The first thing Aaron did after he tucked Miles into bed was set an alarm.
He'd need it, he knew that much—too much left to do. Too many thoughts for him to want to track the time as well. He left the phone on the bedside table and put it out of his mind.
The Prowler was a planner, not a thinker; there was a difference that Aaron was very aware of, one that he'd specifically cultivated. Entry points, and how many guards, and defences-weaknesses-find-catch-kill. Not what if. Not should I really. It'd served him in the past, that focus. It was what he'd needed to be.
And how'd it do you tonight, huh? Look at what you almost—
It helped in the immediate aftermath, too. There were tasks for him to do, and he did them. Clean up after the stitches: waste in the garbage and towels soaking to get out the blood. (Miles' blood, that's Miles' blood, look at what you—)
He poked his head into the bedroom. Miles was a tiny lump under the covers, gauze stark white over the side of his head. Aaron could hear the soft huff of his breathing if he lingered. He ducked out again.
Damage control. Yes sir, no sir, nothin' on the tapes. Someone got to 'em before I did. Gotta find him the old-fashioned way. Not unusual. Spider— Parker had always been technologically savvy and Kingpin already knew Miles—or the nameless kid, anyways—was running with others. Prowler didn't need to imply much for Kingpin to draw his own conclusions there.
Octavius wasn't stupid, though. The wife or the aunt, she insisted, that much crossover, they'd have gone to one or the other. Aaron couldn't argue with the likelihood of it. She wouldn't have listened to him anyways.
Tombstone wanted Scorpion on board before they checked, to replace the Goblin's muscle. Prowler backed him immediately. Look at how much trouble they'd had before, three on one with Parker alone and no way of knowing how many spiders were waiting now.
Kingpin allowed it with bad grace. Aaron suspected it was only because he'd already reached out to Scorpion, enough to on-board him quickly. Still, he'd take any delay. Give Miles a few more hours to sleep, instead of a mad dash across town. The kid clearly needed it.
He definitely needs it now that you've torn his face open—
Miles was still breathing. Sleeping wrong—he was still tucked the way Aaron had laid him, not starfished all over the bed the way he should have been. But he was breathing, little snuffles here and there. Well, he'd been crying, hadn't he. Probably a little stuffed up.
Back out again. Painkillers out on the counter—Parker had been a quick healer, no doubt about that, but who knew how Miles would turn out. And even that meant nothing about pain.
Food for the morning. Something quick? Easy enough, but he ought to do it later.
Equipment. His power levels were fine. Kingpin's gigs were all hard-and-fast: he hadn't used any ammo in weeks. He snagged his claws up off the floor—Miles had gotten some fair hits in, so he'd need to check them over too.
Fair hits? You weren't sparring, you were trying to kill him—
Miles hadn't moved yet. Still breathing. Still alive. Aaron just left the door fully ajar this time.
Nothing wrong with the claws, when he slipped them on and tested. He flicked them back off onto the table and snagged a rag to clean them with. It wasn't good to let the blood dry on.
He made it through that far, blank and focused on nothing but the task at hand, and then the task at hand was done and he pushed the claws away.
And then there he was, sitting on the couch holding a blood-stained rag.
Miles' blood, dripping off his claws because he'd sensed an intruder and gone straight for a kill, and it was only sheer goddamn luck that it hadn't happened. If Miles hadn't ducked the first time, if Prowler hadn't taken that split second to look, if he'd just finished that last swing and sliced his boy's throat open—
Oh, fuck—
He...blurred, just a little. That's what it felt like. Too much, too much, light-headed and stomach roiling, and Aaron curled down over his own knees, half certain he was about to puke. He pressed his face hard into his palms as he closed his eyes and shook, every heavy breath rasping out of his nose the only noise he could allow.
Don't you dare wake him up. Don't you dare put this on him.
Miles had already tried to comfort him earlier, cheek to his shoulder like Aaron hadn't just covered that half of his face in blood. I do look up to you, and Aaron knew what he looked like when he was lying, knew that he'd meant every word. That he'd let Aaron touch him at all—
Idiot. Reckless, brainless little idiot, he should have been out the door and screaming for his dad the minute Aaron put him down.
Oh, please. You aren't fooling anyone.
Aaron hadn't wanted him to run. Hadn't wanted him to be afraid. He'd done his best to fix it, coaxing and cuddling and purring soft things until the poor kid had stopped flinching away and shivering like a kicked puppy.
Like Aaron hadn't been the one to kick him in the first place. As though he deserved any sort of trust.
Should have just called his mother. Or hell, an ambulance. Being close to Miles was one thing when he'd kept Prowler on the other side of a very clear line, but Aaron had just carved his claws through every boundary he'd put up over the years, at first accidentally and then very much on purpose, and yet now here he was, still clinging on.
Selfish. He'd warned Miles, hadn't he? Nothing about him was good for this kid, but Aaron wanted to keep him anyways.
Aaron scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them to dangle between his knees, looking over at the open bedroom door. He could still do the right thing—but he knew himself better than that.
He looked back down at his hands, the power cells dull and inactive around his wrists. After a long moment, stretching out in his thoughts with a drawn sort of blankness, he unhooked them from his wrists and laid them with the claws before leaning down to loosen his boots. Dragged the cape off too, for good measure, leaving only the base clothes.
He'd put it all back on later, when it came time to fight, but the last thing Miles needed right now was the Prowler.
Kid had finally moved a little—not quite his usual teenage sprawl, but he'd spread out a little under the covers, and something in Aaron's chest loosened just to look at him. He'd bounced back pretty fast after their fight, even though he was clearly exhausted—he'd be all right. Physically, at least. And Aaron would help with the rest, if he was allowed.
Well, he'd done his best to make sure he'd be allowed, hadn't he?
Aaron gripped the doorframe hard enough that the wood creaked, swallowing back the sour taste that filled his mouth. And this was why he'd tried so hard to keep Prowler separate, this mindset that crept into everything he did, blurring his motivations even to him. Even with Miles, when all Aaron wanted to give was his best.
Because there'd been a split second, with Miles invisible and sounding so distraught, when Aaron had pulled his hand away with fresh blood on his skin, and somehow his first thought had been I can use this. Budding little super that needed a guiding hand—hell, if there was one thing Prowler had, it was experience. He could draw Miles with that, easy. And the more Miles needed him, the less likely he'd be to tell anyone what he knew.
He'd stomped on the thought as soon as he'd recognized it, infuriated with himself. He wanted to help Miles because it was Miles, because he wanted the very best for this kid and always had.
But he couldn't lie to himself that he'd thought it. Even if only for a second.
He leaned against the door jam, tilting his head to rest his temple on the cool wood. He didn't have to trick Miles into coming to him, anyways, at least for now. Who else could he go to?
Sounded like his spider friends wouldn't be around much longer. Tell Rio and she'd tell Jeff, and Jeff already harped on him for the little things like stickers and tags. If he thought Miles was dressing up in a costume to punch armed men in the face? Aaron honestly didn't want to imagine that conversation. Maybe because he could almost understand Jeff on that one.
Aaron ought to be with him on it, if he was really trying to do right by Miles. Had tried, even, before he'd had the whole story, because Miles had just been huddled there, shell-shocked and bleeding, and the thought of him and Kingpin in the same room was…hair-raising.
But it wasn't that simple. It never was.
Spider powers, of all things. Spider powers and spider people, supers that probably had Parker's bright attitude and do-gooder mission. Worse groups for Miles to fall in with, Aaron supposed, but he'd clearly picked up the mission along with the bugs.
And maybe Aaron could have still talked him out of it. Miles had sounded so hopeless when he'd first brought up his powers, hunched away and not meeting Aaron's eyes, like he was expecting judgement for some imagined failure. Hell, he'd gone invisible just talking about it—and since he hadn't even managed that when Prowler had stalked him through the apartment like prey, that was saying something.
So there'd been an opening there when Aaron had seen the chance and considered. A few harsh words in the right places, a few strong pushes in the right direction… It might even have been the right thing to do. The responsible thing. But Aaron hadn't been able to stomach it, in the end.
Miles had sounded so ashamed. Like he'd already been judged and found wanting, like he'd found himself wanting, and the sheer wrongness of it had hit Aaron like a kick in the gut. Miles was—
Miles was light, hope and life and laughter and love, and Aaron didn't want to know who could look at that boy and say not good enough, no matter what powers were involved.
Aaron clenched his jaw and turned away, bracing his back against the door jam so that he could bend to tug off his boots the rest of the way. It still felt like maybe he'd made the wrong choice. If there was even a right choice to make.
But he'd spent so long encouraging Miles to be free, to be himself—sing loud, dance wild, spread that light, that energy across the walls in noise and shapes and color. So how could he have lived with himself if he'd taken Miles at his lowest and said no. Said be quiet, said be safe, said keep your head down and don't let them see you. It stuck in his throat just thinking about it.
So yeah. Maybe he could have talked Miles down, kept him home and away from all this. But Aaron wasn't willing to crush his spirit to do it.
He huffed a soft laugh to himself at the thought. Because besides, how hypocritical would it be, now that he knew what Aaron was? How was Aaron supposed to tell him to stop with any sort of authority? You can't be Spiderman, because Prowler said so—right, sure. That'd go well.
He left the boots where they fell and came fully into the room, slipping around to the empty side of the bed with silent steps. Miles snuffled again in his sleep and twitched a little beneath the covers, quiet like a snoozing kitten. Nothing like the panicked noises he'd been making earlier, when Prowler had—
Aaron bit his cheek and forced the memory away, lowering himself slowly and very carefully to the bed. Miles didn't even shift an inch, though: down hard and deep, apparently. Aaron braced his back against the headboard and dragged his knees up almost as an afterthought.
His phone and its waiting alarm was still where he'd left it and he glanced at it listlessly. They still had a couple of hours before they needed to move, at least. And he ought to sleep too, he knew that much, but even now there was little appeal. Too much buzzing through him to let him down easy.
He turned his eyes back to the kid instead. His face was half hidden in the pillow, mouth just slightly parted as he breathed; Aaron let his hand drift down, brushing the backs of his knuckles featherlight over Miles' forehead where the pillows and gauze didn't reach. Warm, but not feverish.
Hell of a lot of trust, to just fall asleep like this in Aaron's care after the night he'd been through.
Quaint way of putting it. After what Aaron had done to him, then.
(Blood and bruises and flat-out terror, and Aaron had just sat there and made him beg—
Please—)
Aaron jerked his hand away, breath catching, swallowing hard against the nauseated clench of his stomach. Christ. If Miles woke up in the morning and decided to run for the hills after all, Aaron wouldn't blame him one bit. Hoped otherwise, but that look on his face…
Even if Aaron never heard him sound like that again, that desperate, cracking pleading, one time would still be too many.
Still. His gut told him Miles would probably stick around, at the very least until they solved this collider problem. And he had no doubt there'd be questions—they hadn't much touched on Prowler much last night, but he wasn't about to fool himself that he'd gotten off entirely.
But hell, all he could do was answer them at this point; he'd already given himself away. Besides, he knew Miles was forgiving: a little too much so, maybe. If he handled things just right—
Aaron tamped down on the thought before it could wander too far in the wrong directions, huffing out a soft, irritated breath. He'd been so goddamn careful with Miles—as careful as he knew how to be. He wasn't willing to throw that away just because the two halves of his world had finally collided.
Convincing him: that was fine. Talking, arguing, pleading: fine. But twisting things around and around until Miles couldn't tell which way was up? No. He wasn't about to start sliding down that slippery slope now.
Bit soon for him to sit here panicking about it anyways, wasn't it? Knowing Miles, he'd end up being way too forgiving, and Aaron would have to nudge him towards even a common-sense level of suspicion. Less than an hour after Aaron had tried to kill him and Miles had still latched onto his promise of help with barely a hint of wariness. Just...taken Aaron's hand like it was nothing.
Dangerous, that level of trust. And what was worse, Aaron was pretty sure that just his encouragement had been enough to kickstart Miles into taking hold of those powers. He'd brightened slowly with every bolstering word Aaron had scrambled to give him, from misery and doubt into something rock-hard determined and so damn alive. And then that light in his eyes had been actual fucking lightning.
He'd smiled so bright after those sparks, too, open and gleeful, like that and a promise had been enough to bloom him back out into trust. Too easy. Way too easy. Little idiot was going to get himself killed.
And Aaron didn't deserve him.
Of course he didn't. He'd known that, he'd always known that, but it was clearer than ever now. Miles was something more, something better, than Aaron had ever dreamed of being.
Well. For now, Miles wanted him here, and he'd already made his promises. He'd just have to make sure to keep them and Miles, soft as he was, would probably think that was good enough. Aaron would just have to hold himself to higher standards.
He took one last look at Miles before shifting himself very gently down, putting his back to the bed and forcing his eyes to close. No way he was getting anywhere close to sleep, but with time to kill he might as well let his body rest as much as he could.
He had a job to do in the morning, after all.
The alarm chirped—soft, but Aaron didn't need any more than that. He broke out of his slight doze, the best he'd managed all night, and snagged the phone quickly to swipe it off.
He tucked a hand behind his neck and stretched, fighting the urge to groan—he was starting to get old enough that he'd be feeling these late nights, later. The room was still dark around him; the sun hadn't risen yet, so the light outside was the barely-lightened navy of very early morning, with the sort of heavy near-quiet that often accompanied it.
Miles was still down, Aaron found when he glanced over, undisturbed by both noise and movement. Well, couldn't blame him. He'd probably sleep until noon if Aaron didn't wake him.
For a moment, Aaron considered letting him.
Promises, he reminded himself, and reached over to grasp Miles' shoulder.
"Hey," he said, shaking just hard enough that he knew Miles wouldn't be able to ignore it. Miles hunched just a little, pressing his face down into the pillow with the slightest little grumble. Aaron felt his lips twitch; Miles never had liked getting up.
No luck today, though. Aaron shifted his hand up and rolled him back out of the pillow, squeezing a little at the muscle at the curve of his neck. "Nah, none of that, Miles. C'mon now, up."
"Wha?" Miles finally mumbled, blurred and groggy. He scrunched his eyes tight before finally opening them a little bit, blinking slowly a few times before finally focusing on Aaron, expression torn between confusion and a sleepy sort of grumpiness that made Aaron's useless heart squeeze a little. Aaron offered him a small, sympathetic smile—he knew that feeling, waking up after not nearly enough rest.
"Would'a let you sleep," he explained, keeping his voice low in case the kid had a headache, "but the sun'll be up soon, and we still need to catch your friends."
Miles blinked at him again, eyes almost hazy—was he even understanding Aaron's words?
And then in the next second, he jerked, bolting up to a sitting position and flailing a little in the blankets as his arms caught. Aaron leaned back just in time to avoid being bopped in the nose by a flying hand, laughing a little in spite of himself.
"Whoa whoa, hey, slow down a little," he said, tugging the blankets down a bit to help Miles free himself. "We don't gotta go right this minute."
Miles twisted his head to stare around the room, looking a little bit frazzled, like even the quick realization hadn't done much for his understanding. He was looking more alert every second, though, and Aaron watched patiently as his eyes flicked around, from the blankets to the window over to Aaron, running up his costume before finally meeting his eyes.
He didn't look afraid, at least: more just...wide-eyed, like he hadn't quite hit on how he felt about anything yet.
At least his back didn't seem to be hurting him much, by how fast he'd moved, but Aaron sobered a little as he remembered himself. Better to check, anyways. "Feelin' alright?"
"Yeah," Miles said faintly, sounding almost surprised himself. "Yeah, I feel...fine?"
"You askin' or tellin'?" Aaron prodded him, glancing him over a little closer. But then Miles reached up to trail his fingers over the gauze taped over the gashes on his skull, and Aaron's gut dropped again at the fact that they were there at all.
Focus.
"Don't fuss with it," he advised, and reached over to tug Miles' hand back down, carefully telegraphing the move; Miles, thank god, didn't flinch, just frowned at him, confused little wrinkles bunching between his brows.
"It doesn't hurt," he said, which was still a little surprising even knowing the kid's powers, but hell, small blessings.
"Fast as Parker used to bounce back, I'd hoped that might happen," Aaron said, weighing the time in his mind for a moment. "Hang on a sec, and we'll take it off proper."
"Right," Miles said, still vague in a way that made Aaron suspect he wasn't quite taking in everything just yet. Aaron nodded and got up, leaving Miles to collect himself while he strapped his boots back on and gathered what he needed. The stitches could probably come out now entirely, if he was reading these powers right.
No new updates from Kingpin's end when he checked, though he suspected that they wouldn't be lucky enough to have the whole day this quiet. Well, at least they'd be forewarned—if Kingpin did send out a hunting party, Prowler would be one of the first he'd call. And maybe acknowledging it would keep him in the dark for just that much longer.
Miles had made it off the bed by the time Aaron made it back, though he'd dragged the heavy top comforter off with him, draped over his shoulders like a cape. He was slowly rifling through Aaron's shirt drawer, sleepy movements without any urgency. Even as Aaron watched, he paused to break into a yawn so wide that it seemed to shiver down his jaw and into his shoulders.
Aaron stopped in the doorway to watch him for a moment, feeling soft in a way that only Miles seemed to cause, though that only brought back a now-familiar twist in his gut. He didn't want to lose this, but if he thought about how close he'd come to ripping their lives apart—
Miles turned to look at him and Aaron smiled, doing his best to give him the softness without the looming shadow of guilt. Miles smiled back too; he still looked a tiny bit hesitant, uncertain around the eyes, but that was still better than Aaron could have reasonably dared to hope for.
"'m stealing some of your clothes," Miles told him stoutly, dragging a shirt out from the drawer seemingly at random and holding it up, "since you tore up my shirt."
"Take a coat too," Aaron told him. Prowler's uniform had enough reinforcement that he wasn't too bothered by the cold, but by the blanket over Miles' shoulders, he definitely would be. "Lemme see your back first, though."
So Miles plopped back down on the bed to let him pull the dressings off and it turned out that yes, he had in fact picked up some healing. In spades.
"Well, damn," Aaron marvelled, honestly impressed as he prodded at the cuts on Miles' back—or the spot where they'd been. They'd pretty much healed over completely, barely-there scars showing only slightly paler in contrast on Miles' skin.
"Should'a done this in the bathroom," Miles complained, twisting like he might be able to see his own back if he just turned his head far enough. "Take a picture? I want to see."
"Not much to see," Aaron told him, but obediently snapped a picture and then passed the phone over Miles' shoulder.
He turned to the head wound while Miles was busy inspecting it; he was a little more careful removing the gauze here, but it didn't really seem to be necessary in the end. All the blood he found was long dried and the claw marks themselves, though not as far along as the ones on his back, looked nothing like new wounds at all. Completely closed, at least, for all that the new skin still looked a little fresh.
Aaron ran his thumb along the line of now-useless stitches, almost at a loss. Miles squirmed a little, shrugging his shoulder up like he wanted to scratch an itch.
"Hey, that tickles," Miles said, but he looked more interested than annoyed. "Those healed too?"
"Mostly," Aaron confirmed, and started snipping the stitches. "Any luck, they'll fade out even more in another day or two, but I'd give 'em at least that long before tryin' to cover 'em at all."
"What, like with makeup?" Miles asked, and he sounded almost uneasy at that. He'd looked away too when Aaron glanced down to check, staring out towards the bedroom door with a very small frown.
Careful.
"If you want," Aaron said, working to keep his tone generally unconcerned. "Don't have to hide 'em at all, if you don't want to."
"But if I don't—" Miles twisted to look up at him at that, eyebrows drawing together, and Aaron dropped his hands. "You think I should."
Well, Aaron knew what he wanted to say.
Higher standards, goddamnit. Pull it together.
"Depends," he finally said. "You gonna tell your parents?"
Miles' head tipped like the question had surprised him. "About you?"
"About any of it," Aaron clarified, waving an encompassing hand. "Me, you, your powers—"
"Oh. I, uh…" Miles fidgeted and Aaron resisted the urge to put a hand on his shoulder. "Hadn't really thought about it yet."
"Well, unless you're sure you want 'em to know, I'd cover those, yeah," Aaron told him bluntly. "Least until they get faint enough that you don't have to worry."
"Oh." Miles said again, and nothing else for a minute, turning back to his staring contest with the door. Aaron gave him a moment and then went back to the stitches, leaving him to mull through whatever thoughts he was stuck on.
He'd finished pulling the last of them and was cleaning off the last of the old blood when Miles suddenly asked, "Does Dad know about...you know?"
He gestured vaguely at Aaron—or the costume, Aaron deciphered after a second.
"Prowler?" he checked, and scoffed when Miles nodded. "Nah, he don't know anythin'. Would'a arrested me years ago, if he had."
Miles stiffened a little at that—maybe just at the idea, but Aaron tried to soften his tone just in case. "Suppose I can't really blame him now, after what I did to you."
And wasn't that just galling—all those years of Jeff bristling up at him, for Miles, he'd so often claimed, and Aaron had always thought he was full of shit. Proven all his fears right last night, though, hadn't he?
"So if I tell him—?" Miles started slowly, like he didn't want to finish the thought, and Aaron chewed on his response, wrestling through his options in another quick, internal battle.
"I'd have to leave," he finally admitted and blinked when Miles jerked, staring up at him with wide, almost hurt eyes.
"You—?"
"Not that I want to," Aaron assured him, uneasy as he struggled to straddle the line between keeping Miles happy and giving him the truth, "but I just… I been in prison before, Miles, and I ain't gonna walk back in there if I can help it. 'Specially not on Prowler's charges. Wouldn't come out again after that, if I made it there at all."
He figured he didn't have to elaborate more than that. Miles might have grown up with a cop, but Jeff couldn't shield him from everything.
Then he saw Miles' hands clench in the blanket still draped across his lap and wanted to hit himself. Miles should be worrying about teenage things, homework and dating and all those school worries he'd been so worked up over not even a week ago. Not all this shit.
He sighed and dropped down to sit next to Miles on the bed. Miles slid a little towards him just from his weight and hell, he'd clearly had a growth spurt recently, but he was still so goddamn small.
"Doesn't mean you can't tell them," he said reluctantly. It felt like he was stumbling through a dark room without his night vision, trying to feel his way through to the right answer. "I'm not tryin' to...scare you into keepin' quiet, nothin' like that. Powers like these, it'd be good for you to have people to go to. And you could still call me, when you needed."
"I don't want you to go," Miles said, low and stubborn like he was prepared to argue the point if he needed to, and Aaron tried not to sag under the sheer relief. "If telling them means—"
"Can still tell them about your powers without tellin' 'em about me," Aaron pointed out—not that he thought it was the best idea, but that wasn't what mattered right now. And it made Miles pause and think, and that was the point.
"Dad never liked Spiderman," Miles finally said, scratching at the back of his neck in a quick, fidgety gesture. He grimaced slightly when Aaron turned to see his face more clearly. "Hated him, and these powers—"
He broke off and Aaron's stomach dropped. The powers wouldn't really be the problem, he suspected, but the fact that Miles was, at his core, the sort that would want to use them, even to do good? Yeah, that wouldn't go over well at all.
Still, he knew Jeff. And if there was one thing Aaron didn't want Miles doubting, it was that he was loved.
"He didn't know Spiderman, though, did he?" Aaron pointed out, and nudged Miles gently with his elbow at his dubious look. "Take it from me, Miles—it'll be different if it's you."
Miles' eyes widened before flicking down, his frown more thoughtful than before. "Yeah, maybe. Or just a different kind of mad."
Well, that was true too. Aaron had put forward some options for him to think about, at least, and if he was honest, he didn't really want to push him too hard in that direction anyways.
"Don't gotta make all your decisions right this second," he hedged. He couldn't really help too much with that aspect of it—if he got visibly involved, Jeff would only dig his heels in deeper. "Just want you to remember that you got options, that's all."
Miles gave him a look: sharper than he usually went, like he was starting to pick up on some of the things Aaron wasn't saying. Aaron kept himself loose and relaxed, expression as open as he could make it, and slowly the tension seemed to loosen again.
"Alright," Miles sighed, and offered him a smile that Aaron thought looked tired, but genuine. "Thanks, Uncle Aaron."
Least I could do, Aaron almost said, but that wasn't exactly true. He scuffed a light hand over Miles' hair instead, sweeping back to rest at the back of his head, and he actually felt Miles relax a little more, swaying as Aaron gave him a gentle shake by the nape of his neck.
"Enough'a that talk," he said, because the sky outside was slowly, but steadily beginning to lighten, and they still had so much to do. "Put some clothes on, would you?"
Miles shoved him in the side, but he'd huffed a small laugh too, so Aaron counted it as a win. "It's your fault I haven't got any."
True enough—but Aaron paused as he realized another issue. "You're gonna need another costume. Or another mask, at least."
Because the cheap costume shirt was buried in the trash now and the mask... Aaron hadn't gone looking for it yet, but he could imagine just how much he'd damaged that too. Miles' eyes narrowed like he was thinking it through and Aaron offered, a little reluctantly, "I've got some...old things that might work, but most of it probably won't fit."
Probably being an understatement. Miles had a similar build, but he still had a lot of catching up to do otherwise. More than that, though, it just didn't quite feel right. Considering what he'd built off those early pieces, in comparison to what Miles was setting out to do…
It was silly, but he was glad when Miles shook his head.
"Thanks, but I think—" he broke off for a moment, giving Aaron another one of those new, almost piercing looks. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because when he continued, he said, "We went to see Peter's— The old Spiderman's aunt, I mean. She might have something I can use."
The words sparked up Aaron's spine, satisfaction and worry both, because Miles had trusted him with that—but Kingpin was already onto them.
"Alright then," he agreed, but made a mental note to at least find Miles something to cover his face on the way over, just in case. "Get dressed, and then let's talk about what we're doin'."
Miles nodded, a serious determination on his face that Aaron carefully did not smile at, and Aaron left him to it, heading for the kitchen instead.
They'd spent more time talking than Aaron had accounted for—his own fault, but the sooner they made contact with Miles' friends, the better off they'd all be. After quick deliberation, he went to rifle through the cupboards for some meal bars instead: not the nicest option, but he often didn't have time for much else, on Prowler's jobs.
Miles might be able to snag something else from Parker's aunt, too, though Aaron wasn't about to fool himself about the welcome he'd be receiving.
He heard Miles out in the apartment before he managed to dig more out—and when he turned around, he found that Miles had taken a seat on the couch, costume pants now gone and one of Aaron's t-shirts loose over his shorts, the blanket still draped over his shoulders.
He'd also picked up one of the gauntlets Aaron had left there, lifting it to examine the claws curiously.
Aaron's heart skipped. It was a little like the time Miles had almost walked himself backwards into traffic, or the time Aaron had found him tripping over one of the replica swords he'd managed to draw. He actually bit his tongue to avoid barking something way too sharp; Miles knew better than most now how dangerous the claws were.
"Careful," was what he managed in the end. "Can't tell you how many times I spiked myself with 'em when I first started out."
Miles darted a glance his way, straightening a little at Aaron's voice, and then he ran his fingers very carefully over the point of the smallest claw, pressing until the joint began to curve down. "When did you start?"
Aaron forced down the urge to take it from him and frowned a little at the question, turning his thoughts back. God, it'd been a while, hadn't it?
"Decade ago, maybe? Little less," he estimated, grabbing a handful of bars and tossing the rest of the box back into the cabinet. "If you're askin' when the claws came into it, anyway."
He sat down with Miles on the couch, flicking one of the bars into his lap. Miles only glanced at it for a second before he turned his attention back to Aaron, almost expectant.
"Just wanted 'em for climbin', to start," Aaron found himself saying, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the lone gauntlet on the table. The cuffs were still where he'd left them and he leaned over to grab them, fixing them back to his wrists. "Burglaries, mostly, Break-ins and such. And then Spiderman was already swingin' around, people in costumes poppin' out left and right—Prowler just sorta came natural."
"But why?" Miles asked quietly, eyes almost pleading. "Why any of it?"
And Aaron—
What a question. He picked up his cape instead of answering right off, trying to calm his too-quick heartbeat, the uncomfortable flush of heat under his skin. He couldn't quite name it, but it made him itch in ways he didn't like.
"More complicated than I think we have time for, Miles," he sighed, and caught it when Miles' shoulders hunched, his head ducking down just a little.
Goddamn it.
"Funny thing, there weren't a lot of places lookin' to hire after I did my time," Aaron restarted—abrupt, he knew, but he'd never wanted to talk about any of this with Miles. Or at all, really. He kept his chin tucked to his chest, his eyes on the cape; he couldn't quite make himself look at Miles' face. "Had to make ends meet somehow, and there were plenty of places open then, once you knew the way in. Some that deserved it, even. And once you get good enough at jobs like that, people start comin' to you."
And look at that. He'd even managed to keep it truthful, for a given definition of the word, but it still barely scraped the surface of what was there.
Like the fact that he'd been stealing long before Prowler had been a thought in his head, before he'd ever gone to prison, even. He and Jeff hadn't grown up the best, sure, and there were plenty of places that deserved to get hit, which was usually his preference. But he could admit that a lot of what he'd done back then, he'd done because it was something he was good at, something he enjoyed.
But how was he supposed to say any of this without chasing Miles off? He knew how it sounded—the sheer rush of it, creeping in places he wasn't supposed to be, taking things without anyone any the wiser. And the first guard he'd killed on a job had been an accident, yeah, but he couldn't say that for all of them. Kingpin's jobs weren't even his usual sort, but the pay had been good enough that he hadn't cared, not until Miles had come into it.
Funny. He'd always thought that he'd come to terms with who and what he was, but faced with the prospect of trying to put those shadowed corners of his mind into words? For Miles?
Aaron grimaced, his stomach hardening into a lump of dread just at the thought. And Miles was still just...watching him, big brown eyes and that worried little crinkle between his brows. Like he was worried for Aaron, not about him or what he might be up to, and that—
Fuck. This goddamn kid. What was Aaron supposed to do with that?
"So if we… After we—?" Miles started, and then broke off, like he couldn't quite phrase what he wanted to ask. Aaron could guess well enough, though.
"Well, we're not doin' this again, that's for damn sure," Aaron said, reaching out to tap a thumb against the healed claw marks. "So if you're the new web-swinger, guess I'm gonna have to find some other work."
There. He knew he'd hit the right answer when Miles relaxed, peeking out from under his hand to smile at him. At least Aaron had been able to soothe that particular worry.
And little as he liked it, he knew he'd need to follow through. His legitimate options were still pretty damn limited, but he'd have to work something out. Didn't matter how sneaky he was—if Miles was taking Parker's place, then that route would put them on opposite sides at some point, and Aaron wasn't doing it. He'd had a taste of the end result and...no. Just no.
So other work it was, because unless he wanted to try and bring Miles over—
He slapped that thought straight back into the pit it had come from. Hell, that'd be almost worse, in a way, dragging Miles into his business. If he ever managed it at all—Miles was a lot of things, rebellious and unsure in equal measures, but certain things about him, Aaron knew, were unshakeable. His heart, for one, and there were fucking limits.
"How about a job as a Spiderman coach?" Miles offered, oblivious to Aaron's overactive mind, hopeful eyes crinkling like he was inviting Aaron into some inside joke. Aaron let it lighten his own expression a little.
"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and then looped his arm around Miles' neck and tugged him in, scrubbing knuckles over his head only a little more gently than he might have before. "Don't think you can afford my rates, lil man, but maybe I'll make an exception."
"Aww, get off," Miles growled, though he ruined the effect with a soft puff of laughter, and Aaron let him tussle for a few seconds before letting him go, wincing from a careless elbow to the gut. Damn, kid could hit now.
"Eat," Aaron ordered, swiping the gauntlet from Miles' hands and then scooping up the forgotten bar from the couch to chuck it into his chest again. He hooked his hands back into the gauntlets as Miles fumbled with that, half an eye on Miles' reaction as he stretched and curled the claws. He didn't seem to be paying them any special sort of attention, though. "So. Parker's aunt, you said?"
"Mhm," Miles managed, cheeks bulging around half the bar in his mouth.
"Suppose she'd be useful for resources," Aaron acknowledged, "but it wasn't your sneakiest choice either. Octavius' been pushin' to send men her way since last night."
He realized his mistake when Miles choked slightly around the food in his mouth.
"They ain't done it yet," he hurried to say, wincing as Miles coughed and swallowed hard. He waited until Miles looked at him with watering eyes before tapping his earpiece in explanation. "I'd be the first he'd call for that, so we got some time. But whatever it is you're doin' there, I'd make it quick."
Miles was already squirming up from the couch.
"We gotta warn them," he piped up, urgent and squirrely like Aaron hadn't been herding him along to do exactly that, and Aaron snorted at him for it.
"That's the plan," he pointed out dryly, and then snagged Miles by his shirt collar as he leapt by like he was going to dash for the front door. "Nuh-uh, jacket first—somethin' with a hood. And—"
He paused as he tried to figure out how to say it, and that, for some reason, was what made Miles stop prancing in his grip like a nervous colt and actually look at him.
"You thought about how you're gonna explain…?" Aaron waved a clawed hand to encompass the space between them, and his own costume. "Don't want any fight with your friends either, if we can help it."
"I...figured I'd just tell them you're my uncle?" Miles offered, eyes flicking over Aaron's face like he was checking for reactions, and so Aaron held in his grimace at the thought of unmasking for strangers, in any sense of the word. It was probably the only option, though; he doubted they'd let him near, otherwise.
"That gonna be enough?" he asked. He'd be going with Miles either way, but the kid might not have considered just how poorly things could go. Miles did blink at that, but then his eyes narrowed.
"It's gonna have to be," he said—which wasn't really an answer, but Aaron had certainly given enough non-answers himself. Besides, he knew that mulish expression. Miles didn't do it often, but the rare times he chose to dig his heels in, he'd argue 'til he was blue in the face.
"Alright, then." Aaron gave in and let go of Miles' collar, nudging him towards the bedroom. "Let's get a move on."
Miles darted away and Aaron watched him go before giving the room one last once over. He just needed— Ah.
He trudged over to where he'd left his mask discarded on the floor; there were trails of blood here and there too, dry sprays of droplets that he hadn't thought to clean last night. He wasn't usually on a scene long enough to care about the mess. Something else to handle later on.
He didn't let himself hesitate as he fixed the mask back on, letting the interface flicker on and the modulator reconnect. He felt odd, though, hyperalert and sensitive in his skin, the way he might have done years ago when he'd first started out. He'd lost that nervousness quickly, fallen into a groove—but then, he couldn't stay in that groove anymore. Miles needed to be the priority here.
He shook himself out, settling into the moment, but as he started to turn away, something caught the corner of his eye, a flash of color where he hadn't expected any.
Miles' mask, he realized when he sidled closer for a better view and, after a split-second's hesitation, he knelt to pick that up as well. Maybe not quite as damaged as he'd thought, as he turned it in his hands, but the three long rends along the side, ragged and bloodied, were more than enough warning in themselves.
Careful, he reminded himself, breathing deep. He couldn't pretend he didn't know the consequences, this time.
He heard the slightest scuff of footsteps and glanced up in time to see Miles stumble to a halt in the doorway, eyes very wide. The hoodie he'd pulled on nearly dwarfed his frame, the hem too long and the sleeves rolled back. Prowler kept his motions slow and steady as he stood, giving Miles the chance to look him over from a distance.
It still twinged something low and foreign in his gut when Miles visibly steeled himself before he stepped forward, but then the kid surprised him by coming right for him, peering upwards like a wary kitten approaching a large dog.
"This is still so weird," he breathed, circling around him in a quick, fidgety appraisal when Prowler didn't move. His head was tilted when he came around the other side, his eyes bright with what looked like interest, though his movements still seemed too jittery to be fully relaxed. "Why do you even have a cape?"
"Distraction," Prowler rumbled, and watched Miles twitch at his altered voice, eyes flying wide again. "Draws the eye in a fight. And a few other tricks."
"Huh," Miles said, almost under his breath, and Prowler eyed him, trying to gauge his reaction, to decide whether they'd even be able to run together like this. But then Miles straightened himself up like a challenge and smirked—just a little, but clear. "So, not just 'cause it looks cool, then?"
Prowler let himself huff, only barely audible through the mask, but worth it when it made Miles smile for real.
He froze when Miles reached out, though, wrapping thin fingers around his oversize claws and tugging his hand out between them as though to examine. He'd already seen them up close—trying to prove something? Miles' voice was carefully light when he added, "I mean, I can admit the aesthetic's—"
He broke off when Prowler slipped the claws out of his grip, and then stiffened like a startled deer when Prowler reached very slowly towards his hair. But he didn't bolt, and Prowler settled his claws very gently on Miles' head, small and so terribly fragile under his hand.
"Alright?" he asked, very soft, the word strangely unfamiliar in his mouth. It wasn't a question he would have bothered to ask anyone before, not as Prowler.
There was a second of silence that settled over him like a weight before Miles' stiff shoulders finally loosened, first a fraction, then a little more. He nodded, a little bob under the claws.
"'Course," he said, tone light, bravado that even now he hadn't quite learned to front properly. "You don't scare me."
And that was probably at least a little bit a lie, but Prowler would have taken that as more than enough for the time being. Except then, as though to prove his point, Miles leaned in and hugged him, arms wrapping tight under his ribs and cheek pressed flat to his chest.
Prowler's heart skipped, a flurry of conflicting impulses sparking up his spine. He wrenched them all down and hugged Miles back, hand on his head and wrapping around the back of his shoulders to hold him tight. Because he didn't know if this was an attempt to prove something, or a desire for comfort, or just Miles being Miles, loving to a fault, but if a hug was what he wanted right now, then a hug he would get.
God, this kid.
Miles drew back before he could sort through the tangle of words in his throat, not helped by the habit of silence he'd worked for in the mask. Miles' eyes were almost suspiciously bright, but he only quirked his head at the front door.
"So, do we get to ride the bike?" he demanded, a thread of real eagerness in the question, and Prowler could only shake his head in exasperation, mostly at himself, helplessly charmed and unwilling to fight it.
"Sure, Miles," he sighed and didn't bother to stifle the smile under his mask when Miles did a tiny fistpump at his word. "We can take the bike."
He'd been planning to already, but even if he hadn't, Miles' visible delight just at the thought probably would have been enough to change his mind. Shit. Had he always been so goddamned soft?
He suspected the answer was yes.