One. One two.

Miles stepped back from the boxing bag, letting out a breath.

"Again."

One. One two.

Miles flexed his legs, shifting them minutely, trying to perfect his stance. Even without his sixth sense tipping him off, he would have known his classmates were watching him.

Watching Spider-Man perfect a basic kick, drilling it into his muscle memory for when he inevitably used it in the real world.

"Again."

One. One two.

It itched at him, sometimes. Their eyes. Observing. Judging. He didn't need to be corrected often, nor did he lose in the spars, not really. They had even started counting just landing a single blow on him as a win.

But when he did. Well.

He just hoped they wouldn't lose trust in their Friendly Neighborhood Superhero.

"Again."

One. One two.

If he could get out of this weekly stress, he would. But Mr Mueller had cut him a deal. Miles went to the regular class and permitted his image to be in promotional material - and he got a weekly one-on-one class on top of not having to pay for any of it.

He would pay for it outright if he could spare the money.

"Again."

One. One two.

"Jessica, you need to bend your knees a bit more - that's it."

It was expensive being Spider-Man, more so than before Kraven had revealed his identity. Suits and web fluid were always an expense, but one that he was used to. Theoretically, it should have been cheaper to be Spider-Man now that he had spinnerets.

But he had to constantly upgrade security measures for his family's safety - and the salary of a policeman and a nurse, with a baby taking up their time, wasn't enough for what they now needed.

"Again."

One. One two.

A storage unit for all his spider gear since May had moved to Florida.

A special mailbox - he had only needed one attempted bomb attack to organize that. It would mean only he would get hurt if someone tried anything, and he had a better chance of escaping harm than anyone else.

An agent for all his advertising and movie roles. Being a stunt performer on the once-in-a-blue-moon requests for him was admittedly fun. Actually acting? No.

He was constantly trying to save up for a place of his own, somewhere where he wouldn't have to worry about his family's safety. No one had attempted to stage a fight at his home, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

Plus all the other smaller costs - medical supplies, security cameras, parts for all the gadgets he had been trying to add to his suit (though he constantly had to ask for May's help).

"Again."

One. One two.

It added up.

It stressed him out.

It was the cost of losing his identity.

"Alright, everyone. Take a breather."

Miles jogged to his backpack before any of his classmates could try and stop to have a chat. In it was his spider suit, medical supplies, and - more importantly right now - his multiversal watch. He put it on and flicked open the small screen.

There was the message he had been dreading, the message that would finally lead to answers he desperately needed.

Miguel: Come to HQ

Miles met Mr Mueller's eyes from across the room, and the stern look he got told him everything.

He was only supposed to leave for dire emergencies - ones that involved threats too big for the police to handle. He had already been testing Mr Mueller's patience with how often supervillains had been attacking - as if that was in some way Miles's fault.

Miles agreed to join another class for a session or two to make up for it.

As much as he wanted to go now, he knew it could wait another half hour until class ended.

Miles: Be there in 40

He took his watch off, put it back in his bag, had a small sip from his water bottle, and rejoined the others.

Telling Miguel forty gave him a window to check on the unconscious Peter Parker he had found.

Peering in through the room's windowed door made him feel like a stalker, but he couldn't bring himself to go into the room. Not when he would have to listen to his heart beeping on the heart monitor, the way his breathing would stop for several long seconds before it would continue as usual - as if his own body had forgotten what it was like to have to breathe on its own.

It had been a routine takedown of an OWL facility. It was meant to be, anyway. The remnants of the organization had been particularly stubborn about staying in New York, but with Miles making it his personal goal to stamp them out, this facility had seemed to be the last.

Even with a surge in their defenses from an overseas, outsider funder, Miles knew he had basically won. This facility had been over an hour outside New York, its details sparse, and when he had torn it apart - he had only found one enhanced person there.

That enhanced person had happened to be Peter Parker.

Stuck in a tube, head hung and asleep, he had been busy figuring out if it was safe to take them out of the liquid straight away or if he had to wait for someone more qualified. The notes he had found had confirmed it would be fine.

As soon as he had moved the damp hair off of his face, and especially when the stranger had opened his icy blue eyes, he knew he was looking at.

But there was no way it was his Peter. He had watched him die.

It was almost a blessing that the facility had been so out of the way, as he had taken a backpack full of supplies he could need - including his multiversal watch, something he had put in at the last minute. He barely ever wore it and barely ever went to HQ. He didn't even know why he had put it in.

He would have called an ambulance for him, had intended to, but he had to know exactly who this Peter was. It was probably a clone or a Peter from another universe that had somehow gotten stuck in his reality.

Only Spider Society had the technology to work that out - as well as better medical care.

It had been his first time to HQ in almost a month.

The internet hadn't crashed when his identity was revealed, but Peter Parker, returning from the dead, had a good chance of succeeding. If this wasn't his Peter, which he probably wasn't, it was better for everyone if this was kept quiet.

It was the only reason he was here. The headache he was nursing would have been worse if he had been trying to mediate people's questions he didn't have answers to.

Miles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he sensed someone approaching from behind.

"Morales," Miguel greeted, curt.

"Miguel," Miles returned in kind, folding his arms and tilting his head just enough that he could see Miguel from his peripheral vision.

Miguel hummed, "I thought you would meet me in the lab."

"I was going to. You didn't need to meet me here." Miles turned away from the room reluctantly. "So?"

Miguel looked at him for a long moment, but what he was searching for, Miles didn't know. "He's your Peter."

Miles nodded once, stubbornly keeping his expression level. "He's not a clone or a variant? He's the one I saw die?"

The look he got from Miguel was soft, one that had his hackles up. "He is. He is the Peter of your world. It appears that he was in the… stasis chamber since Fisk 'killed' him. He never died."

Miles swallowed, eyes darting off to the side. Slowly, he counted himself through a breathing exercise, taking the time to process the information. "Two years he was in that tube?"

"Yes."

"Fuck," Miles whispered, one hand shifting to rub at his stinging eyes. "Fuck. Okay."

Lyla flickered into existence on Miguel's shoulder, "He was not awake for most of that time," she tried to reassure, but it was cold comfort.

"OWL kept him in stasis for two years, and he wasn't awake for any of it," Miles confirmed aloud, and Lyla chirped a yes. Miles closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to organize his thoughts. "Okay. Right. What comes next?"

Miguel was the one who spoke this time. "We don't expect him to wake up for another day or so. It will take several more days before he'll be coherent and awake long enough for us to let him go home. We're still working on draining the last of the liquid out of his body."

"Okay. That's fine. I can work with that." Miles straightened up. "I'll contact his Aunt and MJ. They'll need to know before the rest of the world does."

"Since his secret identity is known, I would suggest you keep him out of the public's eye for at least a week until he's adjusted-"

"I know, Miguel. I know how to deal with fame. I'll help Peter with it," Miles cut him off, unable to help a bitter smile. "It's what makes me different, right? What makes me a variant? Not many Spiders are 'celebrities'."

Miguel's eyes searched his own for a beat, then he nodded. "Lyla will let you know when he wakes up. In the meantime, the Spider-Therapist has a free slot today if you-"

"No. I've got my own therapist. She's great." Miles shifted his hands to rest on his hips, glancing back at Peter through the window. "Thanks for the, um, offer though."

Lyla presented a screen for Miguel to look at. It distracted him from giving Miles that piercing look. "I still have a watch ready for you if you want it," he offered absently.

Miles's hand shifted to his watch. It was a remnant from the canon event saga, one that Gwen had given him and one that Hobie had made. Hobie had made several watches like his, passing them around to anyone who needed one. He had been prepared to take on HQ. Preventing Miguel from blocking multiversal travel for those who had jumped teams had been essential.

The watch he had gotten was green and yellow, the vibrant colors clashing with his own suit. Sometimes, he was tempted to paint it, to make it match his black and red suit, to paint it black and put blue highlights in the same shade he had added to his own to give it a 3D-esque look.

He could never get himself to do it. Not when this was all that genuinely bound him to the Spider Society - made him think he was maybe, actually, wanted here.

It hadn't been said aloud; there was no need to, but conclusions were made when faced with two Miles's of near identical worlds. He was the outlier. He was the offshoot timeline. The weird one where Miles had lost his secret identity.

As far as they could tell, his dimensions had split off a few months after Peter B, Gwen, and the others had gone home after the collider. There was only one of each of them and two Miles's.

It was just natural that they had chosen the Original Miles over him.

Besides, he had enough problems to deal with without stepping into the waters of multiversal missions. He already had trouble getting enough sleep while balancing all his responsibilities. Original Miles could do them and enjoy the company of their friends.

Really, it was his own fault that he didn't see them all that often. He was the one who stayed away from HQ and forgot to check his watch for messages.

It didn't mean that his heart didn't ache at the mere thought of replacing this watch from Hobie.

"This one is fine," Miles finally said, and Miguel hummed in acknowledgment. He folded his arms, tucking his watch out of sight. "Could you keep me updated on him, though? On Peter?"

Miguel was entranced in whatever was happening on the screens. Miles didn't bother to try and figure out what was on them. "Keep your watch on, then."

Miles nodded once, stiff. "Yeah, can do."

With the dismissal clear, Miles left the medical wing, feet dragging with every step. He itched to punch something, to clear the restless energy that was quickly building, and to clear his mind in preparation for all that he knew was coming.

It was his Peter. It was the Peter he saw die.

He didn't understand how he was alive, and whole, and currently unconscious only a few hundred feet away.

As he paused on one of the walkways, it hit him just how complicated life was about to become.

Two Spider-Man's, both without their secret identities. Both claimed New York as their own. Both protect it.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't scared. Living in the legacy of a deceased hero was one thing, having taken up the mantle and preserved it. Now, he would be judged by that very hero on all that he had done in the two years. All that he had become since he had started wearing the mask.

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths like Myah had taught him.

Waiting for him to wake up would be agony, the idea of explaining everything that had happened daunting. He couldn't focus on that, not when there were things he had to prepare for him before he returned to their universe.

There were several people he had to tell about Peter's miraculous return.

Miles stepped through the portal and onto the rooftop. The urge to escape the conversation was there, but he forced himself to sit on the roof's edge. The air had cooled, though he knew that within a few weeks, it would take much longer for the heat of the day to dissipate.

He would miss the relative quiet of winter, the layer of ice creating a sheen over the world, the softly falling snow entertaining him when a patrol was quiet - which was more often than not, in winter.

With the weather warming, various criminals had taken it as their cue to give Miles a headache.

The sound of familiar footsteps behind him made him straighten up.

Matt sat on the roof beside him, decked out in full Daredevil attire. Miles rarely came to Matt's place directly, preferring to send him a message and meet a few blocks away from Matt's.

Even if Miles's identity was compromised, they ensured Matt's wouldn't be.

He knew that this conversation would be the easiest out of all the ones he would have to have. Matt was the only one who knew what he had found at the facility. And Matt understood being a superhero. How they both blamed themselves for Peter's death. This guilt would go away, only to be replaced with a new one.

That they hadn't saved him sooner.

Miles took a deep breath. "It's him. He's alive."

It took a lot to surprise Daredevil, but the way he stilled told him more than words ever could. "Not a clone?"

His mouth ticked up at the corner. "No. It's the real deal."

Daredevil leaned back but didn't make another comment. Miles sighed, tempted to sit in the silence for just a little longer, but he was all too aware of the time. He still had to call May and let her know before it was too late in the night.

"It'll be a few days before he can return to our universe. I- I don't even know what he remembers, how much he knows. He was in that stupid tube for years. I don't even know how the world will react to him," Miles blurted out, his anxieties tumbling out in a heap.

Daredevil put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Miles was quietly grateful for the grounding it offered him. "You will help him. Peter has a lot to learn from you."

"What, like how to lose a secret identity?" Before Matt could try and refute him, he barreled on. "We just have to wait for him to wake up and go from there. I need to contact May as soon as I can."

"I can contact May," Matt offered, but Miles shook his head - as appealing as that sounded.

"No. No, I need to do that," Miles sighed. "I was one of the last to see him alive and the one to rescue him. She should hear it from me. I owe May that much." Miles got up, absently stretching out his arms. "I should do it before it gets too late."

"I'll cover your patrol, then," Daredevil said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Get some rest."

Miles puffed out a breath, pulling his mask on. "Yeah, okay. Thank you. If school wasn't already kicking me down, this whole mess would." With a final check on his webs and spinnerets, he knew he couldn't delay it much longer. "I'll tell you how it goes."

With a small two-fingered salute, Miles stepped off the ledge and into his first swing.

Miles sat on the fire escape railing, his finger hovering over the call button. A pit of nervous dread kept him from pressing it.

He had to tell her. There was no scenario where he didn't. But he hated having to disturb what peace she had built, how she had moved on from her grief to enjoy the beach and the warmth of Florida. Now, he had to bring her back to New York to drag up old memories and care for a son who had lost his entire life.

Before he could think about it anymore, he pressed it.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and he was considering delaying all this until the morning and-

"Hello, Spider-Man. Are you okay?" Her warm voice came through, and of course her first point of worry was if he was hurt. After all, he was calling at eight on a Tuesday night when he usually patrolled.

"No, I'm okay, May-" because she had insisted so much that he stop calling her Mrs. Parker - it was so impersonal, she had said. "Are you… are you sitting down?"

There was some shuffling, May going quiet. He closed his eyes and tipped his head up, hating that he had to do this. Hating that he had to cause her pain. "I am now. What's going on, Miles?"

"A few days ago, I was shutting down another OWL facility and- and I found someone." How many details should he give her? She deserved to know, but was it his place to tell her everything? Should he let Peter tell her - if he was of sound mind - and what if he wasn't? He hadn't woken up; what if OWL had broken him?

"Miles?" May prompted.

"Sorry. Um, he was in this tube of liquid and-" There was no going back. He sucked in a breath, letting it out before blurting, "It was Peter."

He heard a strangled gasp and winced. His mouth kept moving: "It was our universe's Peter. It was your Peter. He's being looked after at- at Spider HQ." May was quiet. "They were the ones that confirmed it was, um, him. That it wasn't a clone or- or a variant - or something else. He hasn't woken up yet, but he should soon."

There was what sounded like a sob, but it sounded far away. Like May had moved the phone away from herself.

Miles curled in on himself, propping his knees on the railings and leaning back against the building. His eyes caught on a family that had spotted him and crouched down to point him out to their kid. She looked around ten years old, and it would have made him smile if his heart wasn't in his throat.

By the large red heart on her black shirt, with his signature bug eyes in the middle, they had likely gone looking for him. They had gotten lucky to see him on the fire escape outside his home; he spent as little time as possible at home, because everything could be used against him nowadays.

Everything.

He gave them a small wave anyway, glad he was so high up that he wouldn't have to fake a smile. It would be near impossible to twist himself into a believable one.

His attention was brought back to the call when May finally started to speak again. It was robotically steady, calm. "I'll book flights to New York for tomorrow. I'll let MJ know."

"You're free to stay with us, or I can book the hotel for you," Miles quickly offered.

"No. Thank you, but Peter will need some space when he returns." Right, he hadn't thought of that.

"Okay. Okay, yeah, all good."

May sighed, the sound weary. "I'll see you soon."

The line went dead before he could even say goodbye. It was several moments before Miles shifted the phone from his ear to his lap.

That sucked as much as he thought it would.

He allowed himself a moment to sit in and soak in the cool night air, a sigh escaping before he was even aware of it. To listen to the nightlife of New York, ever-bustling. The world would continue moving forward, even when they learned Peter was alive.

With a slight wave to the family, he climbed into his home. Dad spotted him first from where he was setting up Billie in her high chair. For once, he had made it in time for dinner. A rarity nowadays.

His schedule was both ever-shifting and steadfast. School, if not interrupted by some villain of the week. Early dinner at Visions as soon as classes ended, where he had as many calories as he could, martial arts on a Tuesday for an hour, patrolled until dinner at home around eight-thirty or nine, more patrolling until one am, crash at Visions. Therapy every two weeks or so, time varying. When he wasn't at taekwondo or therapy, he was catching up or getting ahead of school to prepare for the next interruption.

Weekends were incredibly tiring. If he wasn't focused on solving a case, following the trail of OWL, or taking down one of their facilities, he was either patrolling or had something planned with his agent. At least he usually got to have another hour or two of sleep.

Yet he had to make sure his schedule also varied, that it wasn't too consistent. Patterns would be recognized by criminals or villains, and they would try to take advantage of when he wasn't on patrol. Changing when he ate and went to bed, if he woke up early to patrol instead of staying up late - it was all things he had been trying.

Sometimes it felt like he was burning his wick at both ends.

It was the cost of losing his identity.

"Hey, Dad," Miles greeted, affectionately rubbing the top of Billie's head on his way past. She cooed happily.

"Hey, kiddo. Have you done your schoolwork for the day?"

It was always his first question, or some variation. School, school, school.

"Yep," he replied, grabbing some silverware and greeting Mamá with a quick peck on the cheek. "All caught up."

"And that book for English?"

"I've been reading it on patrol. I'm a chapter ahead."

Dad seemed satisfied enough with that answer. "Are you patrolling after dinner? You really should take a break."

He resisted the urge to sigh. "I'm not. Daredevil is covering for me."

"Go change out of your suit, then. And take a shower!" Mamá called from the kitchen, and Miles gave in.

"Okay, Mamá," he said and made his way into the bathroom.

As he changed into his PJs, he automatically reached for one of his spare suits.

He paused, hand hovering over it. The spider logo stared back at him.

Even with clothes on, he felt bare without his second skin.

It would add precious seconds if they were attacked or a villain decided to wreak havoc. If it was someone Daredevil couldn't face alone, he would be needed. Daredevil was really capable; he trusted him, but he had to be ready.

He always had to be ready.

If he wasn't prepared, if he slipped up, people got hurt. And that was on him. The news certainly thought so.

Miles swallowed and looked away. He was allowed one night off.

He pocketed his mask anyway.

As he rejoined them at the table, he watched with an amused smile as Mamá served him a massive portion of dinner. "Thank you," he said before digging in.

"What else have you done today?" Mamá prompted, and he couldn't help but freeze up. They would need to know, too, but he hated having this conversation for a third time in one day.

"Um. Well. I found someone at the OWL facility over the weekend. And I've just had their identity confirmed." He absently twirled his fork around the plate, fidgeting. "It was Peter Parker. Our world's Peter Parker."

There was a small pause. He didn't bother looking up.

"Does May know?" Mamá asked, and he nodded.

"Told her before dinner."

Dad leaned forward. "Where is he now?"

"Spider Society. He hasn't woken up yet; I… I have to figure out what I'll tell him." Miles sat back from his half-finished meal, not hungry anymore.

They shared a long look between themselves, a silent conversation, before Mamá turned to help Billie with her food.

"Well," his Dad said after a long moment, then shrugged. "Guess that'll give you some more free time, then. Since there'll be two Spider-Mans."

Miles bit down a frustrated remark. It was an old fight, an unresolved argument that kept on coming up time and time again.

It wasn't like he didn't know how tight his free time had become. How it had to be scheduled in, more often than not, and even then, it was frequently interrupted. If Spider-Man was a job, he would be working an excessive amount of overtime.

Spider-Man had taken over his life and his identity in more ways than one. Miles barely got a chance to breathe, barely enough time to sleep.

But it was the cost of losing his secret identity.

With icy calm, he slowly said, "Spider-Man is my responsibility. Whether Peter picks up the mask again is up to him."

Dad's lips thinned. "I don't want you skipping class this week."

"I didn't yesterday or today."

"This can't interfere with school. Do you understand me?"

Miles couldn't eat another bite, the threat of nausea bubbling up. "Peter won't. But anything else, I can't ignore. You know that."

"Your education is important-"

"I'm already limiting it to just the big stuff. Who cares if I get a B instead of an A if it means I saved someone's life-"

Mamá put a hand up, silencing the both of them. "We just want you to try your best."

Was he not already trying his best? Was he not giving it his all?

Miles got up from the table, ignoring the sad looks from both of them, taking his plate with him. "Yeah. I will," he bit out.

Miles soaked in the warmth of the concrete underneath him - heated by the morning sun. Eyes closed, he slightly tilted his head to the side as he heard his friend slowly approach. Each step was slow, tired, as he heaved in breaths like he had just run a marathon.

He rolled his eyes at his theatrics.

"Why did you have to pick the roof for our lunch spot?" Ganke complained between wheezes, not for the first time.

"You find a better place to, A, get away from everyone else, and B, listen out for trouble, and then we'll talk," Miles easily returned, only sitting up to catch the apple Ganke threw at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Why are you stripped down into your Spidey gear?"

Miles grimaced. "Don't say it like that. You make it sound like this is weird."

"What, you wearing your fancy cosplay that's also your 'uniform' instead of your actual uniform? Totally not weird," Ganke drawled out, and Miles resisted the urge to sock him in the shoulder. Ganke leaned against the roof's ledge beside him and bit into a pear. "Anyway, I thought your Dad was getting upset at you about this."

Miles sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Not like I have a choice. I miss one attack; all anyone talks about was where I was. As if it isn't easy to look up my schedule. Or if the attack is a twenty-minute swing away, they expect me to drop everything to try and get there anyway. It's always over by the time I get there. Forty minutes of class lost for nothing. But it's my fault if someone dies. It's all so stupid. Not- not that I don't want to stop people getting hurt-"

Ganke put a hand up, interrupting Miles before he could spiral further. "I know, dude. Remember, I'm the one guy you don't need a filter with."

That was true. Miles had another bite of his apple to hide his smile. "It was fine over winter when crime was low, but now it feels like everyone is coming out for the warmer weather. I think I went three days without sleep last summer. Feels like it'll be even worse this year."

Ganke hummed. "You're going to start sleeping on rooftops. Might as well start setting up hammocks while you have the time."

Miles groaned, "Don't jinx me, dude."

Ganke's grin was unrepentant. He gestured to the watch that Miles was reluctantly wearing. "Any updates on Peter?"

"Nope, not a thing. I'll go check on him after school," Miles said with a sigh.

"Does he look any different than how you remember him?" Ganke asked.

Miles shrugged. "I'm so used to Peter B's face. He just looks… younger. Less beat up than when I saw him last. I just… I don't understand how he's alive."

"Probably a question for him. Everyone will be asking it anyway."

"Yeah, the media is going to be a nightmare. Peter's going to have to get used to it, too." Quietly, he admitted, "I miss having a secret identity, I hate dealing with the press."

Ganke leaned back, "Well, at least you have that in common. And the whole spider-powers thing."

"Yeah, I guess. There's… there's so much I have to tell him." Miles looked away, taking a bite from his apple before continuing. "I don't know what to say."

"'Hey, everyone knows who you are, and you've lost two years of your life. Oh, and I'm Spider-Man.' It's a lot to explain, yeah."

Miles glared at Ganke, but it did nothing to dull the sparkle in his eye. "You wouldn't be joking about it if you were the one having to explain all this."

"That's exactly why I'm joking about this."

"I don't care what Miguel says. I will drag you along. I will make you suffer, too," Miles said with a pointed look.

Ganke raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to see you try."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Miles moved to get off the ledge, and Ganke quickly scampered away, "Okay! Okay! Maybe not, Mr. Super Strength!"

"That's what I thought. Don't make a challenge you can't follow through on!"

"Boo, you're no fun," Ganke pouted.

They were interrupted by a bing from Miles's pocket.

Miles paused, ignoring the disappointed look on Ganke's face as he dug his phone out with a resigned sigh.

It was a notification about a supervillain attack. Mysterio. He would probably miss the rest of the school day because the chemist always found inventive ways of making his life a nightmare.

"Well, I guess stripping down worked out after all," Ganke pointed out, peering over his shoulder.

Miles tipped his head back. "Don't- why'd you have to say it like that?"