Aaron Davis - Tumblr Posts

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sometimes you have to search up a character on your own blog just to see what a real one is saying about them

You know you’re in the wrong fandom when everyone is referring to a hot guy as “my husband” and not “my wife”

Shocked and appalled by this post (im writing a new smut piece w him and i feel it might be my best smut yet teehee 🤭)

I wanna suck his dick til he turns pale.

His ass deserves to get that punani 😮‍💨

Just wrote a fic inspired by this, will be posting soon!!

Do you ever think about. About how Jeff looks at Miles and sees Aaron? A creative and mischevious boy in a unkind world? Do you think about how maybe Jeff sees Miles hide his sketchbook and come home with spray paint on his fingers, 30 minutes pass curfew, and he wants to scold him but just can't cus he sees the boy Aaron used to be before they grew distant? You think he saw that shift in Miles after Aaron's death, that heavy look in his son's eyes, the same way his brother had? A bit wary, a bit too anxious - you think he gets scared that Miles' eyes will soon turn cold like Aaron's? You think he saw Miles' eyes in Aaron's when he found him in the dark alleyway, you think when he held his cold body he saw the little boy he grew up with?

You think Aaron in Earth 42 sees Jefferson in Miles G? He sees that overtly serious young man his brother was in the way Miles has his back too straight, his smart mouth and sass resulting in funny comebacks and witty comments just like his brother used to do. You think he sees that same raw urge to help that Jeff had in his nephew's eyes? The sorta urge to help that'll get you killed? You think he sees Jefferson's mural and thinks about how Miles has the same forehead, the same eyes? Do you think he worries about the spark in Miles' eyes blowing out like Jeff's did? You think he sees Jeff as a lil boy again every time Miles comes back from a successful mission as the Prowler - so bright, like he's reaching too close to the sun?

You think Jeff thinks about his son and wants to tell Aaron, "He's so much like you. I don't want that." You think Aaron wants to tell Jeff the same about his nephew? You think deep down they want that more than anything? You think they see the other when they look in the mirror, when they look at Miles? You think they're hoping that Miles could be better than either of them, that he'll be just fine?

I do.

Wrote an Aaron Davis oc x canon angst one shot inspired by this think piece by @incognito-duo that’s about him and Jeff seeing the other in Miles. I loved it so much and it inspired me so much too!

If you like this piece are interested in how my character and Aarons relationship comes to be, you can read their full story here!

Below is artwork of my OC Vinex Devi which was done by dee_from_webtoon on instagram and webtoon

Earth 42-B, middle of the night. Cuddled up to him with Aarons arm draped around them, Vinex began to stir awake as they heard something; a voice softly murmuring. As they came to and looked up, they realized it was Aarons voice. Through the darkness, they could see his lips barely moving. They lifted their head and gently rubbed their hand on his chest.

“Aaron? Darling?”

They asked quietly. His head moved from side to side as his eyelids slowly fluttered open.

“Babe?”

He muttered with a hoarse voice.

“Were you dreaming? You were talking in your sleep just now,”

They clarified for him. Aaron removed his arm from Vinex’s shoulders to sit up and rub his eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait, what…?”

He mumbled in confusion. Vinex sat up and watched him reach for his phone on the bedside table. He planted his feet on the floor and looked at the time that read the late hour displayed on top of his screens wallpaper, an old picture of him and Jeff. He stared at it, and Vinex watched with concern as a realization started to paint his screen-illuminated face.

“Aaron, is something wrong?”

They questioned as they put a hand on his back. He began tearing up, and set his phone down to cover his face with both hands, leaning over and resting his elbows on his lap.

“Goddammit…”

He sighed shakily. Seeing he was upset, Vinex moved closer and held his shoulders.

“My love, what is it?”

They persisted with worry.

“It’s Jeff, I was having a dream about Jeff…it felt so real, I-I forgot for a second…”

He admitted.

“Oh heavens, no, I’m so sorry,”

Vinex frowned as they patted his back. He started to sniffle and held back his sobs in his hands. They moved to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, holding him close and kissing his temple.

“I’m so messed up right now…Can you promise me that this right now is real?”

“Absolutely, this is real life, I promise you,”

They reassured. Aaron reached for their hand and held it tight, pressing it to his forehead.

“God…I don’t even realize how much I miss him sometimes…”

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen to you, always.”

They offered. He let out a sigh.

“…sometimes…I see him. I look at Miles, and I see a little version of him…an’ I know that’s obvious, he’s his son, but…it shakes me up sometimes…and, other times I wonder, if before he was gone, he ever looked at Miles and saw me? I kinda hope he did, but…I get why he wouldn’t want that…I hate how things was between us. I really, really do. And I hate how complicated it was, I wish I could say that it all didn’t matter, but it’s just not that easy,”

He let out a small sob at the end of his sentence. Vinex frowned and tightened their hold on him with their free arm.

“It doesn’t sound like it was easy at all. I’m so sorry Aaron,”

They consoled him. He turned towards them and hid his face in the crook of their neck and continued to cry softly, very clearly trying to resist fully letting go. Vinex continued and encouraged,

“Please my love, cry as much as you need to, let it out.”

With this, Aaron allowed himself to cry a little louder, a little more unrestrained, though was still overall quiet and tame. Vinex let him do so, rubbing his back and staying silent for a little bit before speaking again.

“Do you want any input from me, or did you just want me to listen?”

They asked him. After thinking on the question, Aaron raised his head and laid it on their shoulder.

“Did you have any input to give?”

He inquired.

“Well, it’s not very relevant to what you’ve just talked about, but, it’s what I like to think about whenever I find myself missing Jeff, or when I think about his and yours complicated relationship,”

They explained. Aaron listened curiously.

“What is it?”

“I, I like to imagine that in whatever afterlife hopefully exists, he’s watching you take such good care of Miles, and be so supportive to him, and helping him and Rio get by, and he’s proud of you. And, maybe he realizes some of the things he thought about you were wrong,”

They told him. Aaron gave a small scoff.

“I doubt it. His ass was so stubborn…and god, he’d hate that I taught Miles how to prowl…”

He sighed shakily with self-disappointment. Vinex frowned and gently rubbed his shoulders.

“You did have your reasons. You told me it was because Miles wanted to be able to protect himself and others, right?”

“Yeah…”

“So, you taught him just that, in the way you knew best. I’m sure Jeff would understand it from that perspective.”

Aaron slowly nodded his head.

“You gotta point…thanks, I…I feel better now I think.”

“I’m so happy to hear. How can I make you feel even better?”

They asked with a smile. He shrugged.

“I dunno…maybe something to drink, I guess?”

“You’ve got it. Maybe we could steal some of Jordans sodas,”

They suggested with a mischievous smile. Aaron snickered softly.

“Would they be cool with that?”

“They would. In all seriousness, he buys them for the house,”

They told him.

“Aight, sounds good then,”

Aaron smiled.

They both got out of bed, and Vinex slipped on one of their extravagant robes before they went to the kitchen together and each got a can of soda. Vinex opened their can, utilizing their spider abilities as to not harm their manicure, and raised it up.

“To Jefferson?”

They suggested. Aaron gave a little smirk and raised his can as well.

“To Jefferson.”

The couple clinked cans and took a sip.

i love saying “i’m being normal about it” bc i’m actually a filthy fucking liar and i’ve never been normal about anything a single day in my life

pictures of my comfort prowler action figure holding a condom from school yesterday

the bite marks on his chest are a subtle reference to the fact that i chew on him sometimes

forgive me father for i have sexualized an older man

Vinex x Aaron smut one shot (oh theyre fucking narsty i fear)

So brainrotted over these two lol

Cw; rough oral sex, degradation, both giving/receiving oral, fluff and cuddles afterwards

Drenched in sweat and beaten down with exhaustion, Vinex made their way upstairs to their penthouse, knees shaking with each step. Once through the door, they gently fell to the floor and started to undo their heels.

“Hey, you okay?”

Aaron asked with concern as he came walking over.

“I’m fine, really, just did a lot today…errands, chores, vigilante work, and then performing,”

They listed off as Aaron helped them stand up.

“That is a lot, lemme take care of you for the night,”

He offered, picking up their heels for them.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”

“‘Course I’m sure. Besides, I got the house empty just for us,”

He smirked up at them as he led them to the bedroom.

“Oh Aaron, you’re terrible,”

Vinex teased as they poorly hid their smile.

“Yeah, and I’m only getting worse~ You did that pink pony song tonight, yeah? I can tell from your costume. That first time you did it, goddamn, it was so hot~”

He told them, holding their hips as the couple stood in the middle of the bedroom. Vinex let out a small giggle.

“Yes, I did do Pink Pony Club tonight,”

They coyly confirmed.

“Tell me, what do you feel you need right now?”

Aaron asked.

“Honestly, I just wanna do something to relax before properly getting ready for bed, something mindless,”

They answered.

“I can give you something mindless to do,”

He teased as he pulled them closer for a kiss. Vinex smiled and kissed him back gladly with a small chuckle.

“I think I understand what you’re getting at~”

They mumbled against his lips.

“That’s what I like to hear~ You down then?~”

“Uh-huh~ I want it extra rough tonight~ I-Is that okay?”

“For sure~”

The couple continued kissing while getting handsy. Aaron twirled his fingers around the straps of their skimpy costume, and Vinex slipped their hands up his shirt to feel up his abs. His lips started to fully consume theirs, his tongue reached deep into their mouth. Their breathing picked up, and whimpers began to escape their throat. After a bit of this, Aaron suddenly broke the kiss, silently looking down. Jaw hanging, Vinex looked to him in anticipation.

“…before we keep going…y’know I love you, right?”

He asked them. They blinked in confusion.

“Well, of course I do, I love you too darling,”

They assured as they sweetly put a hand to his face.

“Good,” Aaron then held their wrist. “Cause I’m about to fuck you like I despise you.”

Vinex’s cheeks flushed pink fast.

“R-Really?”

“On your knees. Now.”

As if the ground had been knocked out from beneath them, Vinex fell onto their knees as Aaron hastily undid his belt. They pulled the front of his pants down, and his pre-cum slicked hard-on hit them in the face. Barely giving them a moment to recover from this, Aaron gripped the back of their head and shoved himself all the way down their throat. Vinex gagged loudly, and only got fleeting moments to take air in as he began to shove their head up and down along his length.

“Come on. Breathe through your nose. Don’t act like you’re not used to this,”

Aaron crudely instructed. With teary puppy eyes, Vinex looked up at Aaron as they followed his instruction while starting to suck on him. He let out a shuddering sigh as his fingers dug into their hair.

“Nice, nice, just like that,”

He encouraged. Soon, Vinex was used to it and got in a rhythm. The noises made from the suction and movement filled the bedroom and even some of the rest of the penthouse. Aaron tilted his head to the side, looking down to see Vinex’s boner protruding from the body suit of their costume.

“Pull it out, touch yourself slowly,”

He ordered. They did as told, letting out needy whines as their throat was pounded but their own length was only treated to torturously long and slow strokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Just like that, good girl,”

He praised them. Tears and makeup began melting down Vinex’s face, and their muffled moans grew gradually louder. Aaron started to really huff and sweat, speeding up slightly as he got closer. Without being told to do so, Vinex then pushed their breasts up out of the top of their body suit, squeezing and playing with them to make a sight for Aaron. He slammed his hips towards their face, and their eyes rolled back as he finally released down their throat. He relished in the feeling of Vinex swallowing before pulling out to leak more cum onto their stuck-out tongue. Aaron let out a sigh as his orgasm ended, and at that same moment, Vinex came as well. Their load shot all over the bottom of Aarons pants. He tilted his head to see this.

“Damn…”

He muttered, not angrily, just slightly annoyed that he’d have to clean it later. Immediately after though, Vinex grabbed onto his ankle and pant leg.

“What-?”

Aaron was caught off guard by this before watching them lean over and hungrily lick the cum off his pants while looking up at him with puppy eyes again. Though not prepared for this, he absolutely loved it. A devious smile slowly grew on his face.

“Good girl~ I think you deserve a reward for that~”

He suggested. Vinex eagerly nodded their head with their tongue hanging and cum dripping from their lips. Aaron reached down and grabbed Vinex to throw them onto the bed.

“Loosen up your costume,”

He instructed as he started to kneel down in between their legs. Vinex gladly did so, undoing the zipper in the back and letting it hang on their body as they laid back against the bed. Aaron then licked his palm and started to jerk them off, making them stifle a gasp as their hands wandered around their body.

“Does that feel good, baby? Fuckin’ bet it does,”

Aaron taunted them. Vinex kept letting out pleased mewls as his grip tightened. He carefully sped up before licking and sucking at their tip. They arched their back and started to get louder, and reached a hand down to caress Aarons head as wordless praise for what he was doing. He then pulled off to lick the tips of his fingers, and reached his hand up to start tweaking one of their nipples. Vinex smiled widely and moaned even more as his mouth returned to their length.

“Yes!~ Yes!~ It’s so good! Thank youuu!~”

They cooed in ecstasy, their hips bucking up uncontrollably as they suddenly came. Aaron roughly held their hips down as he leisurely swallowed and let them ride out their high. Once it was finished, Vinex melted into a puddle on the bed, struggling to catch their breath. He then finally pulled off and lazily wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Good?~”

He asked with a cocky smirk. Vinex tiredly scoffed in amusement.

“Of course it was good, and you know it~”

They answered in between pants. Aaron chuckled and stood up to loom over them.

“Yeah, I do~ All done?”

“Definitely, yes…”

“Let’s get you comfy then,”

He said before picking them up and moving them up the bed.

“But I’m too tired to do any of my nightly routine,”

They frowned.

“That’s alright, I’ll help take care of you in the morning, you just rest now,”

He encouraged as he removed their costume for them and got them fully stripped.

“You’re so nice to me. I feel bad…”

They hid their face in his neck.

“Don’t, you know I love you. Taking care of you like this is like my love language,”

Aaron reassured. Vinex hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek before they both got comfortable under the silk sheets of the bed.

“I love you so much, my darling angel~”

Vinex murmured sleepily to Aaron.

“I love you more~”

He replied. They kissed some more before getting fully comfortable and falling asleep.

every swing, every web, all at once

gasp

Remember that moment in ITSV, when Miles first meets his world's Spider-Man and their spider senses do the thing?

The background behind Peter is as we'd expect; the classic red and blue.

But at first Miles' background is green and purple, two colors he's never associated with at all throughout the movie. As the moment goes on, it shifts to match Peter's.

We are literally watching Miles' fate change and the anomaly happen.

It's well established that the spider that bit him was not supposed to even be in that universe, meaning our Miles was supposed to be something else before it happened.

This isn't true for ITSV, but in every other version of Spider-Man, the main color scheme for the Prowler is green and purple.

Our Miles was supposed to become the next Prowler in his world. And the only reason he's not, is because of the original Prowler. Miles switched his fate with Earth-42 Miles.

Miguel O'Hara and Aaron Davis

Alright so what I just wanna know is: How did this "ship" happen? I mean, idk if its really a ship because you cant really find that many stuff with these two in it, but I have read some fanfics with Miles and Miguel having a uncle/nephew or dad/son relationship. And in some of these stories i read that Miguel and Aaron is in a relationship. I'm not judging! I'm just curious about how it all started.

Some days ago I read a fanfic (I tried looking for it but i cant find it, but it was pretty good actually) about Miles, where he instead of getting spawned to earth-42 he got teleported to another dimension where Miguel and Aaron was married and they had a Miles Morales who was their nephew, but he died, and that Miguel from that dimension was very upset about it and tried to move on and some other stuff. And while reading it I got curious about how people started seeing those two as a couple. I hope I can get an explanation, but I also wanna ask: If those two actually met, what type of relationship do you think they would have?

Crackship

Characters: Miguel o hara and Aaron Davis

(this was made as a joke by the way)

Okay so people remember when Miguel tells Miles that his dad need to die to fulfill his canon event? What if it was his uncle instead? (Aaron is alive in this one and he knows that Miles is spiderman)

Okay so hear me out. Miles has already gotten through the talk with Miguel that his uncle has to die because all spidermen goes through it and blah blah blah. And of course Miles can't accept it so he gets an idea. He tells Miguel to go back with him to his dimension so he can show him why his uncle can't die. Miguel sighs and agrees, because he wanna see what Miles is gonna do to change his mind.

They go to earth-1610 and they go to Aarons place where he was just chilling and watching tv. When Aaron sees them he gets confused, on why his nephew had invited a stranger who was build like a brick wall to his home. Miles go over to Aaron and whispers something in his ear. Miguel does not hear what it is and gets confused when Aaron walks up to him and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Miguel: What are you do-

Aaron: Hey~

Miguel:...

Aaron:

Miguel: I need to go.

Miguel leaves the apartment and goes back to his own dimension. He just sits in his office and is thinking to himself: I need to protect this man at all costs.

I finally found it!

𝓖𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓲 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟏)

gif credit to user perccyjackson (prev. milesgmorales)

↝rating: pg

↝pairings: vinylfang, punkflower (if you squint)

↝genre: angst, family, hurt/comfort

↝wc: 8.1k

↝song insp: "a body, a coffin" - amaarae

↝content: non-explicit, au (canon-adjacent), multiple povs, longfic, rare ship, minor spanish, head injuries, alt versions of characters, alt!miguel o'hara is transmasc and has anxiety issues, alt!aaron davis is gay af, medicine use, minor suggestive content (strictly b/t adult characters), nursing, mention of violence, mention of child death, miles finally gets a fucking break

↝a/n: took me f o r e v e r to churn this fic out, but it's finally here!! my baby miles went thru so much in atsv and that ish wasn't fair. so, here's my personal remedy for that. loosely based on an au made by me and @arachnicas months ago. this is part 1 of a series i'm making (mainly centered around vinylfang). hopefully, the next part doesn't take me nearly as long.

↝summary:

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying Miles with an ounce of curiosity, caution. The boy sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?” (Or: What if, during Miles’s escape from Spider HQ, the Go-Home Machine malfunctioned, sending him to another dimension with its own variant of Miguel O'Hara, and Miles, upon meeting him, had to figure out quickly whether he could be trusted or not?)

Something was wrong.

A controlled dimensional jump shouldn’t have been this bumpy—but it was.

And Miles was terrified.

An angry, roiling expanse of space crackled and heaved all around him, spitting out shimmering clouds of stardust and supernovas, as he shot through the wormhole at unprecedented speeds. Everything swept past him in a hellish swirl of sound and color, energy and matter. Waves of particles crashed against his sides, leaving panic to scream across his nerves and flood his brain. He found it difficult to breathe, air fleeing from his flattening lungs.

His first thought, of course, was that he was going to die—that the barrier would shatter, and he would tumble into the gaping maw of the abyss beneath him, drown in that primordial sea of heat and ink and light, and disintegrate into the ether, or lay trapped in a crevice between creation and uncreation. Forever lost, while the Spider Society continued their fruitless search for him, while the Spot wiped his home dimension off the multiversal map in a blaze of death and rage—

(No, no—he couldn’t think like that, he had to save his dad, stop the Spot, prove Miguel wrong, prove them all wrong, he would be fine, he was heading home—)

Hopefully in one piece. At this rate, though, it would probably be in multiple pieces.

His second thought was why was this happening, why now? The Go-Home Machine had apparently malfunctioned—whether due to Miguel’s assault or a natural glitch Miles didn’t know—and decided to transport him through rougher terrain of the time-space continuum. Could it have messed up his destination too? In that moment—fighting down nausea and fear and ignoring the painful throb in his shoulder—Miles hoped not. He really, really hoped not.

Soon, he could see it: the portal at the end of the tunnel, glimmering an inviting pearl-white. Coming closer, closer. Promising freedom, salvation. Another jolt of the vector made his stomach lurch, its quivering hexagonal frame pulsing orange, then gray, then orange, then gray again. Taking a deep breath, Miles prepared himself, swallowing the scream in his throat. At this speed, in this position, he was definitely going to crash into whatever world lay beyond that shifting eye.

(Not too hard, please, please.)

Arms up and crossed together, eyes screwed tight, he passed through, a comet of black and red. Just as the vector crumbled and the portal flickered out of sight. Ankle flew over head. Sky became land, and land became sky. His body slammed against the ground—head meeting concrete, the impact drawing all air from his lungs.

A bullet of pain shot through his skull, drawing a curtain of darkness across his vision as he went unconscious. His face fell to the side, limp. Cushioned—oddly enough—by a bed of withered flowers. The last thing he saw was a blur of a mural, sporting a face that was far too familiar.

Earth-88.

Another Nueva York: a sprawling corporate metropolis—the crown jewel of its nation—hiding more than a few secrets in its forsaken underbelly. Embraced by chrome-kissed skies and winking neon lights. Guarded by its own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, Miguel O’Hara—always the same, but different—who was more concerned with putting up new room décor in his best friend’s apartment than committing to any superhero theatrics. He always reserved that for later.

“Are you sure you want this picture over the shelf?” Miguel asked, throwing a glance at Jess as he flipped the art frame in his hands.

She gave him a humorous look. “Yeah, I’m positive.”

They were working in her guest room, increasingly satisfied with its subtle metamorphosis. It was mid-afternoon, sunlight soaking through the curtains and casting the room in a mauve glow. The room already sported a nice layout—all gold and blue with regal hues—but Jess had recently grown tired of a few empty spaces, especially those on the walls. She bought a collection of new household items—pictures, statues, candles, even special LED lights—she felt would add to its warm atmosphere.

“I think it’d look better with the collection on the opposite end,” Miguel muttered as he lifted the circular painting upward. “Same gold hues and all.”

“Yeah, but it complements the color of the shelf, too.”

As he hinged the portrait on the wall, he retorted, “Maybe if you squint. Or look at it sideways.”

Jess couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, don’t challenge my color-coding skills: I’d easily do you in.”

Soon after, she had him dressing the corners of the rooms in lights as she moved tiny statues around, adjusted lamps into new positions.

“You and Aaron still coming to the baby shower on Saturday?”

“Of course, we are, cuata. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Miguel quirked his brow as he added, “Though Aaron may reconsider, he told me, if any of the games involve him having to wear a diaper.”

That earned a chuckle from Jess. “Maybe. I’m sure that would be a turn-on for you, huh?”

Miguel wrinkled his nose, but he couldn’t suppress the smile that crept onto his face. “You wish.” (In all honesty, his husband could be wearing just a leaf over his crotch and Miguel would still goggle at him.) He stepped down the short ladder. “Are you sure you don’t want tell me the gender beforehand?”

He knew she was keeping it a surprise—hence, the gender-neutral party theme, but maybe he would make an exception for him.

Jess narrowed her eyes. “Don’t think just because you’re my best friend you get a free pass.”

“Promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Mhm. Not trusting you on that, O’Hara.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Jess.”

“I’ll let it break. Not like you’re using it or anything.” She turned towards the door. “Be right back. I got us drinks from Katy’s.”

Miguel perked up. “Is it boba?”

“Yup,” she said with a smirk. “I wouldn’t disappoint you.”

Katy’s was everyone’s favorite spot near St. Theresa’s, a cozy little café with specialized drinks and desserts to die for. Jess and Miguel loved visiting there right after work. His obsession with boba tea could never be understated—and since she knew he was coming over today she ordered two beforehand. Almond milk tea for her and coconut butterfly tea for him.

“Okay,” Jess breathed, slotting the appropriate tea into Miguel’s hands. “Breaktime.”

They tumble into small talk, workplace gossip, new developments on their respective side of town. Updates over their favorite TV shows, family marriages and divorces, oh, did you hear Dr. Phillips was caught making out with Rachel from ER in the closet? Words punctuated with light gasps and disbelieving chuckles.

Eventually, Jess paused a moment, brows pinched with confusion, as she placed a hand to her belly, feeling for something.

“Everything okay?” Miguel asked, eyes growing wider. “Did the baby just—?”

“They sure did!” she crowed, eyes bright as lanterns. “Here, you wanna feel?”

He nodded, allowing Jess to guide his hand to her stomach. His features twisted into a wonderous expression as he felt movement, the ghostly imprint of a foot fluttering beneath her skin. Even when he had done this multiple times with different patients, the beginning stage of life never ceased to amaze him, make his heart hurt.

Of course, he was genuinely happy for Jess and couldn’t wait to see her child. Holding them, spending time with them. (‘A boy,’ Miguel would think. ‘It’s gonna be a boy.’) Maybe they would have her dimples and wide, gap-toothed smile. Maybe one day they would even call him “Tio.”

Just like Miles had.

Maybe they would look like Miles.

At once, he felt his eyes dull, a black oily feeling seating itself at the base of his ribcage. Something close to grief; something close to envy. Jess—unfortunately—took notice. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, sympathy laced across her brow.

“Hey. Are you okay?” The words trickled out in a murmur, a gentle stream, drawing him out of this fleeting spell.

A part of him already knew. A part of him didn’t want to answer. But he does anyway—because he’s not shocking rude—his form bracing itself as if facing an incoming storm.

“Yeah?” His voice came breathless, weak. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to kick himself. Why did it come out like a question—like he was asking for permission? He tore his hand away from her stomach, deciding he had left it there for too long.

He turned his gaze elsewhere, as if embarrassed. “Sorry, I just—”

“Is it… about Miles?”

A blanket of ice coated his veins. His heart clenched. He couldn’t hide it: his expression said it all. Her pregnancy never reminded him until now. Reminded him of Miles. His nephew, who died months ago. Maybe it was because the baby’s arrival was so soon. Jess would have her child while his would still be six feet under. It wasn’t that he was envious. No, not really. It was just right now, that bump only served as another reminder of what he lacked.

Miguel looked at her then, his expression as sullen and vague as a watercolor painting.

“No,” he whispered. A lie, of course—and she could tell.

The woman shook her head, curly hair bouncing, and placed a hand on his wrist reassuringly. Her eyes swam with sympathy. She kept her voice gentle as she said, “I know it’s been tough. If you’re still not over it, I get it. Recovery is different for everybody. Like I told you before, if you need any more support—”

Miguel’s eyes darkened. “I don’t.” Maybe his tone was a bit too cold, but it slipped before he could catch it. Talking about it right now wouldn’t help him. Talking about it was rarely something he wanted to do anymore. It wouldn’t lift the boy from the dead—and it wouldn’t make his absence hurt less.

Jess dropped the topic without another word. “Fine, sorry.”

His eyes softened as he rubbed the back of his neck. “No, it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

Maybe it was the turn of conversation that suddenly made the environment colder, the colors duller, and his fingers looser. Maybe it was the thing that suddenly made him want to leave. By now they were pretty much done with their little activity.

“If we’re finished here, I might as well get going, cuata.” He rose from his seat. “Still have some errands to run.”

“That’s fine.” He tried to ignore the note of sadness that rode her tone. “See you around, Migs. Thanks for helping. Tell Aaron I said hi.”

“Will do.”

So—Miguel returned home. He turned the lights on in the kitchen and swept his gaze around the interior. Slowly, mechanically, out of routine. Same dishes that needed to be put up; same board on the wall choked with half-written sticky notes, words of affirmation from him to Aaron or from Aaron to him.

Same life to live, same responsibilities to tend to. And yet none of it truly felt the same. The world spun on—even with Miles gone—and to Miguel that felt like a crime. How could the world continue with that soft, sweet boy gone, with his future left unfulfilled? It had been five months since he died, since Miguel felt another precious string of his life snap, since he was reminded again of his inherent helplessness in life’s orchestrations.

Since the Sinister Six attacked near Miles’s school and left it—and the rest of the block—a near-smoking crater in their onslaught. Miles should’ve been here, in the living room, working on his homework, notebooks and pencils scattered across the floor, music leaking from his holographic audio player.

LYLA flickered to life in front of Miguel, sporting casual lounge clothes. “Hey, sunshine,” she purred. “How’d it go?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Want me to go over the rest of your schedule for today?”

“You know it.”

Typical errands: do laundry, go on a daily walk, water your plants. Padding into the living room, he turned on the television to get the latest news. A series of bank robberies in the 42nd District, all presumably by the same person; a kidnapping at the train station; a car accident on Highway I-45. No mention of any member of the Sinister Six—not yet, at least.

They normally caused trouble Downtown, their territory, but they certainly weren’t above making their mark on the upper crust of Nueva York. News organizations from Uptown rarely ever mentioned activity in Downtown. Not that it mattered: he and Aaron had connections down below who kept them updated. If any of them knew the current whereabouts of the gang members—especially the Green Goblin—they would tell him.

She was the one he was on the hunt for.

She was the reason Miles was gone.

Drawing his life from him with the calculated toss of a bomb. Miguel had been too late to catch it—had been too preoccupied with handling Doc Ock to notice in time. A bristling flash of white was all that was left to see, and Miguel hadn’t been able to capture the scream that tore free from his mouth right after.

There was nothing much left to remember afterward; just the cacophonous sounds of police and ambulance sirens, flashing lights painting smoldering walls blue-white-red. And why hadn’t he seen the signs ahead of time? Why hadn’t he moved fast enough? Why hadn’t he?

He swallowed the memory down, took a deep breath, tried to count to ten. Something close to rage punched a boiling fist through his ribcage. He swore one day he’d finally catch those monsters and make them pay.

But none of that now. At once he stuffed those thoughts into a corner of his mind.

Just focus on what’s in front of you; don’t think beyond that.

And so he did. He vacuumed and he gathered laundry; he read another chapter of a book; he finished the rest of his boba tea; he absentmindedly listened to the new playlist Aaron had made for him as he wiped down windows. Eventually, as he chipped away at his chores, that urge unmistakably rose in him—the urge to see Miles. Not the boy himself, of course, but the mural made in remembrance of him. He hadn’t originally planned to go today, but he decided it was about time to pay another visit.  

In all honesty, he preferred visiting the mural over the grave. He rarely ever visited the latter even when Aaron would try to coax him to go. At least at the mural he could see Miles as he had been, vibrant and alive, with a dimpled smile that could melt even the coldest heart. Aaron had painted it a week after the funeral. He had done an amazing job capturing the boy’s spirit in the colors, the lines.

Now it was time for a walk, wasn’t it? Just a small circuit that stretched a couple of blocks. Away from the streets most populated by pedestrians. After shrugging on his exercise clothes, he made his way out the door, down the stairs. He breathed in the crisp afternoon air, passing under clouds raked across the blue expanse of sky.

Trotting down the street, catching snapshots of neighbors and strangers amid their own business, as usual. Past endless rows of pristine apartment complexes; past the elevated highways brimming with vehicles; past the community gardens too neatly arranged.

Miles’s mural wasn’t too far ahead, tucked away near his favorite place to hang out with friends. Maybe someone had left more flowers, copies of his favorite toys, manga volumes. He could stand there like he always did, let a gentler pool of memories pour across his mind’s eye and drown him for those few sweet moments. Tell Miles he was sorry, so sorry. Pretend that he hadn’t failed him in the worst way.

Miguel wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. He briefly watched a plane streak across the sky before he took a sharp left between two buildings—a shortcut—sucking in a deep, silent breath. It didn’t take long for the mural to come into sight, visible even from the narrow passageway. Unmolested—or so he thought, as he reached his destination with silent, measured steps.

Nothing would’ve prepared him for what greeted him there.

He froze in place as his gaze fell upon a figure collapsed amidst the entourage of memorabilia. Unmoving. Unconscious. Alarm shattering his stupor like a hammer, Miguel moved closer to get a better look, wondering what had happened. Had the person been attacked? Had they passed out? Even from where he stood, there was something oddly familiar about the stranger’s profile. Once he stooped down, obtained a clearer portrait of their—his—identity, Miguel felt the world around him tilt sideways.

It was Miles.

Arms spread out like wings; body crumpled like an angel fallen. Skin bruised and battered; hair coated in debris. Clad in a tattered costume, a brilliant red spider swimming in a sea of black upon his chest. Viciously familiar. Panic made the man’s heart crash against his ribcage.

No. No. This wasn’t possible.

Miguel wanted to believe this was a dream, a hallucination. Shakily he pressed an ear against the boy’s chest. A heartbeat. He was alive. But not in the best condition. He must’ve fallen—from where?—and landed on the concrete. A small pool of blood formed a morbid halo around the boy’s head, painting the flowers beneath it red. He paused, glanced around as if he expected an ambush before turning his disbelieving gaze back on Miles.

It’s a trick, a voice hissed in the back of his mind. It could’ve been, the man noted. But that didn’t stop him from gingerly picking the boy up, from observing his injuries, from leaving the place with him in his arms bridal style.

Miguel didn’t know what was going on, but he certainly welcomed it. A mixture of confusion, desperation, and fear pulsing in his bones. And something else: excitement.

“LYLA, run diagnostics.”

The AI flared to life in front of him, adjusting her triangle-shaped glasses. “Hm? What, you fell and scraped your knee—?”

She paused when she saw the injured boy lying on the kitchen table, which was cleared of space to make room for him. Miguel had already cleaned up the back of his head.

“Miguel… Is that who I think it is?” She teleported closer for a better look, eyes wide with shock.

Miguel was standing at the corner of the table, arms folded, expression giving nothing away. “Yeah,” he breathed, “or maybe not.” He wasn’t sure yet.

It didn’t make sense. There was no way this Miles was his Miles. He looked too different, wore different clothing, didn’t even have his hair in his eyes. Out of all the technological advancements Nueva York boasted, resurrection wasn’t one of them. It had to be a clone.

But who would clone Miles, and for what reason?

Did someone figure out Miguel’s secret identity and was leading him on? That couldn’t be possible either, was it? In any case, regardless of how this panned out, he wasn’t going to treat the boy cruelly—only cautiously. He was injured, and, of course, Miguel felt his nursing instincts kick in. He could’ve seen a supervillain bleeding out on the street and still rush to save them, whether it was by his hand or another’s.

Rubbing the side of his face, he groaned, “Again, diagnostics.”

LYLA perked up, “O-Oh, right!” She fumbled with her glasses a bit before scanning Miles, a wave of blue light washing over him. “Lacerations on face; mild contusion with bruising and bleeding at the base of the skull. Swollen left cheek. Ooh, nasty—ice can help with that! Acetaminophen should help with pain relief…”

Miguel pulled up a holographic screen, making notes of LYLA’s report with a speed honed only by focus and achieved through years of experience. None of the injuries were anything he couldn’t handle. He and Aaron dealt with worse in their line of superhero duty.

And now came his favorite part: tending to his patient’s wounds. He applied antiseptic and ointment; he wrapped bandages around the boy’s head with incredible care, all the while taking note of his vitals (as if he would flatline at any moment); he pressed an ice pack against his cheek, got the medication for later ready.

Eventually, the man paused, glancing between the living room couch and Miles’s room down the hallway. Where to put him? It probably was a better idea to place him in the living room, but his heart demanded he put the boy in his counterpart’s room. That was his rightful place, in a way.

Maybe he would be more comfortable there, even if the room wasn’t truly his. After peeling off his suit, wiping him clean, dressing him in his Miles’s pajamas, Miguel put him in bed and added as many blankets and pillows he could for maximum comfort. He stepped back, breathed in and out, felt warmth burn at the back of his eyelids.

Stay calm, stay calm. And don’t you dare cry.

Tea. Maybe this one liked tea.

Eventually, Miguel found himself in the kitchen, watching water come to a simmer in a small saucepan in front of him. He had all the necessary ingredients he needed to make a cup of tea. Next to add were the milk and spices, which he poured in slowly, one at a time. He would serve it to Miles as part of his lunch, alongside a plate of sincronizada, a little snack his Miles always enjoyed.

There were leftovers from this morning, so he decided to heat those up and include them. They were light on the stomach, which was always good for someone who sustained head injuries. And they were easy enough to make. He just wanted to prepare something quick just in case Miles woke up earlier than expected.

As he toiled away in the kitchen, he watched the boy sleep via holographic screen. Every few seconds his gaze would slide over to the boy’s sleeping form. Occasionally, Miles would shift, twitch, turn in bed, but that was all. No signal, no portent coated in insidious intent. He was struggling to keep his anxiety at bay, but the situation almost called for it to spill over, tangle into his thoughts, shake at his limbs. As if on cue, LYLA popped up again, forehead lightly creased with worry.

“Hey, your heartbeat is spiking,” she said. “Remember: relax yourself. Breathe in, breathe out—like we practiced.” She gestured in front of her chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Miguel whispered, briefly shielding his eyes with a hand. “Can you just… play my ambiance playlist for me?”

“On it! First song’s my jam.”

Soon music drifted gently through the air, a melodious balm, dressing the room in blue, soporific hues. He breathed in, breathed out, finished the tea, strained it into a cup. Slowly but surely, he felt that cloud of anxiety dissipate, coil and sink back under his nerves. Not gone, but still easier to manage, to somewhat ignore.

It couldn’t have been just a coincidence that he found Miles the way he had. Speculation grasped his mind with electric fingers. His little guest could’ve been anything: an escaped experiment; a biological Trojan horse; a corporate raider; a copycat. Regardless, his presence soothed the ever-present throb of guilt in the man’s stomach, made him feel like nothing had changed over the last five months.

If only for a little bit. No, this wasn’t his Miles, but for this sweet morsel of a moment, he could pretend it was. And that made his mood lighten so much more. Eventually, a kernel of thought bloomed at a corner of his mind—one he didn’t want to entirely welcome: what if this Miles was from an alternate dimension?

Multiverse theory: a school of thought Aaron loved to entertain with him over the years. That there was a kaleidoscope of realities scattered across space and time like seeds. Miguel never agreed with it and spent a handful of nights arguing with Aaron over it.

But now, what if it was true? What would it mean? Miguel couldn’t bring himself to think about it too extensively. In the end, it was only one hypothesis. He would get his answer once the boy woke up.

LYLA stayed right next to him, floating cross-legged in mid-air. “So,” she sighed, “what are we gonna do with him?”

“What we always do in situations like this,” Miguel drawled. “Interrogation.”

“But this time with room service,” she said cheekily.

He smirked. “With room service, yes.”

A crackling red prism swallowing him whole. His heart practically bursting from his chest as he raced through Downtown. Gwen’s face, whipped by wind, laced with worry and guilt. Miguel’s claws battering at the shell the Go-Home Machine wove around him, countenance a portrait of mania—  

Miles woke up with a jolt, wincing as he felt the back of his skull scream. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton and his vision was blurry. A ghost of nausea coiled around his stomach. His mind was sluggish as it swam through the murky waters of fatigue. It grasped at lucidity with slippery hands, feeling for a sense of where he was.

It felt… oddly comfortable, wherever he was. Softness embraced him in every direction. Soon he realized he was in bed, wrapped snug in the fluffiest blanket imaginable. It smelled like sunflowers. He blinked once, twice, groaning softly, looking about the room when his vision cleared. There was something about his surroundings that felt familiar.

Am I home? he thought. Did I make it?

Once he felt strong enough, he sat up slowly, rubbing his face. Then he froze, noticing the sunlight piercing through the curtains. It was purple. And the sun in his universe wasn’t purple. Dread plucked at his nerves like strings, sending a chord of alarm through his head.  

Oh, no.

He wasn’t home. The machine had sent him elsewhere.

And now he could tell something was off about his room. Not the same trophies, not the same books or photos. Not the same decorations. Not exactly. He finally looked down at himself, noticing he wasn’t wearing his costume either. Where was he? Who did this? He wanted to get out of bed, leave the room, check the window—anything—but it felt like his legs were made of lead. Heavy and dead.

Suddenly, the door opened.

Miles felt his heart leap into his throat as he glimpsed his visitor. Too familiar, too familiar. It was Miguel—again. Dressed in a pleasant expression, holding a tray of food in his hands.

“You’re awake,” he said warmly as he stepped inside.

Panic sent a lightning bolt down Miles’s limbs. His back hit the headboard with a heavy thunk! as he threw himself backwards, drawing his knees to his chest. Just like in that wormhole, he found it immediately difficult to breathe. He was hyperventilating—eyes wide and glistening with fear—which caused Miguel to abruptly stop. Worry streaked across his face.

(No, no, no—it was too late, too damn late, they caught him, who knows how long it’s been, his dad could be dead, and he failed, he failed—)

Miguel put the tray on the desk and drew his hands up in a calming position. “Hey,” he whispered, “it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you—”

“Please don’t let my dad die,” the boy whispered, a helpless, broken plea.

He hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. He was injured, with nowhere else to run, no one else to turn to, and he was completely at this man’s mercy. Lord knew where the Society had taken him, what this dimension even was.

It was Miguel’s reaction, however, that caused a needle of curiosity to pierce through his tapestry of panic. He looked stung, as if what Miles told him had brought up a bad memory, brought up pain. His mouth opened, then closed again—as if he didn’t know what to say.

His face grew pinched as he looked to the side, then back at Miles again. “Why would I do that?” he asked, his voice lower, more confused, more… vulnerable.

Panic loosened its grip on the boy’s senses, and that’s when he realized something: this Miguel was different. Different clothes, different physique, different hairstyle—different everything. Freckles spattered across his features like specks of paint. Hair reddish-brown with slivers of gray. Faint ashen rings hanging beneath his eyes. There was a certain tenderness in his stare, and it stirred a warm emotion in Miles that he didn’t want to examine.

This wasn’t “his” Miguel O’Hara; this was a variant.

One he’d never met before. Come to think of it, Miles didn’t remember seeing any other Miguels at HQ. Though it was hard to tell considering most of the Spider-People there kept their masks on. He could mull over that mystery later. Right now, he had to figure out whether he could trust this one or not. Whether he was with the Society—and simply playing dumb—or a person disconnected from them. If he was confused, asking why, maybe he knew nothing at all. But still—but still—

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Who?”

“…Nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Miguel prompted, brows joined together in confusion.

Miles shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a trembling forearm. “No, j-just forget it—I mean—it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” His voice stayed gentle, quietly imploring. Cautiously, slowly, he took a few steps closer—only to stop in his tracks and twist his features.

Miles felt his Spidey Sense flare to life, not out of danger but familiarity, reaching forward and probing the boundary of another. The one belonging to the man right in front of him. Like you, it whispered, silvery and soft. Like you. With that revelation came a brief rush of emotions: confusion, relief, wonder. The Miguel he met before never had a Spidey Sense, but this one did. Meaning that he was a Spider-Man, too—unequivocally. And he looked overwhelmed with disbelief.

“You’re like me?” Miguel whispered. “How?”

Miles responded, words coming slow, almost hesitant, “I was bitten by a radioactive spider.”

“From where?”

“Not anywhere here.” Relaxing his legs, Miles glanced down at his hands, expression softening. “I—I’m not… from around here…” He wanted to kick himself for being so vague, but he wasn’t sure if he should reveal his origins just yet. Would this Miguel even believe him?

He looked up again to see Miguel giving him a thoughtful look, brow set in a pensive bend. The boy’s last response thankfully didn’t elicit any negative reaction from him. He could tell Miles wasn’t exactly comfortable revealing his origins yet. All he gave was a subtle nod of understanding, seeming to put the dots together immediately.

“That’s why you had that costume, isn’t it?”

“Right,” Miles said. “I’m Spider-Man. Well, a Spider-Man, anyway.”

“And here I thought I was the only one,” Miguel murmured, snorting out a light chuckle. “Looks like I got competition now, huh?” An attempt at lightening the mood, soothe the boy’s uncertainty.

Miles made a vague attempt to mirror the man’s smile. “Wouldn’t put it like that. I’m just someone passing by.”

“Well, ‘someone-passing-by,’ how are you feeling?” he asked. “You weren’t in the best shape when I found you. I hope you were able to have a good rest.”

Miles swallowed. “Y-Yeah, I did,” he rasped. “I’m okay. Mostly.”

“Is your head still hurting?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as before.”

“Anything else?” Miguel asked, adopting the familiar tone of an examiner. “Dizziness? Nausea?”

“A little bit of both, but it’s no big deal.”

“Mm, noted.” He gestured to the tray on the desk. “I brought you food. Are you ready to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” Miles muttered, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. The loud gurgle that erupted from his stomach begged to differ. The boy startled slightly, embarrassment crossing his face. “Uh—”

An amused smirk pinched the corner of Miguel’s mouth. He probably knew what Miles was thinking. “The food isn’t poisoned, I promise.”  

To demonstrate, he removed the tray, took a sincronizada off the plate and took a bite out of it. “See?” he said around his chewing. “Mmm, delicious.” He lifted it in the boy’s direction. “Now you wanna try it?”

With a sigh, Miles leaned back into the pillows in defeat. “Okay,” he grumbled. The food did smell pretty tasty, at least. His Spidey Sense hadn’t gone off either, he noted. A good sign.

Something close to triumph winked in the older man’s eyes. It didn’t take him long to settle the food tray in Miles’s lap, watching the teenager briefly study the food before picking up a piece. It looked like stuffed quesadillas. Cheese and onion and bits of ham peeking from beneath the crust. He had never eaten this before, but it looked familiar enough. And he could never resist the smell of his favorite tea.

“Not sure if you like any of this,” Miguel said under his breath, almost timidly. “If not, I can make you something else.”

“No,” Miles replied. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

The food was pretty good—and the chai tea was perfectly brewed. Miles was starving, but he took slow, cautious bites, remembering what his mother told him about eating too fast. (“You’ll get sick that way, mijo,” she chided him one day.) As he took sips from his drink, he tried to ignore the way Miguel was looking at him. His gentle expression never wavered. Eventually, when Miles finished his food, he drew a chair closer to the bed, sat down in it.

The air shifted. Miles compelled himself to stop eating, gaze sliding back toward the man.

“Alright,” Miguel sighed, “are you ready to answer more of my questions?” His voice, still soft, but the semblance of an edge lurking beneath the words.

Suspicion slinked through Miles’s chest. He gave a final gulp, bracing himself. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Who are you?” Miguel—this new Miguel—asked, his tired eyes studying the boy with an ounce of curiosity, caution. Miles sat up straighter, feeling his throat tighten. He couldn’t ignore the crack that hung at the edge of the older man’s voice as he asked his next question, “Why do you look like my nephew?”

Miles stilled, face going slack, ice punching a sharp fist through his ribcage. Your nephew? Realization followed suit on its own ragged chariot. So, it wasn’t a coincidence after all. This was his room—or, rather, the room of his own variant. Who, apparently, was related to Miguel O’Hara in this universe?

After everything the young hero had been through over the past twenty-four hours, a part of him didn’t want to believe it. The more logical side of him, however, chalked it up to statistical inevitability. In a broiling sea of nigh infinite universes, why wouldn’t that happen eventually?

Taking a deep breath, Miles replied, “I’m Miles. Miles Morales.”

Miguel’s eyes closed, and a painful, resigned expression tore across his features. “That was his name too,” he whispered.

“I look like him because I am him,” Miles said. “From another dimension.”

His answer appeared to send a firecracker off in Miguel, who sat up straighter, astonished. “Impossible,” he said. But even then, Miles could see the unerring shield of his disbelief dent, bend inwards, as reality battered against it. “I-It’s not feasible, it can’t—”

Miles perked up. “It is possible. You gotta believe me! I’m from Earth-1610… B, I think?” He squinted in thought for a moment. “Yeah, B. And I’m here because—”

A scream tore from his throat as his body abruptly glitched, sending the food tray tumbling to the floor and Miguel reeling backwards, rendered speechless, eyes wide with shock.

Oh. That’s right. His day pass. He didn’t have it on.

When the glitching subsided, Miles tensed, panted, waiting for the crackles of pain to subside. He saw Miguel hover over him, the very portrait of an anxious parent, arms stretched forward. “Is there anything I can do?”

Miles instinctively pulled away. “My day pass,” the boy wheezed, eyes scrunched shut. “The wristband.” He prayed he hadn’t lost it during his escape here. Or that it was thrown away.

Thankfully, Miguel seemed to know what he was talking about and rushed out the room, coming back with the wristband clutched in his fingers. “You mean this thing?” he said. “Didn’t think it was that important.” He had taken it off Miles when he was dressing him earlier. He slid it back onto Miles’s wrist. The boy mumbled a thank you.

“What was that?” Miguel asked, exasperated.

“That’s what happens when you’re in another dimension,” Miles said. “You glitch, a-and your body starts breaking down because you don’t belong there.” He raised his wrist. “Not unless you have this—something that can anchor you.”

Fascination dominated the older male’s expression then. He leaned forward, taking a closer look at the wristband. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. How does it work?”

“Beats me,” Miles said with a shrug. “All I know is that it works.” A brief, nervous laugh rattled past his teeth. The other you made it.

“And you’re sure you’re not some weapon? That this isn’t some trick?”

“Yes, I’m sure, man,” Miles sighed. “I’m here for a totally different reason. But… I know it might take you a while to really trust me.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual,” Miguel replied. “Which… is understandable.” He shook his head, as if breaking out of a trance. “Sorry, I haven’t given you my name yet. I’m—”

Miles cut him off, “I know who you are.” He looked more tired than normal then. “You’re Miguel O’Hara.”

Miguel looked startled. “How did you know?”

“Because I’ve met you before. Another you.” He thumbed his wristband. “He’s the one who gave me this. H-He’s in charge of this thing called ‘the Spider Society.’ It’s this group of Spider-People from different dimensions—”

“Wait, did you say ‘Spider-People’?” Miguel interjected. He dipped his chin, brows raised. “You mean, there’s more like us?”

“Yeah. Thousands of ‘em!” Miles gestured above his head widely. “There was an… accident that happened back in my home dimension. These bad guys used a machine, a collider, to access different dimensions and my Spider-Man tried to stop them, but the collider ended up tearing holes in the multiverse. And a lot of people ended up thrown into the wrong dimension. So, the other Miguel made the Society to clean up the mess and put those people back where they belong.”

There was more, of course—so much more—but he couldn’t just dump all that information onto this Miguel when he was allegedly new to all of this. He was currently looking at Miles like the boy just grew another head. His expression eventually grew distant as he processed everything Miles told him.

“Is that the reason you’re here?” Miguel finally asked. “You fell through a hole by accident?”

“No, I came through a portal—and it wasn’t an accident! Well, jumping into the portal wasn’t an accident. I was trying to escape—you know, get back home—but the machine screwed up and sent me here instead.”

“And this Spider Society… Are they the ones after you?”

Miles nodded, staying silent.

“Why?”

His throat went dry. He buried his feet into the mattress beneath him as he turned his gaze elsewhere: at the window, through the blinds, which bled purple light. He could see the city beyond, draped in a glimmering veil of neon colors—so similar and yet so different. A study in purples and pinks and blues caged within hardened binary lines. Nothing like the angular, crystalline white of his Miguel’s homeworld.

“Miles,” Miguel said, drawing the boy’s attention back to him, “it’s okay. Just tell me.”

“Because I’m trying to save my dad,” Miles admitted in a whisper, feeling his defenses falter again. “That’s why I brought him up earlier. They told me that he has to die o-or else my whole dimension’s gonna collapse.”

“What?” Disbelief colored the older male’s tone, smeared itself across his expression.

Miles continued, “It’s a part of every Spider-Man’s story… or, at least, that’s what they say. I have to lose people close to me in order to become a stronger hero. And if I don’t let it happen, if I don’t carry out this next chapter, my whole world will rip apart at the seams.” He rubbed his hands together, determination pooling into his tone. “I can’t let that happen. There’s gotta be another way. I told them I could do both. Maybe it’ll be different for me.”

Because he was never meant to be Spider-Man, was never meant to leap with faith, by faith.

Because he was the-spider-that-never-was.

Bastard child meeting crown. Water and oil miraculously merging. A paradoxical synthesis.

But maybe—just maybe—the impossibility carved under his skin would give rise to a new path. A path unexpected. A path once deemed incalculable, inconceivable.

“How do they know that will happen?” Miguel asked, uneasiness seeping into his voice.

“Because it’s happened before,” Miles replied. “The other you, he took the place of a variant in another world and eventually that world collapsed because he wasn’t supposed to do that. I can’t tell you for sure if it’s completely true, though…”

“Well, whether it’s true or not, I hope you’re able to save your dad,” the older Spider whispered. “He’s not alive here.”

Miles froze, mortified. “Really?”

A shard of pain pierced Miguel’s stare. “He died ten years ago. Your mother too. There was an accident.” He moved to pick up the tray and cup off the floor—a feeble attempt to distract himself, it seemed. “And that’s how your uncle and I got custody of you.”

“W-Wait… You mean Uncle Aaron?”

“Yes.” His smile grew warm. “We’re together.”

Okay. That was what made Miles feel like he was about to slide right through the floor. His uncle Aaron and Miguel… in a relationship? He wondered what greater cosmic machination brought that to happen. The multiverse really did whatever it wanted, didn’t it? And finally he noticed it, the wedding ring glinting faintly on Miguel’s finger. Fostering within Miles not just curiosity but excitement.

Uncle Aaron was alive. Not bleeding out in an alleyway or rotting in a grave. He was alive, at least here, and that’s all that mattered to Miles, whose mind was set adrift in a current of all the things left unspoken between them—all the things he had thought endlessly about for the last year and a half. Suddenly he yanked his attention back to reality as he remembered the situation at hand.

“We raised you, loved you. And then… you died.” Miguel’s tone flattened, empty as a graveyard. His words came clipped, laconic.

The boy felt cold fear burrow into his spine. “I—I’m dead?” he choked out. Then he remembered where he landed: behind the back of a building, a mural—one in the likeness of a boy Miles hadn’t had the time to fully recognize—hanging above him like a guillotine. But now, in a clearer state of mind, realization was quick to take root: that boy had been him.

“Yes.” Miguel looked around slowly—as if the movement was laborious. “This was your room.” He peered down into the teacup almost thoughtfully. “Haven’t really moved anything out yet. Can’t bring myself too—not yet.”

“How long has it been?”

“Five months.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what happened to him?” Miles asked.

Miguel didn’t respond; he just gave a sad dip of his head. “Something I hope to make amends for.”

Even in another world Miles had to see the same guilt—the same sense of helplessness—in this Miguel, leering, always leering. Another link in the chain; an onerous form of mitosis. But it felt different somehow (because it would always be different). Miles was possibly wading into some dark waters, so he decided to drop his questioning there, even with another one seated on his tongue. He winced as he felt his head throb again and he grasped the back of his head. Miguel took note of it, rising to his feet.

“Hm. I’ll get you some medicine,” he murmured.

Miles cleared his throat, “Thanks for the help and all, b-but I can’t stay here. I gotta go.” He knew it wasn’t the best idea in his current state, but the Society could knock at this dimension’s door any minute. He really didn’t know if Gwen or Peter would be in tow once they did—his stomach soured over the idea—but he didn’t want to stick around and find out.

“Go where?” Miguel paused at the door, turning to look at him. An odd note entered his tone. “You’re injured and light years away from home. If you don’t want to stay here—find a hostel or something—then that’s fine. But now might not be the best time, alright? At least wait until most of your injuries are healed.”

Silence. Miles didn’t move.

Miguel continued, “Try to get some more rest. I’ll bring you medicine for that headache. Then I have some errands to finish. We’ll go from there. If you want, I’ll have LYLA provide surveillance around the area and alert me to any funny stuff. Okay?”

Miles huffed and crossed his arms, but ultimately had a resigned look on his face. “Fine. I’ll stick around.”

A sad smile found its way on Miguel’s face, “Thank you.” Food tray in tow, he then asked, “Is there anything else you need, Miles?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

After choking down a few painkillers, Miles sunk back into bed, sporting a rather dull expression as he stared at the ceiling. He let the distant whirs and beeps of cars outside wash over him as he tried to still his racing thoughts. His fingers flexed in and out, in and out. He wanted to relax, believe that he was somewhat safe here, but it was hard.

He didn’t have the luxury of that—no, not really—no matter what this Miguel wanted to believe. He was gone for now, but he felt that sense of being watched, almost like he was back at Spider HQ. Anyone could spot the brilliant blue stripes racing along every corner of the bedroom. Blinking, blinking. LYLA was watching him from there, he knew.

Groaning in frustration, he turned over on his side, squeezing one of the pillows. Its smell soothed him a bit, reminded him of home. Once his headache faded, reality really began to sink in.

He hadn’t made it home. He was lost and alone (though perhaps not too alone) on a completely different world and his friends had betrayed him. He was under the care of another Miguel, who was technically his uncle, who was married to his other uncle, Aaron. And only time would tell where his loyalties truly lied. His mother and father were dead. He was dead. His family ripped apart, left frayed as a rope. And it served as another frantic reminder of what could happen if he didn’t get home.

Two days. That’s what they told him. But time was a fluid, funky thing in the multiverse. Who knew how long that would equate from here to home?

And in the meantime, he would have to finish things with Miguel. If he stuck around, he might even get to see Uncle Aaron again. Catch up with him. He wondered how the one here was like. Would he look the same, walk the same, have the same style? Would he still be the Prowler—and did his husband even know?

Miles would find out soon enough. All he could do now was lie here and wait. Distract himself. Wonder what would happen next. Craft a script in his head with all the potential questions, scenarios, and answers that could come later. What he was willing to immediately answer and what he needed more time to process. His nervousness finally cooled, hardened into a determination ringed by iron. A setback; that’s all this was. If he played his cards just right, it’d be a minor one.

You want the full story, Miguel? Fine. Come back, and I’ll give it to you.

Love this ship so much!

they're about to kiss don't worry, miguel loves squeezing aaron's face

Remember that moment in ITSV, when Miles first meets his world's Spider-Man and their spider senses do the thing?

The background behind Peter is as we'd expect; the classic red and blue.

But at first Miles' background is green and purple, two colors he's never associated with at all throughout the movie. As the moment goes on, it shifts to match Peter's.

We are literally watching Miles' fate change and the anomaly happen.

It's well established that the spider that bit him was not supposed to even be in that universe, meaning our Miles was supposed to be something else before it happened.

This isn't true for ITSV, but in every other version of Spider-Man, the main color scheme for the Prowler is green and purple.

Our Miles was supposed to become the next Prowler in his world. And the only reason he's not, is because of the original Prowler. Miles switched his fate with Earth-42 Miles.

Also, if you pay attention to when Miles gets transported to E-42, the colour scheme behind him is a neon green and once he enters "his room" it's highlighted in shades of purple and green like in the entire apartment. The clothes his puts on are also green, signalling that this world is very much not his, and is in fact the world without Spider-Man, but instead the Prowler.

Remember that moment in ITSV, when Miles first meets his world's Spider-Man and their spider senses do the thing?

The background behind Peter is as we'd expect; the classic red and blue.

But at first Miles' background is green and purple, two colors he's never associated with at all throughout the movie. As the moment goes on, it shifts to match Peter's.

We are literally watching Miles' fate change and the anomaly happen.

It's well established that the spider that bit him was not supposed to even be in that universe, meaning our Miles was supposed to be something else before it happened.

This isn't true for ITSV, but in every other version of Spider-Man, the main color scheme for the Prowler is green and purple.

Our Miles was supposed to become the next Prowler in his world. And the only reason he's not, is because of the original Prowler. Miles switched his fate with Earth-42 Miles.

miles “who’s morales” morales’s biggest weakness is the cover story