Miles walked into Miguel's lab, arms behind his back as he took everything in. He heard a mechanical whirr from further in and followed the sound, finding Miguel with a soldering iron leaned over some wiring.

"Uh, hi, Miguel. You wanted me?" Miles greeted, resisting the urge to fidget.

Miguel stopped whatever he was doing, stretching as he straightened up. "Lyla?"

Lyla flickered into existence by his side, scrolling through a digital phone. "Yes, boss?"

"Where did I leave the watch?"

"The watch?" Miles echoed.

"The counter over there," Lyla told him, flickering out of existence before appearing a few meters away with large arrows surrounding said spot.

Miguel barely blinked at the theatrics. "Thanks, Lyla."

"You're welcome."

Miguel brushed past Miles, who followed after him. "What watch? I thought I said I didn't want one since I have this one-"

"It's not for you," Miguel interrupted him, opening a drawer before throwing the object to Miles.

Miles caught it on reflex, turning it over in his hand. It was a sleek silver dimensional watch. "Who's it for then?"

"Your Peter." Miguel leaned against the counter, folding his arms. "How has he been?"

Miles couldn't help but stiffen up, his hands curling into fists. "Fine," he muttered.

Miguel frowned. "Has he recovered from the-"

"Yes. He's fine. Was that everything?" Miles bit out, staring at a fixed point over Miguel's shoulder.

Miguel looked at him for a moment, his frown deepening. "Yes. Are you okay?"

Miles shrugged, his nails digging into the skin of his palm. "Fine. I'll give it to him."

Lyla flickered into existence in front of Miles's face. "The probability that you are lying is at least eighty percent."

"I had a fight with Hydro-Man," Miles said, brushing off her concern as he walked out of the lab. "I'll give Peter the watch, okay?"

Miles kept his head down as he left, ignoring the phantom pressure of Miguel's eyes watching him go, a ball of heat growing in his chest. He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes, letting out a frustrated huff. He shouldn't have been surprised that Peter was being invited to HQ - it would have happened sooner or later - but…

Yeah, but.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him cold, jolting him to a stop inches from someone's chest. "Miles?"

Miles sighed, cobbling together a smile. He looked up to be greeted by Peter B. His face was crinkled into a worried frown, but all Miles could focus on was his brown hair, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes from years well worn.

"Miles?" Peter B repeated, and Miles let out a breath, a more genuine smile forming.

"Hey, Peter. Sorry, long day. I was heading to bed," Miles explained, taking a step back, only to be jarred by the group of people with him.

Gwen, Noir, Penny, Ham, Pavitir, Hobie, and the Other Miles stared at him with an owlish expression. All together in a group. All his friends and those that the original Miles had made later. But maybe at this point, he should label all of them as Original Miles's friends. "Um. Did I interrupt something?"

Original Miles rubbed the back of his neck. "Well-"

"What's that you got there, kid?" Ham asked.

Suddenly reminded of the watch in his hand, Miles's smile grew strained. "Just a watch for my Peter. He's got an invitation to HQ."

"I was surprised to hear the tale of his miraculous return," Noir said. "I look forward to hearing it from the man himself."

"Oh, I'd love to give him a tour of HQ," Penny spoke up.

"We should give him a tour of all of our worlds," Gwen chimed in, glancing around at the group. "It's basically a rite of passage to explore another Spider's world."

Miles had never been given a tour. He had never even seen Gwen's world. He had been given the watch from Hobie and thrown into a fight that needed manpower. It had only been his fight because it was the Original Miles's fight, two people with the same exact origin who only diverged because of Owl.

But he wasn't the Original Miles, who had his secret identity and all their friends. He was the Miles from 1610C, a 'celebrity' with a live Peter Parker who hated him.

"It would be cool to have your Peter tag along to our group stuff. I mean, he was the one who started the chain of events to this," Original Miles said, and the pit in Miles's stomach grew. He had never been invited to one of their get-togethers.

"Yeah," Miles agreed, his voice hollow. "A Spider from each dimension. You should get a group photo to memorialize the occasion."

"I still have to meet Blondie. I never got the chance to say hi to him," Peter B said, glancing down at Miles. "You keeping him from us or what?"

"Ha," Miles tried to chuckle, but it sounded strained to his own ears. "No, it's just been a busy week in my world."

"Is that why your costume looks like you put it through a blender?" Hobie asked, something sharp in his eyes, and Miles folded his arms over his chest.

"Yep. I had a fight with Hydro-Man. I don't want to talk about it," Miles said, trying for a playful smile, internally begging that they wouldn't push the point.

"That explains why your costume is damp," Peter B chuckled, affectionately squeezing Miles's shoulder. "It's always a bad time when you're trying to punch water."

"I have not faced this mighty foe," Noir spoke up. "I hope that I shall never meet him."

"You wouldn't want to," Miles said, his eyes catching on Hobie, who was still watching him. "I'll get out of your hair now. I wouldn't want to interrupt your get-together. It must be fun, but you've already met your 'Miles' quota."

"Oh. Right," Original Miles chuckled awkwardly. "Yep, no one needs to hear our bad jokes twice."

"Yeah, like the joke that is my life," Miles muttered. Peter B's head whirled around to look at Miles, the frown back. "It was great to see you all," he said, taking a step but was stopped by Peter B's hand on his shoulder.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Peter B said to the group, who glanced at each other in mild confusion before walking away. Hobie started moving with them but stopped a few meters away - just within hearing range.

Miles barely stopped himself from sighing as he watched them go. He hadn't needed any more proof, but it was good to know that he wouldn't be missed at HQ when Peter inevitably stripped him of Spider-Man. He didn't have any friends at HQ. They didn't want the worse copy of their friend. The anomaly of the anomaly.

The defect. The blemish. The Miles Morales who was so irresponsible he couldn't even keep his mask on for a year.

Peter would fit right in. There was already an open spot waiting for him within the core group. It wasn't like he would have had any trouble regardless - Peters were always pretty good at making friends.

Miles knew that not even a week would pass before Peter was invited on missions. That people would check up on him. Find out how he did in a recent fight, if he needed help wrapping things up, and would have the support of a network of hundreds of spiders.

The Original Miles was proof that Miles could have had that, too, if he had just been a better Spider-Man.

"So, Miles, how are you doing?" Peter B asked, drawing Miles's attention away from the departing group.

"Sore," was Miles's clipped response. "I really need to get some sleep."

"I won't keep you long," Peter B promised. "I know you've probably had a stressful week helping your Peter get used to your dimension again."

"Yeah, you could say that," Miles said, barely keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

Peter B hummed. "Well, I know what I'm like, so I just want to say on his behalf - thank you. It's not easy balancing all your responsibilities while helping him."

An attention-seeking, reckless child.

"He has a funny way of showing it," Miles mumbled, an ache in his chest that he couldn't massage away.

"Give him some time," Peter B said, a fond smile on his face. "He's just having a hard time. I'm going to drop by sometime to see you both, okay? I still have to say hi to Blondie."

Miles's eyes stung. It was never about seeing Miles or checking in on him. It had all been about ensuring he got first dibs on meeting Peter. He should have known. "Sure. Just message me whenever," Miles agreed distantly. "I have to go."

Peter B finally let go of Miles's shoulder with one last squeeze. "I'll see you soon."

Miles couldn't sleep.

Even after a shower and spending some time winding down with Ganke instead of doing the school work he had missed - and hadn't that slipped his mind? He had missed two classes and needed to make up for that, but had completely forgotten.

He couldn't sleep.

It was four AM, he hadn't patrolled, he wasn't any more injured than he normally was.

He couldn't sleep.

Miles turned on his side, listening to Ganke's soft snores from the bottom bunk. He stared at the opposite wall, even though it felt like staring into a void.

His stomach kept twisting itself in nervous knots, expecting his spider-sense to start humming a warning, even though it never did. Normally, having his mask nearby with its filter ready to protect him was enough to help him sleep.

This time, even with it resting on his chest, it did nothing.

Miles groaned, burying the sound in his pillow. He would have to go for his last resort, and he hated that. It always felt inconsiderate and lame, and he hated that it helped.

But he needed at least a few hours of sleep, desperately.

Closing his eyes, he tried again to count backward from one thousand by threes. Counting sheep. Any trick he could think of. And still couldn't sleep.

With a sigh of defeat, he sat up and pulled his mask on, creeping slowly out of bed to keep Ganke from waking up. Grabbing the now-dry suit he had hung up earlier, he pulled it on in practiced motions before opening the window and jumping into the night sky.

Miles knocked on the door, head hung as he waited for Matt to open it. With an oversized hoodie on to cover his suit, the hood pulled up, and his mask on, he knew he looked strange.

Spider-Man showing up to his lawyer's apartment at four am would be too suspicious. Just a random person showing up? Still odd, but not enough for the neighbors to snoop.

The door opened, a clearly just-woken-up Matt with bleary eyes greeting him - still in his pajamas. Miles's eyes caught on a cut lip - fresh from the last time he had seen him. A wave of guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but Matt's hand was on his shoulder to guide him inside before he could call the whole thing off.

The door closed behind them, locking with a click. Miles awkwardly hovered as Matt walked over to one of his storage cupboards. A pile of blankets and a pillow, the same ones he had used last time, were pulled out. The ones that were unbelievably soft and never overstimulated his senses.

Miles couldn't help but wring his hands together. "I can set it up."

Matt shook his head, otherwise ignoring Miles. He was relegated to watching Matt turn the couch into a makeshift bed. The pillow fluffed up, it was ready for him.

No questions asked.

Miles climbed into the bed, pulling the blanket up around his head. It was warm and soothing. Just what he needed. But…

A knot in his chest eased as Matt brought out more blankets and made his bed on the opposite couch. Matt climbed in, and only a few quiet minutes later, his breathing had evened out into sleep.

Miles uncurled, stretching out on the couch. The same one he had recovered on over a year ago, agonizing over the loss of his parents and May. All while slowly knitting together after his near-life-threatening injuries.

It had been the quietest week of his life since he was kidnapped.

Taking his mask off, he let it drop from his hands and onto the floor next to the couch. Bringing the blanket over his head, he finally fell asleep.

A gentle hand on his shoulder stirred him from sleep, his senses coming to life again to the smell of… eggs?

He opened his eyes just as Matt set some scrambled eggs on toast on the coffee table. Yawning, he sat up and put it on his lap, eating it without question.

Absently, he checked the time on his phone. An hour before school. He would have enough time to swing back and change before the first class of the day.

Even though he had only managed to get a few hours of sleep, he felt more awake than he had in months. Like it was the first time he had slept deeply in all that time. As he ate his breakfast, he couldn't help a small grimace.

There was a weight to protecting everyone around him. If he was sleeping at home, he had Mama, Dad, and Billie to protect. If he was at the dorm, he had Ganke to protect. Even when he slept at the storage unit, he had himself to watch over.

Only here could he fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that Matt could sense someone coming even before his spider-sense would wake him up. That if someone did come, he wouldn't have to face the threat alone.

Matt entered his field of vision, drawing Miles out of his thoughts. He was in his business suit, ready for work. He sat on the couch opposite Miles, the makeshift bed he had made for himself gone. "Do you want to talk about it?" Matt offered.

It was genuine, but Miles hesitated anyway. He could tell Matt about how he had hurt someone stopping Hydro-Man. He could talk about how Peter hated him, how Peter was going to discover everything that had happened last year.

Matt was the only one who had been there when it had happened. Had helped Miles take down Fisk. Had patched him up when he was at his lowest. He would understand.

He shook his head no, before realizing that Matt wouldn't be able to sense it anyway. But he couldn't unlock the words to say, No. Not yet. I'm not ready yet.

Matt's eyebrows were furrowed, taking his silence as an answer. Miles didn't need to be watching his face to know that Matt knew something was wrong, that Miles's mind was in turmoil. But he didn't push it.

He straightened his tie, standing up. "Stop by tonight for your patrol. I have some drills we can go over," he said instead of pushing Miles for answers. Providing Miles the opportunity to talk things over later.

Miles smiled, though it was weighed down. "Yeah. See you tonight."

Matt left, the front door closing behind him with a click. It left Miles alone to finish his breakfast.

Just as he had finished washing the dishes, putting the plate on the rack to dry, and resigning himself to the swing back to Brooklyn, his phone rang.

Drying his hand on the tea towel, he barely resisted a sigh at the caller ID. His dad. It rang two more times before he finally answered the call. "Hey, Dad."

"Miles, why did I get an email from two of your teachers that you didn't collect their make-up work?" his dad asked, his voice frustrated yet distracted.

"The fight with Hydro-Man-"

"We have a deal, Miles," Dad cut him off. "You need to keep up with your school work, or you'll never catch up. You already had to spend last summer making up, I don't want that to happen again this year."

Miles bit down a frustrated sound. "I was going to collect it sometime today. I'll make up the work over the weekend or something-"

There was a loud crash in the background, and Dad sighed. "Oh, Billie. Your sister just tipped over her playset. Hang on."

The line went quiet. Miles folded his arms, curling in on himself.

"Okay. She's fine. Right. Miles, you should have let Peter handle Hydro-Man. He's a grown man, he can deal with that himself. You really need to talk to him about-"

"No, Dad. Just- Peter isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card, okay? Fights go wrong so quickly, I can't just tell him to do it all himself." Especially when Peter would be more than happy to. "This is still my responsibility-"

"And you have a responsibility to your future! You can't be Spider-Man forever. What happens if you get hurt, huh?"

"I heal-"

"This is not a sustainable long-term goal. What if, heaven forbid, something happened to you? You don't have-"

"You really think that's going to happen?" Miles cut in, an overwhelming mix of anger and sadness making him nauseous. "Just- I'm doing everything you told me to! I'm learning martial arts, I've done first aid, why can't you just understand that I don't have a choice in this anymore?! None of this is my fault!"

Miles hung up the phone, burying his head in his hands.

He shouldn't have done that.

His dad was just worried. He didn't mean to blow up at him.

Miles sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Why did he blow up like that? Well, easy. Despite how alert he felt, he hadn't had enough sleep. School had fast-approaching assignment deadlines. Not to mention the fact that he had almost died yesterday, and no one seemed to care. Did anyone care?

Ganke cared. His dad did care. Mamá would care. They were just busy with Billie and had been for ages. When it became routine for your son to face life and death, when it happened almost every day, he couldn't blame them for becoming desensitized.

He should have been desensitized by now. You didn't take up the mantle of a dead hero expecting good things. Even if that hero had turned out to be alive.

His phone buzzed to life, as did the tiny communicator in his mask. The communicator only served one purpose.

Mamá, Dad, or Ganke had pressed their panic button.

With his heart in his throat, he threw his hoodie to the side, grabbed his mask, and was out the nearest window in under two seconds. He checked his phone on the first swing.

Dad - location: home.

It was the first time it had ever been used that wasn't a test.

Mind blank, between one blink and the next, he was climbing through his bedroom window, calling out, "Dad?!"

When there wasn't a reply, he raced out of his bedroom, slamming the door open. "Dad?!"

Dad stood in the middle of the room, holding a squirming Billie, who seemed insistent on being put down. "Miles?"

"Are you okay?" Miles asked, panting as he looked around the room. There weren't any signs of a struggle, nothing out of place. "Your- why did you press it?"

Dad stared at him for a long, unnerving moment. "Press what?"

"Press- so you're fine? Nothing happened?" Miles confirmed, his pulse slowing down. He took Billie from his Dad's hands, cradling her on his hip. "I thought… I guess Billie must have hit it."

"Right. Yeah, she must have. While I have you here, I was looking over those university letters-"

"Really?" Miles snapped, placing Billie down in her high chair. She reached out for him as Miles stepped back, but he knew he shouldn't hold her with anger pulsing through his veins.

He tried to take a deep breath to quell the fire in his chest, but it did nothing. Was that really why he had pressed the panic button? To have this conversation in person? "Right now? No. I'm not talking about my future today."

"We have to talk about it soon-"

"I'll see you tomorrow," Miles bit out, seething, as he climbed out the window. "Bye."

A sliver of restraint was the only thing that stopped him from slamming the window shut behind him.

Miles paced on a building overlooking Central Park, his nerves frayed from a day of waiting. He couldn't sit still, didn't want to as the anticipation gnawed at him.

It was like sitting in class before grades were handed out on a test you didn't think you did well on. Maybe you would get an A, but all you expected was an F and a phone call back to your parents.

He knew that he had tried to do everything right as Spider-Man. Had tried to be the best version of Spider-Man he could be, but every time he felt he met the expectations bearing down on him, the bar rose, and he was left drowning beneath the waves.

Giving in, he sat down on the edge of the building, his knees curled up to his chest so he could rest his arms and head upon them.

At which point, he heard a soft 'thump' from behind him.

Miles got up, turning to face Peter. He had his mask on, tension through every line in his body. Peter stood with his hands on his hips, expectant. It spoke of authority, of grim determination. It didn't bode well for him.

Miles swallowed, his mouth dry. He folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Peter to speak first.

Peter glanced past Miles, his hands curling into fists, and with a deep breath, they uncurled.

"I'm going to tell you about this kid called Miles Morales," Peter started, his voice low. "And I don't want commentary from the peanut gallery."

Miles nodded once, unable to utter a single syllable past the weight on his chest.

Peter paused for a long moment, taking one, then two steps forward. "Miles Morales was bitten by a radioactive spider, and with me assumed dead, he decided to take my identity for himself. Sure, they beat Fisk and had a pretty normal early career, but that all changed when Owl kidnapped him."

Miles couldn't help but hide his hands behind his back, a hand wrapping around his spinnerets scars, even though his suit already covered them.

Slowly, Peter walked closer, leisurely circling Miles. "Leland Owlsley, he was a man interested in taking the title of Kingpin for himself. Unlike his predecessors, he thought victory lay in the metahuman. With all the research Fisk had accumulated on me, they had made a gas that would knock Spider-Man out near instantly."

"The time there changed you," Peter said, and Miles's nails dug into the palm of his hand.

"You let vengeance and rage consume you," Peter continued, still circling. "You wanted to take him down, no matter what, for the scars he had given you. Daredevil rescued you, and only a few weeks later, you started targeting his facilities - it got you on Owl's radar. You weren't ready for him or Taskmaster, as inexperienced as you were. I bet you got quite the scar from him putting a sword through your hand."

"Yeah," Miles managed to whisper, phantom pains throbbing through his left palm. "It wasn't too bad."

Peter shot him a sharp look. "What did I say about the peanut gallery? Zip it."

Miles's shoulders curled in, but obediently, he kept quiet.

"Now, with the threat larger than yourself, you went straight to Owl's enemy - Fisk. You wanted him to protect your parents while you got your hands on Owl, so you told him who you were. Fisk would have been more than happy to let you do the dirty work, so he followed through - at first."

"I didn't tell him-"

"Zip it!" Peter snapped. Miles couldn't help a flinch, his body betraying him. Peter took another deep breath before he continued.

"Then Kraven announced his challenge. Even though it was the biggest red herring I've ever seen, you played straight into Owl's hand and faced Kraven instead of going for him. He revealed your identity to the world, and you got so mad you went straight for Owl in the middle of the gang war."

"There you got into a fight with him, one that had you leaving bloody handprints all over the opposite building's office." Peter paused then, his bug eyes staring Miles down. "But it wasn't all your own, was it? You killed Owl, didn't you?"

Miles's jaw dropped, feeling like the metaphorical rug had been pulled out from under him. "W-what?"

Peter laughed, but it wasn't a nice laugh. "No one figured it out, of course. No one would have thought that the fifteen-year-old Spider-Man had it in him. With Fisk in your pocket, you were able to take his body straight to him for his disposal. You just didn't think that the deal would backfire on you."

Fists curling, Peter took an aggressive step towards Miles. "And my Aunt May, who had harbored your parents to keep them safe from Kraven, got caught in the crossfire. Sandman, Fisk's goon, followed his orders to kill them. You gave him everything he needed to get rid of his longest-standing foe - Spider-Man - and were too stupid to figure he would use it against you. You thought the guy who killed me, who killed Spider-Man, would ever make a fair deal."

My Aunt May saved your parents and kept them out of harm's way for a whole week. A week where you were MIA because Fisk tried to kill you and dump your body in the Hudson with Owl's. You got lucky that Daredevil was there to save your sorry ass."

Miles could only stare at Peter in disbelief. He was so wrong, yet he was so close to the truth.

"A week later, on your way to get your revenge on Fisk, you were recognized on the subway. It gave him time to prepare for your arrival. You fought him and got hurt, but you still would have failed to put him away if it hadn't been for your friend putting himself in harm's way. Recklessly, you allowed all of your friends and family to almost die because you were so tunnel-visioned on revenge."

Peter turned to circle Miles in the opposite direction. Slowly getting closer with every step.

"Now, with your identity known to the world, you capitalized on it. All the money and attention you could ever want, to the detriment of everyone around you. But you love it, don't you? You love the power you get from wearing my identity."

Miles could hear his heart beating in his ears, almost drowning out Peter's voice.

"You waltz around, your face on every billboard only because of the reputation I built for you. You think you've washed away the blood that stains your hands, the deaths you caused by your own two hands." Peter pointed at Miles. "But I know who you are, Miles Morales. And you would have never been anything without my name, without Spider-Man."

"You're just some child who puts others in danger, damn the consequences."

"All I think about are the consequences," Miles whispered, his every breath ragged. "I've done everything I can-"

Peter laughed again, the sound fueled by something dark and ugly. Miles's mouth shut with a click. "You really think you're all that, don't you? You're a disgrace to Spider-Man."

Peter stepped closer, barely a foot away, looming over Miles. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. "All you do is take the easy way out, and that gets people killed."

Miles swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. His mouth opened, then closed, as he struggled to form the words to refute him.

Peter beat him to the punch.

"Take it off."

Miles stared at Peter, struggling to follow his train of thought. "What?"

Peter grabbed the front of Miles's suit, right where his spider rested, tugging him closer. "Take off this suit. You're not Spider-Man."

Miles grabbed Peter's wrist, his grip tight but not yet squeezing. "I am Spider-Man. So are you. You're wrong about me."

"You're not very smart, are you?" Peter snapped, pulling him in tighter. "How many ways will I have to say it? You don't have my blessing. You never should have put my mask on. You're a phony. A scam."

Peter jostled Miles, pulling him off balance, but Miles was too stunned, too jarred, to defend himself. He could only look into the white of Peter's mask with horror, listening to his own heart pounding in his chest. "You. Are. Not. Spider-Man. I am."

Miles broke the grip with a well-aimed elbow, stumbling back and away from the roof's edge. "You can't take this away from me."

Peter sighed, cracking his head from side to side. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Pick carefully."

"May gave me her blessing," Miles said, heart in his throat. "She-she trusted me with Spider-Man. I am Spider-Man."

Peter's fists audibly creaked as he clenched them. Miles's spider-sense pinged. "On my behalf. She gave you her blessing on my behalf because you all thought I was dead."

He stepped forward, and Miles stepped back. "Now that I've seen you up close, I know you're just a pale imitation. And frankly? I don't want you clogging up my shadow."

Miles swallowed, taking yet another step back as Peter stepped towards him. His foot slipped off the edge - there was nowhere to go. End of the road.

"Take off your costume, or I will. I'm reclaiming Spider-Man because it always was mine - it was never yours."

But it was his.

Miles forced himself to take a deep breath, to breathe oxygen into the fire in his chest.

He had earned Spider-Man through his blood, sweat, and tears. He had almost died multiple times in service of the greater good.

His mistakes did not define him. He had learned from them and kept moving forward, as hard as that had been.

Miles would not cower anymore, not even to his predecessor - especially when he accused him of crimes he had not committed.

He regretted what had happened with Owl. Owl should have faced justice in a court of law for all the people he had hurt, Miles and Peter included. But his ultimate demise at the hands of Fisk was deserved.

Vengeance hadn't fueled Miles's actions. He had been thrust into a whirlwind of competing interests and a gang war larger than himself. Freeing New York from the two Kingpins of crime had been his ultimate goal.

Peter wasn't allowed to judge his actions when he didn't have the whole story.

"And if I don't?" Miles challenged, straightening up.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "You're choosing the hard way, then?"

"Yeah," Miles said, loosening his hands at his side. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Quick as lightning, Peter tried to grab Miles. Just as quickly, Miles bent backward, almost in half, with his hands on the lip of the building. He kicked his feet up, connecting with Peter's chin with a 'thwack' before he let himself fall off the edge.

Peter's frustrated cry echoed as Miles thwipped his first web, skimming low to the ground as he swung away. He was barely through his first swing before a web jerked him back.

Turning midair, he only saw a glimpse of Peter's red and blue suit before he got a fist to the head - the punch knocking him down onto the ground.

The pedestrians around him cried out in shock, but Miles didn't have time to focus on them. He rolled away from Peter's next punch, the pavement cracking under the blow, and camouflaged.

Snapping the web off of himself, he ran and jumped into his next swing, narrowly dodging Peter's next web. He zipped around a corner, and then the next, Peter hot on his trail as Miles's camouflage wore off - it wasn't like he could hide the webs, anyway.

Miles glanced back in time to dodge another web, backflipping around it, only for Peter to grab and slam him into the closest building - the window cracking under the pressure.

"Take it off," Peter hissed in his ear.

Miles shook his head and pulled Peter in closer, using his elbow to strike him in the crux of his neck. As Peter instinctively reeled back, Miles brought his knees up and kicked him as hard as he could - Peter sailing into midair before he righted himself.

Miles, at the same moment, jumped back into midair, diving down and swinging away.

He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know how to end the fight. Peter was not his enemy, but he wasn't his friend or an ally. He wanted Miles to give up the one thing he had given up so much to.

He needed someone to talk sense into Peter. Miles couldn't do it, and he didn't know MJ well enough to judge if she could.

Miles needed May. And he needed her fast. He had to get to her hotel.

The fastest route would be through the middle of Manhattan.

He kept swinging as fast as he possibly could, barely dodging an enraged Peter. Every web and every leap at him came fast, only just missing with every attempt. Without Miles's spider-sense, he knew the more experienced Spider-Man would have already won.

And he should have known that the more experienced Spider-Man would get tired of the same strategy.

Another web skimmed past him only to explode outwards into a wide net. A spider web.

Miles had no time to think before he crashed into it, the webbing wrapping around him like a sack. Scrambling to free a hand, he was too late and had to tuck in as he hit the ground - rolling and skidding to a stop as people he couldn't see yelled in shock.

There was no time to feel the pain as Peter's shadow loomed over him, all the warning he got to roll away from his next attack. Throwing the web net off of himself, in the same motion, he ducked under a punch, going low to kick Peter's legs out from under him.

Peter went down with a shout as Miles used another web to slow him down, flipping away to a safer distance.

Before he could even try to jump away again, Peter thwipped several webs into the air, creating huge webs to box Miles in.

Only then, as his eyes darted around to find an escape, he realized exactly where he was.

Times Square.

Bustling, never sleeping Times Square, that already had one screen, then another, coming to life with angles of their local Spider-Men.

This was familiar.

Peter snapped the last webbing off himself, throwing it to the ground. Miles lit up in a show of Venom, dissuading Peter from attacking him, slowly circling each other as the crowd gave them room, their phones out.

"Don't do this, Peter," Miles said, voice barely loud enough to be heard. "Not in front of all these people."

Peter laughed like Miles had told a joke. "You're the one who decided on the hard route. I gave you the chance to give it up with dignity."

As if Miles had had a choice in this encounter. Like Peter hadn't decided what Miles's choice should be. Like the choice had been simple and not one that asked Miles to take away the largest part of himself.

Like Peter hadn't accused Miles of murder with no chance to defend himself.

"Like you never made any mistakes," Miles accused. "Am I not allowed to?"

Miles barely sidestepped a web, then another, but was too slow as one got him in the face. His venom tapered out.

Blind, he leaned into his spider-sense to dodge Peter's first grab, then second, ducking down and kicking Peter square in the chest.

With the web ripped away, Miles saw Peter's next move too late. An uppercut had Miles stumbling, an arm coming up to defend his face, but Peter reached under to grab his throat, slamming him into the ground.

Just as quickly, Miles kneed Peter as hard as he could in the stomach. The pain loosened his grip, rearing back enough that Miles could kick him away. He got to his feet, scrambling back.

There was no time to breathe. Peter almost instantly rose and reached for him again. Miles went low, grabbing Peter by the back of his knee to throw him off balance and to the ground.

Peter grabbed Miles's suit as he went down.

Miles jerked back.

He heard it, but it didn't register in the several long beats Miles had used to create more distance between them.

Riiippppppppp.

The silence was deafening.

Miles's breath was ragged in his ear as he put a hand to his chest.

His bare chest.

Peter stood up, lifting the tattered remains of Miles's torn spider symbol like a trophy.

Miles couldn't help but glance around. His masked face looked back at him, billboards filled with him and his bare chest, and Peter with Miles's suit.

"There is only one Spider-Man," Peter declared, his voice echoing. He brought the fabric down, gripping it between two hands. "And that's me."

Peter tore Miles's symbol in two.

Miles's chest was heaving. The whole world had gone to static except for Peter. Peter and Miles's symbol, discarded to the side, littered on the ground like trash.

Like that symbol wasn't everything Miles was.

Like Miles hadn't given his all to continue Peter's mission.

The edges of his vision were growing dark as Miles failed to suck in enough air.

Panic attack.

He couldn't have it here.

Not in front of the world.

Miles camouflaged and ran, pushing himself through a crowd of unending people.