A/N: If you're at all curious about the background behind this project, I've left a rather lengthy note at the bottom explaining what I'm doing. Also, I know it's stupid to start another project without finishing Lightning-Struck, but I honestly can't look at that story right now. My planned ending was thwarted by Fantastic Beasts 3, and reworking has been a pain and a half.
#DFEBEE
"To new beginnings!"
"To new beginnings." Miles plastered a smile on his face as he clinked his glass against his parents'.
They were dining at a restaurant a couple tax brackets nicer than they could afford, but his father insisted. "We're celebrating," he'd reminded Miles when he'd asked. "This is the first step to your future, son. We can spare the expense." They even tipped the host to get the table right by the window.
Jefferson Davis, an esteemed officer from the forty-second precinct of the New York Police Department. A no-nonsense, by-the-book cop, and he raised Miles with the same authority he wielded over traffic stops. Miles could barely remember the last time his father looked truly relaxed.
Well, there was that one time—when an early release from soccer practice and a short walk home led to an unfortunate encounter in their living room—but Miles felt sick just acknowledging its existence, so it didn't count.
"Miles?" his mother asked. "Are you alright? You've barely eaten anything."
Miles loved his father. And his mom was always ecstatic for him, regardless. And so long as attending this shiny, preppy, magnet school was making his parents happy, he would suck it up and go. No matter how much the thought of his new life made his stomach violently reject their thirty-dollar appetisers.
He tried his best to force his smile to reach his eyes as he bit off the end of a breadstick that probably cost more than the rental rate of his suit jacket. "I'm fine. Just a little nervous, Mom, that's all."
"Miles," she chided warmly, folding his hand between her own. Her palms were always rough from exposure to various cleansing chemicals at the hospital, but Miles had always found the texture comforting. It was uniquely his mother's, and even with his eyes closed, he could tell she was there just from the feel of her hands. "There's no need to be nervous. You're going to do great. We are so proud of you."
His father nodded, silently agreeing with a mouthful of French onion soup. When Miles did well he knew his dad was pleased with him; it was never left ambiguous. And when he didn't… he knew that, too.
Miles snorted and slumped in his chair, staring idly at the high-class foot traffic waltzing past the patio seating. A thin woman with more exposed jewellery than skin gave him an aloof side-eye as the minuscule dog in her purse bared its teeth at him. Miles gave a brittle half-grimace and turned away. "Proud of what? I won a lottery."
Brooklyn Visions Academy, the charter magnet school of any parent's most wishful dreams. Tech giants, fashion gurus, groundbreaking researchers, the future was basically forged in their halls. While they didn't have tuition, the cost of all of the books, uniforms, supplies and various necessities for learning there more than made up for it. Every year, they gave three lucky kids full rides in a big gaudy show of philanthropy. Miles and the other two would be paraded around for pictures and the like, and in exchange, they rubbed shoulders with the finest of New York's progeny.
His mother scowled and swatted his fingers. "None of that. We aren't liable for our circumstances, only how we react to them. You're taking this opportunity to do something great. That means something to us. That's what we're proud of."
"We know this is a big change, Miles," his father interjected. "Trust me, we know. It's huge, and you won't have your friends to lean on. But you've been mature. Responsible." He reached over and rested a large hand on Miles' shoulder. "I see something amazing in you, Miles. One day, you'll be something spectacular. This is only the first step."
Miles' eyes shined as he allowed his fake grin to slip into a more sincere, watery smile. He opened his mouth to respond when a sharp crash broke through the heavy atmosphere.
Every eye in the restaurant turned to see a pile of shattered ceramic on the floor. But where there would normally be a thoroughly embarrassed employee frantically trying to handle the mess, there was nothing. Just white shards and scraps of food.
"What on earth…" Miles muttered before all hell broke loose.
Shrill screams were accompanied by scraping chairs as patrons jumped to their feet. Miles flinched towards the closest source and froze, unable to process what he was seeing. Or more accurately, what he wasn't.
It was the hostess, the very same woman who ushered them to their table. When Miles first saw her he'd averted his gaze and tried his best not to blush. She was very classically beautiful, with silvery-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face…
Half of which had already flaked away.
Miles tried to run, to hide, to do anything, but his shoes might as well have been filled with cement. He just sat and watched as the woman crumbled to ash, her strangled screams fading to whispers.
The same grisly scene played out over and over all around Miles as family members, dates and friends panicked, desperately trying to hold their loved ones together.
"Jeff!"
No.
He couldn't remember leaving his seat but he was already kneeling at his father's side, clutching his wrist like a lifeline. The skin beneath his fingers withered and cracked in his grip.
"No, no, no, Dad."
Miles' shaky fists closed, the brittle scales succumbing to the soft pressure.
"M-Miles?" his mother stammered.
"M-Mom," he choked out, his vision blurry and bright. He blindly threw his arms around her vague form and passed right through.
What?
His eyes burned as he roughly wiped his tears away. A cavern opened in the pit of his stomach as the rest of the restaurant pulled into focus. His mother was nowhere to be seen.
"Mom?"
His knees hit the hardwood, the impact sending muted sparks up his legs. The surrounding chaos melted into one, continuous thrum as the roar of his manic heart echoed in his ears.
"D-Dad?"
His fists pressed into the flooring.
"Please…"
Vague cries filtered past his pulse as the more responsible among them took charge. Miles was baffled that anyone would try. It was almost hilarious. What could they possibly do to help?
"...ar!"
What could anyone do?
"Kid! Car!"
…
What?
A wave of shattered glass tore through his back as the world winked out of existence.
"—iles? Miles!?" A hand was gripping tight around his wrist. The voice was eerily familiar but it was too dark to make out who it belonged to. No, not too dark—his eyes were closed. He tried to fix that, but his eyelids wouldn't budge. He opened his mouth to tell whoever it was off, but his jaw was similarly unresponsive.
Another person spoke up for him but their voice kept skipping, just like Miles' headphones when their battery ran low. Still, he got the general gist.
"Sir," a stern voice admonished, "you need to leave… very disoriented… only get in the way."
The first voice's response was garbled beyond comprehension, but Miles could hear his tone of protest.
The rest of whatever the second voice had to say was similarly unintelligible and was progressively getting softer and softer.
The second time waking up was much easier for Miles. Without a comprehensive cocktail of drugs in his bloodstream, he was able to actually recognise his Uncle Aaron. He could also open his eyes and speak.
The first thing he asked for was some water.
The second thing he asked was if it was real.
Aaron's expression was enough of an answer, but he turned the television onto the news anyway. It wasn't just New York; hell, it wasn't just America. Half of all life—animals, bugs, even plants included—vanished nearly simultaneously, never straying further than a minute from the median. They were calling it the Decimation.
As for Miles, he wasn't getting out of bed anytime soon. Aaron read him his full chart: bilateral pneumothorax, moderate contusions from T3-T7, multiple lacerations resulting in nerve damage and a severe concussion. It took his sleep-addled brain a minute to translate everything, but eventually, all of his studying for BVA's entrance exam paid off. Two collapsed lungs, bruising on his spinal cord, cuts and numbness in his back and a pounding headache worthy of Thor.
Best case scenario, he had months of gruelling physical therapy in front of him before he could walk on his own again. Good thing his scholarship at Visions wasn't dependent on any athletic ambitions.
Aaron rested his calloused hand on Miles' fragile shoulder. "We're gonna get through this. I promise."
'How?' Miles wanted to ask. Half the world was dead. Ash. How was anyone going to 'get through this'? How could anyone even pretend like things were ever going to be okay!? But he bit his tongue. He knew whatever he was feeling his uncle was feeling it too. For the first time, all the common sympathetic platitudes offered in the midst of grief would ring with undeniable truth. Everyone knew what everyone else was going through.
"I promise," Aaron repeated, and Miles couldn't decide if the assurance was for his benefit or his uncle's. "I'm gonna get a real job. You're gonna kill it at that fancy school of yours. We'll take care of each other. Make your old man proud."
If those were tears in Aaron's eyes, Miles didn't mention them. Nor did Aaron mention his own. Instead, they held onto each other and stared out the window at the streets below, silently listening to the machines monitoring Miles' vitals and the rolling newsreel on the television.
One of my favourite questions to ask other people active in my fandoms is what their ideal fanfiction would be. All things being equal, and a certain threshold of quality being given, what story would you want to read the most? For the MCU, Arrowverse or any fandom that adapts source materials into something new, my answer is always the same. I want to see a comic storyline adapted into the context of an established universe.
There's a unique opportunity in these multi-series fandoms that, for some odd reason, no one else seems to want to explore. Every fic I find amounts to an inconsequential side-plot or a direct derivation from events of the series themselves. In short, the same as every other fanfiction on the platform, regardless of fandom. No one was going to do this. If I wanted it to exist so badly, I would have to get the ball rolling.
In the case of the MCU specifically, I would love to read an MCU take on Civil War II. For anyone out of the loop, Civil War II was about whether or not it was ethical to act against criminal behaviour before it happens, based on future knowledge. The sides were led by Tony Stark, who found pro-action to be unethical, and Carol Danvers, who believed that crime was being stopped before anyone was in danger, and that could only be a good thing. Now, Tony is currently dead in the MCU. Any CWII project would need to replace him at the helm, but part of the fighting was actually over another important character who hasn't been brought into the MCU at all yet: Miles Morales.
Thus, my idea: a new, separate trilogy that takes place within the context of the MCU, with complete adherence to canon (up to a certain point, whenever it becomes impossible to stay canon compliant as new projects release), focusing on a new version of Miles, constructed from his various appearances across Marvel's properties with my own two cents thrown in. This version of Miles would get his start during the Blip, and the third and final instalment in the series would be CWII. I've been planning this series for over a year and a half now, and I'm super excited to share it with you all.
And to anyone reading this who might feel the itch to write: Is there a character you feel is oft neglected by the wider fandom? Or a storyline you really want to explore in one of these adaptive properties? I am offering you this challenge. Pick your fandom: MCU, DCAU, X-Men, whatever. Take whatever they're adapting and choose something, anything, from that source material, and then try and bring it into your chosen world. In short, attempt to craft a story that the actual writers for these franchises might write. Try it! And make sure to DM me when you do, I'll be the first in line to read them.
