Note: Not a ton to say, except I'm glad you're all enjoying the twists and turns here. It's been a really good time getting back into writing with this and my Gundam projects, and seeing the various numbers and interest climb has only made that better. So thank you all. Also, that fall is about to begin in earnest. Hang on and enjoy the ride.

As always, I do not own Spider-Man nor any affiliated properties. Please, review, comment, or criticize (you all give me strength and fuel!). Most of all, enjoy!

Rretrograde

Chapter 4

A bunch of Spiders in see-through scrubs had stormed through the portal the Spider Society had opened, and this was perhaps the shortest portal Miles had laid eyes on. So short, he could see the Society HQ on the other side, see other Spider-Docs running around, and other Spiders resting and recovering in beds, tubes and weird, 2099-age tech hooked into them. It looked like his plan would work just as he had hoped it would.

That didn't make the reality of it as it played out any easier. Not seeing the massive red-and-multi-faceted-brown stain Rio had left against the wall and on the floor as the Spiders lifted her onto the collapsible, hovering stretcher they'd brought. Not her cries of pain as she was placed gingerly on her front and pulled into the portal. Miles and Jefferson followed, though both were quickly stopped by another squad of Spider-Docs and Jessica Drew herself.

"You're gonna need this," She handed the blue and red day pass to Jefferson. "She'll be alright, the docs should've already…" Jessica looked back around, to see that they had already slipped a day pass onto Rio's wrist, and nodded. "But listen, I just need you both to-"

"Jesus! What'd you say she got hit with again, kid?" One of the Spider-Docs yelled from the enclosed, elongated half-circle they'd pulled Rio into. Miles could only look at her tear-stained, pained face. Jessica walked up to a small control panel outside the circle.

"You've got scanners, use 'em." She tapped a few buttons and the glass turned utterly opaque, Rio's scream as they started to cut her clothes off around her wounds was cut off by what seemed to be highly advanced noise-cancelling. "Look, Morales and… Captain," Drew began again. "We ARE gonna do everything we can, but I'm just looking to manage expectations here. This place is built for Spiders, and we're just a multiversal superhero group. We're not miracle workers. And you," She pointed at Jefferson "Being here at all is irregular in the-"

"I don't give a shit." Miles cut in, and it was only the stress of the last few minutes, and perhaps a bit of secret agreement with the sentiment, that kept Jefferson from telling his son off for such language. "Remind me, Drew, who was it that put so much effort into trying to kick my ass and imprison me that The Spot got away?" Miles crossed his arms as he waited for an answer.

"…Us." Drew eventually ground out.

"And who was it that kept screaming out my name all over New York, completely blowing my secret identity?"

"The Spot… and Miguel. Us." Drew could see where he was going. "But-"

"And WHY do you think some asshole gunman knew where Spider-Man's parents live?" Miles raised an eyebrow in bitter expectancy.

"Because we helped blow your secret identity." Drew spat out.

"Bingo. This mess is your damn fault. So you're going to do everything you possibly can to save my Mom, and you're gonna give her and my Dad as many day passes as they need so they can stay here until I get back and tell you all it's safe for them to come home. And that'll be a start on making up for what you all have done and tried to do to us. Sound good?"

"Morales-" Drew tried to interject.

"Trick question: I don't care. You're gonna do this, not just because you fucking ought to, but because it's just the right thing to do. And if O'Hara has a problem with that, he can suc-"

"Miguel's not in charge anymore." The stopped Miles' rant in its tracks. "I'm technically in charge provisionally, but… it's been a rough two weeks here, Morales. The Society's been splintering in the wake of what happened back on Earth-1610, and we're currently short on manpower, expertise, and supplies, not to mention Margo's little present to keep us from following you two weeks ago ALSO accidentally shut down the cell systems and a bunch of prisoners escaped…"

Drew took a deep, calming breath. "I was hesitant to let you come here because I didn't want to give you any false hope, since we aren't in the best state to help. But we will do everything we can, for as long as you and your parents need us to. It was just… old habits talking, earlier. Everything you all need, as long as you need it." Drew cautiously set a hand on Miles' shoulder. "You have my word on that, Morales."

Miles clearly hadn't expected that response, and could only look surprised and grateful.

"Thanks, I-"

"Miles?"

Miles spun on his feet at the calling voice, and saw Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie, and Peni as they dragged a cluster of Spider-cells down the way. The prisoners were strange, living-graffiti-style Hardcore-90s variants of an obscure Sinister Six roster; Rhino, Mysterio, Electro, Shocker, some sort of Symbiote whose colors continually shifted, and a Lady Kraven. But it was the Spider-Band that instantly dropped their webs and moved towards him that… He couldn't do it. Couldn't face them then, his emotions so damn high. Miles passed his Dad a look, and while Jefferson clearly didn't approve, he nodded and stepped forward, beginning to run an awkward interference while Miles sprinted through his own dimensional portal as soon as it opened.

He came out in his room, which was as full of bullet-holes as the rest of the apartment. He scrabbled at his desk, pulling his mask on and slapping on his headphones. He tapped furiously, desperately, at his phone.

Suddenly I'm hit!

It's the starkness of the dawn.

And your friends are gone.

And your friends won't come.

So show me where you fit.

Miles took several deep, gasping breaths as he tried to calm down. He was only partially successful. But he had calmed enough at least to turn his attention back to the crushed upper floor wall across the way. He yanked himself over on his webs, and was glad to find the shooter still stuck to the floor under an absolute mound of webbing. He pulled up and began to turn the man, wrapping him up like… well, a spider would wrap a fly.

"So listen, asshole, there's two ways-" Miles began, his panic and need to not have that talk quickly supplanted by rage at the simple sight of this man.

"I ain't telling you anything, kid. I-I can't! What-"

"Oh, never say never, man. We ain't even started yet." Miles fired a blast of webbing over the man's eyes. He'd been thinking in the back of his head since he webbed the shooter down. It wasn't like anything he'd ever done before. But then these were circumstances unlike any he'd had to deal with.

Miles ripped the webbing off the man's face, and for a moment, kept his gaze focused on his own masked, but still clearly angry, face. Then he let the man's head slip, and he instantly started screaming. Understandable, seeing as he was suspended hundreds of feet in the air, hanging off an edge of the Empire State.

"FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck-"
Miles regained the gunman's attention with a few finger snaps in his face.

"So, you trying to make a big name for yourself? Or did someone actually hire you to do this shit?"

"Fuck off! You know what'll happen to me if I say anything? FUCK!" The man's desperate refusal was cut short as he swayed in the breeze and began to panic again.

"You don't seem to get the situation you landed yourself in, asshole. If you'd just taken a shot at me, in costume, we probably wouldn't even be talking like this. Just leave you webbed for the cops." Miles reached out and grabbed the web line holding the man in relative safety. "But you shot up my home. Aimed right for my parents. Blew half my Mom's gut out of her, from the looks of it. So…" Miles squeezed, and the web line broke. The man howled as he dropped, but he didn't fall for long. Miles quickly fired another web line, that snagged the shooter as he dropped maybe a floor or two down.

"You don't fucking get it, Spider-Man-"

"No, you don't fucking get it. You ain't dealing with Spider-Man right now…" Miles reached and slid his mask up, so the man could see his face, see the venom flowing and burning in his eyes at his simmering fury at this man who'd tried to kill his parents, and had maybe succeeded at killing one of them. "You're dealing with me. And I'm frankly kinda at the end of my web here, man. So who'd you rather I lose it on? You? Or whoever it sounds like hired you? Cause those are you only two options right now, and one of those involves Streets and San needing a hose to wash up your sorry was-once-an-ass when they start work tomorrow morning…"

Miles stalked forward at the side of four prison guards, who were escorting him to Wilson Fisk's cell. Fisk. That fridge-sized mother-fu… Miles closed his eyes and took what was supposed to be a calming breath. It didn't do much.

And then they led him to an empty cell.

"Ok, I know white is slimming, but there's NO. FUCKING. WAY it's that-"

Miles stopped short as he heard the cell door close and electronically lock itself behind him. The guards had backed up and drawn their batons and stun guns. "Are you guys for real right now?" He demanded incredulously. Then something on the cot began to ring.

A small, prepaid flip phone. Miles picked it up and answered.

"Well, I guess there is nothing to be said for discretion these days, huh?" The voice that had haunted him almost as much as Johnny Ohnn and Miguel O'Hara sounded over the speaker. "What can I do for you, Spider-Man? Or, would you prefer, Miles Morales?"

"You can tell me why your fridge-looking ass ain't in your cell like it ought to be, for starters." Miles said as he glared back at the guards. "And why the guys who oughta be keeping you in it look ready to throw down."
"Well, that would compromise an extensive federal investigation, and I'm not in that business. Though, did you and your family get the, uh, gift baskets I sen-"

CRACK!

Miles clenched his fist so hard the phone half-exploded, half-atomized between his fingers. He could hear the buzzings and warnings in the cell block as more cells opened, as riot squads moved in and mingled with the prisoners, many of whom he'd probably helped put there in the last year and couple months.

"Where is he?" Miles asked as he turned to face the four guards.

"Wow, you really don't understand the situ-" One of them, a redhead with a honest-to-goodness porn stache, started to say.

"Where. Is. He?" Miles hissed out, electricity flickered to life across his hands and arms.

"Alright gentlemen, you all know the drill." The Warden's voice sounded out over the loudspeaker, and somehow that of all things was the last straw. Miles kicked out with all his strength and broke the cell door off like it was paper. Kicked it so hard it smashed the four stooges back into the wall, left them screaming as flesh tore and bones broke. The first riot squad rushed forward, but Miles met the first descending baton with a forceful block and broke it clean in half over his arm. Before he punched straight through the riot shield and helmet and sent the man blasting back as the venom FLARED and arced between the rest of the squad.

Another riot officer desperately stood and swung, but Miles ducked and kicked, not even with all his strength, and shattered half the shield. And probably a lot of the man's arm, from the further cracking and screaming. Miles swung a punch at him for good measure, the plastic of the helmet and the face shield cracked and shattered, flew into the man's face and eyes, and he collapsed down into a wailing, bleeding mess. The small army of thugs, in uniforms and in jumpsuits, stalled.

"WHERE IS HE?!"

Special Agent Nicky Turano honestly couldn't believe that this was how he seemed set to spend the majority of his time in federal law enforcement for the foreseeable future. Standing in a penthouse hotel hallway, getting a known crime boss and supervillain out of the cell he deserved to be in. Because it was Wilson Fucking Fisk, and he had either enough money or enough dirt on anyone to get anything he wanted.

Turano was almost glad when he heard the elevator doors creak open. Before he remembered that no one was supposed to be in for another day, and the elevators weren't allowed to go to Fisk's floor anymore. Then the doors practically exploded outward, and Turano just numbly watched as red-and-black gloved hands reached through the shattere doorway. Numbly watched as Spider-Man stalked into the hallway like a God-damn supervillain.

"There are two ways this goes, so listen good, because I'm only saying it once," Spider-Man's voice sounded loud, clear, and pissed. "Way One: You corrupt dipshits point me to the right door and open it for me. I'll do what I came here to, and be on my way." He hadn't stopped walking closer. Everyone else in the hallway was radioing in and getting ready to draw sidearms, and Turano just had to shake his head at the fact that he was apparently the only agent in the building with a brain. "Way the Second," Spider-Man said, casually raising two fingers, utterly unconcerned as guns started to come up and warnings started to get shouted his way. He just raised his voice to talk over them.

"WAY. THE. SECOND: you dipshits try to stop me, and I put you through the walls and don't see a second of trouble. Cause once you're all out of traction, I've got a hit man and an actual prison-full of people who'll testify against you and place you as accessories to Conspiracy to Commit and Attempted Murder in the First Degree, to say nothing of corruption. And I frankly don't give a shit which way you all pick, cause I've really just had it. So fucking pick one, and let's get on with it…."

The ONE guy who'd had the good sense to not draw on him slid the keycard into the lock on the double-doorway, and Miles somehow got even more pissed as he stepped into the massive hotel penthouse suite. One night in this room probably cost more than both his parents made in a year, and Fisk had been living it up in here for who knew how long?

Miles' eyes quickly found the still-inhumanly-large square of a man that was Wilson Fisk, and his eyes narrowed further as the sound of silverware clinking against good, expensive plate hit his ears.

"So, you actually got Norton to talk?" Fisk spoke through whatever was in his mouth, and muddled it a bit further with a gulp from a glass. Miles could see the wine bottle just peeking out. It was old. "I'm impressed, though," and Fisk turned around, stopping just short enough that Miles could see a full fucking steak dinner on his plate. He could also hear that Fisk WAS legitimately impressed. "Getting Norton and Warden Jacobs to spill their guts? But, oh me oh my, what are we going to be seeing in the papers tomorrow, Spid-"

"Shut your mouth, you fucking fridge-sized punk-ass." And Miles had to bask in the sheer shock of everyone around him at his utter dismissal of Fisk. He got the sense that even Peter hadn't dug at Fisk's figure, or at least hadn't done it in a while. "You sent a man, to kill my parents? To kill them in their own home?" Miles had to take a breath. It was not at all meant to calm him. "What the actual fuck is WRONG with you, man?!"

And at that, Fisk's expression went from surprised, and maybe even a little entertained, to angry.

"I almost had them back. I could see them in that portal. And you, Spider-Man, took them from me. Ag-"

"Oh, SHUT UP!" Miles honestly couldn't believe it. "If I have to hear one more supervillain rant about how they somehow have the right to fuck up my life because they refuse to accept their OWN RESPONSIBILITY for how bad their supervillain lives turned out? You don't want to know what I'll do, man…" And then Miles turned, as his Spider-Sense screamed at him. He fired a web shot at the agent behind him, who'd been reaching for his gun. And just because he was utterly out of patience, he fired another web line.

He yanked the man off his feet, tore him into his own hands. At which point Miles spun and threw him. Threw him through the adjoining wall that separated the penthouse from the other suites.

"Jesus, Spidey…" the ONE smart agent whispered, looking terrified through the hole. Miles turned back, and while Fisk didn't look cowed, he at least looked… uncertain. Every other agent had the good sense to step back from the two of them.

"So, what are you here to do to me, Spider-Man?" He asked.

"Honestly, I ain't fully decided yet. But that's only because my Mom's in surgery, and she and Dad are somewhere even you, with all your money and power and blackmail and bullshit can't reach. And no news is good news for now, but that could change fast, Willy." And oh, how Miles adored the nerve that jumped in Fisk's jaw at 'Willy.' "But that's the other thing. This,"

He tapped the Spider-suit. "This means something. It stands for something, and I know that's an alien concept to you. But if I had to do what I wanted to, what I may need to do to your fridge-ass… You don't get to do that. You don't get to take my Mom, and make me sully this suit. This symbol. So nah, I ain't here to kick your sorry ass and maybe come back to kill you if I gotta…"

Miles tore his mask off, then shifted and slid the top of his suit off, tossing both to the floor beside him. "I am."

*Throws back my robe and hood like The Greater Power from mid-90s WWF, smiling with cartoonish levels of Wrestling CEO Villainy*

IT WAS ME, AUSTIN! IT WAS A BACK IN BLACK EXPY ALL ALONG, AUSTIN!

*JR at the folding table beside the wrestling ring*

"Aw, son of a BITCH!"

In all seriousness, that wasn't how the project started, but that was what it kinda quickly kinda evolved into as it shaped in my head. Like, the emotional tone of Retrograde the song being a perfect fit for where Miles would be at emotionally both during and after BTSV in regards to Gwen and Peter B. and Peni, was the baseline thought. But then I thought "What else could he get up to in that really-not-great emotional state of thinking about his friends' betrayals and listening to Retrograde , just, ALL THE TIME to try and cope? Oooh, what if his secret identity got revealed in the last big battle? OOOOOHHHH, and what if-" And here we are. Toss another Back In Black expy onto the pile. It's a big pile, and it is good.

That said, I did try and build this out to be a bit different. Miles already having the assassin on hand to interrogate, and the big fight not happening in the prison are the biggest pacing shifts. Fisk living it up in a penthouse surrounded by either corrupt or blackmailed feds, rather than in prison, IS lifted just RIGHT from Daredevil Season 3, I'll admit that. It's a GREAT plot point, one worth stealing as much as possible, imo. But I also realized that Spiderverse Fisk DOES have an even more personal reason to want to kill Miles' family (what with the fight and the destruction of the collider costing him his wife and son AGAIN), and that Miles can call that out as BULLSHIT. And just be so SICK of it between Fisk and Spot both blaming him for the natural results of being a supervillain and helping a supervillain with mad science. And once I had those ideas for that extra emotional angle that I could really only justify thanks to the Spiderverse setting, I HAD to put them in.

It was also equally fun writing Miles GO OFF on Jessica Drew and the Spider Society, only to get a quick dose of reality in that these people ARE all trying to be proper superheroes again, and of course will help him and his parents. This version of Jessica Drew just isn't one for sugar-coating, and everyone's still shaking off how Miguel ran things. And, like, she isn't angry with Miles for pointing out both her and the Society's mistakes; she's angry with herself and the Society, that he can list those mistakes at all. It is, again, a tragic failure of heroism on display. And escaped prisoners, huh... Wonder if that'll come back around in another story... Eh, probably nothing to worry about...

Next time, it's… well, I can't say "fight" because that implies it's a battle of even rough equals… Beating. Yeah, next time it's a beating. Or a beatdown. Those are good descriptors…

I'm also thankfully beating out COVID slowly but surely (3 cheers for vaccines and boosters! GET YOURS, PEOPLE!), but that also means I've got a lot of part-time office work to eventually catch up on (our bookkeeping software also locked us out due to an cancelled credit card on file and a missing password for the main admin account; it shouldn't be as hard as it is to PAY people for software in this day and age), so updates won't be as super-frequent as they've been, but they aren't gonna stop entirely, either.