Whenever Tomura was around the warehouse, it seemed as though no one could have any fun. Everyone would just sit on boxes and chairs while Tomura thinks in silence. It was nothing less than awkward. Normally he would isolate in his private room, allowing the others to roam their temporary home freely. Sometimes, though, he'd sit in the main room without saying a word. The silence was almost unbearable—for some more than others.

Himiko Toga was laying on her chest with her legs dancing In the air as she browsed her phone. She hated the silence more than anyone else in the room. Toga was the kind of girl who enjoyed loud, crowded rooms. To be fair, one of the reasons why was because it was easier to draw blood from someone without being caught if it was in a crowd.

As she browsed on her phone, she found an article on Spider-Man. It was another piece about the press conference just a week prior. They were talking about the possibility that he may have killed his aunt to prevent her from telling others about his many crimes. Of course, she wasn't focusing on that; she was just trying to use the picture provided to imagine what he'd look like with more cuts and bruises.

"What's got you smiling?" asked Twice, dressed in his super villain uniform, "You always have a great smile!"

Toga quickly showed him her phone, "I love that his suit is red! Works so well when he bleeds!"

"You have a serious problem! It's cute!" Twice began to read the article.

As he took in more of what was written, Jin Bubigawara began to shine through the façade, "Dammit …" he muttered, "They're really ragging him again, huh?"

Glitch, who had only been sitting a short distance away—practicing one of his many new abilities by carefully levitating marbles between his palms—took notice of Jins concern. He moved in close to read the article. While the words may have made little sense to him, the picture sparked a reaction, "I know him," said Glitch.

"What?" Asked Twice.

"I've seen that guy, before. He was there …when I came out of the void. He tried to help me."

Tomura finally broke his silence and spoke up, "Heroes don't help people," he said, "It's all an act."

"But when I came out of the void, he was trying to help me," said Glitch, "Are you sure he's like the others?"

"Without a doubt."

Tomura said nothing else, assuming he had already won the argument. The man was so sure he was right that he was convinced he didn't need to fight for it. Glitch also didn't try to retaliate as he didn't understand that others would fight for their opinion. He just accepted it and moved on.

"We already tried to get him to join us," Twice explained, twitching, "He was a real ass about it!"

"The people hate him just as much as they hate us," Toga explained, "Real crazy stuff, huh?"

Glitch pondered this carefully. How could they hate a fellow hero? Tomura said heroes hates villains for being different. Yet, they would also hate another hero? Why? The kid didn't seem that bad at first glance. It just seemed strange they would attack him so ferociously when there are other things they could focus on. Did they hate him for the same reasons they hated the League? Or, was it somehow different?

...

Peter returned home from the prison and entered through the window. He didn't even bother to close the window, collapsing into his bed and nearly passing out. If it weren't for how much was still on his mind, he would have already been gone. His fingers still twitched in anticipation. Why could he never just sleep?

Sleeping sometimes scared him, too. If he slept, he may dream of all which polluted his thoughts, and the anger that came with them. He'd dream of the reporter who accused him of murder, or Harry scolding him for being a bad friend, or his father telling him how retarded he was for misbehaving and causing so much trouble.

Strangely, he would even dream of All For One.

Peter remembered every moment of that interaction when All For One accused him of lying to himself. He accused him of being shackled to the ideals of justice and morality. Peter chose to be a hero and All For One claimed it was the wrong choice; that society would always hate him and want him dead for his good deeds.

Was he right?

He did feel entrapped by his own guilt, like people want to use him just to throw him away when their done. Peter never questioned any of it because he believed this was what he's supposed to do; sacrifice everything to protect people even if they hate him for it. He was supposed to be society's slave—it was the right thing to do, wasn't it?

"Peter!" Inko called out from the living room, "Are you home?"

Peter groaned and jumped to his feet as he rubbed his face, "Coming!" he complained.

He walked with heavy steps out the door while rubbing his eye. Both Inko and Izuku lounged in the living room, waiting for him. It was actually the first time either of them had seen him that day as he had breached right over to New York in the morning and came back only to rest. The TV was off and the smell of dinner was nonexistent. Inko always started around the same time unless something was wrong.

Conclusion; something was wrong.

"Everything okay?" Peter asked.

"Of course, sweetie," Inko reassured, "I wanted to let you know that All Might stopped by."

"Yeah, sorry I didn't say hello."

"No, it's alright, but he did have a message to pass on. He wanted you to call him so he could discuss something with you. It sounded important."

There was a noticeable agitation in him as he rubbed his face, "Yeah, okay. I'll call him later."

Before he could turn around and go back to his room, Inko gently took him by the arm, "Hey …is everything okay, Peter?"

As a mother, it was natural for her to show concern. He loved both her and Izuku and how much they cared for him, but he couldn't be pitied like he had been all week. What was he supposed to do? Repeat the same answers every time? 'Yeah, I'll be fine', 'It's just been rough, that's all'. What were they going to do if he said 'No, I'm not.'

Nothing, because they wouldn't understand.

"I just need sleep," he said before escaping her grip and retreating back to his room.

He loved them, but they didn't understand. Inko still saw the world in the simple, black and white version of itself. If she could have her way, she'd tear his costume to pieces because he was just too fragile to be a hero. He saw it in how she reacted to the dorm system. She'd rather they stay in their room and cheer on the real heroes. Inko didn't understand that Peter could never be a bystander, ever again.

If either of them could understand, it was Izuku. He knew how much being Spider-Man meant to him, but he didn't get how dangerous it was, too. Having almost revealed his identity to Harry, Izuku just doesn't see why he had to keep secrets from some people. It was to protect them. At least, that's what he told himself. Perhaps he did it out of fear he'd lose that person and have to admit he was in way over his head.

Peter chose to sit on his bed rather than sleep. That brief conversation with his family ignited a string of thoughts he couldn't untie. He didn't want to be angry with them, especially for little to no reason. His anger was just too much for him to handle after the conference. Going out for any reason risked someone wanted to yell at him for something he didn't do.

Thankfully, the ringing of his phone pulled him back into reality, "Hello?" he asked.

"Parker! Where are you?!" shouted Mirko.

"Mirko? I'm …at home."

"Are ya lying?"

"…No? Why?"

"So you're not, like …I don't know … standing atop a building on the corner of Bendis and Pichelli street in a shitty costume with an army of angry cops pointing guns at you?"

"…stay there."

"Staying."

…

The scene was a familiar one; police cornering the masked vigilante they believed to be Spider-Man and demanded he surrender. Even some Pro's got the call that Parker may have gone rogue again and rushed to help. None of them often came to this part of the neighborhood but this was a special occasion. News copters and reporters arrived swiftly to get evidence for the next issue of 'Peter Parker: Criminal and Murderer'.

"Can't believe he went rogue, again," said one Pro, waiting at street level, "That press conference really got to him."

"Don't jump to conclusions," said Mirko, "I just got off the phone with 'em; that ain't the kid up there."

"How can you be sure?"

As if to answer them, the real Spider-Man leapt off his web and landed next to the rabbit hero, startling the police into pointing their guns at him. He held his hands up to calm them, yelling "Easy! Friendly fire!" The police looked between him and the roof in confusion, "Mirko," Spider-Man addressed, "What the hell is going on?"

"I think we got a poser," Mirko said, "Got wind of a guy dressed in your costume who stopped a mugging here in Kyūkyoku. People thought you went nuts again."

"We got a Spidey imposter?"

"Yeah, thought it might be the same one who …did stuff," She coughed.

"Mirko," He said accusingly, "What do you mean?"

"Okay …so, like, maybe someone who shape-shifted into you broke into my agency to steal some stuff-"

"Girl, are you serious?!"

"Hey! Don't call me girl!"

"When was this?!"

"Like …a week ago?"

"Girl!"

An officer suddenly fired a shot at the roof, setting off Peter's spider-sense. Everyone ducked down in surprise, "Sorry!" Said the officer, "I saw him poke out!"

"Easy, trigger finger!" Spider-Man scolded, "No need for lethal force!"

"But he's a vigilante!"

"And that means, what? Death by prejudice?" He groaned, "Everyone stand down! Let me handle this!"

He pressed his belt and turned invisible before making for the nearest wall and crawling up it. As much as the other pros would rather do this themselves, perhaps Spider-Man had some right to deal with his own imposter. It's not as though any of them hadn't dealt with wannabes in their careers, before. It was almost a rite of passage.

The imposter stayed ducked where the police couldn't see him, hyperventilating as he held his wounded arm. One of the bullets had managed to graze his skin; barely a flesh wound but still hurt like hell. He wanted to bail, but with the helicopter above him, he knew he'd never get away. They all got there so fast, he couldn't believe it. All he wanted was to stop one mugging. Now, he could be the one going to jail.

Again, came that strange tingling in his head. He didn't quite know what it was, yet. All he knew was what always followed after.

The imposter felt himself being grabbed before he was flipped over and pinned to his back. The real Spider-Man turned visible and kept his foot firmly on the boy's chest. Both their senses were tingling in proximity to each other. Neither of them had experienced this before. It wasn't much, but it was enough to know for certain that the other was legit.

"Who are you?!" Spider-Man demanded, "Why are you dressed like me?!"

"Oh, my god," Said the boy, "You're-you're Spider-Man! Like, the real one!"

"Yeah, and you are?"

"Uh …really sorry."

The imposter managed to get enough leeway to move his foot and kick Spider-Man off. He was sent flying almost halfway across the roof. The impact actually managed to hurt him. Whoever he was, his abilities were definitely real.

He tried to run, but Spider-Man webbed his ankle and he fell on his face. It almost made Peter laugh, which frustrated the imposter as he grabbed the web and yanked it toward him, pulling him in his direction. He tried to strike him but Spider-Man caught his fist. Then he tried kicking him, but Spidey caught that too, then spun around before tossing him off the roof to the other side.

He saw him plummet and scream in terror, realizing he may have made a mistake.

"Oh, god!" Spider-Man panicked, rushing over to the edge and readying to web him. Instead, he found the boy barely sticking to the wall by his fingertips, slipping a few inches with each big swing of his legs. "Sorry!" said Spider-Man, "I guess you don't have webs, huh?"

"No!" The imposter panicked.

The imposter dropped as his fingers slipped from the wall. He plummeted too quickly for Spider-Man to react and the boy crashed into the pavement. Spidey recoiled from the sight, but was relieved to see him walk it off.

"Stick'em powers, spider-sense, super strength and durability," Said Spider-Man to himself, "He's …just like me."

Peter looked up to the copter watching them, then back to the imposter. Whoever this kid was, he was getting himself into more than he could clearly handle. The police and the pros would tear him apart if they got their hands on him, like they once nearly did with him.

Jumping into the air, Spider-Man deployed his web-wings and swung around the corner toward the Imposter. He tackled him into the alleyway just out of sight from the helicopter.

When the helicopter turned the corner, the two of them were gone. The only thing in the alley was a large garbage bin, and nearly a full layer of newspapers on the ground.

It took a minute for the copter to finally give up and fly elsewhere, searching the streets for the two Spider-Men.

Once they were gone and the pros scattered to search, the two spiders peeked out of the garbage bin, looking left to right like crossing the road. Spider-Man kept a strong grip on the imposter so he wouldn't go running, but not so strong as to hurt him. Once it was clear, Spider-Man jumped out with the imposter, keeping one arm locked behind his back.

"I'm gonna let go of your arm," said Spider-Man, "and you're not going to run. Deal?"

"Deal! Deal! Ow!" He exclaimed.

Happy with his answer, Spider-Man let the imposter go. He stumbled and shook out his arm, letting the blood flow back into his veins.

Peter examined the boy's costume. Despite the rough stitching, it was pretty impressive, overall. He actually liked the aesthetic of it with the knee pads and the removal of the belt. The red was nice and bright, too. It made Peter think that he should fill more of his costume with red, again.

"So …like, are you gonna …arrest me?" the imposter asked while keeping his arms close to his chest.

"Technically, I'm only authorized to arrest the villains I brought here from America. So …no," He crossed his arms, "We ARE going to have a serious conversation about who you are and what the hell you think you're doing. Let's start with your name."

"I'm Spider-Man," he said, very matter-of-fact.

"Very funny."

"Thank you."

"But seriously-"

"I don't really feel comfortable unmasking right now …"

That was a feeling Peter knew better than anyone, "Let's find somewhere quiet to talk, okay? I promise I won't turn you in."

"…Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

…

"You're asking too much."

All Might sat before the board of heroes assigned to U.A. They had their own meeting room within the school for all the teachers and staff to meet, especially to discuss important matters. With everyone staying home for the day, All Might thought it a good time to assemble the staff to present his newest idea, one that wasn't getting great reception so far.

"After the press conference debacle, we just can't take any more risks right now," said Pro Hero, Midnight, "As nice as it would be for Peter Parker to return to U.A. for a proper education, there is just too much tension with the people right now. The partnership with Spider-Man was supposed to make things better."

Midnight was a high-ranking hero, and like All Might, taught classes at U.A. when she wasn't operating as a Pro. Her costume was a white full-body suit, a black mask to match her sharp, long black hair, and other features to suggest less than subtle adult themes. She was often regarded as the 18 and up superhero. Her costume used to be far more suggestive in her youth, when she used to abuse her beauty far more. Nowadays, she found wisdom and confidence alongside suggestive themes.

"The partnership will work," All Might reassured, "He just needs another chance to prove himself to the people. We're chasing down more leads on his villains. He can show them-"

"We aren't going to dissolve the partnership," said another hero, "It's still a necessary action. We just can't take any more risks until things calm down. Rumors are spreading that he may have killed his aunt, and now even the police are investigating that claim."

"We all know he didn't."

"But that's not enough, not for them."

All Might groaned as he rubbed his face. He should have expected that this was how it would go, but it was worth a shot, anyway, if just for Midoriya's sake. It would be so much easier if there weren't so many rules in place. Why couldn't Peter just go back to U.A.? Why couldn't he be accepted by the community? Why did it have to be so difficult?

"Is there anything we can do?" All Might asked once more.

"No," Said another Pro, "The fact is, Peter Parker is just as famous as he is infamous. To some he's an icon, to others, he's a menace. Until the majority of people can see him in a positive light, further action is not recommended."

"Not, recommended, but still possible?"

"That's not what I meant."

"But if we can just-"

Midnight stood up calmly, pushing her chair back and using the sound to get his attention, "I understand you care for the boy. He's been rational, and cooperative ever since Lumina's arrest. There just isn't much we can do. Besides, given your retirement, perhaps … you shouldn't have to handle these sorts of matters, anymore. You're no longer a pro hero, after all."

"Retirement or not, Young Parker is my responsibility."

"No, he isn't. He's ours."

He was clearly outnumbered on the matter, but that didn't mean he was going to give up on this, "As long as I can still be of use to my community, I will guide Young Parker as best as I can. That is not something you can take away from me."

Midnight sat back down with a sigh, "Do as you wish, just do not blame yourself if things don't go as you plan. Now, do we have anything more to discuss?"

"…No," All Might said with disappointment, "That will be all for today."

The teachers and staff quickly disbanded and returned to their daily routines. All Might remained at the table, weighed down by the many thoughts swimming in his head. How could things have gotten this bad? He thought that with his personal support, people would believe in Parker more easily. Perhaps his retirement was what soiled that.

"You really care for this boy, don't you?" asked Principle Nezu, standing just above All Mights knees as he sat.

"I only want to do right by him; I feel I owe him that."

"All Might, I'm concerned for you," he warned, "I want to be sure you aren't pushing so hard for this in an attempt to give value to yourself, again. Now that you are retired, you will not be able to help people the way you used to."

"Don't remind me …" he groaned.

"I will, though. I will also remind you than you can help people in a way far greater and expansive than ever before."

"How's that?"

"By guiding the young children of this school. Every successful hero you help to create will save a thousand potential lives."

"Yeah …but helping him will save tens of thousands."

"Don't put all your chips in one place just to be upset when they're taken away. Spread out your influence—focus on everything you can do overall, and not just one. A good hero remembers he is flesh and blood in form, but a symbol in soul."

"Meaning?"

"Even if the hero dies, what they represent will live forever. Your lessons will live on in your students. All Might will always live, even if Toshinori Yagi does not."

Nezu left him alone in that room to ponder his new mortality. Perhaps he had been the number one her so for so long that he started believing he was invincible. He never had much to believe in before Izuku. Now, belief was all he had.

…

One of the highest buildings in Musutafu had quickly become Spider-Mans new safe haven since the press conference. Pro heroes usually preferred to stay close to the streets for their adoring fans to cheer them on, so they wouldn't think to check higher for anything. Peter had started coming up there after his New York patrols almost every night, just needing somewhere to sit in peace before going home. He'd made friends with the gargoyles and was even tempted to name them. Now, he had a new friend to share this place with.

Spider-Man brought the imposter to the top of the building, waiting as he slowly climbed behind him. Though they clearly had the same abilities, this new Spider-Man wasn't nearly as adept with them, almost slipping a few times on the way up.

"Did we have to go so high?!" the imposter complained, "Aren't you worried about …falling?!"

"Used to; not anymore."

"Grr! I growl at you!"

"Oh no, what ever will I do?"

When the imposter finally propped himself up, he held onto whatever he could and tried not to look down. It reminded Peter so much of when he started out. In order to get over his old fear of heights, he had to climb to the tallest building in the city and leap off, letting himself drop for a bit before he swings away. After that, he was never really afraid, again. Looking at this kid was like looking into his own past.

Spider-Man knelt down and looked over the city, listening to the wind that traversed between the buildings. They whistled a tune and they always reminded him of a different song every time. Sometimes, he'd make a game out of finding a song to fit the whistle perfectly and using the wind as an instrumental. Habits like that just come with the experience, something this kid clearly didn't have.

"Of all the costumes you could have chosen to wear," Spider-Man addressed the Imposter, "Mine? Really? Did it not occur to you how confusing and controversial that would be?"

"I know …" he admitted, "but after I got my powers, it just felt right!"

"After you …got them?"

"Oh …you know …my quirk …"

He was lying, naturally, and Peter could just tell. It weirdly wasn't the tone of his voice or the stutter he developed when he was clearly nervous. Maybe it was because they both had a spider-sense, but he could somehow just tell what the kid was really feeling. He was excited to meet his hero but nervous that he was in some kind of trouble.

"Okay," Spider-Man pushed forward for now, "Why are you doing this? Seriously? Why the costume? Why the vigilantism?"

The kid struggled to get his words together, starting a sentence only to scrap it immediately. Trying to come up with an explanation that works for both of them seemed impossible. There was just no way to translate it without coming directly from the heart.

Finally the kid let go of his objects of support and knelt down closer to the edge, still refusing to look down, "Because my neighborhood needs a superhero," he said, "We don't got any."

"What do you mean?"

"There aren't any Pro Hero Agencies in Kyūkyoku. It's a low-income neighborhood. The only people that live there are the poor or immigrants, of which ...I am both. Agencies don't wanna set up there because of its reputation. Everyone thinks criminals and villains spawn from there just because of how poor it is. So, if any agency sets up there-"

"They risk their reputation," He understood.

"Yeah, and that's real bad for marketing and merchandise and whatever crap they use for an excuse. They leave my neighborhood completely defenseless. Those pro heroes that came for me are the first ones I've seen there in a while."

The situation really did remind him of back home. The poorer neighborhoods of New York never had as much police support; that's why ground-level heroes like Daredevil, Luke Cage, and even himself needed to look after them. Everyone else had abandoned them, so they never could.

"I moved here from America a few months ago," The imposter continued, "I got into a really good school but we had no money for good housing. There are dorms, but we just couldn't afford it, so I had to commute from Kyūkyoku. It's the only place we could afford and we're barely getting by."

"I feel that …when it was just my aunt and I, we struggled all the time with money. I still see that struggle, even in my adoptive family-"

"I've seen you everywhere," the imposter cut him off, "You always help people no matter who they are or where they come from. It doesn't matter what the news or other people say—you keep on being a hero because you want to! I thought …I wanted to help my home more than anything, and I knew I couldn't do that as me …but maybe I could do it as you."

To be Spider-Man was a dangerous game, Peter thought. As noble as his actions seemed to be, he wondered about his motivations, "Back to the first question. Real personal, this time."

The kid had hoped Spider-Man would be satisfied and drop it, but perhaps he should have known better. It hurt him to really think about it, but he knew he had to spill the beans sooner or later. With a heavy sigh, he finally admitted "My mom was murdered."

Peter said nothing, not wanting to push any further or bed for more unless the kid was willing.

"I could have …" The kid struggled, "I could have saved her but I was too afraid. I just …hid, like a coward. After that, I knew …I could never be a coward ever again."

At that moment, Peter stopped seeing the kid as an imposter and started to see him as himself. Losing a loved one and failing to act, dedicating himself to making up for that mistake; he was Peter when he first started out. Just in the way he knelt over the edge showed the weight he now carried on his shoulders. It was a burning sense of responsibility that so few really understood.

There was just one more thing he needed to be sure of.

"…Let me see your hands," Spider-Man asked as he stood up straight.

"What?" Quizzed the imposter.

"Let me see your hands."

"I-I don't know, man, I'm not really comfortable, yet."

"Let me see your hands."

"A-are you going to slap cuffs on me? Is that what's going on?"

"Let me see your hands."

The imposter eventually gave up and stood, putting out his hands at the ready to be cuffed. His head hung low in shame as he waited for what he thought was an inevitable arrest.

Instead, Spider-Man gently took his hands and pulled his gloves back. The boy's skin was much darker than his. There was an obvious anxiety coming from the boy after his skin was revealed, as he fully expected Peter to judge him on that alone. Peter wasn't focused on that, however; he was far more focused on something else on his right hand.

On the skin atop his hand, between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, was a scar. It wasn't just any scar; it was one Peter knew very well. This one was still fresh, but from the shape of the mark and the tone of its color, this couldn't have been anything else but a bite.

"…You were bit by a spider, weren't you?" Spider-Man asked.

The boy looked at him with surprise, "Y-yeah, how did you know?"

Spider-Man let him go and pulled up his right glove, revealing an identical mark in almost the same spot. The boy compared them, taking in the implications of their similarity.

"Oh, man …no way!" the imposter exclaimed, "But, that means …you-"

"You were bitten by a very different, very special spider," Spider-Man smiled under his mask, "You're not like everyone else, kid. You don't have a quirk; you were given your powers. I'm guessing you were quirkless?"

"Yeah …the doctors said I would never get a quirk," he admitted, "At first, I thought I was a late bloomer, but …"

"But you're not. You're different."

They spent a moment in silence, listening to the whistle of the wind. Peter genuinely never thought he'd find someone else like him. In a world of quirks and super powers, many people end up having abilities very similar if not identical to another person. Peter, because of the nature of the spider bite, thought he would always be alone in that regard. There was a comfort in knowing he wasn't the only one, anymore.

"Let's start over," Peter said as he took a small step back, removed his mask and held out his right hand, "I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

The boy hesitated in seeing his hand out. The very idea of anyone knowing who he was scared him, before. If any of the pros, or anyone in his family ever found out who he was, it would only cause trouble. The police would arrest him, and worse, his father would probably hate him. Hell, the only person who may be cool with it would be his uncle, and even that may have been a stretch.

Yet, when he saw Peter's smile, somehow, he knew he was genuine.

With a sigh of defeat, the boy removed his mask.

Peter's eyes widened with awe. The boy was half Hispanic, half African-American, with a thin cut of hair on his head. It wasn't his ethnicity that surprised him, but rather that he had seen him before. The realization was almost instantaneous; this was the boy he saw in his dream, back when he first found his kinetic abilities. It was the same boy he saw crying to himself with his knees close to his chest.

"I'm Miles," they shook hands, "Miles Morales."