he was “going through some shit,” as the other Miles had hissed in his ear when Miles had asked why Peter B was wearing two different types of shoes.

Also, the other Miles was going to be the new Spider-Man—he’d just been bitten by a radioactive spider, like, a day ago, right before the old Spider-Man had died. He didn’t have anything figured out yet, which explained a lot. Not that Miles would say that out loud. Peter B had been training him, apparently, sort of—since there weren’t any other people with spider-themed superpowers around.

Miles grabbed his purple jacket from where he’d stashed it near the bus stop, and they all boarded the afternoon bus back to New York—courtesy of the other-Miles’s cash, which Miles was grateful for. He was tired of being outside. Riding the bus back on the roof again was a lot less appealing than sitting in a warm seat inside.

“Sooo…” Peter B leaned over the headrest of Gwen’s seat, towards Miles. Peter B had taken the row behind them (yeah, the whole row, because he was “going to take a nap later”). “How did you get here, exactly?”

Miles gave him a confused look. “How did I get here?”

“Look, I know how Gwen and I got here,” Peter B said. “But I haven’t heard your story yet. I’m trying to see if we all came through exactly the same way, from the same type of dimension to the same type of dimension, or if we’re dealing with a bunch of variables.”

“Oh.” Miles tilted his head. “I don’t know, I think it was the same as you guys. I was sitting in science class one minute, and then I was being dragged through this weird portal the next minute. And then I landed here.” he hesitated. “At first I thought it was something to do with the Sinister Six—the Sinister Six are these cartels, back in my dimension,” he said. “They run pretty much everything, do whatever they want, fight for control of the streets. We don’t have any Spider-Man fighting crime like you do here.”

He pulled a face, avoiding looking at the others. Because that’d be super awkward. “Anyway, the Sinister Six are always doing weird stuff that the rest of us have to deal with. So I thought it was something like that at first. Until I went to Visions Academy, and I saw you.”

He flicked his gaze back down to the other Miles. “You and your dad,” he said. “I saw him dropping you off. That’s how I knew that something really weird was going on, because in my dimension, my dad is dead.”

“What?” the other Miles drew back in horror. Miles pressed his lips together, waving him off—he didn’t want to actually feel it again.

“It was a long time ago. The point is, I knew something really weird was going on. I did some digging and I figured out that Olivia Octavius was heading a research project about the multiverse—in my dimension, Doc Ock is one of the Sinister Six,” he said. “So I figured, follow that lead and I’d get somewhere. And now I’m here.” he shrugged awkwardly.

A beat. 

“Pretty competent for somebody who’s not Spider-Man,” Gwen said, giving him a small smile. 

Thank God.

“Well… it’s like I said,” Miles said. “We don’t have that where I’m from. So everybody’s gotta kinda keep their heads on a swivel. You know?”

He could’ve told them he was in training to be the Prowler. This would be a good time to mention it. But something kept the words stuck in his throat. Maybe the fact that his uncle always made sure he knew how dangerous it was to tell anyone— even though Miles was a dimension away from the Cartels right now.

…Or maybe it was just that the Prowler wasn’t Spider-Man. So it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t relevant.

The other Miles sighed. “I can’t believe you’re literally just a cooler version of me.”

Miles snorted, chest warming. He smiled at the other Miles despite himself. “Maybe start by taking off the Spider-Man merch?”

The other-Miles pulled a face like he agreed, but before he could say anything, Peter B interjected.

“Yeah, about that. Now that there’s two of you—we can’t just call both of you Miles, that’s gonna get way too confusing and it’s gonna annoy me. Neither of you have, like, a nickname, or anything…?” he glanced between the two of them.

“Not anything I’d let you call me,” the other Miles said immediately.

Miles sighed. “I guess you could call me Miles G.”

“I thought your last name was Morales,” Gwen said, at the same time the other-Miles said, “Why G?”

Miles blinked. “My middle name,” he said. He leaned past Gwen to see the other-Miles more clearly. “You don’t have a middle name? Tú no eres Boricua?”

The other Miles made a face. “Claro que sí—people say that a lot. What’s your middle name?”

Now it was Miles’s turn to make a face. “...Don’t worry about it.”

The other-Miles tilted his head, squinting at Miles. “Ohhh,” he said, expression clearing. “I bet I know.”

“You probably do,” Miles muttered. Unless this Miles’s abuelo was named something other than Gonzalo.

“Okay,” Peter B said, glancing between Miles and his counterpart with a vaguely confused look on his face. “Miles G works.”

Peter B laid down not long after that, stretching his legs across the aisle to take a nap. There was probably no way it was comfortable, but he was managing it. Apparently. Which left the others to talk among themselves, as long as they did it quietly.

“So—wait. You were in class, and then when you were dragged through the portal it was the middle of the night?” the other Miles said, leaning across the aisle towards Miles G and Gwen. “Are there interdimensional time zones?”

“Either that, or time slips weird,” Gwen said. “Because I landed a week earlier, remember? I mean, I’m not a physicist, but aren’t space and time supposed to be connected?”

“Ohh,” the other Miles said. “Time is relative. Right. And Doc Ock isn’t that good at lining up the coordinates.” he looked back at Miles G. “Still. You must be tired.”

“You don’t even know,” Miles G said. He’d leaned forward to rest his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him, to get a better angle to look at the other two. “I’ve completely lost my sense of time. But—” he pulled the other energy shot, the one he hadn’t drank yet, out of his pocket and wiggled it. “It’s not too bad.”

Miles squinted at him. “How do you have it so together? I feel like if I was you, I’d be freaking out in an alley somewhere.”

“Oh, I did that,” Miles G said. “It gets boring after a while. Anyway, you’re the one in training to be a superhero. I think if I was you I’d be having way more of a mental breakdown. You’re good.”

Miles gave him a faint smile.

“He’s right, actually,” Gwen said. “When I started out as Spider-Woman, I was starting with muggers. I didn’t have to deal with a giant catastrophe until, like, a month in. You’re doing pretty good.”

“Thanks,” Miles said. He looked like he was trying not to smile more. “I’ll take pretty good. Once all this is over it’s probably gonna start hitting me. But, I mean, as long as it can hold off until then…”

Miles G and Gwen nodded. “That’s the way to do it,” Gwen said sagely. She hesitated. “Well… maybe don’t take advice from me on that, actually.”

“Yeah, no offense, your life sounds really sad, Gwen,” Miles G said.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Oh, coming from you…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miles G said, fighting down a smile. “Just because my dimension is run by various criminal organizations that control everything while everyone else is subject to their immoral whims doesn’t mean my life is sad. You know what would be sad? If my dimension didn’t have Dungeon Meshi.”

The other Miles laughed. Gwen rolled her eyes again, smiling at him.

“Seriously, though,” the other Miles said, then hesitated. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Oh.

Miles G looked away on instinct, a familiar cold rush of water dousing his chest. No matter how many times he had this conversation, there was always… it always…

“I mean, it would—I can imagine how much that would suck,” the other Miles said. “If… yeah. I’m sorry. I wish we could, like, share dads or something.”

Miles G softened, glancing back at his double.

There was something about it—it didn’t hurt as much as when other people talked to him about his dad. Maybe because normally, they never brought up anything to fix it. They just dredged up the sad again. He died a hero, they usually said. As if that softened the blow. He always had to hold himself back from yelling at them. Well, I wish he’d lived and just been my dad.

But the other Miles wasn’t calling his dad a hero. He got it. …And obviously, the other Miles couldn’t fix it, but… the idea that he wanted to was. Nice.

“Thanks,” Miles G said. “I… that’s nice of you to say.” he fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, looking away awkwardly and trying to think of a way to change the subject without sounding rude about it. It was just that he wasn’t that good at emotional conversations, even though he’d had a lot more of them than most people his age.

“So… anyway,” Miles G said, glancing back at the other two. “...How come you’re an inch taller than me? How does that work?”

The other Miles blinked at him. “Am I?” Something like realization crossed his face, and he groaned, slumping back in his seat. “Oh, right. I need to get new pants. And maybe a new roommate that doesn’t think I’m a total weirdo.” He sat up straighter, turning to Miles G and Gwen. “See, what had happened was, when I got bit by that spider the other day…”

Miles G leaned forward, resting his head against the seat in front of him again, calmer than he was a second ago. Normally he hated talking to people his own age—well—most of the people his own age that he knew. But if he ignored the impending doom of the multiverse collapsing or whatever, this was actually… nice. It was nice.

He spent the second half of the bus ride sleeping, when he got too tired to actually carry a conversation. He woke up halfway, once, blinking with half-lidded eyes, limbs heavy and warm leaned up against the window of the bus.

Gwen’s voice filtered in. “...sounds just like a Peter Parker,” she was saying in a soft voice. “Mine tried to comfort me too. When he was dying. It’s not your fault, Miles, he made that choice. If you start thinking it’s your fault…”

“Yeah,” the other Miles’s voice said. “I know, I just… it’s weird. I think it’s that I never thought of him as a person before. He was just an idea, and now…”

Miles G closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to hear this. It sounded personal.

Slowly, the bumping and rumbling of the bus lulled him back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, it was to Gwen shaking him awake. Outside the window of the bus, the sun was setting, and they were back in the city. Miles G grunted, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes roughly.

“It’s time to go,” Gwen said. The other Miles and Peter B were standing in the aisle already. The other Miles was holding the computer case under one arm.

“...Right.” Miles G stood up, following Gwen out into the aisle. “...Wait, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Gwen said. “Somewhere we can deal with—” she gestured at the computer case.

Miles G tilted his head, giving the back of Gwen’s head a squinty look as they filed out. She couldn’t be more specific, huh.

Somewhere was apparently a house in Queens.

It wasn’t hard to figure out whose. The front yard was decked out in Spider-Man stuff and lit candles like it was a holiday. Or a shrine. As they drew closer, Peter B walked slower.

Miles and Miles G glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows.

Gwen didn’t seem phased, marching up to the front of the house and looking back at them expectantly. Peter B sighed, dragging himself over like he was doing her a favor.

“Aunt May’s house,” Gwen said. “Well—Peter’s aunt. I always called her Aunt May. She’s solid.”

Gwen didn’t explain why she said ‘called’ in past tense, and nobody asked.

“I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea,” Peter B announced. Gwen shot him a look, but before anyone could say anything, he shot out a web from his wrist to ring the doorbell.

A beat.

“We sh—we should probably go,” Peter B said, pointing down the street awkwardly.

“Peter,” Gwen said sharply. “We’re literally on the doorstep.”

Peter B lasted another beat before breaking. “Bad idea, bad idea, this is a bad idea—” he turned, starting to walk away. Gwen shot out a web and pulled him back, not moving from where she stood.

“Just—relax.”

A figure approached the front door—Miles could see her silhouette through the glass. “You guys are all very sweet, but no more fans today, please,” an older woman’s voice said as the door unlatched and opened slowly.

Aunt May was a tall, thin woman with gray hair and a gray cardigan. And a bat. Miles G glanced at the others to see if they’d noticed that—they were busy looking at Peter B, who was giving a stiff smiling grimace.

“...I’m not ready for this,” Peter B muttered through his teeth.

Aunt May dropped the bat. It clattered down the brick steps.

“Peter?”

Aunt May headed towards him with wide eyes, like she was in a trance.

Right. She’d just lost her nephew the other day. Miles G looked away, towards the candles flickering in the night air, wishing he was somewhere else.

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter B said hoarsely. “So this is gonna sound crazy, but I’m pretty sure that I’m from an—”

“An alternate dimension,” Aunt May said.

“...Yeah,” Peter said, sounding slightly taken aback.

A beat. Miles G chanced a glance back at them. Aunt May was cupping Peter B’s face in her hand, like he wasn’t a grown man.

“You look tired, Peter,” she said.

“Well, I am tired,” he said.

“And older.” she glanced down, taking in the rest of him. “And thicker.”

Peter B gave her a deadpan look. It didn’t really work—too fond. “Yeah, I’ve heard that already.”

“Oh, jeez, are those sweatpants?”

“Yup,” Gwen said. “That’s… what they are.”

“I was there,” the other Miles said, stepping forward. “When it all happened. …I am so sorry.”

A step behind him, Miles G gave him a look he didn’t see. Miles G and Gwen glanced at each other, instead, raising their eyebrows.

“And what dimension are you from?” Aunt May said warmly.

“Brooklyn,” Miles deadpanned. “...Did Peter have a place where we could make another one of these?” he dug in his pocket and pulled out the busted override key, handing it to Aunt May.

“A goober,” she murmured, examining it closely. She looked up at them with a steely smile. “Follow me.”

Aunt May led them through the house, into the backyard, and into what looked like a normal garden shed until she unlocked the padlock and it lit up bright white, the door sliding open to reveal an elevator. Miles G bounced on the balls of his feet as they headed in, staring around and trying to figure out how all of it worked. Building this kind of thing in a backyard in a residential area in Queens—they’d have to have a sneaky way to do it, right? Which meant he could probably do something similar in his uncle’s apartment. If he could convince him.

The elevator platform lowered down to a shiny museum-looking basement hangar full of Spider-Man stuff. Not the merch that was everywhere else in New York—this was clearly the real deal. More polished, more professional, more customized.

Miles G walked in a slow circle, trying to take in everything at once.

“I want one,” he whispered to Gwen. Gwen gave him a look back, like, I know, right?

“This would be so much more convenient,” she said softly. “I hide my stuff in my bass drum at home.”

“Hey Peter,” the other Miles hissed, from across the room. He was holding the cape of one of the Spider-Man costumes sitting in glass display cases. “I—I think this is a cape.”

He was grinning at Peter B like he’d proven a point. Peter B chuckled weakly, shaking his head. Miles G and Gwen glanced at each other—Gwen shrugged. No clue.

Aunt May headed towards another corner, where a web was strung up in the shadows. Gwen glanced at Miles G, then drifted towards Aunt May. Miles G followed her.

“Peter knew how dangerous the job was,” Aunt May said. “But he figured the only one who could stop this guy was Spider-Man.”

They all drew closer, examining the web. It was something like a conspiracy board, different pictures and notes hung up on different strings. Some close to each other, some far. Sitting front and center was Wilson Fisk—Kingpin, the other Miles had called him on the bus. The guy who killed Spider-Man.

Above Fisk—Miles G pulled back in surprise.

“You have the Prowler here,” he blurted without thinking.

The others all turned to stare at him.

“...You know the Prowler?” Peter B said. “Most people haven’t heard of him.”

“I—” Miles G pulled his eyes from the squinting purple mask (his uncle’s mask, almost exactly, just a little different) to his double. The other Miles. The other Miles looked back at him, face blank, head tilted.

“Yeah,” Miles G said. “I’ve… heard of him.”

They hadn’t talked about it. The other Miles had mentioned his uncle, on the bus ride back, and it was obvious they were close, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about the Prowler. Three options: either the other Miles did know his uncle was the (not retired) Prowler and was keeping it a secret—which Miles G would understand— or he didn’t know his uncle was the Prowler—or Aaron Davis wasn’t the Prowler in this dimension at all, and somebody else was behind that mask.

Either way. He wasn’t gonna be a snitch. Especially if his twin was keeping it a secret on purpose.

It wasn’t like Miles G wasn’t keeping his own secrets. Even just by omission.

The other Miles gave him an evaluating look, then glanced back at the conspiracy web. “...And Kingpin knows we’re coming,” he said. “We’re going to be outnumbered.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Aunt May said. She held out a few name tag stickers and markers. “You might need these.”

Miles G gave her a confused look and turned to the others to see if they knew what she meant. They were all tense, looking around with alert expressions like they’d heard a twig snap.

In unison, they all turned around and looked up. Creepy. Miles G followed their gaze, squinting up into the rafters.

Eyes stared back at them.

Jesus. Miles G tilted his head, trying to get a closer look, but the basement light was dim.

“Hey, fellas,” a voice echoed down to them.

“Is—is he in black and white?” the other Miles muttered.

“Where is that wind coming from, we’re in a basement,” Peter B said flatly.

“Wherever I go, the wind follows,” the voice said. “And the wind… smells like rain.”

…Okay. So the others could see him. Probably one of their superpowers. Miles G tamped down his frustration. It wouldn’t matter if he’d had his Prowler mask.

“Hi guys!” a different voice came from the rafters. Young and girly and peppy. “Konnichiwa, Hajimemashite yoroshiku!”

A young girl leapt down from the rafters gracefully and gave them a peace sign. Miles G stared. She was anime. Like. An anime come to life. Big sparkly eyes and everything. He shared a wide-eyed glance with the other Miles— oh my God.

A big red robot landed behind her, and she and the robot did a series of fighting stances that looked choreographed—she ended crouched on top of the robot with a victorious smile. Miles G gave her a confused smile back. …Had she practiced that? For what?

“This could literally not get any weirder,” Peter B said.

“It can get weirder!”

A cartoon pig in a Spider-costume walked up to them and stuck his hand out. He only went up to Miles G’s knees.

“I just washed my hands, that’s why they’re wet!” the pig said. “...No other reason.”

Miles G realized he was staring with his mouth open, and quickly closed it.

The three new Spider-people perked up, examining Gwen, Peter B, and the other Miles with more interest. Then— “You’re like me,” they all chorused at the same time.

Miles G blinked, glancing between them. …Okay.

The black-and-white hardboiled Spider-Man was another Peter Parker: Spider-Man Noir, a detective from the 1930s who liked punching Nazis. Anime girl was named Peni, and she was from New York in the year 3145, where she protected New York with her father’s robot, which she had a psychic connection to… or something. The pig was named Peter Porker (no joke), aka Spider-Ham (no joke), and he was from… a cartoon, as far as Miles G could tell.

It seemed like a part of being a Spider was the urge to compulsively tell other people your life story as soon as you found out they had Spider-powers too. …Though, it wasn’t like Miles G could judge. He didn’t usually tell other people about his dad being dead. 

Maybe it was just something in the air.

Apparently, they’d all come through the supercollider, the same as the rest of them. 

“And now, we’re just trying to find a way home,” Peni said softly. Behind her, her robot beeped sadly.

“The only way back home is through that collider gizmo,” Noir said gruffly. “The only trouble is—”

“One of us has to stay behind and destroy it,” Spider-Ham finished.

“I’ll do it,” they all chorused at the same time, along with Gwen. Miles and Miles G traded a raised-eyebrow glance.

“No no no no no,” Miles said, stepping forward, waving his palms as if to wipe away what they’d just said. “You guys don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Peni said. Then—

Miles G’s body tore, splitting and blurring and flickering. Bright colors flashed through his vision. A strangled cry of pain pulled itself roughly out of his throat, and searing sharpness sliced through his skull, his brain, his chest, his limbs—he could feel his body collapsing to the ground in a jumble of loosely-connected parts.

And then it was over. He laid curled on the smooth cool floor of the basement, panting roughly and blinking stars out of his eyes.

“None of you can stay here,” the other Miles’s voice said above him. “If you stay here, you’ll die. I’m the guy who’s gonna turn it off. And I’m gonna get you all home before I do.”

Miles G pushed himself up to a sitting position. Around him, the others were in various stages of getting up—except for Miles and Aunt May, who were still standing.

“Look, I made a promise,” Miles said. “So… I have to keep it.”

Simple as that. A to B. Miles G stared up at his twin, relieved.

It was something his mami always said— never promise something unless you’re one hundred percent gonna follow through, Miles. Keeping a promise is important.

If his twin was promising to get them home, they’d get home.

Noir climbed to his feet. “...Who are you again?”

Peter B popped up, one hand hovering over Miles’s shoulder. “This is Miles!” he said. “And he’s gonna save the multiverse.”

Miles G bit back a smile. “Yeah, man,” his twin said, clearly trying to look casual.

“This kid can turn himself invisible,” Peter B said, tugging Miles closer to the others to show him off. “Watch this. He can do it— now!”

Miles squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, grunting. 

Nothing happened. Miles opened his eyes again. “...I can’t do it on command.” he shrugged, like, no big deal.

“He can’t do it on command,” Peter B said, grinning at them and waving one hand like he was trying to sell them something, “But it is cool! Show them the zappy thing, Miles.”

Miles flexed his hands, face screwed up like he was really concentrating. Miles G tilted his head—he’d heard about the “zappy thing,” but he hadn’t seen it in action.

His twin glanced up at the rest of them flatly. “...Can’t do it on command.”

“He can’t do it on command,” Peter B repeated. “But he can do so much more, like, wh—like what else do you do, Miles?”

“Just those two things.”

“Just those two things!”

Miles G rocked back on his feet awkwardly, surveying the others. They didn’t look impressed. “Well, that’s two more things than you guys do, right?” he said. His voice sounded loud in the silence. They all turned and stared at him. He pushed down the part of him that wanted to shrivel up and melt into the floor. “I mean, can any of you turn invisible?”

Gwen tilted her head in acknowledgement, turning back to the others. “Look, I’ve seen him in action,” she said. “He’s got… potential.”

Come on, Gwen, Miles G thought to himself. You couldn’t have sounded more confident? He stuffed his hands into his pockets, balling them up into nervous fists. Gwen looked over at Miles.

“I think he’s gonna get us home.”

The words sank into the room. Miles gave Gwen a grateful look.

Then Noir stepped forward. “Okay, little fella, Kingpin’s gonna send a lotta mugs after ya, and I’m talking hard boys, real biscuit boxers.” he dropped into a fighting stance. “Can ya fight them all off at once?”

Miles put up his fists, looking vaguely taken aback. “Well, I—I haven’t actually fought anyone—”

“Surprise attack!” Noir dropped and swept Miles’s legs out from under him. Miles G winced, glancing over at Gwen—she didn’t look back at him, eyes trained on Miles.

“Can you rewire a mainframe while being shot at?” Peni said, tossing a piece of tech Miles’s way.

“Can I what?” Miles climbed to his feet.

“Show me!”

“Surprise attack!” Noir jabbed Miles in the ribs.

Gwen stepped forward, putting her hands on her hips. “Can you swing and flip with the grace of a trained dancer?”

“Seriously?” Miles G glared at her. She didn’t look back at him. The other Spiders closed in on Miles, now, voices overlapping.

“Can you close off your feelings—” “Can you help your aunt—” “Can you float through the air when you smell a delicious pie?” “Can you be strong—” “Ruthless?” “Disciplined?”

Peter B wasn’t joining in, thank God. Miles G respected him a little bit more for that. “Guys, cool it,” Peter B tried, to no avail.

Miles G just stared, frowning at them.

When his tío trained him, it was exhausting. Sometimes overwhelming. Miles G would head to his tío’s after school and his tío would drill him on punches and kicks and jabs and everything under the sun until his limbs were numb. But instead of collapsing he had to do his homework for the next day (that was part of the deal, stay on top of school) and then, sometimes, his tío would take him out at night. Not for anything important, but for practice sessions. Using equipment—not the gloves, yet, but the grappling cords and the shoes—practicing parkour on real city infrastructure—stuff like that.

It was a lot. But it wasn’t like this. His tío would never do something stupid like this.

“Come on, Miles—” “Get up, Miles!”

Miles stayed on the ground, panting. Miles G watched from the side, arms crossed.

The other Spiders glanced at each other and walked away.

Miles G followed them, annoyance burning in his chest.

“Look, you need to be more honest with yourself about this,” Gwen started in a whisper, once they’d all gathered in a circle a few paces away. She was directing her words towards Peter B. “He’s not ready! It’s obvious!”

“How the hell is it obvious, Gwen?” Miles G said, leveling her with a glare. She did a double take, apparently just now noticing he was angry. “He said he made a promise, so he’s gonna keep it. You didn’t prove anything just ‘cause you kicked him a bunch of times.”

“Look, I just don’t want him to get killed,” Gwen hissed, leaning towards Miles G.

“There’s no way,” Noir muttered. “He’s just a kid.”

“If he can’t do this, we have to stay and do it for him,” Gwen said.

Miles G punched her hard in the arm, the type of punch that would send a punching bag swinging. She didn’t even sway, but frowned at him like she hadn’t expected it. It kind of hurt his knuckles. He acted like it didn’t.

“He’s looking right at us while we talk about him,” Noir said, leaning back to look over at the other Miles.

“Look, this isn’t even your choice to make,” Miles G started. A heavy k-thunk interrupted him, and they all turned to look—the elevator platform was rising up towards the shed again. Nobody was on it—Miles was nowhere to be seen.

“Miles?” Peter B said. “Miles?” They all craned their necks as the platform rose above their heads.

“You see that?” Peter B said uncertainly. “He can, uh… he can turn invisible!”

Miles G shot a judgmental look towards the others as the platform slid into the ceiling. “Nice going,” he said. “Really great job all around.”

Gwen looked over at him, startled and guilty. Miles G stalked away, back to the conspiracy web. And away from the other Spiders.

Chapter Text

“Look, I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings.”

Miles G glanced back at Gwen with a flat look, then went back to staring out the kitchen window.

It wasn’t much of a view—mostly just showed the side of the neighboring house, plus a snowy birdfeeder hanging in the window—but this was a good way to eat from the bowl of trail mix sitting in the middle of the kitchen table and give the others the silent treatment at the same time. They’d all filed in there, except Peni, following him after he’d decided to leave the secret basement. It was kind of cramped, especially with Aunt May bustling around putting together food. She’d given him a cup of tea, which he was too polite to refuse, and he’d drank like half of it by now. 

He hadn’t asked them to come up and join him, but he was pretty sure they’d followed him out of a vague sense of guilt or maybe heroic obligation. 

At least the giant robot was still down in the basement with Peni.

“I’m serious,” Gwen said, pulling out a chair across the table and slumping down into it sideways. “Look, I’m not used to—” she sighed. “I just don’t want him to get hurt if I can do something about it.”

A beat. Miles G sighed, slumping back in his chair just a bit. He was going to have to be the mature one here, wasn’t he.

“And your definition of doing something is all of you harassing him at once?”

Gwen paused. “Kingpin’s not going to go easy on him,” she said.

I know someone on his payroll who would. Miles G kept the thought to himself. He still wasn’t sure if his uncle was the Prowler in this dimension. But the thought was starting to nag at him. It wasn’t adding up.

“So?” he said instead. “That doesn’t mean you going hard on him is going to do anything.” He turned to face her fully with a flat look. “You said it on the bus, didn’t you? He’s doing pretty good for how quick he’s had to figure all this out. He’s still going at it. Pushing him down and asking him if he’s gonna get back up isn’t a test of anything when he’s already been doing that. You think he wanted to be Spider-Man? A dead guy gave him a mission.” He grabbed a handful of trail mix and stuffed it into his mouth angrily, turning back to the window and crossing his arms. Normally he’d just pick out the M&M’s, but he was hungry enough and angry enough that he didn’t care. Besides it wasn’t polite.

…So maybe this was a little bit personal for him. His uncle hadn’t wanted him to be the Prowler, at first, either. But there was a difference—there was a difference between something you wanted to do and needed to do. If Miles was going to live in a world where his dad was dead, he needed to be the Prowler. He couldn’t just… sit there and pretend like everything was normal. It was the same for his twin, he was pretty sure. The other Miles didn’t just want this, he needed it. Because the other Spider-Man was dead.

The others didn’t get it.

“Not to nag at you when you’re already in a mood,” Ham said, from where he was perched on the countertop, sipping a cup of tea, “But the other Miles hasn’t come back.”

“He will,” Miles G said, ignoring Noir nodding in Ham’s direction. As if he had a point.

“Look, he’s just clearing his head,” Peter B interjected. “I know the kid. He’s gonna come back refreshed and ready to fight.”

Miles G jabbed a thumb in Peter B’s direction. “What he said. He’s visiting his uncle. He’ll be back.”

“How do you know?” Gwen said. She had a sad look on her face like she really wanted to believe him. Which was more annoying, than anything.

“It’s what I would do,” Miles G said shortly.

A long beat of silence. A bird flapped onto the birdfeeder outside the kitchen window.

“Do you think he’ll be mad when he comes back?” Gwen said. Her voice was small.

Miles G sighed internally, taking pity on her. The annoying thing was that he knew she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He understood exactly where she was coming from. He didn’t want any more people he cared about to die, either.

But it was still annoying.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking back at her with a not-mean look. “But he’ll probably forgive you if you apologize. He’s the nice one between me and him.”

He stood up, his chair pushing back with a scrape. “I’m gonna go see how Peni’s doing.” He turned to head out the back door.

“Hey,” Gwen called. Miles G stopped. “I’m sorry to you, too.”

He turned to face her more fully, tilting his head in confusion. 

“I mean,” she fumbled. “You seem upset. And I don’t know—exactly—why, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings, either.”

He pressed his lips together, softening despite himself. “I’m not… really upset,” he said, not sure if he was lying or not. “...But thanks.”

Peni was still down in the basement, creating a new override key programmed to take over the collider and get everybody back to their respective dimensions. When he found her, she was bouncing along to fast-paced Japanese rap in the cockpit of her robot, fingers dancing over various holo-screens.

“Hey!” she perked up when she saw him approaching. “You want any candy?” she reached into a compartment next to her and offered him a handful of pastel-colored bits.

“...Sure,” he said. He was still kind of annoyed at her, too, but he wouldn’t turn down free candy. And besides, he couldn’t be too mad. He was pretty sure she was younger than him, and she gave off an innocent vibe that made him suspect it just hadn’t occurred to her that there were other ways of training someone.

He took the candy and stuffed it in his mouth. Fruity. Kind of a weird flowery aftertaste.

…It wasn’t bad.

“How’s the override key coming?” he said, leaning up against the side of her robot to look in at the holo-screens.

“Pretty good,” Peni chirped. “I’m trying to reverse-engineer the DNA process so that when we enter the supercollider, it’ll automatically match us to our home dimensions. So, you know, we don’t just get flung out into a random dimension again.”

She said all this hunched over, typing away at her keypad furiously. It reminded Miles vaguely of his roommate back in his home dimension.

“Push instead of pull,” Miles said. “Is it that simple? I can’t imagine Doc Ock designed it to let things go back. It doesn’t seem like her style.” The other Miles had told him and Gwen a bit of what Doc Ock had said back in her office—strapping Peter B down and taking samples from him. In a practical sense, Miles G was pretty sure she wouldn’t want a way for her experiments to escape.

“Oh, she didn’t,” Peni said. “It’s more like… an interdimensional vacuum. Not very high-tech, either.” She made a face at the screen. “But I’m good at this kind of thing. My dad taught me how to code since before I was even in school.”

Oof. Miles G looked away. “Right,” he said flatly. “This is his robot, right?”

“Yep!” she said. “I got SP//DR after he died. So.”

…Oof retracted. Miles G winced, glancing back at her. She wasn’t looking at him, and her expression was partially hidden by her shiny black hair, but he recognized the slight tension in her shoulders.

“That sucks,” he said. “My dad’s dead, too.”

Peni glanced back at him, eyes wide and glimmering. “Yeah?” she leaned back. “It does suck, doesn’t it.”

He hummed, boosting himself up further to sit on the edge of the cockpit. Half the holo-screens were in kanji, but there were a couple on the side that looked like the original schematics and code for the collider. He squinted at them—they were kind of all over the place for a professional scientist. “She’s pretty messy, huh.”

Peni stuffed another handful of candy in her mouth. “Tell me about it,” she said, mouth full. “But at least I’m almost done.” she bounced in her seat. “I’m gonna burn it with a spider-mask on the outside, it’s gonna look sooo cool.”

Miles snorted, smiling over at her. “Fancy.”

Peni flashed him a grin and didn’t answer, tapping away at her screens. The upbeat music kept bumping in the background. Miles G turned away, frowning at the holo-screen with Octavius’s original code. It looked messy… but complex, too, the more he looked at it. Nuanced. She was smart, he’d give her that.

He’d hacked stuff like it before, but nothing this high-stakes. If it was anything like that, his uncle would take care of it for him—not that he’d said as much, but Miles knew. His tío wasn’t coming out of retirement like that, but he’d bend the rules for Miles, he always did. 

…Except he wasn’t here.

Miles G leaned back against Peni’s robot, arms crossed, and stared across the room at the conspiracy web, tapping his arm with a frown.

The Prowler was still active in this dimension.

Something about that bothered him.

He let the nagging feeling stretch out for a good minute before he slid down off of SP//DR and headed over towards the conspiracy web, the music getting fainter behind him. It was darker on this side of the room—dim lights flickered on as he approached. Motion sensors.

He reached up, tugging the picture of the Prowler off of the conspiracy web it was tangled in. He frowned at it, examining it more closely like he could see behind the mask if he looked hard enough.

His uncle would never hurt him. And he couldn’t imagine a dimension where he would. Not if…

“Hey!”

Miles jumped. Peni stood at his side, looking up at him.

“Finished the goober,” Peni said, holding up a black-and-red USB dangling from a chain. As promised, a little image of a Spider-Man mask was burned into the side of it. 

He blew out a breath, forcing himself to relax. “That’s… great. That was fast.”

“Are you okay?” Peni said, eyes wide and sparkly. “You seem, like, really bothered about this Prowler guy.”

He looked away, back down at the picture. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s… complicated.”

Peni frowned at him, tilting her head to one side, arms folded neatly behind her back. “I’ve dealt with complicated stuff before. I think we all have. SP//DR and I deal with villains all the time, back in our dimension.”

“Yeah, I… figured,” Miles G said, giving her a weak smile. “Lots of villains in my home dimension, too.”

“Like the Prowler,” Peni said, rocking back on her heels.

He looked back down at the picture again. “...Yeah, like the Prowler.”

Although, in his dimension, the Prowler was retired. Because Miles’s dad had died.

…And because his tío had chosen taking care of Miles over his criminal life.

But in this dimension, the Prowler was still active. And on Kingpin’s payroll, even though Kingpin was… trying to kill the other Miles.

Miles stiffened, looking up with wide eyes. “Shit.”

The others had migrated into the living room when Miles G and Peni found them. Noir was holding a Rubik's cube and lying on the couch, while the others stood around.

“Good news first, I finished the goober!” Peni chirped, flourishing the necklace with a strained smile.

The others glanced at each other, then back at Miles G and Peni. “Okay…” Gwen said.

Peter B took the goober and strung it over his neck. “...Is there bad news?”

Peni looked over at Miles G expectantly.

“Well…” he said, resisting the urge to fidget. Everyone was staring at him. “Did—did the other Miles ever say who was trying to kill him, specifically?”

“Kingpin,” Gwen and Peter B chorused, giving him matching frowns.

“No, I meant—” Miles G sighed. “Look. It’s probably the Prowler, right?”

Peter B frowned at him, brows furrowing. “...Probably, why?”

Miles G bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “See, that’s— bad. Because. That’s probably his uncle. Who he’s visiting right now.”

“What?” Gwen said.

“How do you know?” Spider-Ham and Peter B said at the same time.

Miles G winced, looking away. “Look. In my dimension, my uncle quit years ago. To be a better role model for me, or whatever. But the Prowler is still active in this dimension—if he is the other Miles’s uncle, there’s no way he knows the other Miles is who he was sent to kill. He wouldn’t do it if he knew. But—but if the other Miles is wearing a mask the whole time, and if the other Miles doesn’t know his uncle is the Prowler…”

“The Prowler won’t get a chance to know,” Gwen breathed. She fixed him with a steely look. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I am telling you!” Miles G said. His face and his chest burned hot. “Look, I thought—I wasn’t sure. And, I thought, if the other Miles does know his uncle’s the Prowler, I’m not about to spill his personal family business in front of everyone—”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Peter B said, waving a hand through the air. He fixed Miles G with a look. “How far away is your uncle’s apartment.”

Miles G hesitated, remembering the beige apartment that was supposed to be his uncle’s. “Um—”

The other Miles burst through the door.

“My uncle—” he was breathless, taking hold of Peter B’s arm to get his attention. “My uncle—he’s the Prowler, he works for Kingpin, he tried to kill me—!”

Miles G sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh my God,” he said faintly. The other Miles looked over at him, face panicked, eyes darting across Miles G’s face. A question.

“This is a pretty hardcore origin story,” Noir said. Peni smacked him.

“It’s okay, we’re gonna figure it out,” Peter B said, like he was trying to tame a baby deer. Gwen pushed past him.

“Were you followed?”

“No, I—” Miles hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

In unison, the Spiders tensed, and turned to look at the door.

It was too late. Shit. Miles G fell into a fighting stance automatically. Everything felt slightly too distant, like it wasn’t completely real.

The doorbell rang. The door erupted open. A tentacle shot through—Miles G dodged, and it hit Aunt May behind him, knocking the tray she was carrying to the ground.

“Cute place,” Doc Ock said, floating through the door on her tentacles. “Real homey.”

“Oh great, it’s Liv,” Aunt May muttered behind him.

“I… guess I was followed,” Miles said, voice small.

“Oh no,” Gwen breathed.

“Get out of here, kid,” Peter B ordered, gesturing behind him to Miles. He glanced back at Miles G, over his shoulder. “You too.”

Miles G didn’t process the order at first. His twin moved, grabbing Miles G’s arm and dragging him towards the kitchen—where some guy with white hair and a suit was stepping through the doorway.

“You messed up big-time, kid,” he said. “Very sloppy.”

Miles stepped back, putting an arm in front of Miles G as if to shield him. I don’t deserve it, Miles G thought dizzily.

Scorpion came through the doorway next. Different-looking. Still obviously the Scorpion. He surveyed the room calmly. “Wacha estas arañitas…”

He was going to be sick. He was going to die. Or someone else was going to die. …He had to keep it together.

“Let me guess,” Peter B said, putting out an arm and lightly shoving Miles and Miles G back towards the coffee table. Guarding them from the—villains. “You’re Scorpion? Well, we’re the Spider… uh, gang.”

“Look, would you mind taking this outside?” Aunt May said, somewhere behind Miles G.

“We don’t pick the ballroom, we just dance,” Noir’s voice said. Miles G was too busy watching Scorpion’s spiked tail to turn his head. It looked. Bigger. Up close.

“Ooh, I think I’ll be taking that,” Doc Ock said, a tentacle darting out—towards Peter B’s neck. The override key.

Before Miles G could process it, Peter B had dodged, dodged again, and been slammed into the far wall.

That seemed to be the cue. 

The room erupted.

He was yanked out of the way of a flying tentacle—by Gwen—had to duck out of the way of Scorpion’s tail, which landed in a couch cushion wielded by his twin—Scorpion picked up the other Miles with one hand and Miles G grabbed onto his twin’s arm, pulling as if that’d do anything.

In the corner, SP//DR blinked to life. Scorpion looked over—SP//DR fell into a fighting stance, whirring blades coming from its hands. He dropped Miles—Miles G pulled him out of the path of the whirring blades as Peni’s robot charged at the Scorpion.

“I said take it outside!” Aunt May’s voice yelled. Miles G looked over—she was hitting the white-hair guy out the door with her bat.

Someone yanked Miles G away again, over the couch. A tentacle whizzed by his face. “Careful, kid,” Noir’s voice said behind him.

“I got it!” the other Miles’s voice came from the other end of the room. Miles G didn’t stop to look this time, looking both ways to survey the chaos of the room before grabbing a lamp to defend himself. He wanted the Prowler gloves. Not that he knew how to use those either.

SP//DR whacked Scorpion in his direction, and Miles G instinctively swung the lamp at his head. Thank you, hours of training— the bulb shattered over the Scorpion’s head.

Scorpion turned to look at him, but Peni’s robot lifted up and swung around between them just as his head was turning.

The window across the room shattered. Miles G poked his head out, around Peni’s robot. His breath stuck in his chest.

Purple cape. Three-spiked collar. Claws. Facing crouched away from Miles G—right in front of the other Miles, who was flickering in and out of existence, backing away slowly.

He didn’t stop to think. He threw the lamp as hard as he could. It whacked his uncle in the back of the head—a web shot out and pulled the override key out of Miles’s hands.

Something grabbed Miles G’s upper arm hard, yanking him from where he was standing to dangle in the air above the couch. “Hello,” Doc Ock said, smiling at him. Miles G gasped for breath, staring at her with wide eyes. He tugged at the tentacle holding his arm—no use, it was too tight—he swung his leg up and kicked her in the face.

She didn’t drop him, just touched her nose gingerly and leveled him with a slow glare. Shit.

A body slammed into Doc Ock, hard and fast, and Miles dropped to the couch below. He looked up— Gwen. Then, SP//DR hurtling after Doc Ock.

A hand grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him over the couch as Scorpion’s stinger landed right where Miles G had been.

The giant sound of something breaking—wood cracking, glass shattering. He glanced back—the whole front wall was gone, SP//DR tangled in tentacles and thrown out into the street.

“Gotta pay attention to yourself, little fella,” Noir said quickly, then webbed out into the street, pulling Miles G with him. SP//DR and Peter B were wrestling with Doc Ock—Miles looked up, scanning the nearby roofs—Gwen was battling it out with the Scorpion. The white hair guy was knocked out. Sirens were wailing in the distance.

No Prowler. And no other Miles.

“Shit,” he said breathlessly, and turned back to the house, scrambling back over the broken pieces of wall into the living room. It was empty—he caught the tail-end of a pink blur escaping up the stairs.

He raced after it.

The ceiling above him splintered. He looked up as dust and wood pieces rained down a few feet in front of him—a new hole in the ceiling. Shit, shit, shit.

He glanced at the stairwell around him. Okay. Okay. He could do this.

He jumped up to rappel off the railing—towards the other wall, to push up off of that—to reach up towards the edge of the hole in the roof.

He managed to grab the edge. It splintered under his hold. Panting, he reached up to try and grab it with both hands—a chunk of shingles broke off in his hands, and he fell with a yelp to the stairs below.

He hit the stairs in the most protective position he could manage—he was still going to feel it tomorrow—and looked back up at the hole.

…Okay. Don’t waste time.

He turned and sprinted back down the stairs, heading for the outside.

“Peter,” he called breathlessly, vaulting over the broken pieces of wall and running towards where Peter B was getting up from being slammed into a car. “Peter, there’s—”

He grabbed Peter B’s arm, turning to point up at the roof. A gunshot rang out.

Miles G froze. So did Peter B. For half a second, then he patted Miles G’s chest. “Hide,” he said sharply, then vaulted away, in the direction of the gunshot.

Miles G stared after him, uncomprehending, slowly lowering his finger from the roof. The word slowly sunk in.

He looked away. Towards—the living room. Nobody was in there anymore. Right.

He headed back in that direction, stumbling quickly over the debris and vaulting over what was left of the wall, into the living room. Past that—into the kitchen. His breath was ragged in his lungs. He could hear the blood in his ears. Distantly, he realized that he was probably having some kind of breakdown. Or maybe this was just adrenaline.

Through the kitchen window—a figure sailed through the air, clumsy. Carrying a dark purple cape with a body attached to it. Limp. He darted to the window to try and get a better look, but the figures were already sailing away.

He stared after them, not breathing, as if that would make the moment stop. Slow down.

A cop car sailed in the same direction, siren blaring.

Chapter Text

Gwen flipped through the air, graceful and controlled, landing on the brick wall rising out of one side of the roof. The others looked up at her expectantly.

She dropped down to the roof and handed Miles G a water bottle. He took it robotically, hands stiff from the December cold.

“Well?” Ham said.

Gwen hesitated. Pulled her mask off. “...He’s definitely dead,” she said. “They carried the body away.”

She was looking at Miles G with concern. He looked away, leaning up against the wall. He should be feeling something, probably, but all he mostly felt was blank. Of course he was dead. Of course he… of course this place couldn’t stay perfect. The signs had already been there. Spider-Man was dead. Everything was going to break apart. 

Just… yeah.

“And Miles?” Peter B said.

“I didn’t see him,” Gwen said. “I… his… his dad was around. I wouldn’t blame him for leaving.”

Wouldn’t blame him for any of this, Miles G interpreted. He blew out a breath, closing his eyes. He felt vaguely sick. The world was abstract around him; only halfway tied together.

“Poor little guy,” Noir muttered. Peni, sitting on top of SP//DR, shifted slightly.

“And you?” Peter B’s voice said. A pause. “Miles G, I mean.”

He opened his eyes, looking over at Peter B. Huh?

“How are you holding up, bud?” Peter B said. “‘Cause you’re being pretty quiet and I won’t lie, it’s kind of freaking me out.”

He blinked at him. Opened his mouth. “Uh,” his voice said softly. “I—”

He was going to say I’m fine, but the words stuck in his throat and he thought he might throw up. He looked away instead, his ribs going tight and funny again, making it hard to take a full breath.

His eyes were burning.

God. He was actually going to cry. In front of everyone. He dropped to a crouch, putting his head in his knees and wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

This is my fault. 

This is my fault.  

“This is my fault,” he whispered into his knees, throat tight. 

“No,” Gwen’s voice said. Too close to him—she must’ve crouched down too. “You can’t think like that. You never meant for this to happen.”

You don’t need to mean it for it to be your fault, he thought, but swallowed the words down. He couldn’t say that—not to Gwen.

“Look, these kinds of things happen sometimes,” Peter B’s voice said softly. Also too close. “You do your best to stop them, but sometimes you can’t. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“You don’t get it,” Miles G said, voice breaking on a sob. The hot tears in his eyes welled up and spilled over, running down his face.

They didn’t understand, they didn’t get it, they didn’t—they didn’t realize that this version of his tío would never get the chance to retire, never get to try to be a better person. They didn’t get that he died trapped. And they didn’t get that the other Miles should hate Miles G because he should’ve known better, he should’ve realized, but it had been so long since he associated his uncle with being a criminal—they didn’t get that this was his uncle who played him music and taught him art and took him to watch a boxing match live and bought him cool shoes that Miles couldn’t afford himself. And now the other Miles was never going to have that. Again. And there was always going to be something missing that would never be fixed. And it was his fault.

“Miles, we’re probably some of the only people who do get it,” Gwen said. A hand landed on his back. “Everybody loses somebody in this line of business. It’s… it’s awful, but it’s not your fault.”

“Hey.” that was Noir’s voice, down next to him. “It’s a dangerous world out there, soldier. In my experience, anybody who tries to do some good is gonna run into the bad. Doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”

Miles G sniffled, wiping his eyes on his pant legs. He was tempted to say you don’t get it again. But he didn’t.

“It’ll be rough for a while,” Peter B’s voice said. “But then life will keep moving and you’ll be okay.”

He picked his head up from his knees. “I know that,” he said, voice wobbly, scrubbing at his eyes roughly. “I’ve done this before. I just… the other Miles.”

He looked away, staring at a brick in the wall with blurry vision.

“...Yeah,” Gwen’s voice said softly.

A quiet beat. A cold breeze rustled over the rooftop.

“He can’t be the one to shut this thing down,” Peter B said.

Miles G looked over at him, startled.

“...What?” Gwen said.

Peter B put his hands up, seeing their faces. “Look, you know I want this for him as much as anybody. But—this is too big. For right now. It’s only been a couple days for him.”

Miles G straightened. “That’s not fair,” he said. “You were defending him earlier—”

“I know I was,” Peter B said. “This is about whether it’s fair to expect him to do all this so quickly.”

“He won’t see it that way,” Gwen said. “He wants this, Peter, you know that.”

Peter B went to speak. Closed his eyes in a grimace. “I know,” he said. He opened his eyes, looking regretful. “...But that doesn’t mean he should have it.”

Miles G stared at him, incredulous.

“...Look, he’s got a point,” Noir said. “I like the fella, but he’s a kid.”

“So am I,” Gwen said, a note of steel creeping into her tone. “So is Peni.” Peni glanced between them, clutched hands coming up in front of her chest nervously.

“But you and Peni have had time to learn how to do this,” Peter B said. “Miles just hasn’t had time.”

Miles G pushed to his feet, hands balling into fists. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he said. His voice was too loud. He didn’t care. “You don’t get it. He needs to do this. It’s not a negotiable thing.”

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be Spider-Man, Miles,” Peter B said. “I’m saying I don’t want him to die. You’ve seen how dangerous this job can be, now—you want to throw him into the middle of that?”

“He’s already in the middle of it!” Miles G threw a hand up. “You can’t stop—”

“Look, kid, you were right!” Peter B said loudly. He lowered his voice. “You were right, when you said everybody was pushing him too fast earlier. And Gwen was right when she said that’s what Kingpin will do to him too. I’m trying to protect him.”

Miles G drew back, staring at Peter B coldly. He looked over at Gwen for backup. She stared back at him, expression uncertain.

“Agh!” he threw his hands up in the air, stalking past Peter B with a shove. “Ay Maria, si no fueras tan heroico serías diez veces más mejor—” he turned on his heel to glare at the others. “And what are you going to do? Stay behind and die? You can’t believe he’ll be okay with that.”

The others glanced at each other uncertainly. Gwen closed her eyes like she was in pain. Peter B just looked tired.

“He doesn’t have to be okay with it,” Peter B said. “He just has to be safe. I’m willing to do that for him.”

Miles G stared at him.

What an idiot.

This was what adults did. They took care of you and protected you and died for you and they wouldn’t let you do any of it back. And they didn’t understand that it wasn’t fair.

And Miles didn’t know how to make him understand.

“He’ll be mad at you,” he said. “Forever.”

Peter B closed his eyes. Huffed shortly. Opened them again. “That’s… fine,” he said. “I can deal with that.”

Gwen didn’t carry him this time. Miles G rode squished in the cockpit of SP//DR with Peni to Miles’s Visions Academy dorm room. Which was the only place he could think of that the other Miles would go, now. Now that he couldn’t go to his uncle’s.

They needed to get their stupid override key. Miles G wouldn’t have gone, out of protest, except he needed to talk to the other Miles. He needed to apologize.

When they were a block away, a book came sailing through the air—Peter B caught it, glanced at the cover, and threw it back. Miles G hadn’t gotten a good look, but even then he could tell it was a black book. Miles’s, with the “hello my name is” sticker on the cover.

He winced, closing his eyes. His hands were still shaking. He felt sick.

SP//DR swung through the air, landing with a jolting thump. He opened his eyes. They were hanging off the window outside of Miles’s dorm room.

Peni opened the cockpit and Miles G scrambled out, vaulting through the window. The other Miles was standing on the other end of his room, holding his black book with a confused face. He’d been crying; Miles G could see it.

He ran to his double and crashed him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. “I am so sorry,” he whispered.

A beat. The other Miles’s arms came up around him, slow and fragile. “It’s not your fault,” the other Miles whispered hoarsely.

“No,” Miles G pulled away. “You don’t understand. Yo sabía—bueno, mi tío era el Prowler, pero yo no pensé—no estaba pensado—dios mío…” he sucked in a shaky breath, avoiding the other Miles’s eyes. He knew he sounded half-insane, stumbling over his words, but he couldn’t stop. “Tu no sabes cuanto lo siento—”

The other Miles pulled back, blinking at him with wide eyes. Disbelief, shock, hurt—Miles G stopped talking, the words withering and dying in his throat.

The other Miles glanced behind Miles G, at the other Spiders who had filed in after him. He looked back at Miles G, eyes squinting sympathetically.

“No te disculpes,” he said, squeezing Miles G’s arms firmly. “...Sé que esto también te duele. It’s not your fault.”

His accent was kind of off and clunky. It didn’t matter. Miles G squeezed his arms back.

“Still,” he said breathlessly. There wasn’t enough air in his lungs. “I…”

“I know,” the other Miles said.

A shifting behind them.

“Miles,” Gwen’s voice said softly. “...How are you?”

Miles G pulled back, stepping to the side so the others could see his twin. His twin looked down at the ground and breathed out slowly, expression set.

“You know, we’ve all been there,” Peter B said gently, putting a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “For me, it was my Uncle Ben.”

“For me, it was my Uncle Benjamin,” Noir said, coming closer to put a hand on Miles’s other shoulder.

“For me it was my father,” Peni said, eyes glistening. Miles G swallowed roughly, looking away.

“For me it was my best friend,” Gwen said.

“Miles,” Spider-Ham said thickly. Miles G looked over at him—he was hunched over, eyes scrunched sadly. “The hardest thing about this job is…” he sniffled. “You can’t always save everybody.”

“But it’s—” Miles started softly, then glanced over at Miles G before looking down at the ground, expression crumpling. “...You wouldn’t understand.”

“Miles,” Gwen said. “We’re probably the only ones who do understand.”

Miles stared at nothing, breathing carefully.

Then—all the Spiders perked up at the same time.

Miles G tensed—he’d seen this enough that he got the gist, now. When they all turned to the door, he did too. The doorknob rattled half a second later.

Peter B grabbed the scruff of Miles G’s jacket and leapt to the ceiling, in time with all the others scrambling up to hide above the door. The door swung open.

Ganke Lee.

He was snapping along to the beat in his headphones, thankfully, and didn’t look up as he collapsed into his computer chair and grabbed a comic book.

“That way, that way,” Peter B hissed as Ganke rolled his chair back to grab a drink. All the Spiders skittered to the right, Peter pulling Miles G with them. Ganke pushed off the table and twirled his chair around— “Other way, other way!”

Slowly, Ganke looked up.

Oof.

“Hey there,” the other Miles said, voice strained.

“Do animals talk in this dimension?” Ham said. “‘Cause I don’t wanna freak him out.”

Ganke started to stand up, one finger in the air, then collapsed back into his chair. Out cold.

Miles G grimaced, looking over at Miles. “...Sorry, man.”

Miles grimaced back. “...Maybe he’ll think it was a dream?”

They put Ganke in his bed and covered him with a blanket, to encourage him to think it was a dream when he woke up. Miles was the one to pull the blanket up over Ganke—Gwen nudged Miles G and gave him a look. It’s time to go.

Right.

He’d almost forgotten about that.

He let Gwen lead him over to the window, a bitter taste in his mouth, as the others filed out. When Miles looked up, Gwen was sitting on the windowsill, waiting for him to notice her. He gave her a confused look.

“...What’s going on?”

She stared back at him. Reluctant-looking. “Bye, Miles.”

She leapt out the window.

Miles G glanced between the other Miles and Peter B. Right. He wasn’t staying for this shitshow. “...Listen, I think he’s being an idiot,” Miles G said to his twin. He hesitated, casting around in his head for the right words. “Ya sabes lo que tienes que hacer,” he settled on. “No escuches a nadie más.”

The other Miles gave him a confused look. Miles G hesitated, then turned and climbed out the window, taking Peni’s hand to pull himself onto SP//DR. He wanted to say more. 

But there wasn’t time.

“I see this… this spark in you, and it’s amazing, it’s why I push you, but—it’s yours. Whatever you choose to do with it, you’ll be great.”

“...Look, call me when you can, okay? …I love you.”

“...You don’t have to say it back, though.”

Chapter Text

The bus pulled to a stop across from Fisk Tower. Miles leaned forward, squinting through SP//DR’s windshield up at the spotlights waving around the building.

“Candy?” Peni offered a fistful as they jumped off the bus and leapt towards a construction crane, following the other Spiders swinging upward. Without looking, Miles G took it, shoving it in his mouth and chomping down.

SP//DR scaled the crane smoothly, in swinging arcs, crawling up to crouch at the top. It was vaguely like a carnival ride Miles G had been on, once, when he was a lot younger. He and his mom and dad had all gone together.

A glitch flickered down his body with a spiky wave of pain. He winced, swallowing it down.

The other Spiders gathered around them. Peni tapped at her holo-screens.

“Kingpin has a private elevator entrance from his penthouse to the collider below,” Peni announced crisply, guiding SP//DR to point out the elevator with a red beam of light. “As far as Miles G and I can tell, the elevator opens up to a maintenance area, not the main observation deck, so we should be able to get through without being seen.”

“Didn’t count on having an audience,” Noir said.

Miles G peered down to the streets below. The flashing lights of paparazzi glittered from the front of the building. All the people looked like ants from up here. Still, he wished he was outside the cockpit. Preferably with his Prowler stuff, and with his uncle.

SP//DR and the other Spiders leapt from the crane, shooting out a web to swing up towards the penthouse. They landed on the skylight, peering down into the party.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Miles G muttered, in tandem with the others.

The party was decked out with banners of Spider-Man’s face. The waiters walking around were wearing Spider-Man masks. And at the front, standing at a podium, was Kingpin himself. “It’s nice to be with you this evening to celebrate Spider-Man,” he was saying. “He and I were very close…”

“What a pig,” Gwen muttered. Spider-Ham gave her a look.

“I’m right here.”

“That’s a crime boss, alright,” Miles G muttered, peering down at the party. Peni gave him a questioning look, so he elaborated: “Blatant hypocrisy, no sense of shame.” he waved a hand dismissively.

“Hold on,” Noir said. “Get a load of how the waiters are dressed. It’s in poor taste, but…” he hesitated, looking at the others. “It can’t be that easy.”

It was that easy.

Peni and Miles G were sitting under a tablecloth, pretending SP//DR was part of the table, while Gwen, Peter B, and Noir acted as waiters up above. Ham was pretending to be the stuffed pig. Which he’d suggested himself.

“I can’t believe they’re this oblivious,” Miles G muttered, taking another candy from Peni. 

Peni made a face, not stopping her fast-paced tapping at her screens. She shoved a handful of candy in her mouth. “You’d be surprised,” she said, voice muffled from the candy. “I go to these donor balls sometimes, when the mayor wants us to make an appearance. Rich people are terrible at noticing things.”

He thought about his classmates at Visions Academy and shrugged, tilting his head in acquiescence. “Fair enough.”

They waited for Fisk in his hallway, up against the ceiling, until he left the party. He nodded at the guards, and they opened the door for him silently. He walked through—Peter B and SP//DR shot webs at the guards to yank them up to the ceiling. Gwen covered their mouths with webs before they could scream. It was a well-oiled operation.

They left the guards dangling there in web-cocoons, and headed into the room. Ornate. Cold-looking. Peni pulled up the plans to the penthouse they’d gotten, frowning at it. “It should be right there,” she said, directing SP//DR to point straight ahead at a huge yellow painting on the wall. Abstract, marbled. Kind of looked like barf.

“What a beautiful painting,” Noir said, approaching it. “I love the use of purple.”

“Again, colors, not his strong suit,” Spider-Ham said. Miles G half-smiled despite himself.

“It’s purple!” Noir tore into the painting with his bare hands.

It fluttered apart to reveal an elevator door. Noir kicked the double-doors open, off their hinges.

He leapt down the elevator shaft, followed by Spider-Ham. SP//DR went next, leaping down the tunnel. Miles G gritted his teeth as a glitch wracked his frame.

He and Peni glanced at each other with matching frowns as they landed. 

The glitches were getting more frequent. 

SP//DR ran in parallel with the others, across the heavy machinery towards the main collider. A warm red light glowed from somewhere beyond the equipment. SP//DR leapt and swung up to one of the catwalks to look past the support beams, towards the light—Miles G leaned forward, peering through the windshield.

“Whoa.”

Two giant beams of fluctuating pure energy firehosed from opposite sides of the room, colliding in the middle in a giant display of thundering sparks and light. It was like watching fireworks or something—but bigger. More forceful.

Peter B, standing next to them, flickered with a glitch.

“Peter,” Gwen said, as the glitch flickered through the others—the sharp wave of needles swept through Miles G’s veins, and he grunted in pain at the same time Peni did. “You don’t have to stay behind,” Gwen was saying. “I can do it.”

Miles G gave her an incredulous look, hidden by SP//DR’s windshield. It didn’t matter.

“It’s okay,” Peter B said darkly. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He swung up onto the ceiling. As SP//DR followed, Miles G watched him with a frown. …There was something scary about the way Peter B had said it, something similar to the dark look his Uncle Aaron got sometimes when he thought Miles wasn’t paying attention.

But it wasn’t like there was anything Miles G could do about it at this point.

“I’ll put the goober in and take over the beam,” Peter B called to the rest of them. “After you’re gone, I’ll blow it up.” he started crawling towards the hatch. “Good luck, guys.”

Miles G shifted, trying to get comfortable being upside down. It was cramped enough in the cockpit that he wasn’t falling anywhere, but it wasn’t like he had a seatbelt, either. 

Next to him, Peni gasped and straightened. Outside the cockpit, the others tensed. Miles G tensed, too, on instinct.

“They know we’re here,” Gwen whispered, just a few feet away.

Peter B, several paces ahead of them, looked down, back at them. Just as a hatch in the ceiling behind him opened and green tentacles started drifting out of it.

“Peter—” Miles G started, as if that would help. It didn’t. Peter B started to turn just as a tentacle grabbed his wrist, stopping him from plugging in the override key—it pulled him forcefully away from the panel, slamming him up against the ceiling. Doc Ock drifted down from the hatch.

“Nice to see you again, Peter.”

Miles G’s body spasmed with a glitch. When his vision cleared again, SP//DR was swinging across the ceiling, and blue rays were shooting past them in all directions—the catwalks were lined with snipers, he saw now, as SP//DR swung up to meet them.

Gwen got there before SP//DR, swinging around gracefully to kick one sniper down in the face. Peni followed, frantically pressing buttons, and landed on the catwalk to lift up two more and toss them to the side. They scrambled to their feet—

“Just get the guns,” Miles G said, “Just get the guns—”

“On it!” Peni’s fingers flew across the dashboard. SP//DR snatched up the guns and crushed them.

A glitching noise came from one of the higher catwalks—Noir. SP//DR reversed course, swinging up to block him from being shot. “I got you covered!” Peni called. Blue-hot lasers bounced off of SP//DR’s windshield.

After a beat, SP//DR jumped up and swung off the catwalk—following Noir, Miles G realized—no, switching direction, running up a gantry crane—towards Scorpion, who was charging towards them.

They glitched—something rammed into them hard—and they were spinning out, flying back down the crane. Candy flew everywhere. Miles G braced himself against the walls of the cockpit, watching a blur go by outside.

Peni was jabbing at buttons—SP//DR swung down, grabbing hold of the crane and swinging off of it to land on the wall. She and Miles G sat there for a beat, panting.

“You know, normally in a fight we’re not glitching out randomly,” Peni said breathlessly.

“No kidding,” Miles G said back. And then they swung off the wall, back into the fray, where Scorpion tackled them immediately.

“Oh, for—” Miles G cut himself off, glancing at Peni. He wasn’t sure if he should be swearing in front of her. “Hey, how old are you?”

“What?” Peni said, pushing buttons and pulling levers.

“...Nevermind.”

Scorpion’s stinger came down towards the windshield, but SP//DR caught it. Barely. “Go for the legs—” Miles G started, then glanced to the side and did a double take.

Way up on the ceiling, where Peter B was still struggling with Doc Ock—something was happening. A figure flickered into existence, someone dark and small, flying forward to punch Doc Ock in the face.

He squinted. “Is that—”

“Miles!” Peni cried out.

Miles G leaned forward, squinting up at his twin with a wide grin. “Hey, he changed his suit!”

Scorpion punched at SP//DR’s windshield, and Miles G flinched back. Oh, right. “Peni, just sweep the legs and get out of here!”

Peni complied, SP//DR dropping down quick enough that Miles G lifted up from where he was sitting, and sweeping Scorpion’s spindly metal crab-style legs. He lurched to the side—they leapt up and swung towards the ceiling.

A box was rising up from the floor towards the beam. Miles G squinted down at it. That… probably wasn’t good.

The supercollider depends on DNA sequences, the other Miles had said earlier on the bus. As far as we can tell. They put in some DNA and stuff matching that DNA sequence gets pulled into this dimension. That’s why so many Spider-People are here—Spider-Man got his head shoved into the beam before it blew up. He’d hesitated. That’s Peter B’s theory. I don’t know.

From the beam, clusters of giant buildings rose up from the portal like waves on a beach. SP//DR fell, pulled towards the beam, skidding across the surface of a skyscraper as it tilted slowly.

SP//DR stood, Peni looking back up at the ceiling, but before they could leap back up—something rammed into them from behind, sending SP//DR sprawling across the glass. Miles G and Peni yelped, bracing themselves. SP//DR swiveled around, just in time to block Scorpion’s stinger from hitting the windshield as Scorpion charged at them. Again.

He’s persistent, gotta give him that, Miles G thought half-hysterically as SP//DR was punched back again, stumbling. Peni grunted, glaring at the dashboard as she frantically blocked Scorpion’s attacks.

SP//DR stood, but Scorpion’s tail came around and jabbed at its pressure point—SP//DR fell to one side, hard. “Nngh—” Miles G grabbed the back of Peni’s seat, eyes wide. Peni gasped, pressing at a flashing red light, eyes darting between her holo-screens and the Scorpion.

They were on the ground. Scorpion stood over them, tail pulled back, and stabbed through the windshield. Miles G and Peni yelled in unison, flinching back.

SP//DR brought up an arm to defend itself, but Scorpion gave a guttural yell and ripped the arm off. Peni cried out in pain, clutching her left arm. Miles G looked between her and SP//DR with wide eyes. Oh. Shit.

The Scorpion leaned over the windshield, staring in at them. He growled, pulling back a fist. Miles G pulled Peni back further, as if that would do anything when—

An anvil landed on Scorpion’s head.

Scorpion froze. Miles G blinked out at the scene, eyes wide, mouth open.

Spider-Ham strolled up as the Scorpion turned around, sliding the anvil off his head.

“Oh my gosh,” Peni said faintly. Miles G glanced over at her, briefly—she was staring out of the cockpit with wide eyes—he looked back. 

Scorpion and Spider-Ham leapt into action at the same time. Miles G stared as Ham dodged Scorpion’s kicks and jabs perfectly, then retaliated by flipping up on top of Scorpion and—pulling out a mallet from nowhere, where did he keep that?—anyway, hitting Scorpion in the head with a mallet, like he was a Sunday morning cartoon villain.

Peni pressed a few buttons on the dashboard. The hatch to the cockpit opened up. “C’mon,” she said angrily, climbing out of her seat. Miles G hesitated, then followed her.

Peni picked up the arm Scorpion had ripped off of SP//DR, frowning down at the severed sparking shoulder. Then she looked up, face set. Spider-Noir was swinging the Scorpion around, a few paces away—Peni hefted the severed arm up and, when Noir swung him her way, whacked Scorpion across the face with it, letting out a feral yell.

Scorpion flew backwards and skidded across the skyscraper. He didn’t get back up.

Miles G raised his eyebrows, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Damn, Peni.”

Peni didn’t respond, turning to SP//DR and dropping the severed arm with a heavy k-thunk. Miles G followed her gaze—SP//DR’s face screen was flickering, glitching out.

Oh. Right. 

This was her dad’s robot.

“Peni…” he started softly, then stopped. He wasn’t sure what to say. There weren’t exactly words for something like this. 

Noir and Ham came over, examining the wreckage. “Is there any way she can be saved?” Noir said gruffly. Miles G and Peni glanced at each other. Peni’s eyes were filling with tears. They both knew— yes. …But there wasn’t time.

Something like this… it would need to go to a shop. It would need repair equipment they didn’t have here.

It would need time.

Peni looked away, putting a hand over her mouth. 

Miles G said it for her. 

“...There’s no time.”

Peni stepped forward, kneeling down in front of a sleek hatch that opened weakly, revealing a black-and-red spider dangling from a thread. She cupped her hands, and the spider crawled into them.

Hearts with kanji inside of them flickered across SP//DR’s face. 愛. Love— Miles G recognized it. 

The screen went dead.

Noir stepped closer, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” he said softly.

Peni didn’t respond, tears rolling down her cheeks. Miles G stepped closer and squeezed her hand, throat tight.

“Come on,” Noir said, voice still soft, and offered Peni a hand. She took it, clambering up onto his back. He turned to Miles G, picking him up and tucking him under one arm.

It wasn’t so embarrassing to be carried, this time around. Miles G twisted in Noir’s grip as they swung away, watching the wreckage of SP//DR get smaller.

“Guys, I got control of the beam! Get up here!”

“Guess this is it,” Gwen said. They were hanging from the ceiling—Miles G looked down at the roaring mess of converging dimensions below him, braids dangling down. It felt more unstable, to be outside the cockpit.

“Well,” Peni said, as Peter B shot a web towards Miles G. Miles G reached out and grabbed Peter B’s hand, swinging over to hold onto his back. “Nice to know we’re not alone. Right?”

“Yeah,” Gwen breathed. Miles G shot Peni a shaky smile.

The other Miles was tapping at the holo-screen that had bloomed in front of the control panel. “I got the portal open,” he said, and smiled over at Peni. “You first, Peni.”

Peni smiled back at him. “Thank you, Miles.” She lifted up the spider on her arm. “From both of us.”

She gave a two-fingered salute and let go of Noir’s back, falling down into the beam. The entire room flashed red and blue—and she was gone.

“I, uh,” Noir said. “Love. You all.”

He held up a Rubik’s cube. “I’m taking this cube thing with me,” he said. “I don’t understand it. But I will.”

Miles G smiled at him, biting down a laugh. He traded an amused smile with Gwen—well, she had her mask on, but the eyes curved up like she was smiling.

A flash of black and white. Then Noir was gone.

Spider-Ham next. “I want you to have this,” he told the other Miles. He was holding out that same mallet he’d had earlier—seriously, where had that come from? “It’ll fit in your pocket.”

Oh. Of course.

The other Miles took it, expression skeptical. Miles G leaned towards him— “It really will,” he muttered.

“That’s all, folks,” Ham said sadly. Miles G grinned at him as he let go, slowly lifting up from the ceiling and falling away towards the beam.

“Is he allowed to say that?” Peter B muttered to Miles G. “Like… legally?” Miles G snorted.

The other Miles turned towards Gwen, smiling with suave raised eyebrows. Miles G glanced between the two of them. …Ohhhh.

“Do I get to like the hairdo now?”

Gwen scoffed fondly, pulling off her mask and shaking her hair out of her face. “You know I’m older than you,” she said, but she was smiling. “Fifteen… months, but—it’s pretty significant if you ask me.”

“Well… Einstein said time was relative, right?”

Gwen laughed softly, adjusting herself to sit back against the ceiling. “...Nice.”

A beat. The other Miles held out a hand to her. “...Friends?”

She looked down at his hand. Up at him. “Friends.” She took his hand.

“Cool.”

“See you around,” she said. “Spider-Man.” She looked past the other Miles, towards Miles G. “You too.”

Miles G smiled back at her. “You know it,” he managed. 

…They probably weren’t ever going to see each other again.

Gwen looked back at the other Miles for a beat, studying his face like she wanted to memorize it.

Then she turned and leapt, diving gracefully down into the beam. A flash of blue and green. She was gone.

The other Miles watched her go, blowing out a breath. He turned to Peter B. “Your turn.”

He held out his hand to Miles G, shooting a web onto his jacket. Miles G hesitated for a beat, before remembering that his twin had super-strength. He clambered down from Peter B’s back, swinging to hold onto his twin.

“Yeah,” Peter B said hoarsely. “Yeah.” he pulled off his mask, looking down with a strange expression. “...Right.”

Then—Peter B and the other Miles tensed.

Miles G turned his head in time with them, searching for the danger. Kingpin. Standing in the crashing waves of dimensional debris.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he shouted, smashing through a floating water tower.

“Jeez,” Miles G said under his breath.

“I’ll hold him off, you get Miles G through and shut this thing down,” Peter B said. Miles G did a double take, staring back at him.

“Peter!” the other Miles said. Peter shot a web towards Kingpin—Miles grabbed his arm. “That wasn’t the deal!”

Peter pushed Miles away. “Push the green button!” he called, launching into the debris. “Do not wait for me!”

Miles and Miles G traded a matching incredulous look, and Miles launched after him, Miles G clutching onto Miles’s back tightly.

Miles shot a web at Peter B, yanking him and swinging him around to throw him down on a building. “What are you doing?” Peter B called at them as he skidded to a stop. Miles leapt onto the roof of the building next to him—Miles G rolled off his back as Miles crawled towards Peter B. “Peter, you gotta go home!”

“This guy could kill you!” Peter B said, jabbing a hand at Miles. “I can’t let Spider-Man die.”

“Neither can I!”

Peter’s eyes flickered over Miles’s face. “...It’s okay,” he said.

“Yeah,” Miles said. “It is okay.”

Miles swept Peter B’s legs, knocking him off his feet. He grabbed Peter B’s costume by the chest, holding him dangling over the roaring interdimensional beam.

“You gotta go home, man,” Miles said gently. 

Miles G stood, skidding down the slightly-tilted roof to stop at the ridged edge with a smirk. “I told you he wouldn’t let you do it.” 

Peter B glanced between the two of them, then fixed his gaze on Miles. He reached up and grabbed his arm. “...How do I know I’m not gonna mess it up again?”

“...You won’t,” the other Miles said.

Peter stared at him. “...Right,” he said softly. “It’s a leap of faith.”

Peter B let go.

Miles dropped him.

A flash of yellow-white light. Then he was gone.

Miles G stared down at the beam, hesitating, before looking over at his twin. “That guy,” he said awkwardly. “What a weirdo.”

There was a lot he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure he. Could.

“Right?” the other Miles said, half smiling.

“...You changed your outfit,” Miles G said, turning more fully to face his twin.

“Yeah,” Miles said. “The other one looked stupid. You told me that, on the bus, remember?”

Miles G smiled despite himself. “I guess I did. …It looks nice.”

Miles gave a huff of laughter.

“...You know,” Miles started. “You hold your own pretty good for someone without superpowers or anything. You could be your own kind of hero. In your dimension.”

Miles G’s smile dropped. He studied his twin’s face, then looked away. 

“...Not that you have to,” the other Miles said. “Just—you know, you said you don’t have a Spider-Man? But you came here with all of us and you made it through, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

“...Right,” Miles G said. He looked up at his twin, hesitant. “...You know, in my dimension… my uncle’s been training me to be the Prowler.”

The other Miles blinked, smile fading. 

“...What?”

Miles G looked away. His twin’s face looked too hurt—he didn’t want to see it. “I didn’t want to tell you guys because… I don’t know. It’s…” he took a measured breath, closing his eyes. “It’s not Spider-Man. But…”

He opened his eyes, staring down into the beam. He’d only ever had to explain this to one person before, and that was his uncle. And that conversation had had a lot of yelling in it. 

“I just—after my dad died,” he started. “I couldn’t… you can’t just—go back and be normal. You know what I mean? I want to protect my family.” He looked over at his twin, searching his face for any sign of understanding. “I don’t want to be like… how my uncle used to be. Just…”

“I get it,” the other Miles said. He was staring at Miles G with a soft expression. “Go make it into something better, then. You’re gonna do great.” He offered Miles G a lopsided smile.

Miles G grinned back, pushing down the relieved you think? that bubbled up in his chest. “I could say the same thing to you, Spider-Man,” he said. “You’re better than all those other rubes.” he gestured down at the beam. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

The other Miles snorted, glancing down with a smile on his face. He opened his mouth to talk— “You know—”

A yell from somewhere behind them cut him off. “Spider-Man!” They both startled, looking back.

“Oh, right,” Miles G said. “I forgot about him.”

His twin studied him. “Time to go?”

Miles G glanced down at the beam. “Time to go.”

Never enough time.

Miles nodded solemnly, then—flashed him a grin, holding out a hand. “See you later?”

Miles G laughed. “Yeah, I’ll see you, Spider-Man.” he took his twin’s hand, squeezed it once, then stepped back.

He turned and leaped off of the edge.

A blinding flash of light, and then—he was gone.

Chapter Text

SEQ. 0100 - EARTH 42 EPILOGUE “EFE”

WE BEGIN ON A PUNCHING BAG. Close up.

Then—a familiar hand punches it. Swinging it across the screen, chain stuttering.

MILES G (V.O.)
Alright, let’s do this one last time.

Miles G roundhouse kicks the punching bag. We can see now that he’s in his uncle’s apartment. Dark, shadowy—comfortable. He’s in his element.

MILES G (V.O.)
But like, remixed this time. Little bit different. Cool?

QUICK CUTS—suiting up. Pulling on a jacket. Grappling-line backpack. Souped-up purple Jordans. No metal gloves yet, but clearly a first-pass PROWLER costume for—

MILES G (V.O.)
My name is Miles G. Morales.

We see his face—determined expression—a mechanical mask slides over it.

MILES G (V.O.)
I was not bitten by a radioactive spider… but most of my friends were.

A similar sequence we’ve seen in other Spider-Monologues: Miles G running, leaping across buildings, screen split into upper and lower panels COMIC-BOOK STYLE.

MILES G (V.O.)
My uncle used to be a bad guy called the Prowler… and now he’s teaching me how to take up the mantle. But I’m not bad.

QUICK FLASHES of 1) Aaron-42 as the Prowler, stalking towards an unknown victim and powering up the PROWLER GLOVE menacingly, 

2) Miles G swinging on a grappling cord and landing on a roof, where Aaron stands waiting, 

3) Aaron-42’s skylight, as seen from outside. We see in the glass reflection Miles G as the Prowler approaching the skylight—he kneels down, pulls the skylight open, and drops down into the apartment. Worn out from a night of Prowlering.

MILES G (V.O.)
Neither was he. …Not completely.

Miles G heads into the kitchen, mechanical mask folding back. Behind him, Aaron’s silhouette appears in the doorway. Miles G glances over his shoulder and smiles softly.

MILES G (V.O.)
There haven’t been heroes in my dimension for a long time. For a lot of my life, I didn’t really believe that they could exist. 

Comic book panels flash across the screen. Stylized, abstract; clearly showing Jefferson’s death. The fallout. The funeral, where a stately picture of Jeff in his captain uniform sits next to a closed casket.

MILES G (V.O.)
But now I do.

QUICK CUTS of Miles G drawing in his sketchbook. The other Spiders, in various poses.

MILES G (V.O.)
I’ve been to dimensions that I never would have imagined—met people I never thought would exist. And I’ve seen them win.

Continued QUICK CUTS. GWEN, back in her dimension, walking on the edge of a tall building like it’s a tightrope. Her mask is off, and she smiles down at a picture on her phone: Gwen, Miles and Miles G on the bus, all squished into the frame. Miles has reached his arm around Gwen to pull Miles G into the frame, which Miles G seems vaguely put out about…

…PETER B, ringing the doorbell on a house in a nice suit, carrying flowers—the door opens, revealing MARY JANE, who smiles at him softly…

…NOIR, in black and white, finally solving that Rubik’s cube…

…PENI, fixing SP//DR, which flickers to life. Her face lights up…

…HAM, walking down a cartoon street carrying a hot dog…

…And back in Earth-1610, JEFFERSON MORALES, gaping up into the air at KINGPIN, strung up in a spiderweb. A note taped to Kingpin’s chest reads “from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” Miles Morales, as Spider-Man, swings up into the night in the background.

MILES G (V.O.)
(pleased with himself)
…I’m pretty sure you know the rest.

Miles G, running up the stairwell of his apartment building. He’s still wearing the purple jacket he got in Earth-1610. He pauses at the front door to his apartment, panting, hand on the doorknob with a small relieved smile…

MILES G (V.O.)
I reunited with my mom and my uncle—

RIO-42, standing in her kitchen. She’s on the phone with someone, and it’s not going well. Arms folded, tense, pacing. Aaron-42 stands behind her. Miles G appears in the doorway, eyes wide, hands braced against the doorframe. Still panting.

Rio turns and sees him—her face changes from tense to wide-eyed relief as she lowers the phone.

MILES G (V.O.)
—started making friends with my roommate, sort of—

Miles G, just passing through his dorm—pauses and slows, looking over Ganke-42’s shoulder at what he’s doing on the computer. Ganke notices him, and shifts a bit, letting Miles G see more clearly.

MILES G (V.O.)
—did this with my uncle—

The mural of Jefferson. Husband, hero, father. Miles G steps back to examine it, holding a can of spray paint. Aaron is right there next to him.

MILES G (V.O.)
—and I finally got to put on the Prowler gloves—with my own modifications, of course.

Miles G, sitting at a workbench with the mechanical Prowler mask on, welding torch in hand—working on the gloves. CUT TO him sliding one on—it attaches snugly and the gauntlet powers up, glowing purple reflecting across Miles G’s face.

MILES G (V.O.)
I’m going to save my dimension. As much as I can for as long as I can. And I’m going to make things better. I know it’s possible.

Swinging through New York, in full Prowler-gear: he’s clearly come into his own. Running on the sides of buildings with his high-tech Jordans, sliding across railings, etc.

MILES G (V.O.)
I’ve seen it.

He LANDS, crouched like a cat, outside his bedroom window and smoothly climbs in, shutting the window behind him. The mask folds back, and Miles G leans against the wall of his room, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

A shuffling near the door—Miles G picks his head up to look over.

RIO-42 (O.S.)
Miles, is that you?

Close-up on Miles G’s face as he smiles, tired but warm, in his mom’s direction.

CUT TO BLACK.