As soon as he stepped into school Monday morning, he knew it would be one of those days.

Those days when he couldn't go two feet without being stared at, being whispered about when his head was turned, pointed at, judged.

After being the school's local celebrity for over a year, he had thought they would have gotten over it by now - he was sorely mistaken.

Luckily, he had come prepared. With headphones on between classes, he was able to drown out most of it. When he had discovered his locker covered in notes, questions scribbled on them - his eyes catching on Peter's name repeated more than once - he gathered them all together in a ball of paper and expertly launched them across the hallway into the recycling bin.

Notes that were passed to him in class got ignored, but a bandaid was not. He put that in his pocket.

He understood it all, really. He knew what he currently looked like, with a ring of dark bruises around his neck (because the one day he needed it his turtleneck had been in the wash), the way he couldn't quite hide his limp, the way he grimaced every time he leaned against something.

Not to mention Peter Parker. Miraculously alive and the only one who knew anything about it was him - and he was being stubbornly tight-lipped about it.

But he couldn't escape from it all forever.

"Miles Morales, Katie Smith from Vision News, I have some questions for you."

"What about this rooftop suggests I want to be harassed by you? Doesn't the school newspaper have better things to report?" Miles groaned before biting into his apple. Katie had come prepared with a recorder in her chest pocket, and a notepad and pen.

"How did you even get up here? You need special permission to do that," Ganke pointed out, arms folded and openly glaring at Katie.

"That you don't need to know. The people deserve to know about the things that happen in our city. Notably, a certain someone we all thought was dead."

"It's not my place to talk about it." Miles rubbed at his growing headache.

"No? I would have thought if it was anyone's right to talk about it, it would be the one who took his mantle for himself."

"Katie, come on. You saw the fight Miles faced yesterday. Come back tomorrow when he's had a bit more time to heal," Ganke cut in.

"He looks fine to me." Katie shrugged.

Miles snorted. "Sure I do. Come back tomorrow, Katie."

"By then, you'll have a perfectly scripted response. That isn't what real journalism is about." She stepped closer, leaning forward with her pen at the ready. "So tell us about Peter. How did you find him? Was he really dead?"

"You can't trick me into answering."

Katie huffed. "Fine. Can you at least tell me what he's like?"

"I'm still getting to know him," Miles said with a shrug, and she sighed in exasperation. "Are you done trying yet?"

She clicked the pen. "Fine. Off the book, then. Is it really him?"

"Yeah, actually. I thought it had to be a clone, but it wasn't." Miles absently clicked his neck side to side. "It's good he's back."

"Is that because he can teach you how to be a better Spider-Man?" Katie asked.

Ganke rolled his eyes. "Miles is a great superhero-"

"I'm not the only one who noticed how quickly Shocker was taken down with Peter," Katie sniffed. "Or Rhino yesterday. You've struggled to take down every villain this week. We all had to stay inside because you couldn't stop Vulture."

"They weren't acting like their usual selves," Miles pointed out. "I- I don't know what they're doing."

"You still should have stopped them sooner. Peter could. Peter is a better hero than you."

"And Peter jumped into the Shocker fight before I could even attempt to take him down. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from me," Miles argued but forced himself to take a breath. "We stopped him together anyway. I'm more than happy to have help, but I'm also not his sidekick."

Katie grinned. "So you think you're better than him?"

"No? I just- I could have camouflaged and venom-zapped Shocker before it escalated…" He paused, his eyes snagging on the recorder. "Was that on?"

"It's been nice talking to you," Katie sing-songed as she walked away.

"I don't consent to you using that! Katie! Hey!" Miles got up, but Ganke caught him by the shoulder.

"It's too late," Ganke said.

"But-"

"What do you think you're going to do? She's the head of the newspaper club," Ganke pointed out. "And we already know that the Principal isn't going to do anything to stop her precious daughter from publishing that."

Miles reluctantly sat back down. Katie had already disappeared inside. "That's going to come back to bite me."

"You didn't even say anything bad. I'm sure it'll be fine."

The door buzzed as Miles was let in, closing behind him with a clunk. He folded his arms, his every step measured and calm. Even with the barrier of glass between them, they both knew that the other was strong enough to rip it like tissue paper. If it got to that.

With the man in front of him, Miles never knew.

Fisk grinned at him. "Welcome, Miles Morales." He said his name like it pleased him to know it, a remnant of a time he had used those two words as blackmail. This time, though, Miles didn't flinch. "What a pleasure to be in your company again."

"How'd that handprint heal? Did it finally scar over?" Miles asked with an air of false innocence.

Fisk's face twisted, but the change was so minute as to be almost non-existent. "What have I done to earn the pleasure of your visit?"

Miles shrugged, leaning back against the far wall. "Rumors. Let's have an honest conversation. I know you're allergic to those, but for me, you'd make an effort, right Willie?"

Fisk leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps I can."

"Are you behind the recent villain attacks?" Miles asked, cutting to the chase.

The silence between them stretched, lingering uncomfortably. "Alex O'Hirn has created quite the masterpiece with that ring of bruises. I'll be sure to send him my regards."

Miles's hand shifted to his neck, and he scowled. "That's not an answer."

Fisk clasped his hands together. "Why don't you ask my… esteemed colleague Hammerhead? I heard he made quite the impression on you."

"I'm sure you've seen what he came in looking like, then. I don't take kindly to traffickers." Miles absently glanced at his nails, examining them. "Had to wash my hands for ages to get rid of those blood stains."

Fisk sat up straighter, his head tipping to the side just so. "Herman's services aren't cheap," Fisk stated, then paused in thought. "To use them on top of Alex's, Adrian's, and Quentin's, one would have to have deep pockets."

"You could barely retain the lawyers you needed to avoid a life sentence," Miles mused. "I guess that is what happens when you try to murder my friend in full view of a camera. What a shame, right?"

Fisk glowered at him. "If I had the money to hire those men, I would not be using them to take hostages. I would not be sitting here having this childish conversation right now."

That was the most straightforward thing he had ever heard him say. Whoever the boss was, it probably wasn't Fisk. "Maybe not," Miles conceded. "It's been fun, Willie, but I am a busy man. Unlike you. Enjoy the prison library with all twenty books on offer."

As Miles walked towards the door, Fisk spoke up. "I would be careful, Miles Morales. With such nonsensical goals, I would ask myself what the true purpose of these hired men is."

Miles paused at the door, glancing back at the man who had tried to kill his family. In Fisk's eyes, Miles was the person who had extinguished all hope of seeing his family ever again - a murderer in concept.

"I'll keep that in mind," Miles allowed.

Finding the storage unit's door ajar had Miles on edge. Had it finally been compromised?

He slowly edged forward, hypertuned into his spider-sense. But when he finally peeked inside, the weight on his chest eased as he spotted a familiar head of blonde hair.

Miles forced himself to take a deep breath in, easing the ball of tension before he knocked lightly on the door. Peter glanced up from the piece of paper he had in his hand.

"Hi Peter-"

"You want to tell me what this is?" Peter interrupted, holding it up like it was an accusation on its own.

Miles held a hand out for it, and Peter reluctantly gave it up. He skimmed over it - it was an acceptance offer from a University in Japan, similar to the offer from the one in Australia. "I've had a few of these," Miles admitted.

Peter folded his arms and sat down on the workbench. "It's insane that they even thought Spider-Man would move so far away. I mean, really, Japan? Having to learn a whole new language? No thanks."

Miles hesitated. "It's a… generous offer."

Peter stared at him for a long beat. "You're not actually considering it, are you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, maybe."

"Why- New York is Spider-Man's city. Aren't you sixteen? You still have a whole year of school left. Why are you getting these offers now?" Peter asked, his eyes digging into Miles.

"My… grades were leaked. I don't really know," Miles said slowly, folding the letter back up and putting it to the side. "I haven't decided anything yet."

"What, you got passing grades, and now everyone is falling all over each other to get you in with them?" Peter scoffed, and Miles folded arms.

"Lots of assumptions you're making," Miles bit out before he could stop himself.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Oh, am I in the presence of a straight-A student? It would explain why Spider-Man is lacking."

"What do you mean lacking-"

"That's right, so sorry, I'm the one who could learn a thing or two from you," Peter spat, standing up to loom over Miles. Miles's words failed him, and Peter scoffed again. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Katie took a tiny clip from our conversation," Miles said slowly. "I want to learn from you, but not if you think I'm stupid."

"What use would it be teaching you anything if you were going to run off to some other city? Clearly, you have no loyalty, no sense of duty towards New York," Peter spat out, jabbing a fight in Miles's chest.

A wave of venom narrowly remained beneath the surface of Miles's skin, but the warning was enough for Peter's hand to drop away. "You can't expect me to be tied down here forever. I'm allowed to make my own decisions about my future."

"And then who will protect New York?"

"Spider-Man isn't New York's only hero. What about other cities that don't have us? They don't have someone to stop them from getting mugged. What about them? New York has you back anyway!" Miles argued, his voice rising with every sentence.

"Oh, but you said I shouldn't be Spider-Man," Peter sneered. "You said you'd have Spider-Man covered. That's a lie, isn't it?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

A whoosh of air startled Miles and he stepped back onto a gravelly surface.

With horror, he jumped onto the ceiling, Peter not far behind him, as a lump of sand grew in the room, shaping into the figure of a man. It took a moment for it to settle into one Flint Marko, wearing a familiar green striped shirt.

Miles dropped down onto his workbench, frantically grabbing a bottle of water and pointing the opened top at him like a sword. He could feel his venom pulsing up and down his arms erratically.

"Woah! Sorry, Spiders. Did I get you at a bad moment?" Flint asked, taking a small step back with his arms up placatingly.

Peter tentatively let himself drop to the floor and folded his arms. "Yeah, kinda. Long time, no see."

"Yeah, yeah. Welcome back to the land of the livin'." Sandman looked past Peter to lock eyes with Miles. "I'm not here to hurt you, Miles."

Miles didn't move an inch out of his readied crouch. "Oh, sure, it's not like you and I have a bit of history with confined spaces."

Flint glanced around and grimaced. "Yeah, okay. How about we move so you're closer to the door-" and stepped forward.

"Don't move!" Miles spat, startling all three of them. He forced himself to take a deep breath, but it was shaky. "Just- don't. What do you want?"

"I came to warn you, Miles."

"That isn't ominous or anything. Way to ease his nerves," Peter snarked, but his eyes didn't leave Miles for a moment. Something contemplative, analytical, behind the look.

"I was approached by a third party yesterday," Flint started, glancing between the two of them. "They were offering me a lot of money if I helped kill you two."

"Who was it? Fisk?" Miles tentatively guessed - because even after the conversation he had had not an hour ago, he didn't trust any of it to be true.

"No. This isn't how he would do things," Flint confirmed.

"Yeah, it might be a bit hard to have business meetings in prison," Miles pointed out. "That totally wouldn't change anything about the way he did things."

"I'm sure it wasn't him," Flint doubled down. "Whoever this new person is, they're keeping their identity locked up tight, and they're offering way more than Fisk ever did."

"From when you worked with him last year? From when you tried to kill my whole family?" Miles sneered. "Surprised you didn't take them up on that offer since your morals are so flexible."

"That's not fair," Flint said, his form drooping ever so slightly. "With Fisk, it was never only about the money."

"Oh really? What could he possibly give you that you wanted more, Mr. Career Criminal."

"He cured my daughter." Flint's hands shifted to his hips, glancing down at where his feet would have been. "He put his best scientists to work on researching my daughter's illness, and she's the healthiest little girl now. Because of him."

Fisk was a family man, after all.

"So, was it worth it?" Miles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Flint locked eyes with Miles. "Do you think you're the only one who has nightmares over what happened last year, kid? We both made desperate deals with him."

From the corner of his eye, Miles saw Peter straighten up with a confused look - his eyes lingering on Miles with a question. He had known Peter would eventually learn about everything that had happened, but he had been hoping to ease him into it.

Out of his career as Spider-Man, it was a time in his life he regretted most. And now Flint, a man interwoven in the very thread of Miles's anguish, was exposing that there was something Peter didn't know. Something that connected the two of them and Fisk.

Miles swallowed, finally letting the venom taper out. His hands continued to tingle. "Why are you telling us this? Why didn't you take the deal if they offered so much?"

"I got what I wanted," Flint said simply with a small smile. "I don't want to kill you, and I'm sorry I hurt you. You're just a kid."

Miles nodded once, the movement stiff. "Okay. Let me know if you find out more about the boss. I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing. I'll find you if I do."

"Next time, knock first," Miles instructed.

"I am sorry, Miles," Flint solemnly apologized, but Miles couldn't unstick the words in his throat to even acknowledge it. He didn't move until the last stray bits of Sandman were gone; the only sign he had been in the storage unit was Miles's shaking hands.

Miles shifted to sitting on the workbench, hands in his lap as he tried to get a grip on his racing heart.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" Peter spoke up, a razor hidden in the sympathetic tone.

"Drop it," Miles bit out.

"No, I don't think I will. What the hell happened between you and Flint?" Peter asked, arms folded

Miles got up, grabbing the letter on his way to the door. "Why do you care? He's not a threat to us right now."

Peter snagged Miles's arm. "You don't get to walk out of that. What deal did you make?"

"One with the devil, and I paid for it," Miles muttered. "I need to go on patrol. Let me go."

"Tell me-"

Miles twisted the grip around, pulling Peter's hand behind his back, and kicked the back of his knees. He hit the floor with a yelp of surprise, his arm bent unnaturally behind him. "Leave it alone," Miles snapped before he let go, melting into invisibility.

Peter rolled over, his hand reaching out to grab for someone who had already left. Miles left the door open as he slipped out.

The robber ran for the door while Miles was distracted by one of his companions. He ducked under a punch before uppercutting the guy, enough for him to stumble and fall to the ground. Miles webbed him up, and without looking, he thwipped a web at the runner.

He heard the guy let out a startled gasp before he smacked to the floor. With one final kick, the last robber was on the ground, joining his friend in a web cocoon.

"So-"

Miles startled, ending up on the ceiling. Looking down, he found Peter staring up at him, hands on his hips in full Spider-Man uniform.

"So… fancy meeting you here," Peter continued, his head tilted to the side. "Small city, right?"

Falling back to the ground, Miles straightened up with a shrug. "Yeah, I guess. Um, I was just finishing up with these guys."

"I thought for sure that dude," Peter pointed with his thumb at the robber with his feet stuck to the floor, "was going to get away. So, uh, good job."

Miles looked at Peter for a long moment, his stomach churning with anticipation. "I've picked up a few tricks along the way…" he eventually said.

"Thank you, Spider-Man!" the shopkeeper cried, coming out from behind a stack of shelves they had been hiding behind. They enveloped Miles in a big hug.

Miles awkwardly patted their back with his arms pinned at his sides. "Yep, no worries, sir."

They stopped hugging him but kept his arms on Miles's shoulders. "You must be starving this late in your patrol. What are young men like you doing up at ten? Huh? You have school tomorrow!"

"I'm okay, really-"

"I have some sandwiches with your name on them!" The shopkeeper finally stepped away, glancing at Peter hovering behind Miles, and said, "I can make one up for you too, Peter."

"If you're offering."

"Wonderful! I will be back in just a moment." They disappeared into the back of the store, leaving both Spider's standing around.

Peter cleared his throat. "So, how was school today?"

"Small talk? Really?" Miles couldn't help but blurt, arms folded as he looked back at Peter.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, uh. How was it?"

"..fine." Miles shrugged, "Normal. Avoiding questions about you. The usual."

"That's good, great! Not great about people annoying you about me, but…" Peter trailed off, his head perked, swiveling around. "Do you smell that?"

"No? Smell what?" Miles asked, straightening up.

"Smoke. There's a fire somewhere. Let's get moving." Peter snagged Miles by an arm and dragged them both out of the store. Miles went willingly.

Peter paused, inhaling deeply. Miles still couldn't smell it. "That way." He thwipped a web, swinging off and disappearing out of sight.

Miles rushed to follow him, but his worry about not finding whatever was happening quickly diminished.

A block away, he could see flames licking up the side of a building, the fire alarm inside the building shrilly alerting its occupants of their imminent danger. No fire trucks had turned up yet, a detail that surprised him with how large the inferno already was.

Why that was became apparent very quickly, as a blast of fire shattered more windows, revealing the arsonist himself - Molten Man.

"Find everyone inside. I've got him," Peter instructed from beside Miles as he swung past and into the building, going straight for Molten Man.

Miles climbed to the top of the building, planning to work his way down. Checking that the filter in his mask was on properly, he kicked a window open and climbed inside, rolling to the floor and keeping low.

"Is anyone here?!" Miles shouted, crouch-running throughout the first apartment to keep below the smoke. Yet when he got to the front door, he paused. The door was barely on its hinges, a crack running through it. He glanced into the hallway, finding the rest of the doors similarly broken.

Dread washed over him. This was planned - and he suspected that there wouldn't be anyone to find.

He sprinted at the open window and jumped, thwipping a web into a large swing down to the fight. Molten Man didn't see him coming as he kicked the back of his head, dropping him to the floor before he sprung away.

"What are you doing?" Peter yelled at Miles. "You need to check for-"

"There's no one there. This was planned. I think he has them all hidden away somewhere," Miles cut him off.

Molten Man laughed as he got up, wiping away a bubble of lava from the corner of his mouth. "He's right. I have all the hostages in a room, and they'll all suffocate and die in this fire."

"Tell us where they are, and we'll go easy on you," Peter growled but then bent double, coughing.

"You don't have a filter in your mask, Peter," Miles said, quiet enough that Molten Man wouldn't hear him. "We need to wrap this up quickly."

Peter glanced at Miles, "Go find the hostages."

"But, if we take Molten Man down quickly-"

"No. Find them. That's an order," Peter barked, sidestepping an on-fire chair Molten Man had thrown at him.

Miles shoved down a flare of anger and did as he was told, running into the stairwell. There, he paused, tuning into his senses and ignoring the commotion still happening behind him. If he had taken them all captive with the same restraints that Rhino had had, he would hear something metallic.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs, closing his eyes to focus better.

Just as he began to regret his strategy, he heard something coming from two floors up.

He thwipped a web and jumped up, bursting into the hallway. There, he paused again, listening past the roar of flames.

There.

Four apartments down, he wrenched the door open, discovering the whole apartment filled with people, their mouths taped shut, their arms and legs bound together in shackles and covered in burn marks.

"I'm going to save you, hang on," Miles promised, jumping onto the ceiling and racing for the window. It had been curtained shut - another way to prevent Miles from finding them sooner. He kicked the window frame out, webbing it to the side of the building.

The fire brigade had finally shown up, and to Miles's relief, they had ladder trucks. Ten stories high, Molten Man hadn't made this easy on them.

With thirty people, at least, he knew he would have to work quickly.

He grabbed the two nearest people and webbed down to the ground, depositing them with the closest firemen.

"Status?" The chief asked.

"Thirty or so people all in that apartment, bound like that. Molten Man is a few floors down fighting Peter. If you clear a bit of space, I can make a slide out of webs," Miles said.

With a few barked orders, a space about a car width in length had been made. It was all Miles needed. He cast a wide net from the window to the ground, a steep but safe slide. With that done and ladder trucks helping firemen join him at the top, they quickly got to clearing the apartment.

As Miles gently pulled the tape of one man's mouth, he stopped Miles, "Wait, Spider-Man."

"What's wrong?"

"My son. Anthony. He hid under the bed, Molten whatever didn't see him." Hacking coughs cut him off as Miles carried him to the slide. "Please, go get him. Apartment 1505. Please."

"I will, I'll find him," Miles promised. "Take care of yourself."

With a quick check to make sure the man had made it to the bottom, he climbed out the window and ran up the wall. As he ran, he counted the floors as he went until he found the right one. He kicked another window in and rolled to the floor below the smoke.

The front door was cracked in like the others, and the apartment number was on it. 1518.

He hurried down the hallway, checking the numbers as he went. When he made it to the right one, he called out, "Anthony! Anthony, are you here!?"

Silence greeted him.

Miles checked under the couch as he went, "Anthony! It's Spider-Man! Your Dad sent me to find you. Anthony?"

The first bedroom was the parents, but he checked there anyway. "Anthony?"

Silence still.

Heart in his throat, he checked the second bedroom. Toys carpeted the floor, definitely the kid's bedroom. But when he looked under the bed, there was no one there.

"Anthony!" Miles cried out again, "Come on, where are you?"

He forced himself to take a breath, grateful for the filter that kept the smoke out of his lungs. Concentrating, he tuned into his senses to try and find them. Buried under the roaring flames, sirens, and distant sounds of fighting, he heard it.

A wheezy inhale.

Following the sound, he opened the bathroom door to find a small kid huddled in the bathtub, eyes closed - passed out. Miles raced forward, dropping to his knees beside him. "Anthony?"

All that greeted him was a shallow breath.

It was a split-second decision to take his mask off and pull it over the kid's head, securing the filter in place and switching on the small supply of oxygen. It wouldn't last long, but it would be enough to tide him over.

Miles coughed as he inhaled the thick smoke, cradling the kid to his chest with one hand. He kicked open the nearest window and jumped out, swinging around to the firefighters.

Off to the side, he spotted Peter with his mask pulled off and holding an oxygen mask to his mouth. Nearby, webbed in a tight cocoon, was Molten Man - knocked out. No more people were being helped down the slide - the apartment was now empty.

Miles dropped next to the closest paramedic without a patient. "He's critical."

"Got it," the paramedic said, taking the kid from his hand and placing him on the ground. They waved over a colleague who rushed over with supplies, including an oxygen mask.

Miles pulled his mask off of Anthony's head gently, putting it back on his own head. "I can get him straight to the nearest hospital-"

"Let's not move him for now. Thank you, Spider-Man, you've done your job," the paramedic reassured.

Miles nodded and stepped back. He went up to the fireman chief, "Do you need any more help checking if there's anyone left?"

The chief shook his head, "We've got everyone accounted for already. Molten Man made our job easier, surprisingly enough."

"Okay, no worries. I'll get out of your hair," Miles said before walking over to join Peter. After a moment of hesitation, he sat down next to him. "You okay?"

"Dandy. They insisted," Peter gestured toward the bustling paramedics and firefighters, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

"Yeah, they can be pretty overprotective sometimes," Miles mumbled, unable to help a fond smile. "I'm just glad that with this filter, I don't drain their resources."

"About that," Peter started. "You shouldn't wear it all the time."

Miles looked at Peter for a long moment. "..What?"

"That filter, you didn't smell the fire. If I hadn't been there, it would have taken a lot more time for you to learn about it," Peter said, his gaze unwavering. "It's dulling your senses."

"It helped me save all these people's lives," Miles argued, voice hushed so no one else would hear them. "It helped me save that kid's life. This filter-"

"It's great for fires, yeah, but how much have you missed?" Peter dug in but was cut off by hacking coughs.

"Are you really arguing with me over this while coughing up a lung? Something you're doing because you didn't have one?" Miles asked, incredulous.

Peter waved a hand as if to wipe away Miles's argument until he got ahold of his coughing and could speak again. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have a filter in your arsenal - I'm going to invest in one too. I'm arguing that you shouldn't wear it all the time. You need something portable."

"One that I have to switch on and off manually?" Miles barely even paused to think about it. "No. No way. I wear this all the time for a reason-"

"What is it then," Peter cut him off. "What's got you wearing that thing every second you're Spider-Man?"

Miles's words failed him for a long moment. He swallowed and looked away, folding his arms. "They have stuff that can knock me out nearly instantly. They've used it on me before. It's what led to- to…" he couldn't drag the words out.

"And how long ago was that?" Peter asked when it was clear Miles wouldn't say anything else.

"...Over a year."

"And when was the last time that it was used on you?"

Miles knew exactly the point Peter was about to make and hated it. "A few months after that."

"Almost a year later, you're only hindering yourself," Peter said, his eyes burning into the side of Miles's head. You need to use your every sense to its full potential to help save as many lives as you can."

Miles got up. "I'm not listening to this. You don't get it."

Peter grabbed his foot, forcing him to stay in place. "I do. You cannot be Spider-Man if you're still paranoid about something that happened that long ago."

"Paranoid?" Miles bit out, seething. "I am not being paranoid."

"Do the math. You claim you're smart-"

"Not this again." Miles tried to shake him off, not yet putting his strength into it. "This thing has saved me so many times. I'm not giving it up just because you smelled this fire before me."

"How long would it have taken you to find out about it? That kid would be dead by the time you found out about it," Peter said, voice hard.

Miles glared down at him. "Fine, you want some math? Maybe I would miss one or two things, which would be terrible. But you know what would be worse? What would lead to more people dying or getting hurt? If there was no Spider-Man because they were stuck in a tube like a lab rat."

Peter's look turned venomous. He put down his oxygen mask and stood up, looming over Miles. "Take that back."

"No. You want paranoid? That's what I'm paranoid about," Miles hissed. "You said it yourself. They were going to stick me in one of those things. I'm never, ever, going to give them that chance."

A hand to the scruff of Miles's neck had his breath hitching, Peter pulling him closer. "This isn't a numbers game. I've been doing this longer than you. Apologize."

Miles glared up at him, letting his venom pulse under his skin in warning. Peter dropped the hand, taking the message for what it was. "I'm allowed to protect myself from enemies I know are out there. I will not give them an advantage."

"You're building defenses against ghosts and risking people's lives-"

"Spider-Man! Or should I say Spider-Man's? Spider-Men?" A voice interrupted, shattering the moment. Miles stepped back, turning to face the new voice. A reporter, of all things, had managed to sneak their way past the blockade. "Peter, can you confirm it's really you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Peter asked, incredulous. "Yes, it's me."

The reporter shoved a microphone closer to them. "Now, everyone wants to know, did you die? Was magic involved? How are you standing here today, having just fought Molten Man?"

Peter shifted, clearly uncomfortable. Miles spoke up, "Yeah, now's not the time for those kinds of questions. All you need to know is that it is him. I've made sure of that."

"You can't expect the whole world to refrain from asking these questions-"

"The world can wait until he's ready to talk about it," Miles shut her down. "You're just looking for a soundbite. Go back behind the police line and report the real story here - all these people losing their homes because of Molten Man."

The reporter looked at them for a long moment, Miles staring her down with a hardened glare. "One final question, then, before I leave. Are you both Spider-Man? How should we refer to the two of you?"

"We're sorting that out. Now please leave," Miles said, making a shooing motion. Reluctantly, the reporter obliged, much to Miles's relief.

Miles turned to leave, but Peter grabbed him by the shoulder. Miles couldn't help a frustrated huff. "What?"

"..Thank you. We'll talk later. Get some rest, you have school tomorrow." Peter let him go, sitting back down.

Miles glanced back at him, arms folded. "...Yeah. No problem."