He’s thrown into the air, smiling widely, all his worries slipping away as he’s caught in the arms of his father, wearing a smile almost as big as his. He ties his arms behind his back (oh- so carefully, not to hurt him) and tickles him every time he tries to escape.
His dad clears his throat and recites a line he once said to a villain– that he swears was “super cool”, as he does every time they play this game. Miles zones out, waiting for his cue to promise he’ll get out just as all the criminals do in their movies. When his dad looks away he quickly starts running through the hallway of their home, laughter filling the apartment as he notices and starts chasing him.
Now Miles flexes his gauntlet, and jumps from a building, cursing when he has to dig into the building next to him to land safely because there is no longer anyone to catch him. To hold him.
Miles runs and tries to pretend his father will chase him.
He never does.
He never hears the laughter again.
_________________
“Please, I have a family!”
He always hates this part. When they beg for their life, when they try to convince him they have something to live for. Miles hates it, because he’s jealous.
It’s funny, really. To be jealous of someone you’re going to kill. But at least they have something to fight for. To break for. He’s already lost everything.
He takes a step forward, even though his head is screaming at him not to– to let this woman go. Just this once. But he has a job to do. He needs to do it for his mom, his uncle. He’s too far gone now to stop.
Her eyes are glossy, full of tears. They pierce through him and he can feel his lungs fill upupup until he can’t breathe. She stops screaming, and stays there, simply shaking in fear, waiting for his next move. He hates that there’s something about her that makes him want to just pull her up and patch up all her scars, and hates that he rips a hole through her stomach instead.
Maybe it’s her eyes. A beautiful mix of hazel with tiny specks of green, barely noticeable. But it’s there. He never knew it was possible to look this wonderful even while dying. Tears burn the back of his head. Tears for a woman he never knew, but seems to wish he did so much.
Her eyes slightly widen, but no more than her smile as he unconsciously lets his mask part in two and tuck into the rest of his suit.
“You’re just a kid.”
It’s not to offend him, or tell him now inexperienced he is– No. It’s just an observation. Just a fact. Regardless, she looks so young next to him, a pool of blood flooding the streets, sneaking its way into the collection of all the other lives he’s stolen.
Miles isn’t a good person. He’s known since the day he stood at his father’s grave, head down, with pure acid burning his eyes.
He hides into the shadows, leaving the woman to battle the dark trying to pull her into unconsciousness, when a tiny figure runs up to her, crying.
“Mom! No! Who did this to you? please!”
Miles hates that the small boy looks a little like him. Desperate. He looks like his world is crumbling as he struggles to pull the woman into his arms, grabbing at her like he could nurse her back to health just with his touch.
She looks at Miles. Direct eye contact. Maybe she’s just looking past him, maybe she’s just waiting for someone to hear her son’s cries and help her, but he can’t help but feel like she’s looking for him.
He wants her to rat him out. To tell her son to get revenge for her, to curse his name because maybe then– just maybe, he can tell himself everyone out there’s just as bad as him. That she really wasn’t as kind as she seemed to be and she deserved it.
She never does either, and the kid never chases him.
He forever wonders why.
Everytime he walks through the alley, doing his best to ignore the stains on the concrete floor that have never been washed off, he prays that he’ll see the boy, that he’ll scream at him, accuse him of killing his mother, because maybe that’ll make up for it, even if he knows nothing ever will.
He thinks of Miles 1610. How he thought he could ever be like him.
Yeah right.
_________________
Miles watched as the boy in front of him, chained up, with deep claw marks in his shoulders’, betrayed and hurt face morphed into something different. Something close to anger but not quite. His chin raises ever so slightly and his lips turn upright into a smirk.
Miles wants to rip it off him.
The boy– who looks as if the word “justice” had taken form– just doesn’t seem to give up. No matter how hard Miles presses his gauntlet against his neck and maybe that’s the problem.
Maybe it’s because he’s living, breathing proof that Miles could’ve been so much more. That he could’ve been good. Maybe it’s because his twin had everything he never even got to have that Miles decides he needs to fight him. Maybe that’s why he feels the need to prove that he’s better, stronger.
Or maybe it’s the fact that even if Miles beat the boy to a pulp (The boy who looks exactly like who his father would’ve wanted him to be), even if he killed him or recited a whole speech about how inferior his other version was, his doppleganger would still win. And Miles would always lose.
(Miles doesn’t know he’s just like him. Too used to the sound of all his tragedies to listen.
But he will. Because in no universe is Miles Morales anything less than good.)
_________________
Nobody knows Miles.
They know the prowler, of course. They know how he takes lives and trades them for money. They know how he hides his identity and nobody knows who’s under the mask. They know he’s not a hero.
They know spiderman. They know he briefly came here to their world– which is crazy because there are multiple– and tried to make it just a little better. A random teenager that’s not even from their universe who risked his life to save a bunch of strangers. Oh, they know spiderman alright.
They know Miles 1610. They know how he’s a kid who defied an entire universe's worth of super powered spiders just to save his father. They know he’d have ripped it apart with his own hands if he failed. They know he’s the literal embodiment of sunshine. They know Miles. They love Miles.
Peter B passes by 42 while he’s waiting for other-Miles? Spider-Miles. Whatever. He awkwardly shifts and looks around to see if he can find anyone else to talk to him. Miles hates that he doesn’t know how to act around him.
“Hi.. Miles..” He says, hesitant.
Miles wishes he would say anything else, just acknowledge him just for a little bit more. To see him.
Peter leaves.
(He doesn’t even look his way again.
Nobody knows Miles.)
_________________
Miles climbs through his window. Well not his, this world’s version of his room is too bright. Too happy and way too decorated. Half of the stuff he had sold to help his mother with the bills before he became the prowler are still here.
(There’s something on his tongue. It’s familiar. It’s sour.)
The outside is not dark, and he can actually breathe properly here. His lungs are not too suffocated by the smoke he’s used to to do their job.
His stomach twists.
His counterpart walks in, still wearing his suit but his mask is rather expressive so Miles can still see how tired he is. Without even looking his way, he shoots a web at Miles which sends him hitting the wall with a loud ‘bang’. He grunts and his counterpart’s eyes widen, recognizing him.
“Oh crap. Sorry!” He says running over to him to help him.
There’s something so kind about the way he helps him, almost reminding him of his father. He wants to take it away from him. To pull it out of his twin’s ribcage and keep it for himself. But Miles has been grabbing for that warmth for too long, and his hands are too numb from the cold he’s received instead to do anything.
As if on beat, they hear footsteps close to the door.
“Son?”
Son. He looks at his counterpart’s now wide eyes. His dad.
Hecan’thecan’thecan’thecan’t hums in his blood until it vibrates so hard Miles is sure he could explode. He shouldn’t have come here. He needs to leave. He has to leave-
“Hide!” 1610 says and pushes him into his closet.
Miles hadn’t realized how not used to the light he had been until he’d been put back into the dark. He hears the muffling voices. Voices that are so casual as if they’ve lived this time and times before.
Voices of a life that should’ve been his.
(Miles recognizes the taste.)
The closet door opens and 1610 is standing there with an apologetic look on his face.
“Dude, I’m so sorry.”
Miles swallows. Against his will, because that doesn’t stop the stinging in his eyes.
“Why?” he says, voice sounding way too soft for his liking.
“Huh?”
He steps forward, hoping it’s enough to scare his counterpart’s wonderful and kind nature out of him. It isn’t.
“Why are you sorry? You’re always coming into my life acting like you owe me something but you’ve already taken everything. You ain’t a hero. You’re a thief.”
If the words affected him, he’s very good at not showing it. He doesn’t even yell at him. Miles wishes he would. He wishes he’d have to duck a punch or hold his side in pain. Maybe lie to his mom about where he got another scar. He wants him to do anything. Anything that will prove to him that they’re the same.
They aren’t.
He walks forward, pulling his mask off his head, and looking into his eyes with his horrible piercing hazel eyes, ones that look too identical to a woman he wished he knew.
He doesn’t say anything, but he holds Miles. He holds him like he wants to heal him. But Miles hasn’t tried or felt the need to be healed in so long that he can’t help but hate it.
He doesn’t want it to stop hurting. He needs it to hurt. To bleed.
Miles hates that even though he’s the one refusing to be held right now, his counterpart still looks stronger. Is Stronger.
(It tastes like… Jealousy.)
_________________
“I saved him. Thank you.” He hears Miles whisper.
He nods, looking out to see his dad’s mural. His heart feels light but there’s a pulling at his chest.
He can’t help but clench his fists.
Can’t help but wish his counterpart hadn’t saved him, that he’d be just as weak as he was, that they were the same.
Something snaps.
Forgiveness.
But who has he forgiven? He can’t tell. It’s there. But he’s not-
He can’t help but wish–
He looks at his counterpart, the one with the puffy eyes, the one who doesn’t look twice at uncle Aaron and Miles can tell he’s still scared. But he still stands tall, and he still thanks Miles.
Miles, who tied him to a punching bag and didn’t think twice before fighting him when they first met. Miles who stands beside him with jealousy rising in his chest and trying to rub his guilt stained hands on him.
It’s funny how you can be the exact same person yet be so different. It’s the first thing he notices when he looks at his counterpart. It’s practically the only thing he sees when he looks at him.
Too deaf from the sound of screaming victims, crying and destruction to listen to 1610 for all he is. Too blinded by anger, jealousy and fear to want to see him as more than who he’ll never be.
Miles is not good. He hasn’t been in a long time.
_________________
There’s a voice screaming at him. He can’t make out who it is.
He wants to take a step back, to shake off Uncle Aaron’s hand on his shoulder.
It doesn’t let him.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, man.” He says, barely audible.
“Okay?” He scoffs, his face morphing into something different. He can’t make out what it is yet, he can barely focus. The voice is so loud, screaming at him to stop,stop,stop,stop.
Stop what? What did he do? What is he going to do?
“Look, being the Prowler can be tough–”
Miles chuckles. He doesn’t know why.
“Nah don’t start with that. It’s your fault I’m doing this in the first place.”
Miles. Stop.
“You had me become the prowler. It’s your fault I have these scars. That I’m hurt. So don’t ask me if I’m okay, if you really cared you wouldn’t have gotten me into this.”
His uncle’s eyes widen, and it’s not until the voice is gone that he acknowledges it completely.
Aaron leaves.
It has to be pure acid burning his eyes. There’s no way it isn’t.
He looks out the window, staring into his dad’s beautiful eyes, the smudge of colors he created not doing them justice. The voice screams.
Was it you? He wants to ask.
He doesn’t.
_________________
He stands outside the kitchen’s frame. Looking into his dad’s eyes. It’s really his dad.
His eyes are trailing over the scars on his arms, a worried expression on his face. Miles wonders how it would look on his real dad’s face, then hates that he can’t go home and find out.
1610 is at the edge of his room, out of view but Miles knows he’s there, listening. This was his idea after all.
His counterpart isn’t totally relaxed around Aaron yet. He still shifts awkwardly and looks away from his eyes way faster than he does other people, he avoids questions about his art or spiderman but at least he can stand in the same room as him.
So why was this so hard?
“Son,” he starts. Acid burns his eyes again, just as it did that day.
“Not your son.” he says, not missing a beat. Other-dad swallows. Clearly nervous.
“yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and cracks his fingers before regaining his composure. Miles hates how alike they are. He wishes they met.
“Well, I know this might be hard for you– Miles told me about your uh, situation.”
Miles sighs. He’s just so tired of wanting. He nods, because he doesn’t trust how steady his voice is at the moment.
“I’m not your dad.” He starts, and Miles wishes the voice was here, because he doesn’t want to hear him. It’ll hurt. He’s not ready yet. You’d think he was used to it– the pain. But he simply didn’t know how much worse it could get.
(His chest flutters. It doesn’t hurt.)
“I could guess your favorite food, your favorite color. Maybe your favorite games and where your birthmark is but we are not blood. I bet it hurts right now, how alike me and your father must’ve been, and I can’t help but be a little jealous that Rio gets to have met her counterpart and I won’t get to meet mine, but I can imagine how he must’ve been.”
He steps closer. Miles doesn’t move.
“You’re not my son. But you look like him, and if I had to guess, you’re almost half as good as he is, if not more.”
His not-dad smiles, and light pours in from the window. Miles wants to hang on to it, to squeeze it in his palm and keep it for himself. He manages to catch a piece. It spreads.
“I know you’re an amazing boy. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this and not the one you want to hear it from, but I’m here for you. And I’ll always be here to remind you.”
1610 was so lucky. Too lucky. Miles wishes to have everything he does, but he knows he can’t. So he sighs, content, thinking of everything he does have. His face is wet. He can see the reflection of the mural in his mind, and he can’t help but chuckle.
Other-dad wraps his arms around him and looks around stiffly.
“What- what’s funny? Was that good? I thought it was good.”
There’s a bubbling in his chest. Miles tries to breathe but it’s forced out into a laughter he hasn’t heard from himself in a while. He steps back trying to catch his breath only to finish and find Jefferson staring at him, his eyes gleaming.
“Okay.” he says simply. There’s so much he wants to say. About his job, about how pretty his eyes are, about how he’s glad he cares about him, about Aaron, about his mom and 1610’s mom.
He knows that he can tell. But they don’t say anything.
(It never hurt. Miles’ chest is light.)
_________________
Aaron walks into the house holding grocery bags, he puts them down, not taking his eyes off Miles the entire time. Aaron has gotten good at hiding his emotions, so he can’t read him at the moment. He still steps forward.
Aaron starts to open his mouth to say something before feeling Miles crash against his chest. It hurts but for a moment– Only for a moment– before the warmth spreads and Miles is sobbing.
“I’m sorry.” He says, something like a whisper.
Aaron Smiles.
_________________
He drops sunflowers in front of his dad’s grave.
“Dad,” he says. Nobody answers. That’s okay.
Miles swallows the jealousy on his tongue, letting it evaporate into the new-found warmth in his body.
“I love you.”
He sits at the grave for a while, simply looking at the sky. Does he see me? He wonders.
Is he proud? He doesn’t dare ask himself. He already knows the answer.
He stands up, letting the dirt under him support his weight and hold him.
“I love you too” He hears, walking away.
He doesn’t look back to see who it was.
He already knows.
_________________
“Yo,” he starts, looking up at his counterpart from the floor while looking through his sketchbook. Miles has learnt that 1610 doesn’t seem to show his art to anyone, and pretends to act like he isn’t honored; he's one of the few.
His counterpart hums, twirling his web shooter on his finger.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He’s now looking at him, eyes slightly wide. “That you have your dad and I don’t. I said it was.” He feels the need to clarify, even if he knows 1610 already knows what he means. Of course he does.
He chuckles nonchalantly, although his eyes are shining brighter than they were before. If that’s even possible.
“Yeah man. Not yours either.”
Miles holds his breath. Because it wasn’t what he expected to hear but he’s glad he did.
The voice screams at him. Not like before. It’s softer, more like a hum.
Miles focuses on it.
Miles is–
(His chest flutters, light. His eyes glow, finally, like they did before. He doesn’t know, but they do. Lights seeps in from the windows, except it’s on him.)
Miles is good.