He had always meant to return to the half-finished mural on the wall.

There had been inspiration to go back and finish what he'd started. To put more Spiders on the wall, to showcase them in a way that would honor what they all meant to him.

But life was busy. Life was tiring.

There were sketches in a notepad somewhere. Maybe one day, he would come back to the mural.

He hadn't thought about the mural in at least a month. Hadn't wanted to touch it in longer.

Miles had visited the Original Miles's world once, sneaking down to look at the Original Miles's mural. He had admired how it filled up the whole space, every wall covered in friends. Even the ceiling had spider-people on it.

It had killed his desire to complete his mural. It had felt like cheating, even if, logically, he knew they were the same person. You couldn't cheat off yourself.

The mural connected him to Uncle Aaron. To a time before things had gone wrong. When Miles was just Miles Morales. To a time before Spider-Man, yet embodied who he had become.

He didn't know why he had fixated on the mural, why it was all he could think about, as he struggled to breathe around the panic gripping his throat.

Miles closed his eyes, tipping his head back. Instructions from Myah on how to cope with a panic attack, the breathing exercises they had drilled into his skull, were slipping through his mind like grains of sand.

Dizzy with the need to breathe, it took all his effort to remember that he wasn't actually dying. That even if he passed out, he would be okay. That he wasn't going to die.

Every time he started a breathing exercise, his fingers would catch on the frayed edge of his ripped suit, and he would spiral down again.

It was like trying to breathe through a paper straw that had gone soggy.

Over and over, he tried to come around, only to be reminded about what had happened, and he was gone again.

A sound echoed into the room, a kicked pebble bouncing into the room and stopping in front of Miles.

He melted into invisibility, his jaw closing with a click. His chest burned with the need to breathe, but he ignored it, all his focus drawn into the dark space beyond the room.

A flash of red and blue had him shuddering. He clenched his eyes shut, gathering his wits before shouting, "Here to finish the job?" It was weaker than he wanted it to sound, but it was the best he could do.

How had Peter found him? Only Daredevil should know where he was. Even Mamá and Dad didn't know about this spot - May might know, but why would she tell him? He had thought this spot would be safe.

Nowhere in New York was safe, but he thought this one place would have been sacred enough.

The footsteps kept coming until they stopped at the threshold of the room. It was quiet, only Miles's strained and panicked breaths filling the silence, but then they whispered, "I saw what happened, kiddo." Their voice was soft. Comforting.

Peter wouldn't call him kiddo, not anymore, and he would never be nice to him. Peter hated him.

He blinked his eyes open, meeting the unmasked face of one Peter B Parker. He didn't have his signature sweatpants or robe on.

Miles slowly let his invisibility dissipate, it wearing off in flickers and starts - his nerves crossed and fried. Miles curled in on himself, shuddering breaths giving way to sobs as the full force of it all came crashing back down on him.

Adrenaline. What a wonderful thing.

Peter B crouched in front of him, his hands out like he wanted to put a comforting hand on Miles but couldn't. Was his venom playing up? It probably was. It often did when he was this upset.

His body trying to protect him at his most vulnerable. As helpful as it was hindering.

"You've gotta breathe, Miles," Peter B softly said.

Miles shook his head, every attempt to speak smothered by sobs tearing their way out of his throat. It ached, opening barely healed wounds from his fight with Rhino and Hydro-Man.

Rhino had happened barely a week ago. Hydro-Man a day ago.

He ached, he was tired, and he was never, ever going to be enough.

Peter B extended a hand, palm up. In stuttering starts, Miles focused long enough to dissipate the venom racing up and down his arms, taking the offer. Peter B put his other hand over Miles's, sandwiching his hand, and lightly squeezed.

Focusing on how warm Peter B's hand was, he finally stopped producing his electricity.

As soon as he had, Peter B sat down next to him. Pulling Miles practically into his lap, tucking Miles's head under his chin like he was a small child, he hugged Miles and rocked him, softly crooning.

It was probably something he had done with Mayday a thousand times.

Miles went practically limp in his old mentor's arms, curling in and hugging him back.

And he cried.

And cried.

Cried until his voice was hoarse, until he was reduced to whimpers, until the mask he wore was damp and his eyes stung.

Only then, tucked in the safety of Peter B's arms, he asked, "How much have you seen?"

Peter B was quiet for a long beat, slowly rocking Miles like he had forgotten he was doing it. "I saw what happened. He doesn't have the right to take Spider-Man away from you. Anyone can be Spider-Man. He isn't the authority on who is and isn't."

"But he's right," Miles argued, voice small and buried in Peter B's chest. "I shouldn't be Spider-Man. I'm just- just an attention-seeking, reckless, stupid-"

"Hey, hey," Peter B interrupted, holding him tighter. "You've earned your right to be Spider-Man. You Mileses always do."

"I got Owl killed," Miles whispered.

"Sh, sh. I know you, Miles. I don't know what happened, but I know you. It's not your fault," Peter said. "You were doing your best."

"It was my fault. I'm the reason he's dead," Miles bit out, his breath hiccuping as he barely suppressed a sob.

Peter shushed him again, letting quiet settle over them. Eventually, Miles moved to sit up, and Peter let him. He got a hand under his mask to wipe at his eyes, grimacing at how they ached.

"I think you should come to HQ with me," Peter said, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "As cool as it is to see your mural, there are much warmer and comfier places at HQ to unwind."

Miles shrugged, unable to get himself to look at the artwork. "It's pretty sad, right?" Miles whispered, his voice hoarse. "The other Miles's so much better."

"Oh, kiddo." Peter B sounded heartbroken, pulling Miles in for another tight hug. "How long have you been comparing yourself to him?"

Miles's silent, shaking sobs was all the answer he could muster. Peter B sighed, rocking them slowly, patiently waiting Miles out.

"You've put so many expectations on yourself," Peter B whispered, his chest vibrating against Miles. "This mural is meant to be fun, something for you to enjoy making. It's not a competition. You don't have to be him, even if you come from the same roots."

"I wish I was him," Miles admitted between breaths. "I wish I wasn't his variant. I wish-"

"Hey, none of that," Peter B interrupted. "You don't know what's happening in his life." He sighed, "I'm taking you to HQ with me. Come on."

Effortlessly, Peter B wrapped Miles in his arms, picking him up. Miles instinctively grabbed hold, sticking to him until his mind caught up, and he let go. How long had it been since he'd been held like this?

"This is the least subtle kidnapping I've ever had," Miles tried to joke, his voice weak and watery.

"You'll enjoy this one," Peter B said confidently, his smile soft. "This one includes hot chocolate."

Miles sipped his hot chocolate, bundled in a blanket in a small lounge away from the main corridors. Peter B had nodded off, his arm loosely wrapped around Miles to keep him close. It was definitely his dad instincts.

The lounge had a small kitchenette with a cabinet off to the side with medical supplies. Miguel knew what Spider-people were like with injury management. Couches took up the rest of the room.

There was a soft knock at the door, but it was opened before Miles could tell them to come in. His eyes widened at the sight of his own face, minus his scar - Other Miles. Other Miles peered in and saw Peter B.

"Oh, sorry," he whispered. "I didn't realize he was asleep. I can come by later-"

"It's fine," Miles interrupted with a tired smile. He beckoned him inside, and with a small moment of hesitation, Other Miles came in, closing the door with a soft click. In his hand was a bundle of black fabric.

He settled on the couch to the side of Miles, placing the fabric in front of Miles on the coffee table. "Peter said you needed a spare suit," Other Miles said, typing something out on his watch before he glanced up again. His watch was black and red, effortlessly blending into their costume. "And that something happened to yours?"

Miles couldn't help but glance at Peter B. "He didn't tell you?"

Other Miles shook his head, frowning. "No? I just figured you'd had yours torn in a fight or something."

With a slow breath, a moment of hesitation, Miles let the blanket fall from around his shoulders. It revealed his torn costume, with only the spider symbol gone. His eyes stung, and his chest ached. He couldn't meet Other Miles's eyes as he took it in.

"My Peter doesn't think I should be Spider-Man," Miles whispered.

Carefully, Miles unwrapped himself from Peter B's arm. He put his hot chocolate down and reached for the top of the spare suit, holding it up. Seeing his old costume, the one he had worn from Kraven's challenge to his breakdown, made something inside him ache fiercely.

It would have to work.

Miles pulled his top off and put the spare on. With his ripped suit in hand, seeing the blue interlaced with the red just made him sad. He had chosen it to honor Peter, something to show he was continuing his legacy.

So much for that.

Miles folded his suit up and put it down with the torn front face down next to the legs of the spare suit.

"Maybe it's a good thing I didn't find my own Peter, then," Other Miles whispered, his gaze caught on Miles's suit.

Miles looked at his counterpart's face for a long moment. If he knew himself, Other Miles had probably been endlessly wondering about his own Peter. Wondering if he was alive. Wondering how his own Peter would react to him.

"Peter is only upset at me because of my mistakes," Miles explained slowly. He shrugged half-heartedly. "I let Owl get murdered. There's nothing you've done that he could hate."

Other Miles's face twisted into a bitter smile, shaking his head. "Yeah, I don't know about that. I, uh, didn't have a great experience with the Venom symbiote. I'm not proud of it." Other Miles met Miles's startled eyes. "We aren't that different, you know."

"Huh," Miles couldn't help but blurt. "Yeah, guess we're not. That- sounds really dumb. I'm your variant, of course we're the same."

Other Miles grinned. "Something like that anyway." Other Miles sighed, leaning back and stretching. "Honestly? I'm glad you're around."

Raising an eyebrow, Miles prompted, "Yeah?"

"You help me prove Miguel wrong," Other Miles explained. "I know it's all behind us, but you're just a nail in the coffin. How could an anomaly have a variant timeline? I was right to fight Miguel. Thanks for helping in that final fight, by the way."

Miles shrugged. "Had to help me, right?"

"Still. Thank you," Other Miles said. "Us Mileses need to stick together. Speaking of, you haven't met Milzo yet, have you?"

"Milzo? That's the, uh, not-Spider-Man version of us, right?" Miles guessed.

"Yeah, Prowler us. I call him Milzo and he calls me Smiles." Other Miles paused, then frowned. "We haven't done names for each other, have we?"

Miles shifted. "Uh, no. But we don't see each other much-"

"That's going to change," Other Miles said with a level of finality that made Miles's chest squeeze. "Well, call me Smiles. You can be Miles until we figure out a nickname for you."

"Smiles, yeah. I can do that," Miles agreed.

A knock at the door had them both glancing up. Smiles got up to open the door. Outside was Hobie and someone he didn't recognize.

"Hey Hobie," Smiles said, opening the door wider to let them in. "Who's this?"

Wait, there was someone Smiles wasn't already friends with? He sat up straighter, really looking at the new Spider-Man. He had wavy hair, a boyish face, and dark but bright eyes. Vaguely, he was reminded of a celebrity he had heard of in his own universe, Tom something-or-other.

Hobie put an elbow on the Spider-Man's shoulder, grinning. "Hey, Mileses. This is Peter One from Earth 199999." Peter One gave them a small wave. Hobie raised an eyebrow. "Nice suit, Miles."

"That is both an insult and compliment," Miles said with a frown. "How did you do that? What?"

Peter One sat down while Hobie went to the kitchenette, making himself at home. Miles couldn't help a grin of disbelief. "Okay. Well. Hi, Peter One, we're both Miles Morales," Miles gestured between himself and Smiles, who had sat back down. "I'm his 'no-secret identity' variant."

Peter One let out a chuckle, glancing at Hobie. "Is that why you wanted us to meet?" Hobie shrugged. "Huh. Well, I lost my secret identity for a while almost a year ago now. I got it back, but…" he trailed off, lost in thought, before he finished with, "It cost me everything."

The kettle in the corner started bubbling.

Miles looked down at his hands. "I would love to have mine back. I haven't had one for over a year now. I wish I did." Miles met Smiles's eyes, but the sympathetic look he got made him itch. Peter One's eyes were knowing, though, a comrade of shared pain. "It feels like everyone is watching my every move all the time. As Miles or as Spider-man. I can't… take a break."

There was a click and the sound of water pouring before Hobie started passing out mugs, including a new hot chocolate for Miles. He cradled it in his hand, enjoying the warmth.

Peter One grimaced. "I had that happen - constantly being watched. My friends and I were even rejected from universities because of me, because of Spider-Man. I had just been accused of murder - the charges were dropped, but the damage was done."

Miles blinked. "Wait. You've been accused of murder, too?"

"Doctored footage," Peter One explained, resigned. "Sometimes I still wonder if Beck is actually dead or not… You?"

"Circumstantial. Two went in, one came out, but… only one person has accused me. But he's…" Miles couldn't bring himself to explain the rest, his eyes stinging, his stomach rolling. He put the hot chocolate on the coffee table, folding his arms and leaning back. "It isn't easy."

"Lotta notes you two can compare," Hobie chimed in.

Miles met Hobie's eyes. "Thank you," he said. Hobie knew what he had been doing, introducing the two of them. It was good to meet someone who had had a similar struggle.

Hobie shrugged. "No big deal, mate."

A hand on his shoulder made Miles jolt. It was Peter B's hand, and he let out a slow breath. He had forgotten he was in the room. "Peter One, right? I knew I knew you from somewhere. Peter 'Two' and 'Three' talk about you a lot."

Peter One sat up straight, a smile on his face, "Really?"

"Of course! You're their 'lil buddy." Peter B stretched out, arms lounging over the back of the couch. "Honestly, I should have been the one to introduce you to Miles - you have a lot in common. I didn't think of it, even though I constantly hear about how cool of a guy you are."

Miles couldn't help but grin at how red in the face Peter One got.

He picked up his hot chocolate again, sipping it as the conversation continued. His thoughts couldn't help but stray to his own universe. It was probably getting late. He checked his watch and grimaced. He had definitely missed his patrol with Daredevil.

"I should probably head home," Miles said quietly in a lull in the conversation. "I kind of dropped off the face of the planet right after that, uh, 'spectacle.'"

"Are you sure?" Peter B asked, a comforting hand on Miles's shoulder and his face pinched. "What happened to you was-"

"I can't hide here forever," Miles said, meeting Peter B's eyes. His chest ached at his concern. "Time won't make this any easier, and I'd rather do it with some sleep under my belt. I... I have to set things right."

"I can talk to Peter for you," Peter B offered, but Miles shook his head.

"He needs to hear it from me." Miles shrugged. "It's not like he could hurt me any more than he has. He's already ripped my suit in front of everyone."

Peter B wrapped Miles in a hug. "Please message me, okay? I will show up unannounced if you don't. Don't think I won't."

Miles smiled as Peter B let him go. "Okay, I will. I promise." He looked over at Peter One. "When things are quieter in my universe… would you want to drop by?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's do that. Thank you," Peter One said with a matching grin.

Miles finally got up, taking the top half of his own costume and Smiles's spare pants with him. "Thank you all for this. I… I needed it."

"Any time," Smiles said.

Miles landed on the roof of Visions, the portal closing behind him. He stood up, hands on his hips, studying the New York skyline. His phone immediately started buzzing in his pocket as it caught up with all the messages he had missed. And didn't stop buzzing for almost a minute.

He waited it out with a grimace. Only when it had stopped did he dare to bring it out, scrolling through to find the important messages.

May: Come to my place tomorrow morning. I will help set things straight.

A wave of trepidation washed over him, and he sighed - and the sigh turned into a yawn. He flicked back a message saying 'ok.'

There was one from Mama, too, asking if he was okay. He messaged back that he was fine and would handle it and that he would talk to them tomorrow. He was staying at Visions tonight.

With that, he crawled down and into his room, only to startle.

"Ganke?"

Ganke sat up from his slouched position on his bed. "I'm awake! Miles. Are you okay?"

Miles closed the window behind himself, putting the suit parts down on the desk along with his mask. "I thought you would have gone home for the weekend."

"I knew you'd come here," Ganke explained. He got up, pulling Miles into a hug.

Miles hugged him back, wrapping his arms around his friend with a shuddery breath. A tear slipped down his cheek, soaking into Ganke's shirt. "Sorry," he whispered, "I thought I'd have a handle on my emotions by now. I cried to Peter B, I should be fine-"

"What does your therapist say about being upset?" Ganke prompted, cutting through his babbling.

"That feeling upset isn't linear. It isn't a one-and-done thing. I can't have a breakdown and expect them to go away. I know," Miles mumbled.

Ganke let him go, grabbed something from the bedside table, shoved it in Miles's hand, and wrapped him up in the fluffiest blanket they had. It was a juice box. Miles would have been amused if his chest wasn't aching.

"This sucks," Miles said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, stabbing the straw into the juice box.

Ganke sat down next to him, crossing his legs. "Yeah."

Miles rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know what the internet is doing right now?"

Ganke grimaced. "Besides self-combusting?"

Sipping on his juice box - orange flavored - Miles wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "Whose side are they on?"

"Well," Ganke hummed. "I haven't done a poll yet."

"Ganke."

"Sorry." He sighed. "It's pretty split, but most people don't know enough to decide? Some people think it's a hoax or that it was staged. J. Jonah is having a field day. Most are questioning why Peter hates you, quite frankly."

Miles threw his now empty juice box into the bin across the room. "And they'll only know the whole story if I tell them. And I'd have to tell them what happened last year."

"Which you have refused to do."

"Yeah." Miles scrubbed at his face, sighing.

Ganke's face twisted into such a look of sympathy it made Miles's skin itch. "It might be time to do it."

"No way. Putting aside admitting to a crime, no one needs to know I got tortured, okay?" Miles wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "I just need to have a- a calm conversation with Peter, I'll explain it to him and- and we'll go from there. I'm not giving up Spider-Man, so he'll just have to deal with it."

Ganke raised an eyebrow. "I hate to say it, but I doubt he can be convinced. What will you do if he still won't see your side?"

"I…" Miles curled in on himself more. "I don't know. I just… I need to talk to him first. I'll only tell the world as a last resort."

Ganke sighed, "Okay. But we need to go to bed, dude. You must be exhausted."

As Ganke got up to shut the curtain, Miles's face twisted into a bitter smile. "I really am."

Miles had kept himself camouflaged on his way over to May's hotel. He didn't want to see people's reactions to him or his replacement costume. Maybe it would help to show that he would continue being Spider-Man whether Peter liked it or not, but he didn't want to deal with it right now.

Only when he was on the balcony did he let himself be visible again - only to immediately flicker it back on when he heard what was happening inside.

"Why did you think you had any authority to decide that?" May's seething words were muffled but still audible. "You should have spoken to me first!"

Backing up, Miles climbed back onto the railing and jumped away. He didn't need to get on Peter's even worse side by eavesdropping. Instead, he swung up onto the roof of the building opposite and sent a message telling them where he was.

Miles put his phone away, sighing. He was ready for another fight but hoped it wouldn't come to that. Most of his adrenaline, though, was from anticipating the conversation they were about to have. One where he had to reveal everything.

He had wanted to tell Peter what he had gone through when they were both level-headed. In bits and pieces, over time, as they learned about each other and when they trusted each other.

That was never going to happen now.

Miles straightened up as Peter climbed up onto the roof. His spider-sense was calm, not even whispering, but he didn't let that lull him into a false sense of security.

Peter was wearing his Midtown hoodie and sweatpants over his spider suit, and Miles frowned.

"Why aren't you just in costume?" he couldn't help but ask, folding his arms.

Peter shrugged, not meeting Miles's eyes. "Aunt May said I should… appear non-threatening."

"Because last time we talked, you basically shanked me," Miles said, deadpan.

"Yeah, that."

"Ah. Smart."

Miles backed up and sat on a vent, but only on the edge. He was ready to spring away at a moment's notice - Peter wouldn't get the upper hand right off the bat.

Peter sat on a different vent, sitting down with crossed legs. "So, uh," Peter gestured at his own face. "Do you want to talk face to face? Instead of mask to face?"

"Are we actually going to have a conversation?" Miles bluntly asked.

"You've made a lot of friends," Peter sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "They've made it very clear that I don't have the full story. They wouldn't tell me anything; just said that I should 'sit down and talk to you.' So, explain yourself."

Miles reluctantly pulled off his mask but kept it in his hands. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "What do you want to know?"

A shadow fell over Peter's expression. "I need to understand why the hell you teamed up with Fisk."

Absently, Miles rolled a pebble around under his foot, hesitating. "I wish I hadn't."

"That's not an explanation," Peter bit out.

Miles glared back at him. "It's not an easy story to tell."

The standoff lasted several seconds, Peter the first to look away. "Okay. Well, tell me, then."

Slowly, Miles let himself breathe, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You need to know the context. It's… a long explanation."

Peter nodded, folding his arms. "Fine. Tell me."

And Miles told him everything. It was long and rambling, and he had to stop multiple times to take a deep breath. Peter's expression didn't change once. It was terrifying. Miles had no idea if he was getting through to him, but he had to try - so he kept going.

"If I could go back, I would have dropped him Owl with the police. It wasn't up to me to decide his fate. He got what he deserved, but no one knows what happened to him, and no one but me got justice. That's not fair," Miles finished. The adrenaline rush left his hands shaking, which he tried to hide by placing them in his lap.

"Do you regret it?" Peter asked, his voice so quiet Miles almost didn't hear it.

"Of course I do," Miles whispered. "My hands are blood-stained, and it haunts me." He forced himself to take another breath in. "I had hoped for time between the end of the deal and fighting Fisk. I was already pretty hurt. Fisk knew that, too. I-"

More tears streamed down his face, yet a cold kind of anger had washed over him. "I had to beg for their lives, but it was useless. I thought I watched them die, and then Fisk punched me, and I was out. He thought I was dead."

Picking up his mask, he turned it inside out and threw it into Peter's lap. "You hate that filter so much, right? Irresponsible Miles was just being stupid when he was thrown into the Hudson in a bodybag in the middle of winter," he spat. "I would have been dead if it wasn't for those extra few seconds I got. I barely even wanted to pull myself out because I thought I had killed my whole family."

Peter was delicately thumbing over the filter, not meeting Miles's eyes. "Yeah, I didn't get the full story."

"No shit!" Miles snapped. He stood up, his shadow looming over Peter. "I don't go around talking about this! I hate that any of it happened! I've had to live with it every single day. I go to therapy because of it."

Miles let out a frustrated huff. "You know what I had wanted? I wanted to be anonymous until being Spider-Man killed me."

Sitting back down, Miles slowly counted himself through one of Myah's breathing exercises. It barely doused the flame of anger burning him up.

"I'm sorry," Peter quietly said.

"Yeah, sorry isn't going to cut it," Miles snapped. "You don't get it, do you? You announced to the whole world that I'm not Spider-Man. Everything I've tried to do means nothing. Everything I do will be forever overshadowed by you ripping my costume. This will follow us both for the rest of our lives."

Miles stood back up, jabbing his finger at Peter. "No matter what you do, no matter what we say, all anyone will remember is you holding up my spider symbol like a trophy."

Peter's face twisted, gritting his teeth. His hands balled up into fists. "You should have explained this to me."

Miles reared back like he'd been slapped. "You can't be serious."

Peter met Miles's eyes, just as furious. "You should have explained this to me," he repeated.

"You've been back for a week," Miles spat. "You barely even tolerated me from the start! Why the hell would I tell you about the worst time of my life?!"

Peter glared, but after several long seconds, it was clear he had no rebuttal to offer.

Miles couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "You don't get it. You just don't. I have tried to do everything right, and I'm still not enough. I will never be enough! I can't do anything right, and I didn't need your help shoving that in my face. I don't even know what to do with myself-"

His spider-sense roared into action, almost deafening in its severity, and at first, he thought it was because of Peter. But Peter had gone just as ramrod straight, his head swiveling to look for the threat.

"Give me the mask," Miles said, holding out a hand while his eyes darted around, searching for the threat.

"No," Peter snapped. Both of them were on their feet.

"Peter, this is serious-"

"You don't need your mask to fight. You're a celebrity," Peter said as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Miles tried to snatch it out of Peter's hand, but he was quicker. "Peter, give me the mask!"

With a clatter, something slid in between them. Miles tried to jump back but was too slow as the device exploded into a cloud of smoke.

Bitter anger swelled inside Miles.

He knew what the smoke was.

As his legs collapsed out from under him, he seethed at how avoidable this was.

If Peter had given him his mask, he wouldn't have been affected by the bug spray Miles had made the filter to protect himself from.