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Miles heard muffled voices and a loud thump as he came up the last set of stairs, but it wasn't until he went to knock and found his knuckles chasing the door inward that he realised Peter's apartment was already unlocked and open.
He hesitated. The voice in the back of his head that usually sounded like his dad had a lot of very stern cop-like things to say about a door left ajar, and his mom's manners voice was quick to add a few sharp directives of its own. There was a third opinion he was getting used to taking into account, though, this one even more reliable than the others in its own way - and as far as the spider-sense was concerned? No pasa nada.
So after a moment he shrugged, pushed the door wider, and slipped inside.
It was the right apartment, at least. Not that he thought he'd mess it up by this point, but the building wasn't exactly the upscale brownstone Uncle Aaron had lived in and the landlady already gave him suspicious looks when she caught him skulking around. He still wasn't sure if she thought Peter was the shady one for hanging out with a middle schooler all the time, or if she was just kind of bigoted.
The usual ugly green mat was on the floor, and Miles shucked his shoes off onto it, glancing at the photos along the walls of the cramped entryway. Peter in a graduation cap with his arm around the shoulders of a smiling grey-haired woman; Peter and a bunch of other people his age crowded close in a cafe, faces turned high and laughing for a selfie; a grumpy-looking guy with a bristly moustache scowling at a gift-wrapped tie patterned with menorahs.
Just normal person stuff. Nothing that said Spider-Man lived here.
He knew better than most how much that didn't mean, though. The good guys didn't put up photos of them saving the world, and the bad guys didn't leave their tech lying around on the coffee table for nosy nephews to find. Nobody except Ganke knew what was in the Daredevil lunchbox Miles kept at the bottom of his backpack. It still felt a little crazy half the time - most of the time - trying to draw a big line around this new part of his life and keep it separate from the old part. It wasn't like he stopped being Miles when the mask was pulled down over his face, or like the spider-powers went away while he was sitting in school. None of it ever went away.
All of which was to say that it really shouldn't have been as surprising as it was when he stepped out of the shadow of the entryway, got his first good look at the inside of the apartment, and found Peter pinned down on the floor of his own living room.
Miles' heart skipped a wild beat. The 'hello?' he'd been about to toss out stuck in his throat like swallowed gum, and he scrambled quickly backwards, pressing himself against the wall and feeling his skin rush with the hot prickly flush that came with camouflage.
From this angle he could see two people, a man and a woman: both of them dark-haired, the man holding Peter down while the woman watched. Nothing about them straight away said if they were after Peter Parker or Spider-Man - if they were supervillains who'd sussed out the big secret or just, like, loan sharks who were still into the whole knee-cap thing. Miles inched forward on his toes, wincing as the zippers on his backpack rattled faintly.
"Just so you know," Peter said, sounding more nasal than usual, which probably had something to do with being shoved face-down into a rug, "I'm operating on a handicap here."
For one weird moment Miles thought the words were for him, but then the guy who had Peter in some kind of kung fu half-nelson snorted a laugh.
"Pete, Petey, Peter," the man said, leaning lazily forward on Peter's twisted arms, more like a lizard lounging on a branch than someone trying to break his elbows. The voice tickled a memory somewhere in the back of Miles' brain. "There aren't tiny enough violins for me to play you my sadness over one of your usual tricks not working. You remember who you're talking to, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Peter said, "tell me more about how normal your blood is, big bird, that always gets me going," and that was about when Miles finally recognised Batman sitting on top of New York's premiere webslinger.
To be fair, he didn't look like Batman. He looked like a guy as normal as the people in the wall photos, dressed in a loose navy tank-top and jeans that had either seen better days or cost a lot of money to give that impression. It fit in way better with a small apartment with dead potplants on the window sill than a vast training ring underneath a gothic mansion. If Miles had had to guess, he would have expected there to be more suits and ties outside the cape and cowl; but maybe that was all part of the costume too.
And if that was Batman ("but call me Dick!") wrestling around on the floor, then the other person-
Miles switched his gaze to the woman, and had his second heart attack of the afternoon to find cool dark eyes staring right back at him. The fact he was most of the way to being the same apricot colour as the wall behind him didn't really seem to faze her.
Of course, the first time he'd met Raven ("just Raven"), she'd been staring him down with tired dark eyes and thanking him for helping reverse the collider, stabilise the whole multiverse, and hoover up the scattered particles of Spider-Man back into their proper dimension. A little invisibility probably didn't rate as A-grade levels of weirdness.
Raven turned her head towards the scuffling men from where she was elegantly seated on the back of the couch - no, Miles realised, above it, a couple of inches of air showing between her crossed legs and the worn fabric - and said, "We have company."
"What?" Peter said, and peeled his face out of the rug just as Miles sheepishly shook off the camouflage. Their eyes locked, and then Peter was abruptly jumping up to his feet, twisting his shoulders and hips in a full-body shrug that sent Batman tumbling away like a cat rudely shoved off a lap.
"Miles," Peter said loudly. "What are you doing here?" And then: "Ow, hey."
Raven rolled her eyes, lowering the hand she had just swatted across the back of Spider-Man's head. The look she gave Miles was kinder and, he realised with faint panic, a little concerned. "Is everything alright?" she asked.
"Did you say Miles?" Batman said at the same time, leaning to look around Peter as he dusted off his knees. A warm smile broke across his face. "You did say Miles! I didn't know you'd be here!”
Faced with laser focus stares from three of the biggest names across multiple universes, Miles gave serious consideration to turning invisible again.
Instead, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, shrugged as casually as he could, and said, "Sup?"
Rubbing his head and scowling, Peter still didn't look thrilled to see him, but he didn't seem super mad either. His eyebrows beetled closer together as his gaze swept over Miles, the same way he might look at a sandwich he didn't remember making. "Did we have training today?"
It would have been easy to lie and say yes, but Miles knew doing that in this company would haunt him forever. "Nah," he admitted. "Nah, I was just - you know, I was in the neighbourhood. And then I kind of looked in and I saw, uh…"
"Two grown men rough-housing like badly raised preschoolers over the remote?" Raven said dryly.
"Um," Miles said, caught between loyalty and reality. "Yes?"
"Badly raised," Batman said, sounding wounded. "See if I ever bring you another one of Alfred's blends."
Peter ran a hand through his hair, elevating it from mussed to mildly electrocuted. "In the neighbourhood," he repeated, sounding almost flustered. "Miles-"
Something clicked behind Miles, making him jump for the third time in about as many minutes, and a glance over his shoulder showed the door had shut itself behind him. He looked back just in time to see Raven fold her hand back into her lap, a shimmering fading from her fingertips.
"I thought we might want to stop including the rest of the floor in this conversation," she said in response to Peter's exasperated huff.
"Sure, wonderful, but can you stop putting magic into all my things?" he said. "My fridge is getting an attitude."
"Try filling it with something that didn't come out of a vat," she retorted.
"So insensitive, Rae." Batman caught Miles' eye and winked. He'd re-settled himself on the arm of the couch, one barefooted leg crooked over his other knee - the toenails were painted an electrifying blue Miles never would have pictured under the sleek boots he'd been wearing in the training ring. "You know Peter has family that came out of vats.”
"And thank you so much for opening that can of worms, bird brain." A hand landed on Miles' shoulder as Peter moved next to him, long-fingered and firm. "Alright, c'mon, time out - impressionable next generation in the room, guys. Can I leave you without a piñata for a second?"
"We'll find a way to manage," Raven said, one eyebrow arched. Miles wasn't sure whether or not it was weird he recognised the band on her shirt; Ganke had the same logo on a poster next to the door, and he was pretty sure it belonged to something loud.
"Speak for yourself - I, for one, make no promises if left without appropriate supervision," Batman said, but he was already making shooing motions. "Let us know if you need anything, Spiders."
"I think I should probably just be going, actually," Miles tried to say, but he was already being deftly pirouetted around and it came out more like I think shwhoaokay as his attention was suddenly redirected to the critically important task of not falling over his own feet.
Peter steered Miles back down the hallway with a pressure both gentle and unyielding. Miles could only hope he'd have the same kind of fine control one day; mostly he seemed to be stuck feeling like a rampaging bear cub ripping his shoelaces in half for the second time in a week. For a moment he thought Peter was going to just shove him all the way out the door again and started hastily bending over to grab his shoes, but Peter let him go next to the mat and leaned back against the wall in a narrow space between photo frames, folding his arms loosely and cocking his head.
Miles hovered, uncertain. There were a bunch of things he could say, and probably a bunch more he should, but what he actually said was, "Who came out of a vat?"
"Long story. Don't worry about it, Kaine's practically house-trained these days." The crease was back between Peter's eyebrows, and he lowered his voice, like there was any hope of privacy in an apartment this size. "Mi casa su casa, Miles, naturally, no question - but this is at least two subway connections away from your neighbourhood. What's going on?"
Miles' face felt like the sun. "Oh, man - nothing, I swear. I didn't mean to bust in. Just, your door was open, and I tried to knock-"
"It's a bad latch. Spider-strength does not play well with the long-term integrity of your fixtures, you can have that pointer for free." Peter tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "It's Wednesday, isn't it? Don't you have your mural project thing on Wednesday afternoons?"
"The teacher has a flu or something," Miles said, trying to ignore the fact Spider-Man knew his school schedule. "And Ganke's still on break, and Mom's working late, so…"
So it was the kind of afternoon he'd go by Uncle Aaron's. Shoot hoops, feint punches around the boxing bag and rag on each other's technique, watch something dumb with car chases his dad would hate. Back in the old days, when he still thought an engineer's salary paid for a place that nice and left you tonnes of free time; before he'd ever known a life could be divided into so many pieces.
He'd gotten used to swallowing this particular lump in his throat down. He was pretty sure Peter didn't notice.
"I just figured maybe there was Spidey stuff to do," Miles mumbled, fiddling with a loose thread in his pocket. "I dunno."
Peter rubbed at his neck, glanced down the hall to where the other heroes had their heads close together, talking quietly. "Spidey stuff, huh. Usually that would be a good guess, but…”
It wasn't like he hadn't known Peter had a whole other life too: the one in the photo frames, the day job that paid for the burgers he'd sometimes shout Miles after a couple of hours learning how to dodge pigeons in midair. It made sense there were friends who were sometimes just Dick and Raven instead of Batman and Raven, who hung out and goofed on each other instead of fighting epic multiverse crime 24-7.
"It's cool," Miles said hurriedly. "I get it. It's - it's a normal day, right?"
"There's a distinct lack of people dressing like the WWF's worst nightmare and robbing armoured cars," Peter said, "so I wouldn't call it ‘normal’, no."
Talking to Peter was like a non-stop arm-wrestle sometimes. "You know what I mean. Off-duty." Only that wasn't exactly right either. He flicked his eyes to the photo next to Peter's left shoulder: he didn't get what was so funny about the orange fish, but it was clear the people posing around it in the frame did. "A Peter Parker day."
Peter's eyes softened. "That guy, huh? Think I might have gone to school with him." He sighed, but the line of his shoulders had relaxed, and the crease between his eyes finally vanished. "I guess that's a way of looking at it. Sorry, bud. Hate to pull an 'I'm washing my underwear' - hell, I wish my other students were half this interested in extra credit."
"No way," Miles said. "That's - this is totally on me. I should've texted first."
"Probably not a bad idea." Peter's smile twisted; less flustered now, more self-deprecating. "You know, for the sake of my fragile dignity if nothing else."
Miles pfff'd, scuffing a socked foot on the floor. "I probably should have figured out it wasn’t anything serious right away, huh. Since there wasn't any-" He mimed the buzzing head explosion that always came slamming in when something was about to explode for real.
"It's a pretty good clue," Peter acknowledged. "Don't start thinking it can't be fooled, though. Especially when it comes to people you trust."
Miles thought for a second. "Handicap?"
Peter's smile quirked higher into something pleased. "Handicap."
"Wait, so Batman really managed to-"
"And hey," Peter said louder, snapping a pointed finger at him, "that was pretty smooth work with the camo. Any night that was not movie night, I would be honoured to be on the receiving end of a Spider-Man rescue."
“Movie night?” Surprised, Miles screwed up his face, glanced sideways at the bright daylight still shining through the windows. "It's like…4pm."
"I have a curfew!" Batman called out. At some point during the conversation, he and Raven had switched places; he lounged on top of the couch as easily as he had Peter's spine, while Raven had moved to the seat cushions. She was sitting on them properly this time, though still neatly cross-legged. "Don't give me that look, Pete, it doesn't count as eavesdropping when you're ten feet away."
"New York, Dick. You gotta respect the personal bubble using New York metrics." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook his head, but Miles could see the smile under his hand, the slight pull to one side that had escaped containment.
Maybe Batman - Dick - could see it too, because he didn't look even a little bit embarrassed. "I take it there's no spandex emergency?"
"Not today," Peter said. "Wait, correction: not right this very second that I am speaking to you." He glanced down at Miles, though, and there was a real question in his eyes. His voice was low again, for all that counted. "Definitely not in trouble?"
There were some things even Spider-Man couldn't fix. Miles yanked up the smile he used to deflect parents, teachers, and overly invested bodega owners, shrugging one shoulder inside his hoodie. "I'm a teenager."
"Yeah," Peter snorted. "Stupid question."
"Great!" Dick smiled wider. Miles had never before met anyone who said random platitudes like they really meant them. "Because Raven and I were thinking Miles might be able to help with our current emergency."
"What?" Peter straightened up off the wall, his expression briefly confused, then sceptical. "The parasites? I had 'scarring the kid for life' planned for a little further along this whole mentorship thing, if you must know."
"Uh," Miles said, who had watched Alien exactly once and regretted it ever since. "I'm good with further along."
"The movie emergency, Peter," Raven said, and raised her eyebrows in what even Miles recognised as a Look With Meaning. "So far unresolved despite the outbreaks of violence."
"Oh," Peter said. Then: "Ohh," and suddenly his arm was around Miles' shoulder, clamping him against his side. "Of course. The movie emergency." He tilted his head at Miles. "So, you don't actually have somewhere better to be, right? It's not Spidey stuff and someone forgot I don't have a microwave functional enough for popcorn, so no pressure if you'd rather go - is skateboarding still cool?"
Miles managed to wriggle just enough distance to jam an elbow into Peter's ribs - seriously, the dude could be so grabby - to absolutely no effect. "Do I look like I skateboard?"
"I can honestly say I don't feel qualified to answer that question." Peter looked at the others. "I think that's a maybe?"
Another few seconds of squirming popped him free of Peter's hold; he looked back and forth between the expectant faces. It wasn't like staying here with three plain clothes superheroes was less appealing than having to take three subway connections all the way back to the academy just to hang around by himself in his dorm. He wasn't meant to be here, though. Not really.
"Look, it's- Um, I appreciate the offer. Seriously. But, you know, I don't want to interrupt-"
"Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and probably the end of my life," Peter interrupted. A cheerful slap against Miles' back knocked him another two steps into the apartment before he caught himself with a spider-powered toe grip, suddenly very glad there was nothing breakable in his backpack. "If someone doesn't gatecrash my funeral, I'm not going."
"As Peter said, there's no pressure." Miles was starting to develop a real appreciation for Raven's perpetually calm tone. She gestured, and two DVD cases floated off the floor, where she plucked them out of the air. "But I haven't had much of a chance to get to know you yet, so this seems like a good opportunity." She met his eyes, and her lips bent in the smallest smile. "And we could use a tie-breaker."
"Aren't there three of you?" he said to cover the flaming heat in his face, which was dumb, Morales, they're literally superheroes, they can count-
"Raven's abstaining," Dick said in a judgemental tone, around the same time Raven said, "It's the same movie."
Peter threw up his arms as he walked around Miles - headed for the spare couch seat, Miles assumed, right up until Peter abruptly leapt to the ceiling above it, and pointed an accusing finger down at Raven from this new vantage point. "Don't start on this again. Do not set me down this road. This way lies madness and the kind of supervillain origin story that ends in purple capes and a fishbowl helmet. Just because someone remade a perfectly good film does not make its Frankenstein-ed corpse the same movie."
Dick leaned back so that he was stretched out the length of the couch headrest, and shook his head sadly at the ceiling. "I met you as a teenager, so I know you're not in fact an 80 year old man Benjamin Buttoning his way through life. And yet sometimes? I still wonder."
"You see how this started," Raven said dryly to Miles, and he laughed a little, unable to help it.
"Um, yeah. I think I'm getting the picture." He hesitated a moment longer, shifting on his feet, thumbing the strap of his backpack, and glanced up at Peter. “You really don't mind?”
Peter spread his arms, shrugging. His smile was a little crooked, in a way that seemed to say, welcome to the new normal, kid. “Mi casa…”
“We have seriously got to get you some more phrases, man,” Miles said.
Raven released her hold on the DVDs, which stayed gently circling each other in mid-air like they were in an invisible display cabinet, swaying out of the way of Dick's attempted finger poke. “No wrong answers,” she said kindly, immediately followed by Peter's, “One extremely wrong answer,” from the ceiling.
He didn't know either of the titles - wouldn't even have been able to tell one was a remake of the other just going off the pictures on the covers. The older one looked like it was in black and white; the newer one starred Ryan Gosling; neither had ever been on Uncle Aaron's shelves.
He wondered sometimes, if things had been different - if he'd been honest sooner, or Uncle Aaron had, or if someone had just stumbled on the right secret closet at the right moment and there'd been enough time to talk about any of it, to make him understand…
But that wasn't the new normal he got. And maybe it wouldn't ever have been.
Having something that existed between the lines was still a lot better than nothing at all.
Miles took a breath, and slipped his backpack off his shoulders. "Which one has more car chases?"