His skin stung as he blocked three consecutive blows and sent a swift kick toward his opponent, letting out a startled yelp when his leg was caught and his other foot was swept out from beneath him, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Miles landed flat on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs as he groaned. “Y’know maybe I should stop holding back so much, you’d win way less,” he groused, throwing his counterpart an irritated look as he pushed himself into a sitting position.
The other Miles, who he had taken to calling Morales, raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Strength only takes you so far and I’d prefer that my bones remain intact. And you’re the one who said you wanted to learn, Spidey.”
“Yeah, but learning requires you to actually teach and you’ve been having the time of your life beating me up,” Miles argued, giving Morales a flat look when he simply smirked in response.
“I mean, that is a major part of why I agreed to this,” Morales shrugged unrepentantly, ignoring Miles’ indignant protest as he continued. “You telegraph your movements too much. You’ve got a decent foundation but it has a lot of holes, especially when I don’t have to worry about your whole super strength shtick. Plus, you tend to do this thing where you hesitate a little every time you hit– like you’re trying to gauge how much I can take.”
Miles blinked at the surprisingly constructive criticism, mulling over his counterpart’s words as he crossed his legs and leaned back. Monitoring his superstrength had taken him a while to get the hang of but as time went on it became second nature to determine how he could use it during a fight– even during regular daily occurrences.
He didn’t have to worry about it so much when he was with his spider friends but Miles had lost count of how many times he’d accidentally ripped off a door handle or broken a glass cup.
There was even this one incident following everything with Kingpin and the collider, where this one kid from Brooklyn Middle– Fabio or something similar– refused to leave him alone and kept picking a fight every time he saw Miles. He had gotten in Miles’ face and Miles had pushed him, momentarily forgetting that he had powers and sending the boy skidding halfway across the basketball court.
Just thinking about the stunned silence that followed and the frantic explanations that had spilled from his mouth made him want to shrivel up and die, embarrassment curling in his gut.
“Hey,” Morales called as he nudged Miles’ leg, effectively diverting his train of thought before he could fall down the rabbit hole of randomly remembering every stupid thing he’d done since he was old enough to remember.
There was a troubled look on Morales’ face when Miles tilted his head back to look up at him, his eyebrows drawn into a frown that made the tiny wrinkle between them more pronounced. It was the same face he always made when the state of his universe was brought up.
“What’s wrong?”
“How did you tell your mom the truth about the whole… Spider-Man thing?”
Miles was momentarily blindsided by the question before he laughed a little awkwardly. Thinking about that particular conversation sent a rush of both anxiety and relief through him. “I… I was kind of forced to? Not that I didn’t plan to do it eventually,” he added a little hastily despite the fact that neither of his parents were around. “It’s just that after everything with the Spot and the Spider Society I was in a coma for four days and Gwen and the others took me home ‘cause my parents were really worried and then we had to sit down and talk about everything when I woke up… so yeah.”
Morales’ shoulders slumped, his mouth twisting into a bitter line.
“Do you… want to tell your mom?” Miles ventured carefully.
Despite the number of times he had visited this dimension, sometimes even teaming up with the other teen’s alter ego to take down members of Sinister Six Cartel it was always a touch and go when it came to bringing it up when they were both out of their suits.
Morales shrugged in response to his inquiry but his shoulders were lined with tension. “It’s not that simple. Me being the Prowler… it’s nothing like you being Spider-Man. It’s not something Mami would be proud of.”
Miles wet his lips as they lapsed into silence, absently tugging a loose piece of skin between his teeth as he considered his counterpart’s situation. “I think you’d be surprised,” he said quietly, mind drifting back to the many months he’d spent agonizing over what his parents’ reaction would be.
Sure, they hadn’t been ecstatic that he had been putting himself in danger with them being none the wiser on a daily basis and maybe they had gotten a little overbearing and protective but it had been far tamer than anything his mind had conjured.
“I’m a murderer,” Morales spat angrily, shoulders hiking up to his ears as he glared at the ground. “What’s there to be proud of?”
Miles wasn’t going to excuse that, he wasn’t going to absolve him of his guilt by reassuring him that the people he killed were probably bad people because he didn’t know that, and even then, taking a life was never something he’d condone.
Morales’ choices and actions were his own to address and deal with the consequences of but he still had his whole life ahead of him. He made mistakes, big ones at that but he still had time to change, he could still better himself.
And he was.
Miles had seen it himself in the reactions the residents of New York had to Spider-Man and Prowler patrolling together. There was less fear and more of a wary hope in their faces when they looked at them and it never failed to make something warm swell in Miles’ chest.
And Miles had always been an advocate for second chances.
Perhaps it was because a part of him had always wondered if he could’ve gotten Uncle Aaron to turn his life around, to leave the Prowler behind if he had managed to survive that gunshot. But that was a what-if he didn’t have the luxury of entertaining.
Morales was different. He was a distorted reflection of Miles, one that represented a life that could’ve been his if he was born under different circumstances.
“You made mistakes,” Miles said and continued even as Morales scoffed. “I’m not trying to justify what you did but… you’re trying to be better, right? I think the hardest part is choosing between doing what’s right and what’s easy and you still choose to go out and patrol with me, even though you don’t need to. I think Mom would be proud of you for that.”
He knew he said the right thing when the other teen relaxed just a smidge, slightly proud of himself for the speech and–
“Did you seriously just quote Dumbledore to me while trying to convince me to be a better person?”
Heat rushed to his face and Morales laughed, nothing like his usual amused huff but an actual laugh. It was a little rough, like he wasn’t quite used to making the sound but it made Miles grin.
“Hey, you got my reference, you don’t get to talk, asshole,” he snickered.
“You walk around in spandex and shoot webs from your wrists– I can make fun of you all I want.”
“My suit is cool!”
“It looks like you’re bleeding from your armpits, man.”
Miles threw his arms up in frustration and exaggerated offense– that was like the fifth time someone had said that to him. He had designed another suit after everything but he still liked that one. “Why does everyone keep saying that?!”
“Maybe ‘cause it’s true, idiot,” Morales snorted, letting out an undignified squawk when Miles swept his legs out from under him in retaliation. He bristled like a cat when Miles cackled and somehow they ended up wrestling, his counterpart fruitlessly attempting to get the upper hand strength-wise.
There was an edge of playfulness to it that the other teen rarely indulged in, the harsh breath that escaped him when Miles managed to pin him emerging as more of a scratchy laugh.
“You’re an asshole,” Morales informed him as he threw Miles off and jammed his hands beneath his underarms in a quick dirty move that had Miles flailing, arms slamming down on his sides in a desperate attempt to protect them.
His strength all but abandoned him as he tried to roll away, shrieking with laughter as his counterpart continued his assault with a terribly amused look on his face.
“Stop– stop,” he cackled, ineffectively attempting to glare at him through his laughter– although it mostly alternated between screaming or giggling like a little kid.
“Say uncle.”
“Fuhuhuck you!”
The door opened and Morales froze before drawing away quickly. It took Miles a moment to follow, rolling onto his side and twitching a bit in embarrassment when he saw Uncle Aaron shooting them an amused look.
“You look like you’re having fun. How’s the training going?” he asked.
“He sucks,” Morales answered with no preamble and Miles shot him an offended look, jabbing him in the side with two fingers and the smallest amount of electricity crackling around them. He flinched hard, choking a bit before he gave Miles a withering glare that promised pain if he tried that again.
He was totally going to do it again.
Uncle Aaron huffed, the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkling in amusement.
Something in Miles’ chest stirred and ached at the sight because as much as he had grown used to the man before him, as much as he reminded Miles of his Uncle Aaron, he wasn’t his. He wore the same cologne and listened to the same music but his beard was tinged gray and the jacket he wore wasn’t the same one he used to match with Miles’ own.
“You staying around for dinner, kid?” Uncle Aaron asked him, and Miles shook his head.
“Nah, I promised Mami I’d be back for dinner,” he explained, grabbing his phone from where he’d set it on the side in order to check the time. “And I should be going back home soon.” He glanced at Morales. “I’ll see you later?”
His counterpart nodded as Miles began collecting his things. “Thanks, by the way,” he hedged as Miles was just about to dive through the portal back to his own, clarifying when he gave him a confused look. “For what you said earlier.”
Something warm bloomed in Miles’ chest, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was weird, becoming friends with someone who looked just like you but remained a completely different person, but somehow, in an odd, convoluted way, it worked.
“Any time. Tell your mom I said hi!”
Despite all that had happened, he could never quite bring himself to regret accidentally landing on Earth-42.