"So?"

Miles squinted up at Ganke from the floor, having flopped down after his patrol. He was too exhausted to continue patrolling but too keyed up to go to sleep. So the floor it was.

"'So' what?"

Ganke shrugged, his eyes darting from the video game he was playing to him. "Peter. What's he like?"

Miles sighed, closing his eyes. "I don't know. He's… I don't know. Having a hard time 'cause he's lost two years of his life. Don't know if he likes me. Why?"

"Are there going to be two Spider-Men in New York now? What are you going to tell the news? Does he really look like his photos?" Ganke asked rapid-fire, putting his controller down to peer down at him.

Lazily waving his hand as if to clear bad air, Miles puffed out a breath. "I need to talk to him before any of that is decided. I'll drop by the hotel tomorrow after I go the mailroom."

"But… is his hair really that blonde?"

Miles raised an eyebrow at his friend. "More of a dusty blonde."

"I want to meet him. I'm invoking my best-friend-of-Spider-Man privileges," Ganke declared, and Miles could only laugh.

Miles stepped into the mailroom, sighing as he looked at the bags of mail waiting for him. It would take hours to sort through the fanmail and reply to it all, or the hate mail that inevitably got sent too. He was glad that the letters all got vaguely organized for him, with the official stuff set off to one side.

With his backpack ready to bring home anything eye-catching, plus letters addressed to his parents, he sat down on his stool and picked up the first letter.

Addressed to him, he ripped the top open and slid the letter out.

Dear Miles Morales,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. We are delighted to extend an offer of admission to a program of your choice at the University of Melbourne.

While we understand that you have not formally applied for admission, we have been thoroughly impressed with your academic achievements and your selfless commitment to your community. Your accomplishments have not gone unnoticed, and you would be a valuable addition to our esteemed academic community.

Additional scholarship incentives are on offer should you choose to move forward with our University, and we welcome you to get in touch with our admissions office for further discussion.

We understand that this officer will come as a surprise, and we are happy to address any questions or concerns you may have.

We are excited about the potential of having you join our community and look forward to the contributions you will undoubtedly make to our university.

Sincerely,

The University of Melbourne

Miles shivered, a wave of cold dread keeping him stuck on the university's logo.

Why was a university enticing him to join them, from all the way over in Australia at that?

He folded the letter and put it in his bag, reaching for another letter. It was another university. And then he picked up another letter. Another university. With his heart in his throat, he rapid-fire picked through the letters until he had found all the university letters.

There were almost ten in total.

With muscle memory alone, he dug his phone out and opened his messages.

Miles: Why are universities sending me letters?

Ganke: Oh yeah, did you not check the news last week?

Miles: I was a bit busy with OWL/Peter. What happened?

Ganke: Your end of term report got leaked on the news
Ganke: You really didn't see that?

Miles: You and I know I don't ever look at the news

Ganke: Right. Well people were talking about how you basically have straight A's even though you're missing school and stuff
Ganke: And everyone knows you'll graduate next year
Ganke: So they probably jumped the shark trying to get you to join

Miles: But why would they want me?

Ganke: Spider-Man is really good PR, its why you get sponsorship deals

Breathing out a long breath, he flicked through the university letters.

There wasn't one from Empire State University. One of the universities that would keep him in New York.

As tempting as it was to leave them to sit in the mailroom for another few weeks, to ignore them in a futile attempt to 'out-of-sight-out-of-mind' them, he knew Mamá and Dad would want to see them.

Along with the mail addressed to them, he added the university letters to his backpack before leaving.

Miles landed on the balcony with a small 'thunk,' smoothing over his hoodie before knocking.

Rarely would he have traveled so far without his suit on, but he wasn't officially on patrol yet, and nine in the morning wasn't prime crime time. He had still brought it with him, though, stuffed in his backup along with some basic first-aid supplies and the letters he would take home.

He couldn't help but peer into the living space as he waited. Take-out containers were strewn around, and the TV in the corner was on and playing the news. He could vaguely see the aftermath of his fight with Trapster from his patrol last night.

Trapster had managed to evade him in the end. He had glued Miles down to use him as a boxing bag and then, just as Miles got himself out, had made his exit. The bruises from him had mostly healed, but his muscles were still sore. Vulture's cuts, however, were still scarring over.

He forced himself to straighten up, to look as energized as he could muster. Impressions mattered - especially when his first two hadn't gone great.

May met him at the door. She looked as tired as he felt, but the smile on her face was genuine. Like a weight had been lifted. "Hello, Miles, come on in."

"Thanks," he mumbled, stepping past her. Without the kitchen bench in the way, he could see Peter on the couch. It took a beat for Peter to shift his attention from the TV to him. "Uh, hi, Peter."

Peter stood up, and Miles stepped forward, offering his hand to shake. It hung in the air as Peter gave Miles a sweeping assessment with his eyes. He resisted the urge to fidget under it. "Hi, Miles." He finally took Miles's hand, shaking it.

"Hi. Um, so, how are you?" Miles cringed at himself. That was a bad question to ask. "Has May been catching you up on everything?"

One of Peter's eyebrows twitched up, amused. "She has been. You've been busy."

"I mean, yeah, I guess. Spider-Man is basically a full-time job. I don't know how you managed to do it for so many years on top of university-" Miles babbled, and the amused look dropped.

"Where are my old suits," Peter interrupted.

Miles blinked. "What?"

"My suits," Peter folded his arms. "May told me you had most of the spider gear in storage somewhere. I'm assuming you didn't throw them out or sell them, so where are they?"

"Oh. Right." Miles frowned, glancing across at May, who had settled herself off to the side. "You're going to be Spider-Man again? I was going to ask about that at some point. You don't have to do it if it's too much, you could give it a rest until you're ready. I have things handled."

He didn't know Peter. They were barely acquaintances. But with how nervous he was, he was hypertuned into his every micro-expression. And he wasn't happy. It made something inside himself shrivel.

"I'm Spider-Man," Peter said, his voice carefully level. "I've spent a lot of hours creating those suits. Have you thrown them out?"

"No, 'course not. I did, um, use one of them. Myself. So there's one less."

Peter's fist curled at his side, then uncurled. "Why? Why didn't you make your own?"

Miles folded his arms and shrugged. "I make my own now, but, uh, I needed one fast when I was starting out. I spray-painted my own design-"

"You spray-painted it?" Peter cut him off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, but I don't spray paint them now. I stitch them. I even reinforce them at the knuckles and stuff. A bit of padding helps a lot," Miles explained. "I don't do webbing normally, though. I don't have the time to add all that detail, so I guess I'm a bit more minimalist.

Peter sighed. "I just want my own suits. I spent a lot of time making them. Where are they?"

"I have them in storage in Brooklyn. Everything I could fit from the Spider-Lair is there, which was most of it." Miles hesitated a beat before offering, "I have fabric there, too, if you want to use that. Including some reinforced fabric May designed. I would offer to make the suit for you, but I don't have your measurements-"

Peter near-glowered at him as he said, "I know how to make my own suits. I don't need you to do it for me."

Miles deflated. "Of course. Sorry. I was just-"

"For you, it's been two years," Peter bit out, folding his arms. "For me, it only felt like a month. You don't need to hold my hand through being Spider-Man."

"I- I didn't mean to come off like that-"

"He might have some advice about public relations," May interrupted, and Miles felt like he could breathe easier as Peter's attention shifted. "He hasn't had a secret identity for a while now."

Peter only made a quiet 'hmm' sound. Miles rubbed at the back of his neck and did a one-armed shrug. "It definitely complicates being Spider-Man," Miles admitted quietly.

"Makes sponsorships easier," Peter commented under his breath. If not for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have heard it.

Miles squinted at him. "What?"

Peter finally looked back at him. "When can I go and get my suits?" he asked instead.

Miles glanced at May, her expression thoughtful. "Right now, if you want," he said slowly. "It's the weekend, so I would normally be patrolling, but, uh, yeah, we can head to the storage unit."

Peter breezed past both of them, picking up the webshooters Miles had gifted him. "Then let's go."

"Wait." Miles followed after him. "Are you sure you want to swing there?"

"Why not? It would be quickest," Peter sighed, clipping the shooters into place.

"Sure, but is that really how you want the world to know you're back? Once you show yourself, the press won't leave any of us alone. I also assumed you want a more, uh, stylish reintroduction." Did Peter just roll his eyes? …His eyes were probably just playing tricks on him. "I mean, if you bundle up and hide your skin, and I camouflage for the journey over, we could make it work."

That made Peter look up at him, a frown on his face, "Camouflage? You have invisibility?"

Miles glanced over at May, and this time, she was smiling. "Yeah. I got everything you did power-wise, but a couple of extras too. Did you not tell him about that?" He directed that last part at May.

"I didn't get around to that," she said simply, and he nodded.

"Right, yeah. There was probably a lot to talk about." May raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Go on.' Miles shrugged and focused back on Peter. "I can turn invisible; I have bio-electricity, and a bit over a year ago, I got spinnerets. Helps to cut down on the price of web fluid, if at the price of a lot of extra calories every day. So."

Peter rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Sure, kid. How about we catch the subway instead?"

Miles couldn't help a nervous laugh that bubbled up, glancing at May again. "That might not be a great idea? People know who I am, and if they recognize me, they'll recognize you. Disguises only go so far, trust me. Do you want that to be how the world knows you're back?"

"Fine, then, what do you suggest?" Peter asked, arms folded. "I'm sure you can think of a solution."

"A cab could work, I guess," Miles said, and Peter raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"And I won't get recognized that way?" he pointed out.

"You… probably would." Miles deflated with a small shrug. "But there's probably a lower chance, and even if they do, you can just, you know, play it off. Or we could get there separately. You could go on the subway with a scarf and hoodie; without me there, you might not be noticed. You'll look a bit strange since it's spring, but you could always say you're from further south. And I could sit on the outside of the train - since you don't know where the storage unit is."

"I do know New York, you realize," Peter said slowly. "Just give me the address. I'll take the subway, and we can meet there."

"But you don't even have a phone-"

"Don't need it. I won't get lost," Peter interrupted, silencing Miles's final argument.

"Right. Okay, sure." Miles stuck a thumb in the direction of the bathroom. "I'll just change into my suit, and then we can get going."

May waved him off, and he ducked in to change.

It was barely a minute later that he stepped out, shoving his clothes into his bag, but Peter was already gone. May was staring at the door with a troubled expression.

He stopped at her side as he slung his backpack back on. Tongue-tied, he could only helplessly look at May.

"I'm worried about him," she whispered.

"I'll keep him safe, don't worry," Miles solemnly promised, and she shook her head.

"It's his heart I worry about. He's in pain, and I don't know what to say to help him. I'm afraid he will jump too far into the deep end," she admitted. She took a deep breath, then blew it out in a sigh. "Go. I know how busy you are."

Miles hesitated, but knew she was right. "Okay. I'll see you later."

Peter unraveled the scarf around his face as he walked up to Miles. "It's been years since I actually sat on a subway."

"Is… that a joke about what's going on, or are you- Oh, you're serious. Sorry," Miles sheepishly said, ducking away from Peter's burning look. "Um, anyway, set your expectations low. I haven't had the time to really sort it out."

"Sure. Surprised you got here before me," Peter commented, something swirling in his eyes that Miles couldn't read. "It's a long journey from Manhattan to here. Crime must be at an all-time low."

"I did stop an assault, and uh, I don't know about crime being lower. Doesn't feel like it. Just got lucky, I guess," Miles said with a small shrug, making his way into the storage facility. He gave the receptionist a small wave as they walked past, but she didn't even glance up. It shouldn't have thrilled him as much as it did.

Peter trailed after him as they took the stairs. "What happened to the spider cave?"

"May sold it with the house. Some of the bigger stuff was too expensive to store, so it went to auction. It helped May set up a really good retirement fund for when she moved south. Everything else is here."

Miles pulled his key out from a small clasp in his webshooter and undid the clasp on the roller door, pulling it up. It revealed the double storage unit in all its unorganized glory. From the boxes in the corner, his workbench in the middle, and drawers upon drawers of anything he could need. Fabric, medical supplies, metal of various kinds, and more. There was even a bed in the corner. He fell asleep there more often than he cared to admit.

It was his own little spider lair, set up to help him keep his life as Miles separate from Spider-Man - but often, this was the one spot where he could guarantee some peace and quiet.

"Is that really the only security measure you have?" Peter asked. "A key?"

"Hiding in plain sight. There's hundreds of storage units and mine would stick out like a sore thumb if I put something high tech," Miles said with a shrug. "They put me down as an alias, so even if someone knows I have a storage unit here, they would have to look through them all to find mine."

Peter huffed. "Well, guess I can't argue with that logic."

"I'll switch to a new storage unit if I get compromised," Miles said with a shrug. He shuffled around some tech on the floor, put his bag down at the desk, and approached the pile of boxes three deep and five high in the corner. "Well, they're somewhere in here."

"My stuff feels so appreciated," Peter drawled sarcastically.

"I don't need them," Miles admitted with a shrug as he pulled a box down, looked inside, and put it to the side. "I only really use your tech designs on the regular. I'm not the tech wizard you were- are! That you are. I do what I can and sometimes ask May for help."

Peter picked up a box and put it to the side. "I'm studying mechanical engineering with some chemistry on the side - that helps. Or… I was, I guess. I'll figure that out. You're about to finish high school, right?"

"Next year," Miles said, a nerve of waves washing over him as he glanced at his bag - filled with the university letters. "I… I don't know what I'll do when I finish."

"You'll figure it out," Peter waved off, giving him a small smile. "You could do a lot, I'm sure."

"Ha, thanks." Miles pulled out another box and finally found Peter's old suits. He put it on his desk chair, "Here we are."

Peter pulled out a black suit with a green spider design. He stretched the fabric and hummed, thumbing over the threading. "You only used one of my suits, didn't you?"

"Yeah. It, uh, let's just say it went missing. May helped me with my second design, and now I've settled on this," Miles said, gesturing at his suit. "I've made a couple of spares."

Peter glanced over it, then pulled out the suit with the cape. He unclipped the cape and pulled the suit out before setting the box aside. "Yeah, you look like you're bleeding from the armpits."

"That's not a very original comment, just saying." Miles began putting the boxes back in the corner. He would get around to properly sorting it all at some point. "You have to compete against a whole Spider-Verse for content now."

He saw Peter roll his eyes from the corner of his eyes. "Doesn't matter. In this universe, I'm Spider-Man. It's original here."

"Yeah, one of a matching set," Miles joked, but it hung in the air awkwardly. He cleared his throat. "Uh, there's web fluid in the second drawer down, too. Your recipe is at the front, and there's some stronger webbing at the back - they have red tips. Just be careful with them, even I can't break out of it for at least twenty minutes."

Peter pulled out a few of them, critically turning them over. He hummed, then unclipped the gifted webshooters and picked out one of the screwdrivers Miles had haphazardly brushed to the side. Perfectly in his element, he started taking it apart. "You should have more web fluid prepared than that."

Miles shrugged, his left hand straying to his right arm's spinneret. "I was planning on making more this weekend, but I don't really need that much. Bio webs have their perks."

"You said you got them a year ago?" Peter absently prompted, hunched over his webshooters.

"Yeah. They were a… 'gift' from the facility." Miles swallowed and leaned against the wall. "As far as I can tell, anyway. I only found out about them after my second fight with Fisk. Or, third, technically."

"May told me about that," Peter glanced up at him before hunching back over. "I saw some of the footage from that night, too."

Miles folded his arms, "Yeah, that fight was… miserable. My leg was broken, and it needed surgery. That was a mess. I'd rather get stabbed than have that happen again."

Peter sat back up abruptly, clipping his webshooters on. He flexed them and, satisfied, loaded them up with web fluid. "There, fixed."

"What was wrong with them?" Miles asked, but Peter didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he stood up and pulled his top off.

And then his pants.

"Woah, okay!" Miles turned away, shielding his eyes.

"Two years in, I thought you'd be over public nudity," Peter said, his voice muffled as he put his costume on.

"I don't change in front of people? The news is bad enough as it is. I don't need them seeing something they shouldn't. I'd get charged for public indecency or something." Miles shuddered at the thought. "Are you dressed?"

"Yeah, you can look." Peter twisted his body side to side, testing it. "It's looser…"

Miles frowned. "You might have lost some muscle mass."

Peter sighed, "Yeah. Probably. At least it's not too bad."

"I wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't pointed it out," Miles assured him.

Peter shrugged, picking up his mask. "I'm sure I'll gain it back in no time. Time to go say hello to New York-"

"Wait, already?" Miles stopped leaning against the wall. "I don't think that's a great idea."

"New York will find out I'm back sooner or later," Peter pointed out.

"Yeah, but Miguel said-"

"I don't care what Miguel said," Peter shut down, hands on his hips. "He's not the boss of me."

Miles resisted the urge to comment on how childish that was. "You need time to adjust to being, y'know, in the world again."

That got him a glare. "I don't need to adjust to anything." He moved to pull his mask on and turn away, but Miles quickly stepped in front of him.

"Wait-"

"What now?"

"Your mask. It probably doesn't have a filter in it," Miles said, pulling his own mask out.

Peter frowned in genuine confusion. "You're putting gadgets in your mask now? What if it breaks while you're fighting?"

"Believe me, it's worth it." Miles hesitated. How much did he want to tell him? "They've figured out a way to knock us out, breathe in just a bit, and you're out. They've tried to use it on me more than once."

Miles turned his mask inside out, showing him. "I've put one in my mask. All my masks. I'm still trying to figure out a way to change it into a mouthguard or something I can wear around but-"

"I'm not doing that." Peter took Miles's mask from his hands, and Miles furiously stamped back his instincts to snatch it back. "Small oxygen reserve too? That's a bit much."

"It saved me from drowning once," Miles bit out, sharper than intended. Peter's eyes narrowed on him, something sharp in them, but his attention shifted back to his mask.

He turned it the right way in, critical eyes examining it. His thumb brushed over the lens, following the small purple line in the outline of red. "Purple? Really?"

Miles puffed out a breath, shrugging. "My uncle, he meant a lot to me. He liked the color purple." Peter hummed in sympathy, finally passing the mask back. Miles firmly clasped it at his side. "He was the Prowler, too."

Peter's eyes darted up to Miles, surprised. "Really?"

"He… died protecting me," Miles whispered, absently picking at a loose thread in his mask. "I miss him a lot."

Peter nodded once. "I guess I didn't know the Prowler as well as I thought."

"Yeah."

He blew out a breath, leaning back against the desk. "Might as well ask who we're facing since we're on the topic of villains."

Miles wanted to argue against Uncle Aaron being a villain but shoved it down. "At the moment, no one. Daredevil and I stopped Tombstone from becoming a Kingpin a few weeks ago, and no one has tried to take the title yet. Before him, it was Hammerhead, and then before that, it was Owl and Kingpin."

"There'll be someone soon. There's always someone. It's just a matter of when they reveal themselves," Peter commented, his tone edging on bitter.

"Yeah, there's always someone," Miles agreed, but he couldn't help a small smile. At least there was one thing consistent in their careers as Spider-Man - there wouldn't be a break for long. "Otherwise, there's just been a stream of normal villains. Mysterio, Vulture, Trapster. Normal crime."

"Easy enough to deal with, then," Peter dismissed.

Miles's hand shifted to the wrappings around his left arm, the remnant of his fight with Vulture hidden beneath his sleeve. "Yeah, sure."

Peter's eyes drifted around the small space. "I think it's about time we get moving."

"Well, I just- What are we going to tell the news?" Miles piped up, and Peter rolled his eyes. "People will want details, confirmation, literally anything. We might be invited for interviews, but they can be overwhelming. I hate doing them, but I can do that if you want-"

"Yeah, no." Peter cut him off, standing up and picking up his mask as he moved past. "I'm not going on late-night TV to explain how I was stuck in a tube for two years."

"No, I totally get that," Miles trailed after him, locking the storage unit back up and leaving his backpack behind. He hurried to catch up to Peter as he walked up the stairs. "But they need some sort of explanation otherwise, they'll be vultures. Worse than Adrian. We could take a selfie and share it on my Instagram or something-"

"We're not doing that," Peter bit out, the door to the roof squeaking as he opened it. "I'm going on patrol to relearn my city, and I expect a spare key for this place when I see you next."

"Wait." Peter pulled on his mask, adjusting his webshooter as he walked up to the edge. "Peter. Wait. Dude."

Just as he stepped onto the ledge, Miles grabbed his arm, stopping him from getting any further. Even with the mask on, he could feel Peter's glare burning into him.

He tried to wrench his arm out of Miles's grip, but Miles' arm didn't even budge. Miles was stronger than him. He almost let go of Peter in surprise.

"Peter, please," Miles coaxed, feeling like he was talking to a particularly stubborn toddler. Who was also older than him. "I get this is all weird, and social media is the worst. I get it. But I don't want to do this stuff behind your back."

Peter reluctantly stepped off the ledge, turning to face him. Miles let him go. "Do it behind my back? How about not at all."

"We don't have a choice," Miles tried to lay out as calmly as possible. "People are going to ask questions and will do a lot to get the answers. We want to control the narrative."

Peter folded his arms. "You make it sound like they'll be barging down our doors."

"It won't be far off that," Miles insisted. "You and I can swing away from crowds, but what about my parents? May?" Miles sighed and changed tactics. "They already know everything about you, okay? MJ wrote a book about you, dude."

"What do they even need to know? All they need to know is I'm back, and I'm going to protect New York. I have a duty to this city, and I have lost time to make up," Peter bit out, turning away again.

"Yeah, we both do," Miles stepped forward onto the ledge, turning to face Peter. "I'm just trying to help, okay? We could go on patrol together and figure it out later, but we need to decide something soon."

He glanced back at the bustling city. "You could even just be Spider-Man if you wanted," Miles said with a shrug. "Full time. An upside of not having a secret identity is being a celebrity that gets sponsorships and stuff."

Peter's masked eyes narrowed, his hands on his hips. "Spider-Man isn't meant to be a way to make money."

"No, of course it's not," Miles quickly assured as he pulled his own mask on. "It's just… a silver lining."

Peter stared at him for a long, unnerving moment before he spoke again. "I'm going on patrol, and I'm going to relearn my city."

"Cool, yeah. I'll just follow you," Miles started, but Peter had already stepped off the ledge.

He sighed, scrubbing at his face before he jumped out after him.

There was a distant boom and rumble, and the two Spider-Men veered off course and towards it in sync. Only a block away, they landed on the outside of a bank - just as another rumble shook the building. A stream of people were racing out, all covered in dust.

"I can go in first and check it out," Miles suggested, trailing off as Peter had already swung into the building. "Or not. Let's just go in blind, not like I can camouflage or anything," he grumbled.

Following in after him, he was unsurprised to find it was Shocker wrecking the bank. Peter was already swinging around in a large circle to avoid his gauntlets.

"This one of your multiversal friends?" Herman shouted as he directed a shot at Miles, which he jumped to avoid.

"You wish!" Peter shouted, falling into a roll to uppercut Shocker before springing out of range. "My death has been greatly exaggerated. I'm the one true Spider-Man, and I'm back to set things right."

Set things right? What did that mean-

"Woah," he yelped, bending backward to avoid a stray Shocker blast. In retaliation, he thwipped a web at Shocker's helmet, blinding him.

Shocker wiped it away but hadn't done it in time to avoid Miles's foot to his face. He fell to the floor but blasted Miles back before he could try to pin his arms down. He hit the wall, his back flaring up in pain from half-healed bruises.

Over his own groan, he almost missed as Shocker brought his hand up to his ear and pressed a button. "There's two of them now, Boss."

"'Boss?' Who's your boss?" Miles shouted, flipping away from another shock blast.

"Who cares?" Peter said. In a flurry of activity, he had jumped onto Shocker's back and ripped one of his gauntlets off with a twist.

Miles dove in after him, grabbing Shocker's other hand and pinning it to his body before he could try and shoot at Peter. The gauntlet vibrated violently until he ripped the circuitry open, and venom shocked it.

Peter kicked the back of his knees, and Shocker went down with a shout of surprise. With a thick layer of webs, they were done.

"Alright, let's get going," Peter declared, brushing his hands as he walked off.

"We should wait for the police-" but Peter had already thwipped a web and swung away. Miles sighed, shoving down a bubbling well of frustration.

He turned his attention back to Shocker. "So, hey, Herman. Been a while."

"I'm not talkin'," Herman bit out, muffled with his face to the floor.

"Well, I just want to know who your boss is this time. Are you working with Mysterio or Vulture? Little suspicious you've all tried to take a chunk out of me this week," Miles pointed out, glancing up as the first police cars turned up.

"You'll find out soon enough," Herman said, his tone edging on a laugh.

"Ominous, much? But really, I'd rather know now. The enemy you know, and all that," Miles picked up his foot, stretching. "Last time you were in New York, you worked with Hammerhead. And this wasn't very subtle."

Shocker wriggled in the bindings but quickly gave up. "I'm not telling you anything."

Miles sighed, "Yeah, I figured. I'll find out eventually, now that I know there is someone out there. Just stay in prison this time, yeah?"

The police finally entered, and Miles helped rip Shocker out of the webbing long enough for them to bundle him into a waiting van, handcuffs on.

Peter was long gone. There was no sign of him anywhere. Miles continued to stretch while he decided where to go next. It had just ticked over into the afternoon, but he could stop by one of his stashes for something to eat.

"Miles! Spider-Man!" A reporter yelled from the quickly established police barricade. "Who was that other person? It looked like Peter Parker Spider-Man!"

Miles hesitated. "Uh, yeah. It was."

The reporter glanced back at her cameraman, confusion clear. "Care to elaborate?"

Miles glanced away, folding his arms. "It's our world's Peter Parker. I, uh, have to go, so-"

He thwipped a web and swung away, knowing he would have to track down Peter quickly to tell him about the press.

He didn't find Peter.

By the time evening began to roll around, he gave in and headed back to the storage unit, flicking the light on inside and rolling the door down behind him. He pulled the shirt and his mask off in one smooth motion, dropping them on the workbench as he sat down.

Miles sighed in relief, leaning back for a moment and closing his eyes. But he couldn't stay here for too long, he had to get back on his patrol.

Sitting back up, he unraveled his left arm from their bandages, carefully inspecting the cuts. They had finally healed, though the skin was still tender. It didn't look like it would scar for more than a month, and for that, he was grateful. He already had enough scars, many he couldn't even remember how or when he got them.

There had been more than one occasion he and his agent had had to go to bat with advertisers over them. Either they got him wearing stuff that covered them up, or they didn't, but they weren't allowed to photoshop them to make them prettier or to take them away altogether.

Not many people were a fan of seeing them on someone his age, the visible signs of the toll Spider-Man took on him, but it was a small thing he could do to spread body positivity.

He threw the bundled-up ball of wrappings across the room and into a bin, grinning when it sailed straight in. Score.

His backpack pinged with a notification.

Miles leaned down and stuck his hand into the depths of his backpack, grabbing his watch along with a spare shirt and two letters. He let the letters and shirt scatter on the table in favor of putting his multiversal watch - the green and yellow design always an eyesore - on his wrist.

There was a notification, and it wasn't from Miguel.

Gwen: hey guys do you want to come to my universe?

Pavitir: yeah I can drop by in 10

Hobie: I'm in

Miles hesitated, checking who was in the group. The original Miles wasn't in the group… but maybe it would be nice to hang out with them anyway. Get to know them better.

Miles: Hi, I don't think you meant to text me, but if the offers there I'm in

Gwen: What? Why wouldn't we text you Miles

Pavitir: It's not our Miles, it's 1610 C

Gwen: Oh… Sorry Miles

Gwen: It would take too long to catch you up on whats going on

Gwen: Another time?

There was never another time. There never would be.

He wasn't their friend. He was a weird duplicate.

Miles: if you ever need more help I'm around

But they never would need his help.

He got up, took his watch off, and shoved it deep in his backpack. Mechanically, he pulled his suit back on and a hoodie over the top before leaving the storage unit.