Miles
Milo has always been there for Miles.
Older than him by 16 minutes and 10 seconds, he was Miles' other half every step of the way. Inseparable from the moment they came into this world together, Miles spent his first few years existing purely to be next to his brother. He felt like they could never be apart for long, like they'd spend the rest of their lives like this, together.
Until they couldn't.
Until their parents wouldn't allow him to miss out on the "opportunity" that Miles was awarded and his brother somehow was not. Until he was fighting to stay right where he was, with Milo. Where he was supposed to be.
But they refused. And Milo agreed.
It tore Miles apart.
His brother had told him that he was tired of being "a twin, a half".
Miles didn't understand, he couldn't understand. Up until now, he had thought he and his brother had felt the same uncontrollable, never-ending love that they had for each other. A love that Miles felt would exist long after they were both gone.
He had never felt wrong as a half, he had always felt like this was just how it was meant to be. They were supposed to love each other fiercely, all-encompassing. They came into the world together, first heartbeats developing in tandem, following a rhythm that no one else would ever be able to match. Every aspect of Miles' life had also been Milo's, why would it ever need to change?
He couldn't wrap his head around his Milo not feeling the same way, not understanding his adoration as intrinsically Miles thought he knew Milo's. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he had just been in the way, holding Milo back. Maybe that's why his brother met his eyes when he suggested Miles goes to Visions, how he could look at him directly while saying something that he knows will tear Miles up. How he could say it to his face and watch as he begins to cry and say nothing, do nothing; no gentle hug to calm him, whispered words or fingers -so similar to his own- wiping away his tears.
For the first time, Miles wasn't sure where they stood. If his brother loved as much as he thought he did.
So, he turned and ran, took his suggestion and went to Visions. He panicked about the change on his own, unwilling to talk to anyone in their family about it when they all so clearly wanted him gone.
Sleeping in the same room as his brother drove him mad. He had so much to say to him, so many questions to ask, all waiting on the tip of his tongue – something, anything- just so that he could begin to decipher if what he thought their relationship was, how much it meant to him, meant anything at all to his twin. But their fight had left his tongue heavy in his mouth, and had dug something deep and sharp into Miles' chest; he ached, and he could not find enough air in his lungs to speak out into the stifling silence of their shared space.
He ran from that, too.
Moving into the spare room was easier than staying so close to his brother while feeling utterly displaced and estranged from him. Unsure of where they now stood, Miles didn't utter a single word to him as he carried his things across the passage to his new room.
He knew his brother was watching, but he didn't offer to help like he normally would, didn't even comment on which decorations Miles hesitated over- ones they had both chosen.
If Milo didn't want to be a half, he wouldn't want these reminders around, would he?
So, Miles took those, too, taking down colourful posters and shared sketch pages, rogue stickers lifting blotches of paint as he tried his hardest to gently pull the memories of their experiences from the space, take as much as he could away so that it wouldn't upset Milo anymore. Taking his share of their things away from the room he had been sleeping in with Milo since they were little, not a moment spent apart.
Milo had sat on his bed during the whole ordeal, silent as he occasionally glanced up when he thought Miles didn't know- but Miles always knew when he was looking at him. It was like a sixth sense, one he had just for his brother.
He wished he could turn to face him directly, acknowledge his gaze and try to analyse what he was thinking, what he wasn't saying. But every time he turned to him, Milo looked away, back to his phone, or the homework laying open on his bed, cutting him off before he even began to speak.
Miles remained silent and left.
Their parents, for the record, wasted no time in selling the spare bed; someone came by to pick it up in the same afternoon that Miles finished moving his things. For the first time in a few days, their room was filled with noise as the buyer questioned them about the bed, laughing loudly as their parents joked with her about keeping the bed around for their boys to have friends sleep over, but now that they're older it has gone unused for quite some time. Not willing to share that Miles and Milo had shared the room up until now, worried that someone else would find it just as strange as they did.
He knew that they had their concerns with how codependent Miles and Milo were, and how much relied on each other.
Even their friends noticed it, Milo and him having to laugh off attachment style tests their friends had suggested they do when they'd joked about how little time the twins spent apart. He already knew he was too much when it came to Milo, that his neediness could border obsessive. He didn't need a quiz to tell him that.
Miles had stayed in his room, ear to the door as he listened to her roping Milo into helping take the bed downstairs, the clunking of the planks as they took it apart startling him in between their conversation. His parents hadn't bothered to ask him to help, both well aware that he was angry at all of them for this decision that seemed to be in everyone's interest but his own. His chest had thumped as he listened to them all talk together, laughing along with the woman as they helped her carry everything, and he realised that very soon it would just be them in the apartment, with Miles at school and his entire family at home without him. His stomach twisted at the thought of them being happier without him there, and Miles felt nauseous with his anger.
He didn't offer to help.
The school had turned out exactly how Miles had expected it to; he hated it.
He felt estranged around the new group of people, struggling to fit in when everyone had already had time to form friend groups and cliques. Attempting to make friends with anyone left him stumbling over his words, awkwardly trying to make conversation as others would overlook him entirely. It would have been easier with his brother here; he would have made everything seem less lonely.
Everything felt so wrong without Milo next to him.
Still, his parents refused to let him drop out and return to his old school, and Milo didn't talk to him anymore. Miles had a feeling he was waiting for him to try and fix what Milo broke, but he couldn't find it in himself to ignore something that hurt him so much that he no longer felt like he knew where he stood with his brother at all. He pretended to be excited to go home on the weekends and continued to hold up the neutral façade he had with his brother in front of their parents when they sat around the dinner table together.
He used his evenings at school to avoid assignments and instead sneak out and visit his uncle, Aaron.
Uncle Aaron had always been so supportive of them, and when he had first visited without Milo, Aaron had spent a good five minutes joking with him about when his brother was going to appear, only to realise Miles wasn't kidding and that they really weren't speaking to each other.
Concern had plastered its way onto his face so quickly that Miles had almost gotten whiplash with the speed that his uncle became serious, leaning over to pat Miles on his back as he asked what had happened.
Miles explained his heart out, grumbling his complaints as he wiped at the corners of his eyes over the recount of his fight with Milo, angry that just the thought of the fight made him tear up.
"He said he doesn't want to be a half anymore. I don't- I just don't get it. I thought," He gestured vaguely into the air, "I thought we were good, y'know? I didn't think he was mad we're together all the time- that's how it's always been." He cringes when his voice warbles at the end, not wanting to outright cry in front of Uncle Aaron.
"Miles," Aaron patted his shoulder again before sitting straighter, "Your brother loves you, you know that." The doubtful look Miles gives him makes Aaron chuckle, "He loves you, we both know that. What you two are going through now is a lot, and I know your parents both want you to go to this school-" Miles' expression worsens and he rushes to remedy it, "Right, no school talk. You two aren't always going to be around each other, man. It's a part of growing up, and - you know your dad and I used to be close like you two?"
"You and my dad? Close? No way," Miles shakes his head and gestures to him, "You're cool."
Aaron laughs at that, shoulders shaking as he leans forward to pick up the sketchbook Miles had been showing him before he started venting, the book lying open on a recent sketch of his.
"We were close. But things changed, we grew apart."
He thumbs at the page's edge, careful to not touch the actual design, likely avoiding the ink because he knows it could smudge. "You throw these up yet?"
Miles had muttered out a quick denial, thoughts of his father's hypothetical anger souring his mood further, frowning down at the sketchbook in his uncle's hands.
"Come on. I got a spot you ain't gonna believe."
Miles barely puts up a fight, and then they're walking into an open area deep underground, in a place where his father will never see it. Excitement boils up in Miles as he takes in all the open surface areas, waiting for him, urging him to cover up the gaps with his art.
In no time they're sitting across from his finished piece; "No Expectations" staring back at them, a bright swirl of colours and patterns.
"Is it too crazy?" Miles asks, sitting next to his uncle and examining his work.
"No man. Miles, I see exactly what you're doing here, man."
Miles beams at him, happy that his uncle gets it, feels seen. But then his expression drops, and he looks genuinely conflicted, turning back to face the art.
"Miles, what's wrong?"
"I don't want Milo and I to end up like you two did."
Realisation dawns on Aaron's face immediately, a frown taking over his face as he follows Miles' gaze to the wall. Miles takes in his distant expression, Aaron looks far away for just a moment, before he looks at Miles, examining his face. He looks like he wants to say something, like there's a story, a confession to something serious creeping in his throat. He stays quiet and Miles wonders if fights with his father, Aaron's own brother, had also left him quiet and gasping in silent breaths as he drowns in his thoughts, too hurt to draw in the energy to speak.
Miles knows his father can be harsh, like any man could be, whether right or in the wrong, devoted to what they thought was right. He doesn't fault him for it, he is only complex in every way that makes him human - but he does wonder if his uncle has ever been hurt by it. Miles stares into his deep brown eyes and sees the pain there- just for a moment- something flickering in his gaze before he finally speaks and pulls Miles from his thoughts.
"You know, me and your dad used to do this back in the day?"
Miles' disbelief meets his ears, and Aaron explains about how serious his father became about being a cop. How it pulled him away from Aaron. How much he wished it didn't. Then Rio got pregnant and it changed everything between them.
"What do you mean? How did it change everything?"
Aaron's eyes widened, and Miles realised he'd said more than he meant to.
"I mean, you guys coming along changed a lot for us both of course, he focused on getting himself together, getting a good job and an apartment he can raise two kids in." Aaron reached out and placed a hand over his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, "He changed a lot for the two of you, and I get it, it's better that he did. I don't hold that against him- you shouldn't either." He pulled back and stared at the painting again, "Your brother and you, you two are different, man. You won't be like us, won't end up like we did."
Miles' head whirred as he tried to process what his uncle had told him, everything he didn't. He's hiding something, something more that could actually explain why his dad and his uncle don't get along anymore. Bringing up Milo diverted Miles' attention for a moment, but then he thought about how Aaron had revealed nothing about his own mishaps that had led to them falling out. As much as he loved him, Miles doubted it could have just been his father's doing.
Two sides to the story.
He wonders what his father would tell him.
Before Miles could think to ask, he was interrupted by Aaron's phone vibrating, resulting in his uncle standing and declaring that they needed to leave.
Something happens- barely a blip on Miles' radar- it's quick, subtle, uneventful. He's bit by a small, innocuous spider, his hand coming up to swipe it away quickly and without fanfare, the pain of the bite not even registering. His mind is elsewhere, thinking of his brother and his own toilsome emotions, and of their uncle and father's relationship.
Their little outing ended sooner than Miles would have liked but he thinks nothing of it until the next day.
He wakes up different. He's changed. Taller, leaner, sticking to surfaces. Miles stumbles through the day- trying to grow accustomed to the sudden changes in his body- and back into the empty underground tunnel where he had been bitten the day before. His goal was to attempt to decipher what had happened, and if his assumptions about being a Spider-Man – or at least a variation of the web-slinging hero- were true.
He meets Spider-Man, and feels all his worries about being like the hero ease as he is promised a mentor, someone to "teach him the ropes". He witnesses the collider, colours crashing together as dimensions smash and glitch in front of him, sees the explosion and the rubble, and makes a promise he's unsure of how to keep.
Miles watches Kingpin kill Spider-Man, crush his already weakened body into the rubble, the hero's chest growing still.
Miles slips on the rubble and Kingpin sends a man suited in purple after him, agile and strong and entirely more experienced in fighting and hunting if the way he chased Miles was anything to go by. How he managed to not get caught Miles will never understand, but he'll be forever grateful for it.
The days that followed were a rush and Miles felt himself simultaneously rejoice and grieve; happiness for his achievements and strength he had previously thought he lacked and a grief he could never share with anyone, not even his brother.
His grief was not only caused by the death of his promised mentor - they knew each other so briefly but that interaction had left Miles feeling optimistic for the first time in a while, especially during the loneliness he was feeling at the new school, without his brother's support. Spider-Man's death reminded him of how merciless life was, how it gave and took just as readily.
Miles' grief not only came from the loss of innocence in the face of death, but it was also the mourning of a normal life. He'd never again be free to act like others his age; without the concerns of a million civilians on the back of his mind, his spider-senses lying in wait eternally. He's beginning to stay in an anxious state, anxiety just teetering chest-crushing, the thrum of his senses in the back of his head constantly, waiting to warn him, to push him to move, move, move.
He'd found kindred spirits, but only briefly; the other spiders, the only people who could ever truly understand the loss and gains in his daily life, the sacrifices that were required for the lives of civilians who will never really know him, hidden behind his mask for his own safety. They had to return to their dimensions to prevent their particles from shredding and rearranging themselves into oblivion, painful glitches wracking their bodies and leaving them panting and echoing out groans and whines as their bodies tried to replace their displaced atoms. Painful enough that these glitches left Miles guilty when he thought of them staying, not leaving him alone.
He said his goodbyes to the only people he thought he could ever share his identity with, the only people who knew he saw Spider-Man die – sans Aunt May- the only people who knew he'd save people time and time again, even to his detriment. Miles saved the universe and mourned on his own.
Spider-Man connected him to so many people, interwove him deeply into his city and its communities, but also took him away from them; his self-appointed duties to the city taking over so much of his time that he often felt isolated.
Spider-Man became both a comfort and a burden to Miles Morales.
This burden far extended the stress that came with being a hero, including his increased senses, which occasionally allowed him to overhear private conversations, ones not meant for him. Which led him to eavesdropping during a conversation he was sure was meant for no one else's ears.
Miles had come home from school early, the teacher of his final period calling in sick last minute, allowing the students who don't board over the weekends to leave without first informing their parents of their early departure. Not very safe, but he would never complain about getting to leave school early.
He had reached the front door to their apartment, careful to unlock the door quietly in case his Mami had come home for a nap in between shifts, and focused all his attention on quietly slipping into their apartment. He immediately heard the voice of his father, gruff and unimpressed, speaking to someone. Miles' curiosity got the better of him and he stayed silent, not alerting his dad and whoever else was in the kitchen that he was home, after all, his dad wasn't even supposed to be here right now either.
"Aaron, I don't think you have a right to talk on this-" His dad is aggravated, the irritation clear in his voice. Miles can picture the frown on his face just by hearing the way he talks.
Uncle Aaron sounds equally frustrated, "What do you mean I don't have a right?! They're my nephews-"
"Who you barely see, because of whatever work you've got that keeps you so busy. I don't even know when was the last time you came here to share a meal with us, and now you're here telling me I'm fucking up with my sons."
There's the sound of footsteps, and he wonders which one of them is pacing around the kitchen, heavy shoes meeting the tiles. Their footsteps always sounded so similar. Miles inches closer, settling his bags quietly on the floor so he can tiptoe to the door and peek at their reflection in the window of the glass.
His uncle is standing closer to the window, arms crossed, while his dad paces up and down, waving his big hands around in frustration.
Uncle Aaron speaks calmly, "The way that Milo's been lately, it's affecting him badly, he's-"
"Milo could have gotten in if he'd tried harder-" Jefferson shouts, swivelling around to face him.
"This is not about that damn school and you know it, Jeff." Aaron interrupts him, face unchanged as he meets his brother's eyes.
Miles watches his dad's anger boil under his skin, "He is not listening to us at all. He's been arguing against Rio and me every chance he can get," he speaks briskly, and Miles can see his father square his shoulders in the reflection of the window, the dark city view outside letting him see their argument mirrored perfectly like a movie playing out. "Milo is acting out, and I need to know if it's coming from you."
His father has on his serious, no-nonsense voice, the one that makes Miles and Milo cringe when they have to face it. Uncle Aaron just scoffs, crossing his arms and staring his brother down where they stand in front of each other.
"You know exactly where this is coming from." When Jefferson doesn't reply Aaron continues. "You're separating them. You know why Milo and Miles are angry with you."
His father bristles at his name.
"Miles? Has he been coming around to see you, too?"
Miles' stomach clenches uncomfortably. He hadn't known Milo had been around to visit Aaron as well, he wondered why his uncle didn't tell him. He wonders about all the missed chances he had to see his twin, his fists twist into the fabric of his shirt, pulling taught until they hurt, creasing the material in his grip.
"Of course. I won't lie though, Milo has been around a lot more. What you're doing, it won't work for them. It's not like us, they're not like we were."
Miles tilts his head, leaning closer as if that would explain his uncle's strange wording. 'Like we were.' Brothers? Close? Codependent? What did he mean?
"Don't bring that up," Jefferson snaps, resolute when he speaks again. "You don't know what they're like; they're too close, it's wrong."
Miles' stomach drops, and he feels nauseous and dizzy all at once. He knows, he knows, heknows.
His father continues, "It's exactly like we were." He sounds exhausted all of a sudden, shoulders sagging as he brings a hand up to rub it over his face, voice growing more wary. "I just want to do right by them. I can't- I can't let them get as bad as we did."
"Right," Aaron's voice is strained, and Miles watched his expression shift, something else crossing over his face that, something that he can't place.
Like grief, Miles thinks distantly.
The way Uncle Aaron held himself looked more comforting than defensive; arms crossed but clasping his biceps, hugging his arms, like this conversation with his brother hurt him. Whatever hurt he was feeling, Aaron buried it deep, and Miles watched the fight coming back into him as he settled his expression and asked, "Would you rather they end up like us? Estranged?"
Jeffersons voice raises so quickly that it has Miles jumping where he stands, hands digging at his shirt so violently that feels the fabric beginning to give under his fingers, barely stopping himself from ripping it.
"I would rather they never see each other again than do what we did, Aaron!" He steps closer and Uncle Aaron hurriedly backs away into the wall, his father following and yelling right into his face. He's angrier than Miles has ever seen him. Miles panics. What if he hits him? What should he do? What would Spider-Man do?
Anticipation and fear course through him, he's waiting for his spider senses to go off, to warn him that something is going to happen. But nothing does.
Aaron's expression is neutral, despite everything happening right now, staring his brother down in a way that Miles knows he'll never be able to. "You say that, but you haven't seen how this is tearing them apart. I don't mean from each other, I mean it's affecting more than their relationship, Jeff, it's so much more than that."
He can't see his face, but Miles can imagine the anger that shows on his dad's face when he speaks. "Get out. Leave." He turns, "I don't want to hear this anymore." He faces away from his brother, a hand pressed over his mouth as if he's physically stopping himself from speaking more, not looking at Aaron as he finishes talking.
Aaron's eyebrows pinch up and so many emotions cross over his face, his eyes dart away and he meets Miles' eyes in the reflection in the window. His deep brown eyes widen, and then he agrees softly with his brother, quickly leaving the kitchen.
He places a finger over his mouth as Miles startles- still wrecked from the emotions that just rippled through him- motioning for him to stay quiet as he helps him pick up his bags and urges him outside again. Once they're there he loudly greets Miles at the door, handing him back his bags as he leans down and says, "Don't let him know you heard what we spoke about, okay? Your dad, he's in a tough spot right now, pushing him won't do anything."
Miles hesitates, unsure of what to say or what he even heard. He's not even sure if he fully understands. But then his father is opening the door to see what's taking them so long and Uncle Aaron is hastily moving to leave, but Miles stops him just as quickly and wraps his slim arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly. He can hear his uncle's erratic heartbeat, probably from the fight they just had, and his own heart squeezes, suddenly very sad about the entire situation. "I love you, Uncle Aaron." Miles tries to pour out all the hidden things he feels right now into his words, he can only hope his uncle understands.
Aaron pauses above him, then he's pulling him in and hugging him tightly, "Love you too, Miles."
His father watches them from the door, expression neutral, stepping aside so Miles can move his bags into the apartment. He wonders how his father snuffed his anger out, how he hid it so well.
Miles let out a 'Hey dad' as he re-entered the apartment, quickly taking his things to his room, not wanting to stay around him and pretend that he hadn't overheard that conversation. He closed his door as he heard his father's heavy footsteps come closer, pausing outside his door before knocking.
"Miles, how was school?"
He was trying to make conversation, awkwardness seeping out through his voice.
"It was fine."
"Make any friends?"
Miles didn't say anything, standing still in his room, not even letting the floorboards creak.
"Right – right, uh. Food will be ready by 6." His father's presence receded from the door, and Miles let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He began unpacking his bags, putting books away on his desk, and tossing dirty laundry into the basket in the corner of his room.
What had his father meant- 'like we were'? Could they have been as attached as Milo and him were? Had their relationship been more than what they let on, had their feelings for each other gone deeper than what brothers should have for each other? Miles felt dizzy with the thought of it, of his father and his uncle, if that was the reason they were no longer close. His father had said he'd rather they never saw each other again than do what they did. Miles' stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of never seeing Milo again. Even if they weren't talking, just knowing he was fine was what kept Miles going. If he were never allowed to see him again, to see if he's okay, how would he survive?
Miles caught his reflection in his floor-length mirror and took in how much he had changed over the past year, since the bite, since he was pushed to go to Visions. Since his brother stopped talking to him.
He was taller, his frame no longer wiry as the hero work helped him build muscle. He hadn't changed his hairstyle, but he had gained more freckles from swinging in the sun, suit fabric not too thick to counter the heat of summer.
While he had changed in minuscule ways, day by day, his brother had also changed. Milo had gotten taller too, his growth spurt coming in after Miles' own. He had changed his hair, braids neat and well taken care of, giving him a much older air about him. Miles' heart had beat out of control when he first saw the piercing in his twin's ear, first from how good he looked, and then from the realisation that he was supposed to have gotten his ear pierced with Milo, that his brother had gone without him, likely no longer wanting to match with him.
It had hurt, the thought that he was trying everything to be different from Miles, that having someone be his reflection, his other half, really was just an inconvenience to Milo.
Miles had entertained the thought of getting his hair braided as well, of wandering into a piercing studio and piercing the opposite ear to Milo's piercing, just like they had agreed on when they were younger. Wondered if it would piss Milo off, if he would yell at him, take out the braids and the piercing, just so that they wouldn't have to be the same, wouldn't have to match.
Miles straightened his shoulders, pulling his face into a frown like his brother often did, still staring at himself and how much they differed now. Milo had gained muscle recently, Miles taking note of it during one of their silent family dinners, his arms thicker than Miles' own. Not by much, but enough that Miles noticed and wondered how the rest of him would look without the baggy clothes he wore, if their bodies would still match if they lined up, or if Milo would be slightly bigger now.
Miles fought between loving and hating the differences he could see in Milo; he wanted to know the reason for the changes, why he seemed calmer, and why he carried himself with a newfound confidence.
If he'd wake up in his room sometimes, and briefly panic when he can't hear his brother's sleeping breaths in the room with him, like Miles often did.
'Do you miss me, too?' Miles wanted to ask.
He wondered if Milo would answer him.
Spider-Man had fought countless villains, each with their own set of nuances.
The new Prowler had been a surprise, something about him being so familiar that it was distracting, but Miles had adapted quickly. He had circled him, taking in the details from the old Prowler's costume that had made it into this one; purple details still prevalent, as well as the glowing clawed gloves that hung at his sides, sharp and deadly if used correctly.
"No cape?" He asked, taking in the way the villain held himself- confident in his abilities, with the air of someone who knew their strength.
It reminded him of Milo.
The figure seemed as distracted as Miles felt, tilting his head in a way sickeningly similar to the way his twin would. He'd seen Milo do it so many times, leaning his head slightly to the right to examine whatever he was looking at like the differing angle would improve his understanding.
Miles feels seen. Too seen, too known, especially standing in front of a villain.
Spider-Man charges, running straight at the new Prowler.
They fought, back and forth across the roof of the building, the rain beginning to fall around them as they moved, bodies well-versed in the art of fighting as they moved rapidly through the space.
This Prowler was strong, Miles could feel it in the wind that would whistle past his ears as he ducked just in time to avoid getting hit. He was well trained too, immediately countering Miles' punches and kicks, not pausing long enough for Spider-Man's strikes to make contact.
He fights like the old Prowler does- he must have trained him. Spider-Man uses that against him, pushing him back, anticipating his moves based on previous battles he's had with the old Prowler. He hadn't been using his full strength, but the person he was facing was skilled enough that he would need to if he wanted to finish this quickly.
He watches Prowler power up his gloves, the glow surrounding them brightening just before he readied himself and charged at Spider-Man. He worked quickly in directing the hits away from his body, not wanting to let him land a hit and send the charge through Miles' body.
Miles' punch reached him, briefly pushing him back, but Prowler quickly gained his bearings, re-charging his gloves and sprinting towards him. Spider-Man prepares to dodge and readies his body to move out of the way and avoid the powered-up weapons heading in his direction, but then the Prowler speaks.
"Miles." He says.
Prowler's fist makes contact, hitting him in his chest and sending him flying into the water tank behind him, the metal making a sharp noise and then groaning under the force of him bashing into it.
Miles. How did he know his name?
He lets out a groan as he tries to stand, head reeling from the punch and his name being said by the Prowler- the new one.
He hears footsteps, and before he can react he's being ripped off of the ground, and pinned against the metal frame of the tank, heavy metal gloves pressing against his chest, curled in the fabric of the suit and pressing him against the frame. Miles reaches up and wraps his hands around Prowler's wrists, holding him there.
How did he know his name? Why did he seem like someone he knew?
Even now, his figure pressing him into the metal was familiar, the wrists his hands were wrapped around were not much bigger than his own.
Despite him being the villain, despite the fact that they were just fighting, Prowler didn't hurt him, he just stood there, taking Miles in. Head tilting towards the right, almost unconsciously.
Milo. He reminded him of Milo.
It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
"Miles." Prowler says his name again, as if he knew it was him under the mask. The mask covering Prowler's face modified and distorted his voice, but everything in Miles was screaming Milo.
He felt panic seize his chest.
It can't be him.
"How did you- why-" Miles scanned his form, trying to analyse what matched his brother and what didn't. His figure matched Milo's, they had the same way of holding themselves, the same height and size in frame. "Who are you?"
Miles didn't want him to answer. He already knew.
Prowler tries to pull away, to tug his hands free, but Miles holds onto him, gripping his wrists like they're a lifeline.
"Let go." The modifier feeds out, robotic voice doing nothing to quell Miles' nerves.
"No."
Prowler begins laughing, shoulders shaking like Miles had said the funniest thing. It's hollow and lifeless, wringing out into the silence of the rooftop.
Spider-Man tenses, maybe he had been wrong, maybe this isn't Milo. Maybe it's just someone who he has spoken to before, who recognised his voice because he'd let his guard down too soon. Maybe it was just a ploy to get Miles close, to disarm him in the fight, to distract from whatever is to come.
Please can he be wrong, please tell him it isn't his Milo beneath the mask.
He watches as Prowler calms down, shoulders still shaking but laughter quieter now, less manic. Quickly, before he can react, Prowler twists his right wrist out of his hold and grabs Miles' wrist, pulling it towards his chest.
Miles watches Prowler press his clawed hand on top of Miles' gloved one, pressing down so that Miles can feel the warmth seep through his costume, can feel his heartbeat thud steadily in his chest.
Milo did this when he needed to calm down- when everything felt out of control; he'd take one of Miles' hands and press them to his chest. Sometimes Milo would ask if Miles could feel his heartbeat- if they felt like his own. Miles had always laughed softly, assuring that their hearts beat the same. It was a silly reassurance, but Milo always seemed pleased by it, his hands still holding Miles' hand to his chest as he listened to his brother's words.
Everything hits him at once, and Miles is gasping, his fingers moving lightly under the heavy claws on top of them. It's him. It's him.
"Milo?"
He speaks softly and carefully. He knows it's him. What will Milo do?
He doesn't expect Milo to let his mask fall away, the sight of him in the Prowler's suit making Miles' stomach jump. He reaches up and slips off his own mask, lips trembling as he takes in the expression on his twin's face. He's surprised to see the mixture of emotions on his brother's face, the fear, the worry, the uncertainty as he meets Miles' eyes, Miles has gotten so used to his blank stares when he looks at him, face neutral and cold.
Now, Miles sees the truth - Milo is scared of how he'll react. The thought of his reaction hurting his brother sends his heart lurching and he crashes forward to wrap him in a hug. "Milo."
The tears come easily, and Miles speaks into his chest, not sure if his brother can even hear him, words muffled into his jacket, "You idiota, why are you here? You shouldn't be here."
Milo tugs his head over his shoulder, probably so that he can hear what Miles is saying. "Milo-" he draws in a shaky breath, so incredibly sad that he's finally with his brother again but he's wearing a villain's clothing, he's putting himself in so much danger. "Why are you here?"
Milo pulls him closer, but Miles eventually moves back, away from his twin's warmth, tilting his head up slightly, so that he can look at him in his eyes, taking in his brother's worried expression.
"Don't cry, mano." He's trying to reassure him, but all Miles feels is anger surging. Why is he here? What is he doing? Dressing up as a villain, fighting Spider-Man. Never mind that he was actually Miles. How had he been so busy that he hadn't noticed his brother sneaking around as the Prowler?
There'd been talk of a new Prowler going around, which meant that this wasn't new. He'd been doing this in the shadows for quite a few months already for the news to have passed through the underbelly of the city, for Spider-Man to have overheard talk of him. Miles had been waiting to run into the new villain.
The raindrops land on his face as he speaks, dripping down his cheeks like tears, "No, Milo. Why are you here? Dressed as the Prowler?"
Miles watches him pause, thoughts and emotions running over his face as he hesitates to tell him the truth. They used to be so close, used to tell each other everything, every mistake, every joke, every secret.
He already knows the answer, but he asks it anyway, "Are you the Prowler? The new one?" Maybe the rumours were wrong, maybe it was just temporary; he was just filling in for someone. Not that it would make the situation better, but it would so much less permanent. "I know the one I fought before was older and bigger."
Around their uncle's size, now that Miles thinks about it. His mind races at the thought.
Milo's refusal to answer tells Miles everything he needs to know.
He doesn't understand why Milo would turn to this. So he asks, stumbles through his words and his hands shake and he doesn't understand. He begins crying again, and he'd be frustrated if he wasn't so busy being heartbroken at his brother keeping something so dangerous hidden from him.
"It's work." Milo says.
Miles' anger rears its head so fast he barely thinks before he's snapping at him, voice sharp and livid, "Work. Work?! Milo, there's no way you're running around like a villain for work! You mean to tell me that fighting for these people, for Kingpin, is all just a job to you?"
"I needed something, Miles," He tells him, "I needed to belong."
Miles watches him clench and unclench his fists, soon Milo's nerves will heighten and he'll dig his nails deep into his skin, and Miles longs to reach out and stop them, to hold his hands in his own and stop him from hurting himself.
'You belong.' He wants to say. 'You've always belonged, Milo.'
But he thinks of how distant he's been, hurt by his brother's words and his lack of action against their parents when they were pushing him to start at Visions. All in retaliation because his brother had told him he didn't want to be a half. Maybe this was his way of cutting away from Miles, removing himself from being one part of a whole.
"Is this about you not wanting to be a twin? Not wanting to be a half anymore?" Miles let himself sound angry, let himself sneer and frown. He would never understand why Milo didn't want him anymore. Why he was no longer enough.
"What do you mean?"
Miles rolled his eyes, irritation clear even though he wrapped his arms around himself, seeking comfort because – despite his rage – it hurt. I hurt that he wasn't enough, that his brother had pushed him away, and then turned to villainy. Endangered himself, and for what? Because he was frustrated with having a twin?
Miles tells him as much, voicing his disbelief and frustrations. "All because you don't want to have a brother anymore?" He can feel himself dig his nails into his arms, fingers dipping into his skin with how hard he was gripping. "Is being my twin that bad?"
Tears well up again, and he hates crying, makes him feel like he's doing it on purpose to get his way, but he can't stop the absolute anguish at the thought that he pushed Milo into villain work. Before he knows it, Milo wraps his arms around him, tugging him into his arms and letting Miles shake as he attempts to calm himself with deep breaths, willing the tears away.
"Miles, mano. No. You being my brother is the only thing that has kept me going for a long time."
Stupid, stupid, he's so stupid. It makes Miles cry more. "That's not exactly a good thing, is it?"
"It's been good for me, Miles. You've been good for me, no matter how angry I get, or how much I make you cry."
Miles can feel him rubbing soothing circles along his back, and he pushes closer, he wants to believe him, wants to pretend that he hasn't felt like everything is his fault.
"I don't believe you." He wants to, he wants to believe him so badly, "Why would you say all those things then?" Why would you say you're tired of being a twin?
"It's hard to explain."
"Well figure it out then!" Miles is angry again, so tired of Milo never being able to voice his problems, Miles always having to dig them out of him piece by piece. "Do you expect me to just move on? Do we pretend that we just never saw each other? Never fought?"
"No." Miles pauses at his voice and turns back to him from where he paced to in his anger. Milo is frowning, lips pulled down and tears welling in his eyes. He rarely saw Milo cry, it was always in moments of extreme emotions that Milo couldn't shove down and bury deep. It physically hurt Miles to see tears in Milo's eyes. "I don't expect you to do that, Miles."
Miles can't stop himself from reaching out to comfort him. No matter how many times Milo and him fight, he will always be there for him. No matter what he needs.
Now, they need to calm down and to talk.
He holds Milo's hand in his own, hesitant, not wanting his brother to pull away. "We should get out of the rain," he squeezes his hand lightly, attempting to reassure him. "Change into something dry, then we can talk."
Milo looks at him, and Miles can see him thinking, trying to decide if he would go somewhere with Miles, if he'd let himself be vulnerable enough to explain.
Miles wants him to, wants to understand what had led to this. Wants to know what else he had missed, if Milo really hated being his twin that much- enough to let it push him towards villainy. Wanted to understand why.
He loves him so much, Milo is so much more than a villain's attack dog.
He's Miles' other half, even if he turned Miles away. Even now, as they stand in the rain, waiting for Milo to grasp the olive branch Miles was holding out to him, even if he turned Miles away again, he knew Milo would always mean the world to him. He just wanted him to be okay, even if he didn't want to be okay with Miles.
Miles waited for him, his voice caught in his throat, terrified of being turned down. He just wanted to help, he wanted to fix things, don't turn him away, please.
Milo stares at him, and his face softens, "Okay." He squeezes Miles' hand and Miles can feel the weight on his chest lighten. "Let's go."