"Hello Miles, how are you feeling today?" the school therapist, Myah, asked once they had sat down on their respective couches.
Miles shrugged, leaning back and putting one of the pillows from the couch on his lap. "Fine."
Myah took down a note. "Good, good. Well, introductions are probably in order - at least from me! You can't go five feet without seeing your face nowadays."
"Yep," Miles agreed, smoothing out the surface of the velvet pillow, determinedly burying the twinge in his chest from the reminder of his fame.
"I'm Myah, I got my master's at Empire State University and have been practicing for two years now. I have a passion for adolescent psychology. I've lived in New York all my life and I've always been a big fan of Spider-Man. So, really, it's quite an honor to get to know you better."
"Don't-" Miles cut himself off with a frustrated noise, fixing his gaze on the wall full of posters instead of her. Tucked in amongst the posters on panic attacks and information on his rights as a patient was a 'hang in there' cat poster. "I don't want it to be an honor."
Myah sat up straighter. "Tell me more about that?"
"I don't do this for fame," Miles said, folding his arms over the pillow. "I fully intended to remain anonymous until I died. I never wanted to talk about this with anyone other than Ganke."
Myah nodded, writing a note down before she leaned forward. "I think I understand. I can assure you that I will put my best, most professional foot forward."
He relaxed somewhat, absently tugging at a corner of the pillow. "I don't want anything I say to leave this room."
"These conversations won't be leaked. I've taken extra measures to ensure that my notes cannot be accessed by anyone other than me. You've put a lot of trust in me and I appreciate that," Myah assured him, giving him a kind smile.
Miles puffed out a breath, meeting her searching eyes. "Okay," he said. If any of this was going to work, if he was actually going to follow through on getting help, he had to let his misgivings go and put his faith in her to follow through.
He wanted this to work. He wanted to trust her. Until she proved him wrong, he had to. So he would.
The second time he went to the taekwondo club, two days after his third time going to jiu-jitsu, he was saying goodbye to the still star-struck club members when the instructor called his name.
"Miles? Can you stay behind for me?" Mr. Mueller called out. "Jason keep the door open on your way out."
Miles waved goodbye to Jason and the other few stragglers before making his way over to the instructor. He respectfully bowed. "Yeah?"
"You're picking things up very quickly, it's quite admirable," Mr. Mueller said.
Raising an eyebrow, Miles agreed, "It might have something to do with my second job."
Mr. Mueller huffed, "Yes. Of course. Why I called you back was actually because I was hoping to give you some… one-on-one training. You're quickly going to exceed your peers. I want you to keep coming to class, though, and retaining your basics."
"Sure, I do too." But he couldn't help but silently wonder if keeping him with his peer group was a marketing tactic. Not every martial art club could boast of having Spider-Man in their ranks. Only two, since Mom had forbidden him from joining anymore with his already full plate.
Mr. Mueller must have caught on too, as he added, "I don't say that just because you're Spider-Man. I say that because I enjoy teaching someone who I know will take my lessons to heart. And you'll only keep coming back if you're alive."
Miles chuckled, cheeks burning up. "I'm probably the only student who'll ever use this stuff practically, too."
"Yes, and I hope you keep it that way," Mr. Mueller agreed. "But I have more to teach than just how to kick. This will help your self-discipline, your posture, your physical awareness and your confidence. I want you to put everything I teach to good use."
He couldn't help but smile, "Yeah, yeah I will sir. Thank you."
It ended up taking five weeks from when they first moved into the hotel before there wasn't a constant stream of news vans on the block, hoping to be the first to catch a glimpse of Spider-Man with his family. Miles knew because he had checked every day for the past two weeks, waiting to give the all-clear for them to finally go home.
Poor Dad had ordered him to go home and get their electric cooktop after only a day of Miles wearing his new suit, sick to death of takeout. Miles was too, so he hardly complained about the long round trip with an overstuffed backpack. It would be a relief to finally have home-cooked meals again.
Miles went first, tuned in on his spider-sense as he walked up the stairs. Mom went second, and Dad took up the rear. He was so focused on it, in fact, that when they reached the third floor Miles dramatically tripped over something on the ground.
Catching himself on the wall, it took a long moment for him to take in what he was seeing.
From floor to ceiling, taking up the entire space with only thin walkways for anyone else to walk through, were thousands of gifts and letters. With shaking hands he picked up the nearest one, staring at who it was addressed to.
Miles Morales, Spider-Man.
"Mierda," he heard Mom softly whisper behind him.
"Fuck," Miles agreed wholeheartedly, easily ducking out of the way of Mom's swipe. This was what he got for sneaking in through the window instead of through the front door - missing out on all the mail.
Carefully navigating the piles, he picked his way over to the front door. It took several tries for him to successfully put his key into the lock and open it with how hard his hands were shaking - only to be met by another massive pile of letters littered along the ground.
Miles, with a small amount of guilt, hurried to grab a broom to help clear a path for Dad - who still had a boot on. Guilt for treating the gifts, all intended for him, to such poor treatment.
"This is a fire hazard," Dad complained with no heat behind it, making his way to their bedroom with their suitcase.
Miles picked up a letter at random, carefully opening it.
Dear Miles Morales Spider-Man,
I hope this letter finds you well. Your selfless dedication to protecting us from every villain, crook, and mob boss is nothing short of inspiring.
Please know that your efforts are not in vain. Your kindness, courage, and determination inspire us to be better individuals, to look out for one another, and to strive for a better world. Your sacrifices are not unnoticed or unappreciated.
Spider-Man is a heavy burden for someone so young, but I hope you find moments of joy and support amidst your challenging responsibilities.
The city stands behind you now.
With the utmost gratitude,
Stan
By the end of the letter, he could hardly stop the tears that spilled over. At the sincerity - so many people had sent similar letters because they wanted to thank him. Him.
Overwhelmed, he made his way to his bedroom.
It made seeing his room blanketed with a layer of dust and stale air that much harder to face.
He mechanically made his way to the back of the room and opened the window, welcoming the cold breeze that rolled in. He stayed there for a long moment, leaning against the window sill, and breathed.
This room was his. But just like before they had left for the hotel all he could feel was the mourning ache for a former self that echoed in every corner. It didn't feel like his room anymore, instead, it felt like a snapshot of who he used to be.
Miles took a slow breath in, held it, and let it out, counting like Myah had taught him to do. He repeated it until the ache had faded into something manageable.
Putting his bag of stuff down on the bed, he slowly started to pick his way through his room section by section. First, his desk, which he wiped down and sorted through. He only kept the items he wanted, straying into the kitchen to grab a garbage bag for his donation pile.
He had a feeling he would be making several such trips with the overwhelming pile of gifts waiting for him.
All the posters were taken down except for one or two, his statues were put aside except for the collectible - still in its box. Every surface was wiped down, his bedsheets were renewed. By the time he was done, his room was the cleanest and emptiest he had ever had it.
A blank canvas for him to make his.
Ignoring the majority of items in the hallway, and Thomas when he breezed past on the way out, he picked through for cylindrical mail. Posters that people had taken the time to print and send.
By the time he was done, exhausted by the long effort of cleaning for so long, his room felt refreshed. There were still the aches of grief trying to dig their claws into his heart, but it was a manageable kind of sadness. A longing for a simpler time.
It would take time to truly call his room his again, but he would.
Perched on a rooftop, his breath billowing out and disrupting the slowly falling snow, Miles longed for something to happen. The patrol had been annoyingly slow, and he was tempted to call it a night despite it only being seven PM.
Even with the layer of insulation in his suit and the thermals he was wearing, it was still bitterly cold. Swinging wouldn't exert himself enough to warm up, so instead he perched in the dark. Waiting.
"Miles?" A voice called out.
It didn't make him flinch anymore, hearing his real name being used when he was wearing the mask. It still made him tense up, though.
Nimbly turning around and sitting down, he greeted the approaching figure. "Yeah? Hi. How can I help you?"
As they stepped into the light he was able to make them out more clearly. It was a lady maybe in her mid-twenties, hair poking out from her red and white striped beanie. She was wrapped up in a thick down jacket, hands clutching at something round and steaming in her hand. "Hi, Spider-Man. Are you okay?" they asked.
"Y-yeah?" Miles said, unable to mask his surprise at the question. He had faced the Shocker last week - but that had only been a brief skirmish. It had given him a sprained ankle that had quickly healed after sitting down for half an hour. Nothing that would promote any worry for his well-being.
She pushed the object into his hand, and he took it without question. He hummed in pleasure at the warmth, quickly figuring out what it was. A hot drink.
"You looked cold," they explained, cheeks visibly red even in the low light.
His spider-sense was quiet. Reassured by that, he lifted his mask to his nose and took a sip. Rich chocolate lit up his senses, the hot chocolate warming up his very core.
"Thank you," he said gratefully, holding the cup closer to himself to soak in all of the warmth it could provide.
She smiled, looking down at the ground bashfully. "It was the least I could do, after all you've done for the city."
It was his turn to feel sheepish. Miles shrugged. "Just comes with the job."
"I know." They slowly began to back up. "I wish I could stay but I have to go. Enjoy the hot chocolate."
"Where do I return the mug?" Miles asked.
She shook her head, "It's okay," she insisted. "You can keep it."
The door to the roof closed with a soft click. Miles took his time enjoying the quiet, falling snow, warmed to his core by the drink. When he went to leap away, he paused and really looked at the mug.
It was clearly handmade, the surface not quite even. And engraved on the cup were two carefully painted figures - two Spider-Men. One in red and blue, and one in black and red.
His heart clenched - but it wasn't out of pain, or grief. It was an ache of warmth, of happiness.
Carefully he set it down on a ledge only he could reach. He would come back for it on his way home once he finished his patrol.
The sidewalk crunched under his feet as he swung to the ground, grateful for his spider stickiness on the icy ground. On all sides, he was surrounded by a swarm of students returning from the winter break.
The collar of his Spider-Man suit peeked out from his clothes, but he didn't bother to fold it down. Everyone knew who he was. Many students were trying to be discreet as they photographed him or were just straight-up staring, but he paid them no mind as he elegantly made his way through the crowd.
Almost to the steps, he was startled as a cold hand wrapped around his forearm. "Miles?"
He disguised his near yelp with a cough. Even with all the time that had passed, he knew instantly who it was. "Jasmine?"
Jasmine gave him a sheepish smile, nervously glancing at the surrounding crowd. "I tried to message you earlier but your settings are like, really private on Instagram."
"If you saw how many notifications I get, you'd understand," Miles agreed absently, keeping in step with Jasmine as they went inside.
"I just- I wanted to thank you," Jasmine explained, hands still encircling his right arm. "I've seen on the news how you've been helping the police with those Owl facilities and with helping the victims and- well, thank you."
Miles shrugged. "It's part of my job, y'know?"
"But you're doing it even after all they did! Sometimes I have nightmares about what would have happened if I had stayed longer," she admitted quietly.
Miles closed his eyes, looking away from her earnest face. He was no stranger to nightmares of his own. "It would have been pretty boring," Miles reassured once he had calmed himself back down.
"Oh. Thank you."
Miles shrugged again. "No worries."
"I don't know how you do it," Jasmine said, stopping off to the side by some lockers. "You're, well, Spider-Man, and have all these cool powers, and I do too, but I could never go out crime fighting. I just want to build things. You save New York on the regular."
"Building things can help people too. You don't have to be Spider-Man," Miles insisted.
"About- about Spider-Man," Jasmine said, slowly, haltingly. "I- I wasn't the one who leaked your identity. I didn't tell anyone anything, I promise."
Miles wanted to laugh but was stopped by how serious she looked. "I know you weren't the one that leaked it."
"Really?" Jasmine whispered.
Miles grinned ruefully. "They knew from the moment I was kidnapped who I was. At this point, I'm just glad it isn't just my villains who know. Much harder to blackmail me."
"Oh. Right. Okay, good," she said, straightening up. She stepped back. "I should let you get to class."
"I'll see you around," Miles said, giving her his best smile.
With that, Jasmine split off, making her way into the crowd and disappearing again. Miles took his leave and navigated toward his own locker. Occasionally he heard his own name whispered through the crowd, but didn't let that stop him.
Just as he had almost reached the locker, someone stepped in front of him.
"Uh, hi?" Miles greeted them. They looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on where he knew them from.
"Hi, Miles, Spider-Man. Look, can you come over here? Quickly?" they asked, wringing their hands together.
He glanced over at the nearest clock. There was still time before the first class started. "Sure. This is the least subtle kidnapping I've ever experienced though."
They beckoned him to follow them, ducking into a relatively quiet corner. There were three people there waiting for him. Grouped together, he realized where he knew them from. They were his classmates from his math class, the ones that had thought he was anorexic.
The one in the middle, hair tied back in an intricate French braid, was the first to speak up. "We, uh, wanted to apologize."
His eyes darted between them, an eyebrow raising. Miles kept quiet, though, waiting them out.
"We didn't know that you were, uh, Spider-Man," the one to the side spoke up, messing with his scruffy hair. "It was just a bit hard to believe that you were anyone that anyone would want to kidnap."
Miles crossed his arm, leaning his weight on his right leg. "Sure, okay."
The girl with the French braid swatted him, before clarifying, "What he meant was that we were dicks. Can we start fresh?"
Looking between them all, he wasn't stupid enough to think they weren't doing it because of his newfound fame. They likely wanted to use him for that, but he wanted them to prove him wrong. He would take their apology at face value.
"Sure," he agreed, watching the lines of tension ease on all of them. "I'll see you in class."
With that, he waved goodbye and made his way back into the crowd, heading towards his first class of the day.
Swinging past Times Square he almost sighed when he saw a thief discreetly snatch a lady's handbag and walk away.
Miles landed in front of them, crossing his hands and giving them as disappointed a look as he could. "Want to give that back?" he asked.
They put their hands up. "Yep!"
Miles waited and watched as they went back to the lady, giving the purse back with a story about seeing it 'dropped on the ground.' He rolled his eyes, ready to thwip away again when-
Something was pulled over his head, wildly disorienting him because his spider-sense hadn't gone off what the hell!
A weight was put across his shoulders, dragging him over to the side. He barely avoided snapping their arm, hands making an aborted move to reach up and do so, and he would have if not for his split-second check-in to his spider-sense.
"Come get your picture with the one and only Spider-Man!" A voice yelled right next to his ear, and he winced at the volume.
When he finally blinked down to see what had been put on him in-between selfies with the small crowd of people, it was a t-shirt with 'I 3 NY' on it, the heart filled in with both Peter and his Spider-Man costumes.
He indulged the crowd for another five minutes before calling it a day, swinging away with the shirt still on. It was only several minutes later when he was folding the shirt up, hiding it in his backpack he had stashed away at the start of his patrol, that he realized something.
No one had asked him to take his mask off.
"How have your nightmares been recently?" Myah asked five minutes into their session, eyes knowing, watching him closely.
Miles glanced away, shrugging. "Bad. I'm… I'm always having them now - unless I'm exhausted."
"Have you been purposefully staying up later to bring that on? Patrolling longer?" When Miles didn't reply, she hummed. "I know we've talked about that before."
"I know, it's just… easier. I try to go to bed and get reasonable amounts of sleep but sometimes I wake up after them and I need to get that energy out," Miles forced himself to explain.
"Do you get that energy out on patrol?" Myah asked.
"Sort of."
Myah noted something down, then sat back. "Have you tried sitting with those feelings? With that energy? I understand you often spiral into what-ifs, but have you tried to sit with those emotions?"
"I feel hopeless," Miles admitted, unable to meet her kind eyes. "I… I hate feeling like that."
"Why do you feel hopeless?" she prompted.
That was an easy question to answer. "I was helpless to stop them dying. I had to beg for their lives."
"It was out of your control."
"Yep."
When he didn't elaborate, she asked, "But they survived without your help, right?"
"With Mrs. Parker's help, yeah," Miles conceded after a pause.
"A whole week without your help, facing Kingpin's men. That wasn't easy to do."
Miles shrugged. "Yeah."
"And now, you've taken steps to ensure their safety, correct? That they know when you're okay, too. The… panic buttons, you called them last session?" Myah asked him.
Miles took a deep breath. They had put a small button in his mask, hidden behind his ear. If he ever pushed it for more than five seconds, instantly Mom, Dad, Mrs. Parker, and Ganke would get a notification with his location. Similarly, they had buttons installed on their phones that would send a notification to him. If they ever wanted to know if he was okay, he would get a buzz to check-in. If he didn't check back within a certain amount of time, they would get his location data.
The first few times he had gone out with it installed there had been an almost constant buzz, but after a few weeks, it had slowed to only one or two times a patrol.
"Yeah, it's been working," Miles agreed.
Myah nodded, smiling. "So when you get into these spirals of hopelessness, I want you to work on interrupting that circle. I want you to think about how capable they are, and what steps you've taken already to ensure their safety. Let's give that a try now."
Miles took another deep breath, bracing himself. "Okay."
Boom.
"Spider-Mannn!" A voice yelled out, voice distorted like it was being spoken through a megaphone.
Miles sagged in his seat, ignoring the curious eyes of his classmates watching him closely. Their whispers. With a sigh he got up, dropping his jacket on his chair before he gave the teacher a farewell wave and left class.
With practiced motions, he left the rest of his clothes webbed neatly to the empty space above the lockers. Gloves and mask pulled on, he went to climb out the nearest window.
"Good luck, Spider-Man!" Someone called out from behind him.
Miles swung onto the scene and immediately regretted coming along at all. "Hi Screwball," Miles said with a resigned sigh.
"Spider-Man! Oh, I'm so happy you came along! Especially on a school day!" Screwball screeched.
"You've laid out bombs right by my school, Screwball. A school that everyone knows I go to. Look, can we just get this over with?" Miles asked, changing his left webshooter to use the stronger webs, leaving his right on the bio-webs.
"We sure can-"
"Stop fighting on a school day!" someone interrupted. Screwball instantly began whining about said interruption. Miles turned his attention to the bystander.
"You're a bad example to all kids! The city doesn't need you anyway! You're a freak!" they spat.
Miles rolled his eyes, "If you hate me so much, aren't you so glad I stopped actual bad guys getting my powers?"
"Spider-Man's got a point!" Screwball agreed cheerily.
Miles thwipped a web at Screwball, attaching it to the exposed skin of her face before venom striking her through the bio-web. "Don't agree with me, please."
It took a long ten minutes for Miles to encase the bombs in thick webbing, trying to lessen their explosive potential while he waited for the experts to turn up. Five minutes in, the police turned up with the bomb squad.
"Thanks for assisting, Spider-Man," Greg, the nice police officer from the Kravinoff fight and the scuffle with the bank robbers, said in lieu of a greeting.
Miles shrugged, dusting off a stray strand of web. "No worries. I have to get back to class, though."
Greg tipped his hat, "We have it from here."
Knock, knock, knock.
The one time he decided to spend a quiet morning with his parents, instead of immediately going out into the city to patrol, it was interrupted.
Miles sighed and unraveled himself from the lump of blankets he had wrapped himself in, resigning himself to the rest of his day disappearing into Spider-Man shenanigans.
Opening the door, he was mildly confused to see one of the upstairs neighbors, Finn. "Hi?"
"Hi, Miles. I was hoping for a bit of help?" Finn asked hopefully. Yep, his day was written off. He'd have to grab his costume from his bedroom.
"Sure, let me just go grab my suit-"
"Oh, no. You don't need to do that. Probably." Miles paused mid-step, turning back to Finn. "See, I've bought this couch and I thought I could get it up the stairs myself and, well, you're pretty strong right?"
Miles blinked at him, eyes round. "I am."
"Could you help me get it up to my place? I totally understand if you're busy though," Finn hurriedly rambled.
Miles smiled. "No, no, it's all good. Lead the way."
A few days later, he was swinging through the air when he saw something soaring high above the surrounding buildings. It distracted him so much he almost smacked face first into a sign.
Thwipping a web, he quickly made his way toward the floating thing and landed on the building below it. He sat down on a nearby heating vent, enjoying the warmth it provided his freezing limbs. He shaded his eyes as he looked up, trying to figure out whatever it was.
Watching in astonishment, he realized that it was actually a person, and that that person had wings. He settled down to watch them - how they dipped and dived and played in the air like it was their own personal playground.
Finally, they seemed to realize they were being watched and neatly came to land in front of him.
Amy, he realized with a start.
Pulling his mask off, he gave her a reassuring smile. "Hi - Amy, how are you?"
Her wings tucked in close behind her, hidden from sight. She glanced at the ground, scuffing it with her shoe. "I'm okay."
"Yeah? Your wings look a lot better," Miles said, resisting the urge to crane his head to get another look at them. Just to see her again after all this time, when he had wondered if she had been okay, was amazing.
"I've been getting used to them," she mumbled. "I can fly now."
"I saw," Miles couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice. It was one thing to swing around New York, but to fly? That would be really cool. "I wish I could."
She looked up at him, eyes round. "Really? But you're - Spider-Man!"
"Yeah, but, wings are so in," Miles grinned.
"My friends think they're cool…" she whispered, wringing her hands together. "They want me to fly them around but I can't. They're not strong enough."
Miles shrugged. "That will come with time, I'm sure."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Thank you for saving me…"
"Couldn't leave you behind," is all he said. He didn't regret going back to save her, not for a moment, not when the proof of how much he could help was standing before him. Even if helping her had broken his wrist, breaking down the door.
She was why he put on the mask every day, even with all it cost him. Her and all the people from the subway, all the personal letters people sent him thanking him for his work. The mask was more than just himself: it was a commitment and promise he had made.
But moments like this just reinforced it, driving him forward.
"I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!" Miles joked breathlessly, arms aching with how quickly he arched into every swing.
The Vulture, completely uncaring for what was going on in Miles's life, had decided it was the perfect time to rob a bank. When Miles was on his way to meet her for the first time, nonetheless.
"Leave me alone, bug!" Vulture screeched.
"I'm an arachnid!" Miles retorted, twisting out of the way of yet another barrage of feather daggers. "Not a hemiptera or insecta!"
"Gah!" The Vulture finally turned to face him, claws coming out with an ominous shink. "I need this money!"
Miles took the opening. After much tinkering Miles had perfected the changing of the web types and used this to his advantage. Using the super strong webbing, he thwipped a web to stick the claws together - rendering them practically harmless - then used them as an anchor point to swing up and onto Vulture's back.
Vulture reached behind his head, attempting to throw Miles off, but he skittered out of the way easily. "Get off me!"
"Nope! Say hi to the pavement for me!" Miles taunted, before destroying the Vulture's flight pack with a well-aimed, venom-fueled punch.
He jumped off with a backflip just as it exploded, taking mercy on the buzzard by attaching a web to his falling figure and letting them both descend slower. For good measure, though, he webbed him to the ground.
"You couldn't have chosen, like, any other day," Miles complained as he waited for the police to turn up, sitting on the nearby curb. "Like, I'm famous enough that everyone probably knows by now."
"I don't care about your personal life, Miles Morales," the Vulture hissed, but Miles just rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, dude, just hang tight," he said, wrapping a gash on his thigh with practiced motions. With a better-trained eye, he knew it wouldn't need stitches - just a good night's rest.
He didn't have to wait too long until his favorite police officer (besides his Dad, of course) turned up. "You better get going," Greg told him without preamble. "Your Dad says it's time."
Miles gave him a two-fingered salute, "Aye-aye, captain! Bye!"
Miles couldn't keep his eyes off his new baby sister, Billie Mariana Morales. He was well and truly a big brother now.
"She's so little," he whispered, presenting her with a gloved finger. She happily took it with her whole fist, holding on to it with all her strength.
"Won't be for long," his Dad said, affectionately rubbing the top of Miles's head. He resisted the urge to duck away, submitting to it with the precious cargo he was holding.
Billie yawned, presenting her toothless mouth to the world. His heart melted. She blinked up at him without truly looking at him, her hazel brown eyes drifting past his face to the ceiling.
Not today, but someday he would make his promise a reality. The promise to have her look up to him, and for him to be worthy of that look. He was well and truly a big brother now.
"I'll keep you safe," he promised Billie. Dad wrapped a hand around his shoulders, providing a comforting warmth for him to lean into.
"You will," Dad agreed easily.
Hot dog in hand, Miles leaned against the air vent, absently chewing while he enjoyed the small moment of quiet. The Hudson River glittered in the moonlight, providing him with a scenic view. It allowed time for his sore muscles to settle into a well-earned ache from a good patrol.
Just as he swallowed the last bite, picking up his mask to tug it back on, something weird began to happen.
The napkin he was holding began to float in the air, drifting up. So did any stray bits of chipped cement. Warily he got up, crouching low as he looked around for the source. His spider-sense remained blissfully silent, but he was still on edge.
Like a rip in the very fabric of the universe, a swirling portal of purple and yellow appeared in front of his disbelieving eyes.
And out stepped-
"Gwen," Miles whispered, resisting the urge to pinch himself.
Gwen spotted him immediately, stepping out of the swirling portal and onto the rooftop. The portal closed and Miles snatched the napkin out of the air before it could drop.
She looked good, but different. Her hair was longer, with pink highlights at the bottom. Her undercut was still there, but cleaner than when he had seen her last. Despite himself, his chest ached at the very sight of her.
"Miles," she greeted, giving him a fond smile. But it was colored by something - a grief, or a weight. It had him standing up straighter. "It's good to see you."
"It's- it's good to see you too. What was that? Was that a portal? How did you get here?" Miles questioned, taking a tentative step forward.
"Look, I- I need your help," she interrupted, one hand coming up to hold on to her other arm. "I- this is so weird. Seeing you like this."
Miles frowned, folding his arms. "Don't like the new get-up?"
"No, it's- It's a great suit! I'm just used to- seeing it differently. Seeing you differently. The scar is new," Gwen bumbled through her explanation, but it only had him more confused.
"Okay," he said slowly, leaning back against the air vent.
"I should start again. See, there's a version of you that's in trouble," she explained.
"Version of me?"
"Miguel-" "Who?" "He wasn't right about the Spider-Verse. Or timelines. And you're a version of the Miles I know but you both know me. Weird, right? And I figured my band would need more backup and who better to help Miles than Miles, right?"
Miles squinted at her, vaguely wondering if he should be offended that he was only now learning about all this. When it had been so long since he had seen any of them, but only now he was being called upon and only to help another version of… himself.
"Do I need to go through one of those portals?" he asked instead. "If so, I need to let my parents know."
"Why? Isn't it one of your nights at your dorm?" Gwen asked, pressing buttons on the watch he was only now noticing. The watch looked like it had come out of some weird punk fever dream.
"It is, but they- well they know about my identity," Miles explained. "Everyone does."
At the owlish look she gave him, he just shrugged. "Your secret identity got revealed?" She whispered, vaguely horrified.
"By Kravinoff. It was a whole thing," he said, as nonchalant as he could be. He dug his communicator out of a hidden pocket, shooting a message off to Ganke, Mom, and Dad saying he was going to be gone for a bit, but he was okay.
With that done, he pulled his mask on. "Ready when you are."
"You'll come help Miles? Come help you?" Gwen asked.
Miles grinned. "Of course."
