"Is this a stupid joke?" Miles bit out, walking towards the edge of the rooftop. "Fisk is in jail ."

" Of course not, " the person on the other end cooed as if he was a child needing to be calmed. " No one wants to waste anyone else's time in this business. Come by as soon as you can, and he'll see you ."

"Well, hang on-" the phone call ended. He glared down at the phone, teeth gritted. His phone beeped as a message came through. It was an address.

If this was a joke, it wasn't funny. If this was reality, it was his worst nightmare. If it was a trap, well… wouldn't be the first today.

Reluctantly taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he went back to his backpack and pocketed the phone. He unwrapped the webs around his hand and pulled out his small first aid kit, doing the best with what he had. It wasn't much, but hiding the bandages under his glove would at least hide his temporary weakness.

His backpack stuffed away again, he took off swinging with the one webshooter he had.

The address led to a shiny, tall, pretentious building in the middle of downtown. He didn't bother suppressing his scowl at the sight of it. Nevertheless, he let himself fall into a roll and walk into the lobby. The lobby was massive, ceiling stretched high above - ten stories of empty air for no other reason but to prove his wealth.

He ignored the astonished looks following his every move, keeping his head held high.

The lady at the desk barely even blinked at the sight of him. "Here to see Mr. Fisk?" She drawled, typing rapidly into her computer.

"Yeah. Turns out I have an appointment," he said, barely erasing the sneer in his voice. There were security guards everywhere, more than one staring directly at him. He crossed his arms and stared right back.

She pointed with her thumb. "Take the fourth elevator on your right. He'll be right with you."

He nodded and strolled over to the elevator.

I'm not afraid of him , he repeated like a mantra in his head, trying to ooze self-confidence as he walked past all the onlookers.

He stepped into the elevator alone. When he turned to the buttons he found only two. Up or down. He pressed up and leaned back against the wall at the back, allowing himself a small moment to grip his head in panic before straightening up. He had this.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened wide to reveal a big open space. There was a desk over on the far side surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the New York skyline. There was nothing in between him and the desk to warrant the waste of space. His whole apartment could fit in here three times over.

As he strode forward, the chair turned around slowly to reveal the pudgy-headed, square-bodied Fisk in all his glory.

Miles stopped a few feet away from the desk, crossing his arms and glaring at Fisk. "What do you want?" he spit out.

Fisk grinned at him, shark-like. " Miles Morales , the amazing Spider-Man. I never got the chance to… congratulate you on taking down my plans last year."

"How do you know who I am ?" he almost yelled, taking an aggressive step forward, his hands dropped to his side in tight fists.

Fisk was clearly reveling in the moment. "You got sloppy." He leaned forward as if he was going to share a secret with him. "Don't you wonder how they kidnapped you all those months ago? You got sloppy, and then word got around."

Miles flinched back like he had been struck, chest heaving. He wanted to deny everything about this, but he knew it was too late. This was happening. His worst enemy knew his greatest weakness.

Fisk pulled out a folder from under his desk, sliding it towards him. "One little detail and everything can be revealed," he taunted.

Miles thwipped a web at the folder, snatching it up without moving any closer. He flicked through it quickly. He wasn't lying. There was his address, his school's address, emergency contact details, what dorm number he lived in, a map of the campus, what hospital his Mom worked at and her salary, the hospital he was at after he was kidnapped, Detective Smith and his notes from their interviews. It went on and on, so many pages of notes on everything about him.

"Why hasn't anyone attacked us yet?" He was whispering, but Fisk heard him anyway.

Fisk absently waved his hand, "Only so many of us are aware, and only so many of us care. Owl doesn't understand the threat you are, Miles Morales. But I do. I know that even though you're only fifteen you are powerful ."

Miles narrowed his eyes at him, "Stop trying to butter me up and get to the point."

"Simple. I want you to take down OWL for me."

He straightened up, closing the folder but keeping it by his side. "Who's OWL?"

Fisk's grin only sharpened, and he regretted asking immediately. He'd only revealed how ignorant he was to the threat coming down on him like a hammer.

"My rival, one could say. He tried to fill the vacuum you left with my arrest. He's established himself well enough to be causing me problems, and you -" Fisk gestured to Miles - "you are what he's trying to create… to stop me."

Miles digested the information, thinking back to the laboratory. "... He's trying to create enhanced people to, what, challenge you? That's why he's kidnapped so many people with powers?"

"Precisely. You understand."

Miles gave him a piercing look, "So what do you want with me?"

"Take him down. I'll supply you with all the information you need, locations, weaknesses, and so on. I'll keep him from killing your family. I know what he did to Jefferson today," he answered. "We're both family men after all."

Right, the whole reason for the collider in the first place . To bring his dead family back to life. It was never going to work the way it was intended, but his dedication to making it a reality had been staggering.

"Then what?" Miles demanded, throwing his arms out, "What happens when OWL is gone and it's back to just you and me?"

Fisk shrugged. "I suppose I could offer you a scholarship. Full ride, anywhere in the world." He leaned forward. "Your grades prove it: you're smart. If you can direct it elsewhere, stay out of my business, even focus on other 'mob bosses' if you so foolishly insist on chasing your death… I can be generous. We can compromise."

He couldn't answer, just staring at Fisk. His tongue was locked in his throat, choking down any sound he could make. Fisk wanted to bribe him. Fisk could protect his family from the Skeleton Guy. Fisk knew everything about him, down to the most minute detail.

Fisk smiles, shark-like. There's blood in the water. "But that can all wait for another day."

"Why are you helping me?" he whispered.

"I'm a businessman. We have a common enemy. It's very simple math."

Fisk pulled out another folder, holding it out to him. "Here, we can get started right now. This is another Owl facility. I'll have more waiting for you when you're done with that one. Rest assured, your parents will have around-the-clock protection from tonight."

Miles reluctantly took it from him, knowing full well that he had signed a deal with the devil. He just wasn't sure what the full cost on his soul would be.

Walking out the door, folders in hand, Miles couldn't shake the feeling that he had never left the dark cell of the facility. He was just a mouse in a maze.

Picking through the already-healing stab wound to get pieces of the broken webshooter out of his hand was a long and painful process. Miles has laid his first-aid supplies around him and leaned against his desk drawers, towel on his lap to catch any blood. His suit was still on except for his mask, which he had haphazardly thrown on the desk.

His spider-sense kept giving a dull warning like he was being watched, but the curtains were closed and there hadn't been any movement around him. His nerves were probably just fried, but knowing that didn't make the process any easier.

He was hyper-aware of the folders on his desk, too. Their very presence put him on edge, a harsh reminder of his reality.

There was a click and Miles had webbed whatever had made the sound to the wall. He blinked: oh crap .

"Miles?" Ganke tentatively called, half inside the room with his hand stuck to the light switch.

He quickly shifted his stuff to the floor. "Sorry!" Grabbing some web solvent from his top desk drawer, he opened the door wider so Ganke could finally get inside. He locked the door before beginning the process of spreading the precious liquid across his bindings.

"You're, uh, really jumpy," Ganke commented.

Miles's eyes drifted over to the folders on his desk, the USB on top of them. When he snapped back to attention and continued dissolving the webs he knew Ganke had seen what he had been looking at.

"Long day," he said in lieu of explanation, stepping back as the last of it dissolved.

Ganke finally dropped his bag and surveyed the room. He turned back to Miles. "Are you okay?"

He couldn't help but tense. "I'm fine," he bit out.

"Look, you getting stabbed in the hand has gone viral. Everyone's seen it, including me. That guy with the sword got you pretty good." Ganke had such a worried look on his face, but it only fueled the raging fire inside of him.

"Ganke," he hissed, "I'm fine. I told you that. The video made it look worse than it is. Seriously."

Ganke didn't take the cue, giving him a disbelieving look much to his chagrin.

"No, I saw how you struggled to get that sword out of your hand, stop lying to me! That was a lot of blood. Don't act so, so-"

"So what ?"

"Nonchalant! I know you, I've seen you in battle. You would have been at least whimpering in pain or something before you were kidnapped. Not to mention how shell-shocked you were afterwards. Even with that mask on I know you." Ganke exploded, gesturing towards him. "And you've been hiding your hand ever since I got into the room-"

Miles lifted his hand, essentially shoving it in Ganke's face. "Is that what you wanted to see? A half-healed stab wound? It'll be healed in a few days anyway, what does it matter?"

Miles turned away, plucking the bandages from his first aid kit and beginning to wrap it up. Ganke followed him. "You should be taking this more seriously! You got beaten in your first public fight, just, talk about it. You used to give me play-by-plays of being Spider-Man and now-"

"Is that all this is to you? Your fucking entertainment?!" Miles yelled, abandoning the task of wrapping his hand.

"What? No!" His face was so crestfallen that Miles almost regretted his words. "I was trying to say that you just- you're not dealing with your issues. You're snappy and skittish and I just want to help-"

"You try being happy and joke-y and- and whatever after what I went through! Oh, I'm so sorry that I'm not thinking about other people's feelings when I'm trying to take down the people who used my body like a playground!" Miles shouldered past Ganke, grabbed his backpack and haphazardly started shoving stuff into it.

"I don't care if you're being an asshole! I just want you to be ok and you're not."

Miles grabbed the folders and put them in his backpack, then grabbed his mask and shoved it back on. Ganke grabbed his hand, stopping him. "Please, I can handle hearing about it."

Miles finally looked him in the eyes. Tears were welling up in Ganke's eyes, he looked desperate. "No, you can't. In fact, how about you stay the hell away from me until I've dealt with this, yeah? I don't need a 'guy in the chair' whose biggest credential is hacking a library's database."

He ripped his hand out of Ganke's grip and climbed out the window without looking back. "I hope your Dad gets better soon," he heard Ganke say. Soft. Quiet. Like he expected Miles to have leapt away already.

For a moment, he hesitated. The smoldering coals left in him cried out for him to apologize. To go back and repair the relationship with the only person who had a chance of understanding what he was going through.

A bigger part of him knew that he had to keep Ganke out of danger. If OWL thought he didn't have any friends, there were no friends to target. One less person to lose.

He jumped away, blinking away his own tears.

In civilian clothes, he used his key to let himself into his home. He could hear the TV in the other room playing something on a low volume and his parents having a hushed conversation.

Purposefully he closed the door loud enough for them to realize he was home, dropping his bag by the door and walking into the living area. His injured hand was stuffed into his hoodie, out of sight.

"Hey Miles, wasn't sure if you were going to be coming home this weekend or not," his Dad greeted him, sitting up.

"Had to make sure you were ok," he shrugged, walking around to sit with them. Only to pause at the sight of the cast. His foot was propped up onto the coffee table with a pillow and the red cast extended from his toes to a third of the way up his shin. A pair of crutches leaned against the couch behind him.

It had been one thing to see him in an ambulance. It was another to know that his being Spider-Man had led to this 'warning' shot. To see it in person? How his Dad looked slightly out of it from pain meds? Yeah, that was when it struck him just how much danger they were all in.

He blinked himself out of his thoughts and gave them a reassuring smile. They had been watching him closely in those few seconds, and he knew he had to cover for it quickly. "Exciting day out in the field, huh?"

Mom patted the couch cushion next to her and he obliged, letting her wrap a blanket around him and generally fuss over him.

"Just a part of the job. I'll be okay," Dad reassured, throwing a hand around his shoulders.

He relaxed into it. "I guess so."

Mom turned the volume back up on the documentary they were watching, and he let himself forget for just a few hours the threat hanging over all of them.

As he got ready for bed, brushing his teeth, words drifted through from the living room.

"Did you see his face when he saw my cast?" His dad whispered, clearly not realizing that he could hear them.

"Yeah… I've been reading some books and I think that was a flashback. I know we haven't pushed yet, but he won't talk to us. I think we need to get him a therapist."

There was the sound of some rustling like they had shifted closer together. "Can we afford that?"

"We'll use some of our savings if we need to. It'll be okay. If he needs it, he needs it."

There was a hum of agreement and then the volume of the tv went up a bit. He took a shuddering breath, wiping away a stray tear.

Miles was fine. Sure, he had been kidnapped. But he starved himself . That was a choice he made. Sure, he had been prepared to use a gun to kill people if it meant escaping, but was that really such a big deal? He had been thinking of giving up being Spider-Man, but every Spider-person probably had at some point. He was… he was fine. He was handling things just fine , there was no need for anyone to worry about him.

No one was buying that he was okay, though. He had to put on a better mask. He had to be okay.

He spat the toothpaste out and went to bed, determined to prove it.

The next folder led him to a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen.

Backpack safely stored a block away, Miles approached the warehouse cautiously. This warehouse looked newer - like they had actually put some money into making it look nice. It starkly contrasted against the last two, which had been a phone call away from being condemned.

Creeping close to the edge of the neighboring building, he spotted two people with guns guarding the back door. In the moonless evening, the only thing illuminating them was a small light above the door.

He slowly moved around the perimeter, keeping himself low and hidden, trying to find a better way in but finding none. In the renovations, it looked like they had removed all the windows- all but one large roller door and this backdoor.

Inconvenient, but he could work with this.

With a small running start, he jumped across to the warehouse, landing with a roll. Pausing for a moment to see if the sound had alerted the guards, he positioned himself above the back door to figure out how best to get rid of them.

An outright fight could get loud quickly, alerting anyone inside. If they so much as grabbed their walkie-talkies on their belt, he could lose the element of surprise. He needed every advantage he could gain.

A simple but effective plan came to mind.

He camouflaged and walked down the wall, crouching down when he was just above the light. Grinning, he tapped the one to the left on their shoulder.

"What's up, Dave?" the left guy said to the guy on the right.

Right guy - Dave - turned to him. "What?"

"You tapped my shoulder. What do you want?"

Dave gave him a look like he was insane. "I didn't poke you. You're imagining things, dude. I told you to stop drinking so much."

Left Guy huffed, leaning back against the door. "I did stop, and I'm not hallucinating. I told you that I hadn't had any for, like, a week."

"Whatever, dude," Dave grumbled.

They both turned back to the alleyway, shuffling about until they were comfortable. He waited until the count of ten before he poked Left Guy again.

"Dude! Stop doing that!" Left Guy shouted, whirling around to face Dave.

Dave threw his free hand up in the air, "I ain't done nothing! You knock it off!"

"I didn't do jack. Keep your hands to yourself, asshole," Left Guy spat.

Now with folded arms and hackles raised, Left Guy and Dave pointedly positioned themselves with their backs to each other. Perfect. He shuffled further up the wall and to the side, directly above Dave.

In the blink of an eye, he had his mouth webbed shut, arms pinned to his side and was yanked up onto the rooftop. He squirmed, but was blissfully silent. Success.

Crawling back down the wall. He couldn't help his gleeful smile as he tapped Left Guy's shoulder again.

"Dave! I told you…" his words drifted off as he saw that the spot previously occupied by Dave was empty. He slowly looked around, gun up, scanning his environment. His hand was shaking.

Not wanting to prolong this interaction, he put Left Guy out of his misery and webbed him up, leaving him lying next to Dave.

Rolling his shoulders, he allowed himself a moment to stretch. Show time.

Lightly dropping to the ground, he tried the door - only to find it locked. Annoyed, he hesitated only a second before giving it a good tug with his strength, breaking the door's lock. At some point he needed to learn how to pick locks, but today wasn't that day.

Slipping into the pitch-black darkness, he had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust. While he did, he stepped closer to the wall and climbed up high, blending into the shadows.

There was nowhere else to hide. It was completely empty except for a stack of boxes in the center of the room. He didn't let that lull him into a false sense of security, though. As the first warehouse had bitterly demonstrated, whoever OWL was they were willing to pay top dollar to hide their illegal experiments in inventive ways.

With no movement, no suspicious cracks in the floor and nothing setting off his spider-sense, he tentatively stepped back onto level ground and warily approached the boxes.

They were filled to the brim with folders and loose bits of paper. He picked up the closest piece of paper, flipping it over. It was a profile of a person. Of… Jasmine.

He skimmed it quickly. It was like Fisk's folder, but less detailed. Her address. Her school. Her grades. Her powers. What part of her DNA controls it. How it can be applied to non-enhanced people. They had figured out her powers completely, and she hadn't been at the facility very long. All they had needed was a couple of samples, by the looks of it.

Yet, they still hadn't figured out his. There must be a different mechanism behind his abilities-

A sound of a lever snapped him back to his surroundings. He melted into invisibility, putting the paper back into the box, and watched as smoke filled the warehouse from a new gap in the middle of the floor.

Stepping back towards the wall, Miles cautiously crouched lower and went invisible. He was more grateful than ever for his new air filter. The smoke slowly dissipated, lights coming on in a blinding flash of light. As he blinked rapidly to adjust, eyes squinted, he nearly missed the gap in the floor beginning to widen.

A platform emerged with several guards and a guy with a fishbowl on his head. The platform smoothly clicked into place, so seamless he wouldn't have thought there was an empty space beneath the floor.

Fishbowl Guy was covered head to toe in a padded green suit with a purple cape flowing down his back. As nervous as Miles was, laughter bubbled up and threatened to alert them to his position. Of all the costumes to wear, that was what this guy had chosen?

What really drew his attention, though, was that all the guards had gas masks on. Yep, this had been a trap. If it was Fisk's design was a different question.

"Um, Mysterio sir? Spider-Man isn't… here," one of the guards said, looking at Fishbowl guy - Mysterio - expectantly.

"The cameras showed he came in. He has to be here somewhere. He must have used his camouflage or whatever it is," Mysterio dismissed, walking further into the room. "He might just be passed out somewhere invisible. I want a thorough sweep."

Miles's fingers started to tingle as he stretched his invisibility beyond its limits. He took a long, slow breath, willing his racing heart to calm. There wasn't anyone to rescue, only evidence to collect. He would rather be alive and safe than be captured again in the pursuit of some papers.

His mind made up, he quickly started moving back towards the door, footsteps light and quiet. The guards were scattered everywhere in the warehouse, making long sweeping motions with their legs as they attempted to search for a presumed invisible Spider-Man. It would be relatively easy to sneak out unnoticed.

There was a clicking noise, and his spider-sense immediately flared. He had been spotted.

"Got you!"

Quicker than he could move, chains sprung out of the walls and the floor wrapping around his whole body and forcing him to the floor. On his knees, gasping for breath, Miles strained against them. The chains creaked ominously but refused to break.

"Welcome, Miles, so glad to host you this fine evening," Mysterio taunted, moving around him so they were face to face.

He swallowed, "The feeling isn't mutual."

Mysterio laughed, stepping closer to him. "I'm surprised you're even awake! I didn't think it would take so little time for you to become immune to my little concoction. I'm so glad I installed heat sensors into this thing-" he tapped against the stupid fishbowl- "otherwise you might have gotten away after all."

He tilted Miles's head side to side, and a shiver of disgust went down his spine. "You really are an interesting specimen."

Quick as a flash, though still battling against the chains determined to bury him into the ground, Miles whipped a leg out and swiped Mysterio's out from under him. He went down with an undignified yelp, denting the fishbowl with a comedic ' pop '.

All this high-tech fancy equipment and the fishbowl was made out of plastic . Miles couldn't contain his grin at that.

Mysterio got back up, brushing himself off. Miles could feel his glower even through the opaque fishbowl. Mysterio wound up, and all Miles could do was brace himself for the punch.

The blow hit him square in the side of the face, catching his mask on a stray straight edge and ripping it. Miles blinked the stars out of his eyes, swallowing the taste of iron.

His jaw was grabbed again and tilted to the side. "Ah, I see what you've done. A filter. I see you caught on after all. No matter." Mysterio grabbed it, crushing a section between his fingers and ripping it away.

"Use the second vial, I think it's time we test it out," Mysterio ordered the guards, taking a few steps back.

Miles desperately tried to wrench himself free, straining harder as his spider-sense grew more and more insistent. He knew he was about to get tortured all over again! He didn't need the terrifying reminder!

The smell of bug spray confirmed his worst fears. The world began to tilt, growing an otherworldly feeling, even as his spider-sense's screaming pressure made him want to drill a hole in his skull.

He couldn't battle the chains any longer. He lost his footing and crashed to the ground, barely avoiding braining himself on the concrete. His throat began aching, and it took him a moment to realize it was from his own screaming.

There was a crash, and shouts of alarm quickly followed. A gun went off, the bullet embedding itself a few meters away from Miles. As the smoke began to clear, his spider-sense slowly easing, all that he could see from his tilted angle were red boots.

Red boots that made quick work of the guards. Mysterio made a disgruntled, frustrated sound before turning tail and running out the now-open back door. Miles made an aborted effort to try and wrench his arm out to web Mysterio to the floor but failed miserably.

The room went blissfully quiet, with only the occasional groan letting him know the guards weren't dead. A few moments later and the chains around him finally eased and retracted.

Miles quickly ripped them off of him, scrambling to his feet. His nerves on edge, he could hardly stop himself from flickering between visible and invisible. His chest heaved and he struggled to stay upright with black dots swimming across his vision. "Thank… you…" he gasped out, finally looking at his rescuer.

Daredevil. Shit.

He forced himself to straighten up as Daredevil approached him. "What happened here?" He demanded.

"It was- was a trap," Miles explained, blinking the last of the dots out of his vision. "I got a tip-off, and it led here, but they were expecting me."

Daredevil gritted his teeth, "Who were they working for?"

"I don't know," Miles reluctantly answered. "Probably the same people who, uh, who kidnapped me."

Daredevil looked him over critically. Miles couldn't help the feeling that he had failed the assessment. "You're okay?"

Miles shrugged, "As good as I can be."

His eyes seemed to narrow on him, "Go home. You clearly don't know what you're doing."

"Wha- that's not fair!" Miles yelled, outraged. "I would have escaped on my own! He just- he's hacked my spider-sense or something."

"This is the second time I've had to rescue you because you got in over your head. You're not ready to face these threats." Daredevil said, voice cold and unsympathetic.

Except I have no choice in the threats I face , he internally raged. It wasn't my fault that Owl decided to kidnap me, or that they discovered my identity. It wasn't my choice to be basically blackmailed into an alliance with Fisk.

I can't stop now.

"I can't just look the other way when people are in danger," he bit out, knowing it was only half the story.

Daredevil seemed to know that too. He stepped into Miles's space, looking down at him like he was a small child. "Go. Home."

Curled up on the couch, comfy pajamas on, it was easier to relax and forget about everything that was happening. Lightly dozing in the corner spot, the background noise of the TV was the perfect white noise.

Until, abruptly, it wasn't.

" Breaking news! " the TV journalist chirped, " In Times Square we have a man climbing a building. Let's turn to our reporter, Sam, on the scene ."

Miles blearily opened his eyes. "Thanks, Jen. As you can see there's a guy climbing onto the billboard behind the Red Steps here in Time Square. He appears to be wearing some sort of fur coat and- hang on- he's started speaking. "

"- New York! " the guy shouted, his voice loud enough to be heard even from a distance. " I, Kravinoff, have a challenge for the protector of the city, Spider-Man! "

Miles sat up straighter, all thoughts of sleep disappearing in a snap. " I am the mightiest hunter in the world! And I will prove it! In forty-eight hours the hunt will begin in this very spot! "

The cameraman slowly zoomed in on Kravinoff, enough for Miles to see that he had yellow, cat-like eyes. " If you win, New York is all yours. If I win, I hang your hand on my wall next to my other hunts ."

Kravinoff's eyes spotted the camera, and for a moment it felt like he was speaking directly to Miles as he continued. " If you refuse to participate, I will reveal your secret identity to the entire world before I hunt down your family and friends instead. "

No!

Kravinoff took something off of his belt and threw it down, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

The news continued on, but all he could hear was the sound of his heart in his ears racing like a rabbit's. He couldn't breathe, every breath felt like he was straining against a truck.

Already he had Owl coming after him, wanting to use him again. Wanting to use his body. To hollow him out until he was a husk. Already he was having to work with Fisk, the man who killed his predecessor in cold blood, the mob boss of the city.

But now? Now another one? Wasn't he facing enough?

"Miles?" He heard distantly but he was curling in on himself, hunched over and desperate to take a full breath. He could feel his hands flickering into invisibility, following his desire to just hide.

How was he supposed to face another one? He couldn't face another one. He didn't even know who this guy was and he was already threatening his whole life. He couldn't assume it was a bluff. He couldn't. If Fisk knew, there was every chance this Kravinoff guy did too.

All because he had swung into a cloud of fog. All because he had stupidly assumed it was innocuous. All of this because he had powers he hadn't even asked for and now bore the brunt of responsibility for.

A hand touched his back and he flinched away, electricity dancing up his arm as his venom strike prepared to protect himself in his vulnerable state.

"Miles. Mijo. Breathe." It was his mom. He desperately tried to take a breath but it was like his chest had caved in. Was he dying? He was going to pass out. He couldn't pass out, not when he had to protect them.

"Breathe with me," his Dad was crouched in front of him, carefully not touching him. He took an exaggerated breath in, and Miles tried desperately to follow suit.

Slowly, slowly the dots at the edge of his vision faded away. Slowly he was able to take a breath in without feeling like his chest was caving in. Tentatively his Dad put a hand on his knee, finally safe to touch him again without getting hurt.

He sniffled pathetically, using the back of his wrist to wipe away some stray tears.

His Dad seemed to hesitate, before quietly saying, "You're Spider-Man, aren't you?"

Too exhausted to be any more afraid, all Miles could do was numbly nod.

Mom, who had been sitting next to him, whispered quietly, "Oh, Miles…" She wrapped a hand around him, softly encouraging him to lean against her chest like he was five again. His chin quivered and he couldn't stop the sobs that wrenched their way out of him.

"I'm s- s-sorry ," he hiccuped out between sobs. She only wrapped her hands around him even tighter.

"I'm so proud of you," his Dad said softly. When Miles managed to blink some tears out of his eyes and look at his Dad's face, he knew he wasn't lying.

Sandwiched between them, the dam finally broke. He let himself wail, crying over everything that had happened. All the torture he had endured, the stress, the looks, the pain… Exhausted, he couldn't fight the sleep that quickly enveloped him.

Jefferson watched as Rio softly stroked Miles's hair, the hair that had grown thicker without a haircut in months. His breathing had finally evened out, but even in sleep, he looked exhausted. The lines under his eyes were dark, and his face was still tensed up.

"When did you figure it out?" Rio asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Jefferson took a moment to answer, watching the rise and fall of Miles's chest. "About a week after he came back from the hospital," he finally said. "Spider-Man hadn't been seen since before Miles disappeared, the precinct had been talking about it. As much as some of them complain… when he would show up to a scene you at least knew you would get home without being injured that day."

He took a deep breath. "I… looked into his room when he was sleeping, just to check on him, y'know, and a flicker of light went down his arm. His fingers went kinda…invisible while having breakfast a few days later. And all the kids at that… facility tended to only have one enhancement. Except one. It wasn't hard to piece things together after that."

Rio gently took Miles's hand, extending his left hand into the light. It was wrapped in a layer of cotton bandages that were falling apart.

Taking the cue, he loosened it up the rest of the way and took it off. Sure enough, there was a healing wound between his middle and ring finger that was so straight it looked like a surgeon had cut into it. Flipping it over, the wound was replicated on the reverse side.

Pulling the sleeve of his shirt down, the raised lines of another scar extended across his wrist. Miles had been cagey about his body, covering it up as much as he could, since coming back home. It was easier to not think about what he had been through with no real signs of it. This scar had signs of stitches, but they were sloppy and uneven. Like the person putting them in hadn't cared enough to take their time.

Jefferson gently pulled the sleeve back into place and put the hand back where it was before. Even though he hadn't needed any more confirmation, it solidified it.

"What do we do now?" Rio finally asked.

"... Miles wouldn't be so scared if he thought Kravinoff was lying. We don't have his abilities. I have my gun but it might not be enough. Especially now that I'm injured." He gestured towards the crutches leaning against the back of the couch.

"We can't just let him go and get himself killed," Rio pleaded.

"You and I have both seen him in battle. He's… capable." Jefferson admitted reluctantly.

Rio pressed her forehead against Miles's. "We can't let him."

"We might not have a choice. He's fifteen. He's not going to stand idly by." He hesitated. "It's not just him we have to think about either. There's a fourth person we have to think about here."

Light streamed through a gap in the curtain, falling onto his face and slowly waking him up. Resisting the urge to turn over and fall back asleep, he slowly sat up, being careful not to agitate his left hand.

He was still on the couch in the living room, though there were two blankets tucked neatly in around him and the pillow from his bedroom for his head. He slowly eased himself up, propping the pillow up.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, yawning. When he was finally awake enough, his eyes strayed to the coffee table and found a glass of water waiting for him. He picked it up and downed it all as he realized how parched he was.

He leaned back, the empty cup still in hand, and sighed. He knew he would have to face Mom and Dad about him being Spider-Man, but in this quiet moment before he had to face them, it was nice to just bask in the sunshine.

Shuffling in the kitchen finally made him have to face reality. He detangled himself from his cocoon, put the glass on the coffee table and wandered in. Both of them were sitting at the small dining table with bowls of cereal.

Forgoing making his own bowl for now, he pulled out his own chair and sat down with them. "Hey," he began tentatively.

They shared a look that he couldn't hope to interpret. "Are… are you in any pain?" Mom asked, gesturing to his hand.

He went to fold his hand and hide it from view before realizing how useless that would be. He put it down on the table instead, noticing with a start the professional wrapping that had been done. Of course his Mom, the nurse, would fix it up.

"Uh, no, no it's fine. It's all good. I don't need any medicine. They wouldn't really work all that well on me anyway," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. "A, uh, downside of these… powers."

"When did you get them?" Dad asks, leaning forward. He definitely wasn't getting out of this interrogation, but he didn't dread it half as much as he had with Detective Smith.

Haltingly, he began telling them about his journey of getting bitten, meeting the Spider-Man of their world, meeting the Spider-people of the other dimensions, defeating Fisk, and the minor skirmishes in the months from then until before he was kidnapped.

"I, uh, swung into a cloud of smoke on one of my patrols," he continued, unable to meet their eyes. "When I woke up I was in the facility. I figured out pretty quickly that they were… experimenting on me. I didn't want to let them, so I stopped eating all the food."

He blinked away the memories of literally starving to death, the force-feedings, the agony and pain. They didn't have to know every detail.

"It was mostly just… boring," he explained, giving them a half-hearted smile. He cleared his throat before going on. "I attempted to escape once but that went, uh, badly. Eventually, I got my chance when Daredevil broke in."

Mom laced her fingers with his good hand, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I've been trying to figure out what's been going on since. There's some sort of organization, OWL, they were the ones experimenting on all of us. As far as I can tell, they're transplanting the powers into their own men. Probably to take down Fisk."

He finally looked them in the eyes, knowing he had to get across how serious this was. "I don't know who Kravinoff is, I don't know if he really knows who I am. But Fisk and OWL do know who I am, and there's every chance someone like him has gotten access to it too. The guy wearing the skeleton mask who stabbed me - I don't know who he is - but he works for OWL."

"Taskmaster," Dad finally spoke up. "He's an international assassin."

Miles just sighed, "Yeah, makes sense. He's the reason you got shot in the foot. OWL doesn't want me to be Spider-Man anymore, but I know they're still hurting people. I just… I can't not do something when I know there are people being hurt like I was."

There it was again - they shared that look between themselves.

"We figured as much," his dad said. He sat up straighter. "We've called you out sick for the next few days."

Stunned, Miles struggled to form any words for an excruciating few seconds. "You-you're going to let me be Spider-Man?"

Mom gave him a piercing look. " No diría que estamos 'letting' you," she clarified, then her eyes softened. "Could we really stop you?."

He huffed a small laugh, looking down at his lap. "You're not wrong." He took a deep breath, looking back up at them. "I'm sorry for all the lies. I-"

His phone started ringing in the other room, obnoxiously singing the Spider-Man theme song from a TV show they had made a few years ago. His face flushed with heat. "I'll go grab that."

Hurrying into the other room, he answered the call. "Hi, Mrs. Parker."

"I saw the news." She cut right to the chase as always. "I've got a few upgrades for you if you swing by."

He glanced into the other room. "That sounds great. Um, is it okay if I bring my- my parents around? I also need a new webshooter."

From the pause that followed, he knew she was surprised. "Sure."

"Great. I'll see you soon."

He ended the call and went to stand in the doorway. They looked at him expectantly. "That was Mrs. Parker, the previous Spider-Man's aunt. I think you guys should meet her."

"You've been meeting with her?" Dad asked.

He shrugged, eyes darting to the floor, "She's got all the good tech. She helps me."

Hesitantly, they both agreed to go and meet her. But not before he finished his breakfast.

On the way out of the house, movement caught Miles's eye. On the outside of the window, he spotted some sand in a small pile. As quickly as he had seen it, it blew away in the wind. For a moment, he wondered where the sand had come from, but when his dad called him outside he quickly dismissed it.

Mom didn't have a driver's license, so they ordered a cab to get there.

The times he had come over to Mrs. Parker's house, it had been as Spider-Man, jumping between houses. To drive through the neighborhood, the route more indirect than if he had been webbing along, was different.

As soon as they had been dropped off, Mrs. Parker opened the door to let them in. With quick introductions made, she beckoned them to follow her into the backyard.

When they approached the shed, Miles couldn't help but look back to watch his parents' reactions as the grungy-looking shed suddenly opened a high-tech door to reveal an elevator. Their open-mouthed looks of shock were as funny as he expected.

The elevator quickly descended and when it hit the bottom he and Mrs. Parker quickly walked over to where all the high-tech stuff happened. There was a suit waiting for him, on the lab table. It had a new design, all black with red along the sides and a cleaner Spider-Man logo.

Before he was… captured, Mrs. Parker had left him with the task of designing a new Spider-Man suit, adamantly refusing to let him spray paint on a Spider-Man suit again. Sure enough, the one he had eventually settled on was the one waiting for him.

"This is one of my best designs yet," she explained, picking up one of the arms. "The fabric is stronger but won't restrict you in any way. I've added some extra bullet-proofing fabric across your chest but wasn't able to add any more without you losing mobility."

She picked up the mask, turning it inside out. "As we were talking about before you were kidnapped," Miles's fingers twitched at how casually she breezed past the topic, "I've managed to add a small supply of oxygen into your mask. It won't last long, but it'll give you an extra few seconds."

She picked up the new webshooter he had asked for, quickly picking out one of the web cartridges and presented it to him. "This cartridge contains an extra strong version of your webbing. Use it sparingly, even you can't break out of it for at least half an hour."

He nodded, glad that it was a different hue of red from his other cartridges so he wouldn't use it by accident. He put it back into the web shooter slot.

"I'll be glad for that oxygen," he admitted, before briefly describing the guy in the warehouse and how his filter had worked for a bit before the guy broke it again.

Mrs. Parker sighed, "That sounds like Mysterio alright. He's more of a chemist than anything else… I'm surprised he's gotten his formula so advanced. Before you ask, however, Kravinoff is new. I can't tell you anything about him."

"Oh, I was hoping you could. I might look at what you have on Mysterio later, if that's okay?" he politely asked.

"Of course. Now," she turned a more piercing look on him, "How likely is it that Kravinoff truly knows who you are?"

He glanced over at his parents, who were admiring the previous Spider-Man's suits. "Pretty likely," he regretfully admitted. He explained how Fisk knew, leaving out the protection agreement, and how he was already on 'Strike Two' with Taskmaster.

Mrs Parker hummed, deep in thought. "That's not good. Peter kept his identity under wraps until he passed… I'll invite them to stay here for the next few days. If the likes of Fisk knows who they are, then he'll only use that against you. They'll be safest here in the bunker."

Miles's shoulders relaxed for what felt like the first time in ages. He hadn't seen any signs of Fisk holding up his end of the bargain, and he hadn't had any more communication with him since the meeting. At least with Mrs. Parker they would be marginally safer. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Mrs. Parker said, leaving him with the new Spider-Man suit.

He picked up the mask, gently flipping it the right way in. He stared at the mesh of the eyes longer than he cared to admit.

Miles was grateful that he was given the couch to sleep on instead of Peter's old room - now Mrs. Parker's spare room. Something about that made his skin crawl.

Maybe it was that he would be sleeping in a dead guy's bed. Maybe it was because if he thought about his predecessor for too long he would feel small and incompetent in comparison. Maybe it was because it made him feel like the ghost of Peter was watching him, as illogical as that was.

Even avoiding that can of worms by sleeping on the couch, it wasn't any easier to fall asleep. Thoughts swirled through his head about everything that was happening, and no matter what he did, he couldn't settle enough to fall asleep. He tossed, he turned, he adjusted his blankets, he counted sheep, but no matter what he did it didn't help.

He gave up, eventually. Getting up, he approached the window and gently parted the curtains. The quiet street, only lit up occasionally by street lights, was calming in a strange sort of way.

His phone lit up with a notification and he looked down at it.

Ganke: Hey, I hope you're doing ok

Miles hesitated for a moment. He could just ignore it, but the deep shame over the fight quickly began to eat away at him. He sat down on the couch and, taking a deep breath, called him.

"Miles?" Ganke's voice was as disbelieving as it was desperate.

"Hey Ganke." He leaned back and curled his knees up to his chest. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole."

Clearly not the conversation Ganke was expecting, he heard a choked-out "Oh."

Despite himself, Miles huffed out a laugh. Something about how late it was, how tired he was and the soft moonlight illuminating the room loosened the locks around his secrets. "I know I probably need… help. But just… not yet."

"Yeah, yeah I understand. I'm glad you're even thinking about it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry too," Ganke replied in a small voice.

"Thanks."

There was a pause. "Are you going to face that Kravinoff guy tomorrow?"

Miles looked over to the window again, then his eyes flickered over to a family portrait of the Parker family. "I don't know. I kind of have to. And it's just… it's strange having time before the fight. Normally there's no real time to prepare."

He hummed in agreement. "Yeah, you normally get the information and are already out there fighting. Look, it's late, you should probably go to bed, Miles. I didn't expect you to even answer me."

"Yeah, I know." He yawned. "Yeah, I think I should be able to sleep now."

"Good luck. Keep yourself safe."

"I'll try," he promised.

Miles impulsively adjusted the suit again, twisting around once again to make sure he looked ok in the mirror. He knew he was just killing time before he had to go to Times Square, but he felt too on edge to do anything else.

He could hear the TV playing in the background, the coverage occasionally switching over to updates on the preparations being made by the police. Barriers had been set up, areas cordoned off, and for once, Times Square wouldn't be filled to the brim with people.

Even knowing that the public was going to mostly be kept out of the battle didn't kill his nerves any.

Giving in, he went out into the lounge room. Mom looked up from his backpack. She had been packing it full of supplies for the last hour. He knew it was her way of reassuring herself, helpless to help him in any other way.

Mrs Parker came in through the kitchen and handed him an extra web cartridge. He quickly put it in his webshooter. It was reassuring to have a full arsenal of web cartridges for once. "Kick his ass," she said with a smile, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. He nodded.

He came around the couch and Mom and Dad got up. They wrapped him in a hug. The hug stretched on, all of them reluctant to let go.

"Stay safe," his Dad whispered, finally letting go and putting his hand on his masked head.

Mom held out the backpack to him, which he grabbed and slung onto his back. "Come home safe, mijo ," she pleaded.

He glanced over to Mrs. Parker, "I'll look after them," she reassured.

He took a deep breath. "I'll come home again, I promise."