Chapter Text
School might not be for everyone, but learning was. Miles truly believed everyone enjoyed learning given the right method and setting. He loved learning new things, especially when it fueled his creativity. Learning the fundamentals of mechanical engineering and physics from Mr. Ohnn was a little boring, but the tinkering was fun.
Miles learned a lot from Mr. Ohnn, but some things they were learning together. Being villains were at the top of that list. Miles didn’t involve himself with the bad crowds when he was younger and Mr. Ohnn didn’t have much villainous experience either. Sure, if anyone saw their resume, there wouldn’t be any question of their ability, but they were lacking in certain departments. Killing Spiders? Good exercise. Building deadly gadgets? A fun night in. Collapsing universes? Just a regular Sunday. But thievery? They could use some work.
You’d think Miles would be better at it with the invisibility and the sticking to ceilings. On top of the fact Mr. Ohnn could teleport them anywhere inside the building, they should be undetectable. But that made them a little complacent. Getting in was never the problem, getting out never was either, but staying undetected was a whole different story.
Which was how Miles found himself back to back with Miguel fighting off wave after wave of Alchemex security while Mr. Ohnn scrambled to shove any interesting piece of tech into his portal. They were in a large open lab on one of the upper floors. There was a lot of tech lying around for them to take and it was taking a little longer than usual.
Suffice to say, it was fortunate they just gave Miguel his Spider steroids yesterday. He sliced through the armor of a goon and kicked him into a wall. The security team might not have focused so much on the plain clothes thief among a decidedly superpowered party if not for the fact that Miguel’s talons were out and slicing through any stray hand pointed his way.
Miles gave a dramatic gasp. “Miguel, so violent.” Even with his mask on, he made an equally dramatic face under it.
Miguel slammed a guy into the floor. “Not like you’re going to stop a bullet for me.” He tossed a chair at another one trying to get back up.
“I most certainly would!” Miles stabbed a guard in the neck.
“And lay around for a week just because neither of you deigned to save me from gunfire that isn’t to my chest or head? No thanks,” he snarled.
Miles got a good chuckle at the situation. It amused him to no end. It wasn’t even life or death for Miguel, he was just tired of being bedridden. He wasn’t going to complain about a little helping hand, especially not when it so obviously displeased Miguel to be helping them.
Miguel was smart enough to know escaping right now was impossible; no active collider for him to even dream of throwing himself through, so the man must have reasoned that he might as well get some exercise out of this trip. He slammed a security guard into the wall, knocking the poor guy unconscious. “What are we looking for anyway?” he asked.
Mr. Ohnn made a noncommittal sound. “Iunno.”
Miguel blinked at him harshly. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged.
“Don’t tell me this is how you normally do things.”
“Well, we don’t normally get spotted so early,” Miles said. “Your shoulders are too big for the vents.”
“The Spot can teleport you in!”
“I would need to know the layout of the building for that,” Mr. Ohnn clarified.
“You don’t?!”
“Uhh–” Mr. Ohnn said so very intelligently. To be fair, it has worked out for them so far. The only hiccup this time was Miguel.
“You don’t grab the floorplan?” Miguel ripped an AR out of a guy’s hands and whacking him with the end of it. Miles and Mr. Ohnn shot each other a faceless look over his shoulder. He spun around like a top giving them both an incredulous expression. “If you’re accessing their database, you could also take another step and get other security details, like access to doors, guard rotations,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And it kind of was in a way. Hm. File that away for later.
“Seriously?” Miguel stressed. “You’re telling me, no mission, no plan, no forethought besides ‘iunno’.”
“Well,” Miles said, tossing a man out of the broken window. “When you put it that way.”
“How did–” Miguel’s hands waved furiously, “Tell me you put more effort into breaking into the Society.” He hurried to slam the last goon unconscious, before Miles could get his claws on him. Hmph. Ever the hero. Whatever, he could have this one.
“You’re a special case, Miguel.” Miles looked around the empty room to Mr. Ohnn still shoving unknown tech into his portal. Since they were clear for the moment, he would probably also want to get on a computer and see if they had any good data. “Also, I’ve been in that building before.”
Miguel ran a hand over his face. “But if you took steps to–” he huffed. “Nevermind. I should be–” his lips screwed shut.
“No, no, Miguel. Go on.” Miles clasped his hands together and pressed them against his masked cheek with a metal clunk. “Please do tell, what should I do to be a better bad guy?”
Miguel scowled, or more accurately, his scowl deepened. “It not– It’s about effectiveness and stealth.”
“Yeah no such thing as stealth with that bulk,” Miles waved generally at Miguel.
He rolled his eyes. “I can be.”
“You’re the reason we got caught.”
“Because of your inept planning.” Miguel heaved a sigh and adjusted his posture. “Stealth isn’t just walking around without being seen. Planning and training is how you achieve true stealth.”
“I’d like to remind you I can turn invisible.”
Miguel turned away shaking his head. It was funny how frustrated he got over their subpar thievery. But because it was Miguel, maybe it was more understandable that it was more about their ineffectiveness rather than the act itself. After all, vigilantism was a crime in most universes.
“Whatever, man,” Miles waved off. “You're huffing and puffing over nothing.”
Miguel shot an unimpressed look his way. “You think it’s something you do rather than something you are.” He held up his hand to stop himself from going on. “It doesn’t matter. Not my problem.”
That ticked Miles off. The man didn’t get to dismiss him like that. Sure, the tension between them was more of a simmer as of late, but that was no reason Miguel should think it was ok to talk to him like this. He squared his shoulders. “Run that by me again. I’m not your problem?”
“To the extent of your success in this particular field,” he said carefully.
Miles scoffed. “We’ve done perfectly fine without your input.”
Miguel backed off on that note, wandering to the otherside of the room. He looked over some documents on one of the desks, killing time while occasionally looking up at the door, expecting more security. They were both aware how long Mr. Ohnn could take.
“How much longer?” Miles asked.
“Give me a moment,” Mr. Ohnn responded, not looking up from the screen. He always said that. Miles wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t already have an extensive backlog of blueprints, research, and data to go through. But like a hoarder he could never have too much.
Miguel approached Mr. Ohnn with a few pieces of paper. “Hey,” he said.
Whatever was on it, piqued Mr. Ohnn’s interest, grabbing it out of Miguel’s hand. He murmured to himself. “The energy efficiency of this…”
“Right,” Miguel didn’t even need him to finish his sentence. “The tech itself is rudimentary even in your time, but the conservation potential here is–”
Mr. Ohnn turned back to the computer. “Where did they put it?”
“You sure you didn’t shove it into one of your portals already?”
Mr. Ohnn had the awareness to sheepishly say, “Possibly.”
Miles scowled at the interaction. Nerds. And when did they get on such good terms? It wasn’t like he left them alone that often. It wasn’t a surprise Mr. Ohnn found common ground to talk to with Miguel. By nature he was a research fiend; his previous occupation was all he cared about until Miles came along. But he was suspicious of Miguel’s intentions. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try and use the connection to his advantage.
Miguel looked up from Mr. Ohnn’s fiddling to raise a brow at Miles’ quiet sulking. He glanced between the two of them, hesitating before waving him over.
Miles reluctantly obliged, more curious than anything else. He was just going over to tell them to hurry up. “Why are you encouraging him?” he asked.
Miguel shrugged. “Maybe this is more encouragement for you to actually listen to me.”
“Again with this?” Miles hissed.
“Hack their servers, figure out if what they’re working on is worth the effort, and execute,” Miguel pressed. “Would save you a lot of time, and save you from this.” He gestured vaguely to Mr. Ohnn hunched over the computer.
Miles sighed, wishing they were already on their way. “Then maybe I will consider it,” he grumbled. He turned towards the blueprint. It was labeled as some sort of large scale projector. He could read it relatively well enough, but couldn’t quite discern the interest Miguel or Mr. Ohnn showed it. Not like it was the device itself, but rather, as Miguel said, the energy whatever was more important.
Miles slid himself onto the table, kicking his feet as they dangled. Now that his curiosity was sated, he was bored again. With Mr. Ohnn too busy to explain anything, he’d much rather be back at the safehouse either tinkering or sleeping or– oh, getting a snack. Did Alchemex have a snack bar for employees? He looked up from his musing to see Miguel looking back. Weirdo.
“Hey,” Miguel said to Mr. Ohnn. “You grabbed a lot of materials, maybe you can just build it if you don’t already have it.”
Mr. Ohnn tapped his chin. “I could.”
“Great, so can we get out of here?”
A blur of red and blue flew through the window. “Hold that thought,” a familiar playful voice chirped.
Miguel froze. Horror eclipsing his previously dispassioned face. His body was tense, ready to bolt at any second. Where he would go no one knew, except Miles. The answer was nowhere. There was something amusing about the man being afraid of Spiderman in some capacity. Though, not for the reasons the masked hero might think.
Honestly, Miles wasn’t even in the mood to mess with a Spider, but he was always in the mood to mess with Miguel. And if the man was already on edge just by the mere presence of one, this might be worth their delayed departure.
“Mr. Man,” Miles greeted. “What a coincidence running into you here.”
The Spider tilted his head. “Mr. Man? That’s a first.”
“First name Spider, last name Man, am I right?”
He laughed. “Oh you’re a funny one! We don’t get that much around here.” This was probably another Peter Parker variant based on the demeanor; preppy, quippy, toeing the line of annoyance. Geez, there were certainly a lot of those running around. This one wasn’t a teenage Spider, definitely older. He had more ease in his shoulders.
Miles waved coyly at the compliment. “You think I’m funny?”
“Yeah! Now, why don’t you tell me what you guys are up to.”
Mr. Ohnn hadn’t even bothered to look up, already knowing the trajectory of this encounter. Miguel was the only one who’d hope for anything else.
This Spider didn’t recognize Miguel. Sure, he might not be as imposing as when they first took him, but he still had the same gaunt half dead eyes. The Spider must not be part of the Society. Miles wondered why.
Miguel looked like he was running a marathon in that stupid brain of his. As the seconds ticked by his anxiety grew. He squirmed where he stood, knowing doing or saying anything could set Miles off and turn the playful banter into violence.
“Stealing,” Miles said.
“I like the honesty! And I get that Alchemex has its fair share of questionable mega-corp decisions, but stealing from them is still bad,” the Peter said.
“You can’t be a little flexible here?”
“Hah! You’re a really funny little dude, kinda remind me of someone.” He threw his hands up placatingly. “And hey, I would have loved to look the other way,” his voice turned serious, dropping his hands, “but you killed people and I can’t ignore that.”
“Shame about those unshakable morals,” Miles grinned underneath his mask, pulling a throwing spike from his armband. “You could have lived.”
“Ooo you do a good threatening too!”
The squee of metal being crushed was practically an echo in the quiet room. Miguel’s knuckles were bone white. “Let’s just go,” he hissed. The slightest turn of Miles’ head had him ready to leap out of his skin. “Please.”
The spike of absolute glee might be more concerning if it didn’t feel so satisfying. Miles expected the man to squirm, but this was a wholly new delightful result. “What’s the rush, Miguel?”
Miguel was at a loss for words. He knew going to they ol’ reliable, ‘You don't have to do this’ only did more damage than anything else. “Please,” was the only miserable response he could logically come up with.
Miles was inclined to kill the Spider just to further upset the man, but he was not so petty, and meek was a good look on him.
“Listen, Miguel was it?” Spiderman piped up. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll put in a good word with the police captain.”
Miles ran his tongue over his teeth. Now, he wasn’t some animal. He wasn’t about to be set off by the mere mention of a police captain. But the hero shtick started to annoy him. “Oh, it’s not you he’s worried about.”
Miles did a trick spin with the spike and threw it at the Spider before he could open that snarky mouth. And they were off to the races. He grabbed another, holding it in a reverse grip as he stabbed at Spiderman, testing his defenses. Spiderman let him take charge of the tempo, waiting for him to tire himself out. That wasn’t going to happen.
Miles was thinner, shorter, scrawnier than Spiderman. In Spiderman’s eyes, he was a fresh villain on his first night out. It was a textbook template for an unfair fight. Compared to the veteran Spiderman, he was just a kid flailing with a toy.
Spiderman would underestimate him, especially one that didn’t recognize him as The Anomaly. It wasn’t a matter of if Miles could beat him, but when.
Miles threw out his spikes, all deftly dodged by Spiderman. They littered the room, one in the ceiling and a few in the walls and the floor. Even his normal combo of getting the Spiders in the air and caught at a bad twist was narrowly dodged, the spike only leaving a small tear in the pristine red and blue suit.
“Wow!” Spiderman said when he landed back in a crouch. “You’re really good with those.”
Miles’ brow twitched. “Not good enough apparently.”
“And it sinks into a metal wall like paper!” He said in a very Peter exclamation.”Who’s your supplier?”
“Your mom,” Miles readied a spike, calculating for it to hit Peter at the same time as his words. “Or should I say your aunt?”
Peter didn’t stumble, but it was a close thing, more importantly, it was a hesitation. That was all Miles needed for the spike to catch him just above the clavicle.
Game, set, match.
Miles stuck his hand out, his bioelectricity coated his hand. The blue lighting streaks pierced through Peter’s shoulder, jumping to all the spikes embedded in the walls. The spike acting as nodes surrounded Peter in an electrical cage. His victory sounded with the sharp scream of Spiderman.
There was never really any doubt. Miles could manage one Spider without difficulty; it was his specialty. He and Mr. Ohnn killed hordes of Spiders. What was a lone Spiderman to do against them?
A kick to Miles’ side sent his world spinning. He clattered into a desk, knocking both it and him sprawling to the floor. He whipped up to glare at the person who dared interrupt.
He was expecting Miguel, maybe another hero. He wasn’t expecting the lean figure that was practically all limbs. He wasn’t expecting the iconic Spiderman crouch. He wasn’t expecting the black and red suit nor the familiar, yet alien voice saying, “Mind if I cut in?”
Miles' brain stuttered to a halt. That wasn’t– Surely, not.
The other Spiderman took his frozen state as an opportunity to help Peter back to his feet. He must not recognize Miguel either because this one also did not see how deadly the situation he has put himself in. If he was smart, he would fling himself out the window. If either of them were smart, they wouldn’t be speaking quiet reassurances to each other.
There was so much he wanted to say. Instead, he coughed out a laugh. “No.” He turned away from the two Spiders. “No.” He stared at the mess littering the room. “No.” He waved his hands in front of his face as if that would erase the image of the two Spiders from his mind. “No.” He turned back around to see if they were really there. They were. “No. No. No.” A laugh bubbled out of his chest. “Are you–” Ha. “You’re kidding.” He giggled hysterically. “That’s not–” real. “He’s not–” me.
He turned at Miguel and Mr. Ohnn’s to get their take.
Mr. Ohnn was more focused on him. Occasionally the portal on his face flickered over to the pair of Spiders, but Miles ultimately held his attention. But he was stock still, shoulders straight, waiting to see if he needed to step in, if Miles would ask him to.
Miguel… Miguel’s face was drained of color. His mouth was agape, staring at the new Spiderman like it was his worst nightmare come to haunt him. And maybe it was. His left foot was a step back like the Spider’s mere presence struck him. Miles could hear the rapid ba-dum of his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. They probably all could, save for Mr. Ohnn.
Then his eyes flickered over to meet Miles’.
Oh. That wasn’t horror before. This was.
“You knew,” Miles said, a statement not a question.
“No, I–” Miguel’s breathing was erratic.
“Liar,” he hissed. The red light of his gauntlets activating filled the room. He stalked towards Miguel, just as he raised his fist, a web shot out to stop him.
“Don’t!” Miguel shouted.
The Peter, whose arm was outstretched despite his worn state, pulled Miles to his ass and dragged him away from Miguel.
Miles sat there for a second, trying to process. “I thought something was up when an in-his-prime Spiderman didn’t recognize you,” he said to Miguel. “So he didn't get an invite because he was vaguely related to me.” He tore the web from his gauntlet. “Everything I touch is sh*t, huh?”
“No, Miles!” Miguel tried. Both Spiders froze.
“He gets to be Spiderman.” Miles stepped forward.
“You could have been Spiderman!”
“You told me I wasn’t.” Another step.
“I shouldn’t have said that!”
“So he gets to keep his Peter but I had to watch mine die.” And another.
The two Spidermen flinch at his words, perhaps getting the picture now. If they were smart, they would run. Not smart enough. Curiosity killed the Spider. But they didn’t matter. That was never his, could never be his.
He was never meant to be Spiderman.
“Why?” Miles asked, standing in front of Miguel.
Miguel’s face strained. He was equal parts miserable and hesitant. He would rather death take him from this moment. But Miles would never let him. Nothing he said would be right. And he knew it. “You know why,” his quiet voice rang in Miles’ ears.
No, he really didn’t. He could surmise Miguel’s reasoning. These Spiders haven’t been touched by the multiversal issues plaguing the rest of the web, didn’t even seem to think that was a possibility. They were pure, they were still pure. The spider that bit this Miles Morales must have been from this universe. He wasn’t an anomaly. Becoming Spiderman was supposed to this Miles’ future.
It was not Miles’. Because he was an anomaly. The Anomaly. This one was not. So this one got to be Spiderman, to properly be Spiderman. And Miles did not. “Tell me, Miles,” he addressed his variant. “Is your father still alive?”
The variant stammered, hesitating, unsure of the correct answers to defuse the situation. And like the good boy he was, answered honestly, “Yes.”
Ha.
His fist connected with Miguel’s cheek, sending the man slamming into the opposite wall. The whip crack sound released the Spiders from their stupor. Both of them charge at him, putting themselves between him and Miguel. How typical, Spiders always chose his side.
Miles dodged their onslaught, only once they put him at a decent distance away did they stop their pursuit. Was that their soft heart showing? “You’re protecting him?” Miles snarled. “You don’t even know what he’s done to me.”
“I know you raised a hand against a man who so far hasn’t raised one against you,” Peter said. Oh so mature. Oh so stupid.
Miles retracted his mask, much to the shock of both Spiders. Even if they used context clues to deduce what was going on, the confirmation that there are other universes would surprise anyone. “He killed my dad.” His variant’s knees buckled, but he caught himself. He used the moment of shock to throw a punch.
Peter had the experience to dodge it. The man also had the experience to know not to pull out the spike or risk the potential blood loss, but unfortunately the inexperience to know better against The Anomaly.
Miles sent another burst of electricity into Peter. His limbs locked. He threw another spike at the man’s heart. It was webbed to the wall before it could hit its target. He stopped his charge to duck under a punch. Peter collapsed to his knees.
His variant squared up, standing tall and proud in a suit of similar design to his old Spider suit. It brought a sneer of disgust to his face.
“Don’t be mad because you don’t have my flow,” his variant so foolishly said. It was kind of cute how stupid this version of him was. Stupid like he used to be.
“Keep it, I was weaker with it.” He slashed at him with his claws, engaging in a close quarters brawl. He punched and his variant managed to dodge, so he opened his hand to slash down, slicing across his chest.
This version of him was slower, weaker. He would die in that suit, in a meaningless fight over an insignificant theft of a shady mega corp. He stood for a moment charging up the bioelectricity in his arm. Amateur. He threw a punch Miles easily caught. Pathetic.
Miles drained the electricity from him. “Take notes, maybe they’ll help you in the next life.” The variant couldn’t protect himself from a full frontal punch to the face, sending him into the wall across the room and falling unconscious.
Miles took only one step before Peter knocked him over. He twisted to land on his feet.
The spike that was embedded in Peter’s shoulder clattered to the ground. “You don’t have to do this, Miles.”
He grinned. “Is that a Spiderman special? You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. And I’ll tell you exactly what I say every single time, I’m finally doing exactly what I want.”
“That can’t be true,” Peter continued to fruitlessly try. “The Miles I know– You wouldn’t do this.”
Miles raised his gauntlets to stare at Peter through the fingers of the red holo claws, the blood running down his palms. “I’m not him. I’m nothing like him.”
“This is wrong, Miles!”
“I know. But if they were right, I’d rather be wrong.” He lowered his hand. “I’m sorry, Peter.” And he felt that genuinely. Maybe this man would have done right by him. Maybe he would have been just the same as the rest of them. “I know you had nothing to do with them or with what happened to me.” His eyes hardened. “But he wants you to live, and I will deny him everything.”
Peter was ready for him to launch himself forward. He was slippery, hard to hit. His hands were quick, fast jabs and smooth diversion of Miles’ heavier hits. But he was holding himself back. That foolish softness was going to kill him. He pulled his punches. Miles was not.
At least it wasn’t as one sided as Miles’ fight with his variant. Blocking with his claws made Peter’s hits feel more like pats. It did not help that he was worn down by the stab wound and two rounds of electricity.
Peter Parker was slowing. Even in his prime, that slowness, the softness, that hero in him that wanted to ‘save’ Miles converged together here to have him lose.
Miles vanished.
Peter’s head was on a swivel looking out for him. Ready for him. A spark. A tingle. A warning. He snapped to catch– A spike in the wall sparking with a familiar blue. There was an impact against his stomach. He looked down at the puncture and blood flowing down an invisible arm.
Miles’ invisibility faded.
Poor Peter. His eyes were so sad, heartbroken. His mouth open, but no words came out. He staggered back. Miles’ claws came free with a wet squelch. He held his hands over the wound but it wouldn’t save him. He fell. Blood pooled under him.
“Peter!”
His variant. A window into what could have been. That weakness. That helplessness. That inability to save those he cared for. Disgusting. Miles didn’t miss that. He faced his window. Time to close the curtains. He hadn’t even taken a step when a fist knocked him off course. He was getting tired of this.
Miguel stood in front of him. Blocking his path to his variant. His face was set in determination, but there was a hint of unease. No words were said. What could he say that Miles hadn’t heard before. Instead, “Get out of here, kid,” he said to the variant.
“Not without, Peter!” Still trying to be the hero. His variant didn’t realize he was already dead when he chose to speak over run.
Miguel realized that as well. Any resemblance of hop drained from him. There was nothing he could do. He already used the one element of surprise he had. “Please,” he said, perhaps to one, but applicable to both Miles.
Miles, every version of him, must have stubbornness built into their foundation. He would try to get his Peter back and by the time he realized he couldn’t, he would die with him.
“You can’t save him,” Miles said.
“I can try.” Miguel might actually believe those words, believed that he could.
Miles will show him otherwise. “And you will fail. Now, kneel.”
Miguel was dragged to his knees and the muzzle snapped over his mouth. “Miles!”
Miles dodged a wild electrified right hook from his variant appearing out of thin air at his side. He dodged under it, sweeping a leg out and watching his variant fall. He climbed over him, ripping a spike from his armband and stabbing him once in the chest. Voices rang in his ears, but words did not register. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered besides the Spiderman underneath him fighting back for dear life, struggling in his web. He raised the bloodied spike and plunged it back in his chest.
The limbs under him flailed. The struggle was futile. Why did he bother? Did he not see? Heroes were weak. Did he see? Death was his only outcome. He plunged his spike into his chest again. Spiderman had a tremor underneath his hands. The hits against him that tried to shove him off weakened.
Again.
Miles placed a hand on his masked cheek. It was wet. A fabric mask. How quaint. Little Spider. So Inexperienced.
Again.
It was not Spiderman’s destiny to die by his hand, but that didn’t matter.
Again.
It was what he wanted. He would take it.
Again.
Destiny meant nothing to The Anomaly.
Again.
Canon meant nothing to him.
Again.
Spiderman was nothing against him.
Again.
Spiderman was nothing to him.
Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.
A hand laid on his shoulder. He slapped it away.
“Miles.” Mr. Ohnn stood above him. Inky black ooze bubbled on the scratch his claws left.
Oh. Perhaps he got a little carried away.
Miguel refused to look up from the spot on the floor between his cuffed hands. He trembled like a cold kitten. Ha.
He looked down at the mess he made.
The window laid beneath him shattered into pieces. Cold to the touch. The red surrounding him was not the glow of his claws. Bits of broken glass strewn around him. Pieces dug into his skin. His hands moved stiffly, a poor attempt to keep them from sinking in further. But that didn’t matter so much. Most importantly, he no longer had to peer through it and see what could have been.
