The next jump into the next universe greets him with blues, grays and a world as if someone had taken a straw to sip all of the colour away. There are some billboards which bleed with the only colour - reds, yellows and blues with the paint trailing downwards. He looks upwards, sees the buildings that seem to loom over the specks of people on the pavement. They don't pay him any mind, why would they when there are other obligations? How strange, clearly the typical aspects of one universe do not carry to another.
It's almost as if this world doesn't have a Spiderman or a world where it's grieving the loss of something. Miguel hopes that's not the case, doesn't know how this universe would deal with a world where Spiderman no longer exists.
Maybe it's been weeks and this trip will be for nothing- Except- he can sense something. A call from somewhere that tells him that no, this world's Spiderman isn't dead and will never be.
"You're not going to follow that feeling are you?" Lyla quips, appearing for a brief moment.
They've refined the whole watch system slightly, a first version so he isn't clobbered the moment he lands. No glitching if he's lucky. Call it a test run of sorts. Really, Miguel's feeling quite good about it.
"It could be interesting," he replies with a shrug. "Never failed me."
A beat.
"Last time you found a villain instead," she reminds him because of course she does. Miguel supposes he deserves it. "Don't be stupid."
"Then don't worry too much about it. I'm always careful," he says like a liar. Still that thing yank tugs on him, a siren call as he weaves through the city of- well maybe New York.
Eventually, he finds himself in front of a diner - one with warm yellows greeting him inwards. The sign is fairly simple, big letters that don't even glow like the rest of the store signs, instead it's rustic letters spelling a single word:
Midnights.
The door chimes when he pushes it open, a ring and he can see the sole customer. A single one sitting in one of the seats glaring daggers at him as if knowing he'd step through the door.
"I'm not putting the suit back on," the stranger retorts, frustration lacing every single word. "Go find someone else to fill in the empty spot in your team."
He blinks, strides a few steps forward and surely it cannot be. "You're the Spiderman in this universe."
The stranger scoffs, takes a shot of his drink as if it were alcohol without even turning to look him in the eye. "Retired actually."
"You're retired," he repeats. "But Spiderman never retires-" at least he hasn't run into one that has but it seems there's always time for firsts.
"Yes he does; I did. Look, if you want me to get back in the game you can leave."
"That's not what I'm doing."
A beat.
This other Spiderman - he has to be another one - sighs in almost defeat before spinning around on his chair to actually look at Miguel. Something seems to flick in the man's mind, finally relaxing his shoulders for the first time.
It must be pretty common for others to badger him to join - possibly - another team.
"You're not from here," this now-retired Spiderman points out. It's only now he realizes how delirious the man sounds with the wild curls everywhere and exhaustion coming off of him in waves. "Nice suit though, I do like the colours. A bit like my old one before putting down the mask."
"Made it myself."
"Good for you."
Another pause, this time leaning more awkward rather than tense. Part of Miguel wonders if he can even buy anything from the barista. Probably not.
"Sit down then," the ex-Spiderman offers, gesturing at the seat next to him. "Anything you want from the menu?"
"I didn't bring any money-" because he's not from here. Not from this universe.
"I can spare you the expenses. Whiskey might give me a discount-"
The barista turns around, glares at the stranger. "You used them all in a week, Viktor."
He files that information away - Viktor - is the name of this world's Spiderman. Retired but not dead. That's a good thing except-
"A coffee is good enough," he can only reply instead. Fuck, Lyla's going to kill him if he gets back late but this is also the first Spiderman he's had a formal conversation with.
"It's going on your tab, Shui."
"Of course it is, you only have five regulars," Viktor retorts, kicking the door aside for him. It's strange how seemingly welcome it is even though they've just met. "Half of my pension goes to you at this point."
No response to that. Miguel wonders how long these two know each other, a strange package deal of sorts.
"So you're retired," he begins again, tapping his claws on the table. "Why?"
Viktor visibly winces, runs a hand through his curls as if trying to claw part of it off if he pulls hard enough.
"Wow, you really must live under a rock if you didn't hear about the entire fiasco," Viktor quips in a way that only makes it obvious how hollow his voice sounds. "Not one I like sharing on first dates."
He doesn't have a response to that, feels like someone slapped him upside the head. Of course he knows that most Spiderman have a Gwen - for the most part. Multiverses are strange things. He taps the table, a vain attempt to make time flow faster.
"I didn't know you swung that way," he replies instead. Listens as Viktor laughs a bit manic.
"It was all the news when the public found out." Another shot of his drink. It's now when Miguel realizes that it's not alcohol, rather, it's coffee. "Surprise! Your neighborhood Spiderman is gay as fuck! Ridiculous headlines, should've kept some of them."
"You didn't? I would have." Mainly to laugh at them that is. In his world it's not like anyone knows that he's Spiderman even in his own way. Miguel prefers it that way.
"Burned most of them actually. Still, good old days."
A beat.
Then a thunk as the barista returns with his coffee. It cuts their conversation short, Viktor curling up on himself in that oversized sweater of his. Now under the low light Miguel can see how dark the man's eye bags are.
He knows that feeling well, the idea that he can't rest until he makes sure everything is fine before going to bed.
"And how long do you stay here?" he asks, all sorts of sheepish. The chair creaks under him.
"Until I kick him out," the barista answers and Viktor has seemingly retreated back into himself again. A place that no one else can get him back out of.
Miguel wonders what happened. Yet it's not his business even if the coffee tastes like heaven in this universe.
"For someone called Whiskey, how come you make coffee?" he asks instead to turn the conversation around. Awkward pauses and him do not fit together well, even after all of these years.
"You're the first one who didn't ask if I drank," the barista - Whiskey - replies.
"He's nine years sober," Viktor cuts in all sorts of hesitant. He guesses they're teacher and student in their own janky way. An instinctual understanding of sorts."Lot of shit happened back then. Too much shit with Ulysses."
Miguel nods, gets the sentiment. What is being a hero if not seeing far too many things that one should never have to go through normally?
"So now you run a cafe. Seems like a stretch."
A beat. Whiskey grins.
"They like my coffee and that's good enough for me, retirement's nice."
Viktor scoffs. "It's boring."
"You're always bored."
He can't stop himself, when he says: "And people like us don't retire."
"Then he sucks at retiring," Whiskey fills in for him and they laugh. Viktor only sneers in that way that a small cat would when knowing they can't get out of someone's grasp.
Miguel looks over, grins. This place isn't so bad after all, a place he should consider coming back to even if it's only for the coffee.
"You could always come out of retirement," he suggests because there's nothing worse than boredom.
Viktor doesn't turn to look at him, not really but there is a faint smile on his lips. "For you, maybe."
A beat.
"I should get going," he deflects. "Got some further engagements."
And he turns to leave, shuts the door to the diner and stretches. There's a muffled groan that he catches before the door slams shut. Then a short exchange:
"Did you forget to ask for his name?"
"Christ, Whiskey don't rub it in."
People in this universe are quite interesting. Really, Miguel supposes he's quite fond of them. Maybe he ought to come back here.
"Thoughts on visiting here in our offtime?" he asks Lyla who appears beside him once he leaves. Oh what would he do without her? For the first time, Miguel can see the stars of this world, specks of white and yellow with the blue seemingly fading a bit.
"For the coffee, you mean," Lyla cuts in with that all knowing smirk of hers. He sighs. At least they know this watch works but there needs to be more refinement.
"And for practice," he reasons. Practice has nothing to do with the company here even if he rather enjoys it. "It'll be nice to have a few constant places to visit."
"Miguel, you've only been to three other universes."
He sighs. "That's three universes too many."
What he does require is rest before diving into the web that lies in front of him. A way to jump between these worlds as he pleases to know what lies in the worlds that are separated by a thin veil. Parallel lives that are not supposed to intersect but each of them fascinating in their own way.
All Miguel hopes is that this time, this prototype will send him to the right universe. Back home.
—
It takes fifteen more jumps before he's back on his Earth.
— — —
The following one is one for revisions, more tests and recalibrations. He has everything here to make it so that those like him can become a web, connected to each other in a way that no one would have to go through events alone.
In the corner of his lab, there's a coffee machine on the counter. One that has never been touched. Miguel doesn't even know why he got one anyways.
"You think we should call the universes off a serial number," he asks Lyla as he fiddles with the small device at his table. Electronics are fickle little things. "And randomly generated to fill up that way to have no repeats."
"At least it'll be easier to catalog," she reasons with a shrug. "Better than your idea of naming them after what they look like."
"Hey! They all have different- different appearances!"
"And most spiderman outfits only use blue and red majorly. So your point?"
"What if someone confuses Earth-9969 and Earth-6696?" he retorts with a sigh.
Lyla actually laughs at him. Miguel swears he loves her, really. She's both the best enabler and the one who can call him out on his bullshit.
"As long as they know 928 to come home, they'll be fine, Miguel."
Right, because he wants to make a place for the other spider people. An odd sort of home. Perhaps one where everyone can connect and he can meet those like him.
"The real question is what you're going to call that coffee-universe," she sing-songs as she works on making that catalog. "Might as well get that universe and pointer guy's over and done with."
"Coffee-universe and pointer guy," he repeats. "That's what you're calling them for now?"
"Hey you're the one who said the coffee tasted good. As if you ever drank coffee to begin with."
Low blow.
He sighs. "Just tell me the two numbers we got Lyla."
"Say the magic word!"
A beat.
"Please tell me the numbers. For pointer guy and coffee-universe."
She beams at him, a shit eating grin on her face. "67 for pointy-guy and 1757 for your other beloved."
"Other beloved. For coffee-universe. Lyla it's really only the coffee!"
"And not for the company, you're lying to no one except yourself Miguel."
"Maybe so."
It's easier to go back to what he needs to work on than to entertain her. Still it's good to know that the two universes they have have numbers and a way to go back there again.
But.
Miguel doubts if he can build on this stray idea on his own. However, if there were others-
Perhaps it is something plausible.
"Thoughts on getting the other Spider people involved in this?" he asks Lyla. "Could be fun."
"And you already have a few ideas in mind."
Of course he does. Really, this has got to be the most exciting time for all of them. A way to jump between the worlds which means new adventures in a way unlike before and if-
If he can get others on board, this could be wonderful.
–
A month and a half later with one watch that's finely tuned in a way where they can update the catalog consistently. The technology they have is apparently good enough, the hardware and software advanced that he can make tunnels to places he's been before.
It's freeing.
Earth-1757 - coffee universe - is one that he returns back to second. His conflict in Earth-67 is a small thing that he has decided not to make too much of a fuss about.
Really, it's a bit of a joke between himself and Peter now.
This time he sets foot in one of the alleyways with the skies bursting with contrasting colours. Purples and yellows, the street lamps blue and red. There is something terribly wrong. But he's not here for anyone.
He's only been here once but there is no way this is normal for this world. It can't be. Either there's a fight going on or their Spiderman is in trouble-
That's when he sees it.
A car skidding to a screeching halt and he's placed his mask back on again. A villain, old school, Miguel knows this will be a piece of cake.
That car is blue before the loud thud of a villain - a knight born from the ashes landing on top of it. Somehow the car doesn't flip and he's already moving forward.
Spiderman makes sure everyone is safe-
"Oh you're back," the villain quips with a bored groan. Each syllable like nails clawing down a chalkboard. But nothing about the statement makes any sense.
"Shut it," he retorts, swinging a hand at this guy. It's a miss as that cape sweeps backwards.
Jump-jets. This fucking villain has jump-jets. Ancient but a pain in the ass for him.
"When you haven't told me your name?" the villain retorts, landing smack on the tarmac. A small crater is left behind. "That hardly seems fair-"
"We never met!" Seriously, what the hell is this guy on?
His next swing still misses, hits smack on the ground. Miguel doesn't even think when he throws his own webs at the villain only for a seeming cut through with a blade, summoned from the armour itself.
"Oh you're going to have to try harder than that," this villain taunts with a tilt of their head, landing backwards on a street lamp. Always one step ahead.
Miguel has never met someone more insufferable.
Another leap is enough that he gets a claw into the streetlamp itself, another leap and he's on there with this villain.
They're all donned in red and gold. If you were to ask Miguel who they were before any of this, he might have said they were another sun itself, an unstoppable force. And that's the case as they block his next blow. Then the next, never breaking a sweat.
Villains are all the same at the end of the day.
Yet there's this thrill in how this guy dodges your attacks,as if this dance is one he's seen a thousand times before.
Show me you're not like the others, this villain seemingly taunts. Even with the helmet on, he can almost see their eyes glinting.
A quick leap down and they're back on that car again, swift as a sparrow as they slip inside the vehicle. Miguel follows suit, landing on the ground with a thud and oh he knows he can catch up.
There's only so many corners and streets to run off to.
"Never thought you'd be much of a chaser," the villain quips, turning to face Miguel only for him to see his own reflection looking back at him.
"And you're a pain in the ass," Miguel snaps, reaching through the glass of the door only for-
Fuck ow. He's going to be nursing that bruise for days.
And are those gauntlets? Ones where the light glints off them in a way his claws would never-
Then, this villain kicks the door open, shoves whoever is beside them out. The crash doesn't come as the car skids to a stop.
Protecting a-
What?
"Who the hell are you?" he shouts, every question growing on top of each other. Asshole.
Another dodge as this guy twirls the door of the car like a shield. One punch to one counter. Almost this odd sort of dance. That civilian from before- apparently gone into the crowd. Every slash he throws is met with metal. Fucker.
He takes one step forward, they take one back, always on their guard. It's almost funny how well the two of them can move against each other in a way which would be considered effortless. Yet he can promise that they've never met prior to this.
Except well, Miguel's not one for playing fair. He throws out his next bunch of webs, watches as the other flips backwards into an alleyway - away from onlookers, good.
This tight knit area is his estate. His and no one else's.
The tides of this fight have changed. Miguel's not chasing anymore, rather he's the one who has more cards on the table.
"I'll have you know I came out of retirement early just to see what you can do."
"Should've stayed retired then-" he retorts, unsheathing his blades on his arms and swinging.
They only walk back, patient in an odd way even if there are marks in the wall where he hits. One hit is enough-
Miguel knows this.
And he thinks his villain knows this too.
The next swing misses but the one other has him finally getting a grip on the guy's suit, right underneath that helmet. Miguel digs his claws in, and can hear the suit underneath ripping before throwing him to the ground.
"Christ," this guy manages to get out, a hand moving up to attempt to remove their helmet. "About time you showed up."
Apparently they're supposed to know each other.
"Right, and you tried to hurt-"
"You tried to claw my helmet in two!"
"Only because you attacked someone first!"
"Because you got in my way!"
"To hurt someone innocent-"
"He was a politician, to hell with innocent!"
Yes, Miguel is aware of how absurd this entire argument sounds. Grade school children, that's what they sound like right now.
"And who are you anyways?" he presses, feels this villain tense under his grasp. Tightens his grip until he hears this guy gasp for a breath.
"Get off," the villain manages to retort. "Christ, all you heroes are the same."
Miguel loosens his grasp, keeps another arm on the other side to make sure they don't run. If they do, he'll have no problems retrieving them again.
This guy shoves him off, quiet, waits a moment before unlocking the part that connects his helmet to the mask and oh.
Oh.
Viktor's hair comes tumbling out like a mess of curls but he's surprisingly smug about it. And there's those gauntlets on this new suit, highlighted by the golds around the reds. They practically gleam under the low light and he swallows. The craftsmanship behind the suit must be insane.
How long has the other man been planning this?
Yet there's an odd glint in his eyes as if this is some sort of party trick. Miguel decides he hates this trick actually.
"Ta-da!" Viktor announces, sheepish yet so unimpressed. "I came out of retirement just like you suggested! I thought it was obvious-"
"Not as a villain-" he snaps. "That's not what I meant-"
A beat.
"You're retired," Miguel tries again. "You- you were retired."
Viktor only nods with a grin growing on his face. "As a hero, yes. Never felt better. And you still haven't told me your name."
Ah.
"I- what? Miguel O'Hara." he finds himself saying even though his head is swimming with even more questions. Where are Viktor's webs? Why the change in- "Now you want to tell me why you're doing any of this?"
The other man has the audacity to laugh at him even if massaging his throat.
"Got more shit done as a villain than as a hero." is Viktor's simple response. "Plus I get paid a bit better. You get to pick your commission, et cetera."
"What?"
"And I get to look cooler." Another shrug and Miguel wants to throttle this man because nothing coming out of his mouth makes any sense. "I think we can both agree on that."
"That is insanity speaking," he retorts.
"You sound like you're such a joy to have at parties," Viktor deadpans, slowly getting up from the ground and massaging his shoulder. "Plus I was working-"
Working? Working on what?
"On catching a politician." Yeah right, as if it were that simple. Miguel doesn't believe a word of any of this. What he doesn't understand is fundamentally the why of any of this.
"Heroes could do with some policy changes, that's all," Viktor explains, extending a hand out for him to grab. "The pension is awful and there's no health insurance. No life insurance either if you die on the job."
"No health-"
"I had him, you know? Until you arrived, thinking I was going to kill someone."
He takes Viktor's hand. Still confused because it seems that this world's Spiderman is the most contradicting person to ever meet.
"You weren't." It's not a question.
Viktor scoffs. "Miguel, do you really think I operate with no morals? Such low expectations for a pensioner like myself."
He replies without missing much of a beat, sarcasm coating each of his words. "Yeah, you sure look it."
"A natural criminal huh." Another tilt of Viktor's head and he's off striding to- that diner again (most likely).
Miguel reaches out, grabs him by the wrist, not enough force to make him stay but he doesn't know why.
"You don't have to be."
A scoff. Now this- villain- pensioner? Won't even look him in the eye nor turn to glare at him. An odd sort of resignation that looms over Viktor's shoulders as the skies turn that heavy blue again. A restrained anger at- him or the world? Miguel isn't sure.
"Viktor, you don't have to do this," he tries again.
The villain - not retired Spiderman - snarls at him. Now there's this ferality in how Viktor looks, the buildings seeming to loom over both of them. Caving inwards as if it's a bubble waiting to burst.
"And if it's the only way to make sure it never happens? What then?" Viktor snaps, tries to pull his wrist out from his grasp. That doesn't happen. "This isn't about me, it's about them-"
"You can barely take care of yourself."
"And you hardly know me-"
And he lets go, watches as Viktor stumbles forward a couple steps seeming so small in that armour even if the red of the suit has never seemed so obvious compared to everything else. In the end the people of this universe are still an enigma but he's learning something new each time.
How this universe has no pensions for heroes - even though most universes don't. How something has broken their Spiderman's need to protect, instead opting to fight against the world itself. They're all details to be aware of.
But he can infer that something terrible has happened before he has arrived. Again, none of his business but he wants to know. It's like an onion to be peeled open layer by layer.
For all Viktor acts, there seems to be this constant draw to find trouble anyways. The man seems set on either getting himself killed or making enemies out of most people but Miguel isn't most people.
All Miguel can hope is that their next meeting won't be as rough.