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Chapter Text

Is it necessary for shopping to be so dull and miserable?

Seriously, there had to be a more fun way to get groceries than meandering around looking like a blind dog. What's the difference between an orange and clementine, anyway? They're both orange balls that taste nasty after you've brushed your teeth. 

Peter understood why MJ couldn't go. She's heavily pregnant, after all. She couldn't waddle around like a mentally handicapped goose with a missing foot. 

The issue was that MJ was so specific that he couldn't understand sometimes. How could he tell the difference between a regular banana and a foreign one grown on some random farm in nowhere-ville? No matter where it's grown, it's just an ugly phallus-shaped berry. 

Also, why are pregnant cravings so weird? The idea of pickles makes Peter want to vomit, but combined with ice cream, the tears of god? Horrific!

As soon as the baby's born, they can return to - wait, what would they do? Neither was inclined to move out anywhere. 

It took longer than preferred to realise the spark wasn't there. That fizzled out a while ago, maybe even before their divorce. That didn't mean they didn't care about each other, though. She's still important in his life but felt more like a close friend than his wife.

The feeling is, thankfully, mutual. 

They would've broken up, moved out and stayed friends, but then MJ's pregnancy test returned positive. Even with both jobs, plus Peter's major unpaid one, it was hard to keep that house, let alone find a new one. The economy was in the toilet. Again. 

A snail would be lucky to afford a shell at this rate. Even Peter's old place, as small and pathetic as it was, had been swooped up. There's nowhere affordable or available, so they agreed to live together and raise the baby as friendly roommates. 

A tiny selfish part of him is sad about sex being off the table, but it's drowned out by the excitement and terror at being a father. He realised four months in that Miles was a teenager and this would be an infant - two separate things. 

Can Peter do it? Raise a baby? Not only as a mentor but helping them walk, talk and wipe their baby booty. Every decision Peter made would impact that little life. 

They didn't know what the gender was, so they drew straws - MJ picked the boy's name, and Peter got the girl's name. He chose May after his aunt, the closest mother figure he ever had. The birth giver didn't count.

He wasn't sure what he wanted, partly because he didn't have a choice but more because he didn't know what to expect. He saw videos of gender reveals, and aside from the ones that caused devastating wildfires, people tended to react badly. Some guys would break stuff in a rage over getting a girl. 

Peter could be a girl's dad. He could sit down, paint nails, brush hair and play princess - Peter would be the best Princess! Snow White would be blushing with envy. 

He's naturally witty and creative; he would keep up with their little games regardless of what they are. All he wants, honestly, is for them to be healthy and happy. Having Peter and MJ will be good, though he's sad they'll never meet May. She would've loved the tyke. 

What will they look like? Will they be wonky and crooked like Peter or smooth and graceful like MJ? It's the luck of the draw with genetics. It's not like Peter could test for that thanks to his spider DNA - that would be more of a nightmare than sleepless nights. 

Peter might be reaching his forties, but that's too soon to reveal he's Spiderman. It'll happen eventually; it's impossible to avoid. He'll choose, however. When his baby is grown and safe, he'll tell the world.

On his deathbed. 

Surprise, this old dying bastard is Spiderman!

Oh, will the baby inherit any of his spider powers? That's something he never considered. 

If there's any luck, which Peter severely lacked, then the baby won't do an exorcist and turn their head around while hanging on the ceiling. 

Tingle tingly. Something spooky is afoot. 

The older man glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot what triggered his Spidey sense. So far, it looked as mundane as usual. Nameless faces wandering around seeking produce and other artificially created crap, nothing suspicious. 

The tingles never lie. 

Peter heard someone scream from outside the store. Whatever the tingle was about, it probably originated from there. 

After the situation in Miles' world, Peter started wearing his suit under regular clothes in case of this stuff. It shouldn't be easy to change, but with the people inside drawn to the screaming outside like moths to a flame, he threw off his dull clothes, ready to face whatever was happening.

Is it Goblin again? Rhino? Doctor Octopus? Maybe it's a new loser with nothing better to do. He hadn't seen Sauron, the dino scientist, in a while. He could get lucky and have somebody else's trash.

He liked Magneto. The guy was much easier to talk to than Scorpion. Most of the X-Men's villains are more open to communication. It could be one of the loonies like Taskmaster.

God forbid Deadpool or Moon Knight was running around New York again. He liked Wade in small doses, and it's hard to predict a person if they have three identities - you never know if it's Marc, Steven or Jake. Out of that trio, he liked Steven the most. 

Spin the wheel of luck and villainy, great god of this confusing and scary universe!

Placing his shopping basket and list somewhere safe, Peter hopped over the aisles and through the doors. It's chaos outside, people yelling and running for their lives. 

There's a freaky tear in the sky as if some cosmic cat had torn at the sofa lining of reality itself. It's glitching and leaking something, almost like it's bleeding. He got sucked through a portal once, but it didn't look so... septic. It's diseased and necrotic, and the air around it turned grey.

A bird flew close to it, freezing and falling instantly. Stay away from the spooky sky rip.

Freaky.

The hole shivered and widened almost like an eye, and two shapes fell out. The rift closed behind them, but Peter could still see a faint scar in the sky. Did Kingpin build another collider? Did the one in his universe do that? No, that was more like a Stark thing to do.

Maybe it's Doctor Strange. He's always messing with stuff that he shouldn't. 

Peter swung towards the shapes, spotting them quickly.

One was so black that it absorbed all light, a writhing mass akin to a Symbiote but huge. It had red veins, almost like lightning, all over its body and a pair of viciously glowing vermillion eyes. It had a tail that twitched weakly on the melting road. Everything it touched started to decay. 

The other was a Spiderman variant, already beginning to stand. He was a dark blue with red markings, ripped and tall. That guy is something new. 

His spider-sense demanded he keep his distance, terrified of the black shape. Within a blink, the mass changed, spreading like a violent sea. It was roaring, crying in pain and anger and glee. Those red eyes were pulsating, swallowing the blue guy. However, Peter was unable to move.

Every cell in his body told him to flee, to get as far as possible from the Symbiote-like monster. It looked like Venom on roids!

A bulge grew within the living mound of angry flesh, soon bursting and revealing an outstretched hand covered in red and blue. There was something cylindrical and beeping. 

Bomb. 

The black mass seemed to realise as well, starting to disperse. However, the blue Spiderman threw something, causing a force field to form around them. It screeched, and then there was nothing, not a sound. 

Peter jumped to the edge, waiting for a sign of something. His senses still told him to run, but someone needed help. 

He looked for what created the barrier, quickly finding it. It's futuristic tech, but he figured it out. It took longer than he wanted to, but he's getting old; he's getting an elderly brain. 

What's the age for dementia? Eh, it's not imperative.

The field disintegrated, vanishing into nothingness. There's black ooze and a cracked silver ball on the melting road. It looked dead, but he was still afraid of that stuff, whatever it was. He was worried the other guy had turned to ash before a hand tore through a charred car. 

A Spiderman with talons? That's new.

The stranger pulled himself out of the car, looking intimidating and something out of Day of the Dead. He didn't get to take a step before collapsing off the roof, not moving. 

Peter jumped to the guy's side, pulling him onto his back. 

He could smell blood but couldn't see it. What is with the guy's suit?

"Neck," he heard; it was raspy and tired. "Nape."

Peter reached around the back of the guy's neck, feeling something that shouldn't be there. He pressed on it, and the suit vanished like a light was switched off. 

How in the fuck was the man even alive? He had a gouge so deep in his abdomen that Peter could see past the fat and onto his bare intestines. Blood pooled under him, and burns covered what wasn't open or bruised. 

"Burn it," the stranger spat, red trickling down his mouth. "Quémalo todo. Por favor, date prisa."

It would be great to know Spanish right now. What did he want to be burned? The guy's already flambéd.

His eyes are a beautiful red mixed with brown, the opposite of that monster's shade. He's pale from blood loss and is losing consciousness. 

He can't let this guy die here. 

It's not safe to take him to a hospital. He's not from their dimension; Nick Fury would pop his other eyeball out of his skull!

The only place that Peter could take him was the house where he could heal. He could already see it at work, and it was faster than Peter's healing factor; he's never seen it like that before. 

"Burn it," the guy said before finally passing out. 

"Come on, big guy. Let's fix you up."

Peter carefully lifted the man, well aware of their size difference. He heard a little whine of pain, which was an understatement for how fucked up he was. 

What's with the funky watch?

It was hard to explain why he didn't return with groceries but brought a full-grown WWE candidate. 

They used all the bandages in their first aid kids, even having to rip some of Peter's shirts to cover him up.

The regular healing was exhausting for Peter, so he couldn't imagine how much energy it'd take to recover from injuries that severe. 

"So, he just fell out of a portal, like you did?" MJ questioned, rightfully confused and worried. 

What's going to be the baby's future bedroom was occupied by their surprise guest. He's unconscious still, and he's a hunk of a man. What little skin that wasn't burnt, bleeding, or bruising was beautifully olive-toned and surprisingly smooth. 

Those eyes lingered in Peter's mind. He hadn't seen eyes like that before, so fresh but burdened. The eyes of a Spiderman, but there's something different about that guy. 

"Yeah. Unlike how I was, he's not glitching all over the place, which is a small mercy. Don't know how to get him home, though, wherever that is." 

Having two spiders in New York would be helpful, but the new guy belongs in his dimension. He had a home somewhere else and probably a family as well. 

"Maybe he could tell us who the other one was. The one he wanted to burn."

"I don't get it. It's all he'd say. "Burn it". It's so weird, MJ - whatever went near the sludge just died, but he was swallowed by it and came out... well, not fine, but alive."

"Must be a Spider thing. Or because it's from his dimension."

"Yeah, probably. I just have a bad feeling about that stuff. It was dead, but damn, it made my senses go wild. If I tingled anymore, I'd be vibrating."

"Peter, I hate it when you call it a "tingle". It makes me cringe."

"I like calling it a tingle! It's tingling. Like a good version of pins and needles."

"There are no good pins and needles."

"Eh, bad example."

The tingles are good! They keep Peter alive, and he can help people with them. 

Oddly, they don't go off regarding the new guy. With the others, he connected to them; maybe with this guy, it cancels each other out? That would be freaky. 

It would mean Peter couldn't know if their unexpected guest needed help since he clearly couldn't ask for it. It's about time he checked on the blue spider, whoever he is. 

Gwen and Miles were proof that not all Spidermen had the name of Parker. It was weird to see Gwen, honestly. She and her father already died in his dimension; he cradled both their bodies. 

Peter Porker made eating sausages and bacon incredibly awkward now. He also couldn't see a Rubik's Cube and not imagine Noir getting confused by it. 

He missed them, honestly. It was nice to feel like Peter wasn't alone; there were more like him. 

And speaking of honesty, Peter was tempted to stay in Miles' universe. Even though his molecules would've broken apart eventually, it felt like a second chance at life. He could've even retired and tried living a peaceful life. 

It was a selfish desire, born partly out of fear and depression. He's glad he didn't, even though he missed that kid; Miles was what finally got Peter to face his fear of fatherhood. 

Though it's hard to say when Peter will be ready, he looks forward to meeting this new life. He hoped to raise them to be like Miles; that kid was an excellent role model. 

Intelligent, spunky, had the Spider attitude, curious and courageous. He learned to control his camouflage and shock powers pretty quickly. 

Peter crept to the spare room; before they discovered MJ's pregnancy, it was where Peter kept his spider stuff. 

In a roundabout way, it's storing spider stuff again.

Super tall and buff spider stuff with pretty reddish-brown eyes. 

Huh. He'd never thought so much about a guy's eyes like that before. 

Shaking that off, Peter opened the door. 

The sound alerted the new guy, and red eyes snapped to Peter's location, pupils pinpricked and locking onto him. He could almost see the redness grow in vibrancy. Does he have mood stone eyes?

There was a brief grumble of annoyance and probably pain; the man's stomach was bare to the world barely half an hour ago. Even so, the individual pushed himself to sit up, though not by much. He growled, holding his abdomen. 

"Maravilloso," the stranger growled, his voice strained and exhausted. He rubbed his forehead, likely stuck with a concussion. "¿Dónde estoy?"

A curious thing was how he avoided the sunlight peaking through the curtains. It must be the concussion. 

"Sorry, big man, I don't speak any Spanish."

Peter got a towel from the bathroom and hung it over the curtain railing, shielding away most of the light. It instantly put the new guy at ease, his eyes dilating to regular size. 

"Where are we?" the stranger reiterated, sounding tired. 

He couldn't blame him. The guy survived a close contact bomb and whatever that corrosive goop was. 

"Me and MJ's place," Peter answered, wondering why his spidery sense wasn't active around the newbie. "You're looking better than before; that's not saying much since I saw your guts. You got banged up pretty badly out there." Super understatement. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"I know."

How?

Maybe Peter left some of his stuff here, or there was a Peter Parker in that guy's universe. It's entirely possible. 

"Great. What's your name?"

"Classified."

Oh, so they're playing that game?

"Well, Mister Classified, you need to eat something. It always helped boost my factor. What's your fancy?"

Mister Classified tried to get up, only to fail. He hissed, gripping his side, scowling at the offending location. 

Peter tended to be stubborn when hurt as well. He always tried to put on a brave face and keep going, but that did him no favours. He's close to his forties, and the years weren't kind on his ageing bones. What Mister Classified needed was rest, water, morphine and food. 

Running around wasn't going to help. 

"Where is it?" Mister Classified grunted, loosening his grip a little. He had a good poker face; Peter would sob like a newborn. "His ash."

"Whose?" Peter inquired, confused. 

"Klyntarus. The Symbiote. I told you to burn him."

Klyntar was the planet where the Symbiotes came from. It's super pretentious to name yourself after your home planet. 

No human is running around named Earthus! Though there are a few called Gaia. 

Peter's lack of an answer was all Mister Classified needed. There were many emotions - anger, hate, fear, regret, grief, back to anger and more fear. 

Ignoring Peter, he touched the back of his neck, that suit returning and covering his entirety. He used the wall to stand, his fingers digging through the drywall. When it looked like he was going to collapse again, Peter tried to help, but he swiped Peter's hands away. 

"Estúpido bastardo inútil," Mister Classified seethed, scowling through his mask. "It took me ten years to get him cornered!" He shouted, expressing his anger. "Thanks to you, he's still alive!"

A whole decade? Damn, that's some commitment. 

Peter's always been good at guessing people's age. It's a sixth, or seventh, sense of his. While the man looked Peter's age, his gut told him the guy was twenty-seven, a full eleven years younger than Peter. 

From the numbers, he's been fighting that nemesis slime since he was seventeen or eighteen, perhaps even longer. 

He never intended to survive that bomb, did he? Mister Classified, whoever he was, was willing to die if it meant defeating Klyntarus. 

And Peter let it go. 

Ten years down the drain. 

"Symbiotes need a host to function. He didn't have one. How did he, well, operate?"

"The sphere stabilises him. It needs lifeforce to power it. He's out there, consuming people and endangering your entire universe... He's shocking cancer."

He let that go. 

"We'll take care of it; two's better than one, after all," Peter smiled, wanting to make up for his mistake. "That ball thing was pretty damaged, so he's still weak. We can get him."

Since his tingles won't go off, Peter was vigilant. He could see Mister Classified was shaking, his legs wanting to give out. 

Peter could be stubborn too. 

He ignored the light shove from the stranger, using his spider strength to push him back onto the mattress. 

"You can't get him if you can't even stand, Mister Classified. I'll ask again, what do you want to eat? It'll make you heal faster."

Even though his healing is already faster than Peter's. 

He pressed the metal bud on the guy's spine, the suit disappearing. A layer of sweat made his olive skin glisten, almost glowing. He'll need a good sleep after eating something. 

"Miguel."

"Pardon?"

"My name," Miguel said, something sharp poking over his bottom lip. "Miguel O'Hara." 

"Much better than Mister Classified. How about a coffee?"

It felt weird to suggest that.

"Allergic."

"No way, seriously?"

"Have a lot of them."

Who can survive without the grace of god that was coffee? It kept Peter from falling into a coma. 

"Is McDonald's on the list?"

Miguel was pondering, listing things mentally. 

"No."

"McDonald's it is!"

They're getting somewhere. Brilliant.

It's gross and greasy, but something about it was horrifically addictive and satisfying. When in doubt, go to the Donald. 

MJ always loved her chicken nuggets. She was like a hamster with their babies with her nugs. It was always hilarious to him. 

It was impressive how MJ could down twenty nuggets in mere minutes.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, wiping away some ketchup. 

"Not great," Peter admitted, glancing across the hall. "Wished I listened. Never been great at that." 

"He would've died if you didn't, darling. You did what you do best; you saved someone."

She always knew what to say, even though it didn't fit here.

He knows what that thing will do if Peter doesn't catch it. It's a threat to everything Peter holds dear. 

MJ was right, though - Miguel would've bled out if Peter didn't grab him. 

Have there been villains that Peter was willing to die to defeat? He wasn't sure.

"We don't have any shirts that fit him," MJ sighed, popping another nugget in her mouth. "I doubt even your slacks would fit him, too."

"Maybe it's an allergy thing? He mentioned having a bunch of allergies; the guy can't even drink coffee."

"Poor bastard."

"I know! I wouldn't be alive without those brown steamed bean water tears of god."

"Always a poet when it comes to food, Peter." 

"It's why you love me."

"For sure."

He's an excellent foodie. 

He'll need Miguel's size to get him something that wasn't a spooky Halloween hologram. That would draw too much attention. They needed to go covert to scout out possible locations. 

Sounds like a shopping trip. He can pick up those groceries he planned on getting before meeting his new buddy. 

"Well, we have been needing to get some baby stuff. How about it, MJ? Wanna go shopping for an interdimensional vagabond?"

"I'll need measurements. Also, I want a Starbucks."

"Whatever you and the little munchkin need. It'll be funny explaining stuff - like in Miles' universe, right? They didn't even have FedEx! It was called RedEx. And Coca-Cola is Cola Soda!"

"You're easily impressed."

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn't hear or feel anything, but there Miguel was, using the doorway as support.

God damn, is that man tall. 

MJ was thinking something similar, looking him up and down. 

Like before, he was covering himself with his holographic suit. He still looked like crap, but not as bad as some hours ago. 

"I told you eating would make you feel better," Peter grinned, happy that he looked better. Still, he should be resting, not moving around. "Miguel, this is MJ. She's the boss of the house."

"Damn straight."

"Obviamente," he grumbled. Peter suspected that he was being insulted somehow. "Parker, how many heroes are active in your universe?"

"Not sure. I mean, there's the Avengers, X-Men -"

"That's plenty. He'll be busy feeding off them for now. That gives us time before he's strong enough for us." 

Though Peter didn't get on with all heroes, he was friends with many of them. Despite being kicked out of Wolverine's poker night, he still hung out with the short savage. Though cold, Black Widow was nice, too. 

Peter didn't want all of them to die. 

"Could we at least warn them about him?" Peter tried, worried for them.

"You'll only speed up the process. He's killed you enough times to think you aren't a threat. That's our best chance for now." 

So, that's how he knew about Peter. He's seen Peter die before. 

Miguel knew Klyntarus the best; he understood how he would operate and who he'd attack first. 

It's strategic - remove any potential ally to your nemesis. Consuming those with abilities must give him a boost, too. 

As Miguel said, he's cancer. 

"How many times has he killed Peter?" MJ asked, worried.

"From what I know, twenty-three times within the past eight months. Not all universes have a Peter Parker, though, as he's seen." 

More than twenty-three Spider-people. That's so many. And, most likely, their universes were gone like them. 

An unfathomable amount of people are dead due to a single creature. 

He let that go. 

MJ used her foot to push open a chair, encouraging their surprise guest to sit with them. He stared at the invitation, perplexed, awkwardly standing there. 

"Come sit with us," MJ suggested, visibly curious. Was that not an obvious thing in his universe? Then again, Noir never understood what a TV was. "You're staying with us until we figure out how to get you home."

"This can take me back," Miguel said, showing the damaged watch. "After I've repaired it, of course. Fortunately, the damage wasn't enough to disrupt the stabilising process - it'll stop me from "glitching"."

"Did you make that?" Peter asked, now very interested in the device. "Could've used that in Miles' universe. Glitching is not fun, I assure you."

"It only started working eight months ago. It'll make a secure portal to any universe logged on it. It'll be a coño to fix; the technology in your universe is... older than mine." 

"Eh, we can borrow some of Stark's crap. He doesn't use half of it."

"Stark. That's the rich narcissist with a superiority complex. Right?" Miguel inquired, lucky to lack an Iron Man. 

"Basically, yeah. How are you with stealth?"

It's hard to imagine him being stealthy, but Peter hasn't seen him in action. 

It is creepy to almost watch the bruise over Miguel's eye heal. It was eerily fast, and it made him uncomfortable.

"You didn't hear me when I came to the kitchen. That should be your answer."

That's fair. 

Hopefully, while they're out getting this guy an actual shirt, they'll hear about the evil sludge. 

"By the way, we're going to go shopping to get you clothes that aren't giving villain vibes," Peter stated. 

It was a little funny seeing that statement process in Miguel's deep, oddly coloured eyes. He was squinting a little, so the concussion must still irritate him. He can borrow Peter's sunglasses. 

It'll be a shame not to see those eyes, though. Something about the colour was magnetising. Not many people had red eyes, and he had claws; he was even more unique than Porker! 

"I don't need it."

"And that suit isn't going to draw unwanted attention?" MJ countered. "Nobody will understand why there are two Spidermen, much less one that looks like another Venom."

That weirdly seemed to hurt their new comrade. Something about that comment wounded him personally. Did he have a previous interaction with a Venom variant? 

Maybe it's because Klyntarus is a Symbiote; he didn't want to be compared to that. 

"Fine."

"We should go before everything closes. That'll be a pain, huh?" Peter huffed, getting out of the chair. "Come on, big guy. Time to measure you."

"Not necessary. I'll get it myself."

"With what money?" MJ inquired, raising a red brow.

"From an unattended ATM," he answered coldly.

He said it as though it was the obvious answer. Why wouldn't your first thought go to theft?

"Miguel, you're not stealing money from people," Peter stated, though that didn't change Miguel's mind. "We'll get you a shirt, some pants and shoes."

"I'm not stealing from people; I'm stealing from the bank. Es completamente diferente."

"Take Stark's money. It's not like he'll miss a few grand," MJ suggested, which wasn't helping. "I'm compromising," she shrugged. 

"Can you even get into Stark's accounts?" Peter asked, admittedly curious.

"Easily. It's not the first time I've done it. Won't be the last."

Although Peter is tech-savvy, he wasn't able to get that far. Although Stark was a hero, he was a bit up his ass. It might be good to be knocked down a peg or two.

He'd be more hurt that his security failed than losing a grand or two. 

It barely took Miguel five minutes to get through Tony's security. Honestly, Peter was impressed.

Although Peter didn't like the idea of stealing, they didn't have much money. It would be hard to feed three mouths, one mostly needing milk. They never had any plans for a giant man to join them. 

Peter was at eye level with Miguel's chest; the man was almost a foot taller than him. 

He has an impressive chest, too. 

"So, do you have a new york as well?" MJ asked, trying to keep the mood up. He was still hurt, but at least he could walk without Peter's support. 

"Nueva York," Miguel answered gruffly, and Peter could almost feel his eyes glaring behind those sunglasses. "It's... going through some changes."

"Yeah, we're finally getting some potholes fixed," Peter shrugged, unsure what Miguel could mean. "What villains do you have?"

"Dead ones."

Oh. 

From how Miguel said it, it implied he killed his villains. It's possible not all Spider-people had a no-kill rule. That might be a problem that Peter will need to discuss. 

Hopefully, none of Peter's regulars decided to test that implication. 

"Miguel, can I ask how you know this guy?" MJ asked, wincing when she saw the taller man cringe. She put a hand over her abdomen, soothing herself. "It's a long story, isn't it?"

"Very," he answered, sounding less annoyed and more burdened by it. "He's why I'm a Spiderman, I guess. Él me creó."

Peter needs to get a translator or something and stat. 

Finally, they reached the store where they knew they had big enough sizes for their unexpected guest. So far, it hasn't been all that bad, though Peter was worried about Klyntarus. As Miguel said, he's out there, consuming people to get stronger.

It felt stupid that they were getting clothes, but it drew less attention than the suit. Besides, he could summon it to cover his clothes; he wouldn't be naked.

Peter saw more of the man than he wanted to, but Miguel didn't seem to care. It's possible nudity doesn't mean anything in Nueva York. 

It'll be cool to see him in action, though. He's been a spider for ten-odd years; he must've picked up some things. 

How did he get the claws in his suit?

Peter wanted those!

"Parker."

"What is it, big man?"

"To the left."

As advised, Peter looked left. Behind the counter was a TV, which was usually for CCTV. 

However, it showed a news anchor looking quite sullum and sad, a slight redness to his eyes. 

"Uh, hey, can you turn that up?" asked another customer. 

The look on Miguel's face told Peter enough. Whatever happened was Klyntarus' doing. 

"- We lost five great heroes in their effort to protect us, the people. They will forever be remembered for their sacrifices and tremendous bravery, even in the face of such evil. We say our sorrowful goodbyes to She-Hulk, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist and Daredevil. Out of respect for their selfless endeavour to keep us safe, we won't reveal their identities. To their families, we, the people, are both grateful and sorry for your loss."

No. No, they couldn't be dead.

Peter would hang out with Matt and Carl all the time. Although Jessica and Danny weren't friendly, he got along with them great!

Regretfully, he didn't see Jennifer much, but her cousin, Bruce, was a great guy. He must be devastated to have lost her like that. 

Carl and Jess' poor daughter...

"Five hours, five heroes. He's more wounded than I anticipated," Miguel said coldly, either unphased or excellent at hiding his emotions.

Miguel expected this, however. He knew that heroes were going to die.

This was Peter's fault. 

"Peter," MJ whispered, holding his arm. She knew how close he was to Daredevil and Cage. They were good guys, better than him. They would've listened. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he said, feeling numb and angry. "Let's just get this over with so we can catch him. We're going out tonight."

"He can't hide his scars. It'll be easier to spot him at night," Miguel concurred, but it didn't alleviate the growing pit in Peter's stomach.

What the hell has he left rampant in his world?

Chapter Text

Peter crouched on the rooftop, scowling at the location where his friends and coworkers were killed. 

The police were gone, finally. 

He swung down, landing outside of the police tape barrier. Even in the dark, Peter could see the damage. The road, pavement, and even the walls of buildings were horrifically corroded. 

Anybody that lived nearby was evacuated, and the smell alone was telling. Toxic fumes that would kill a regular person hung like menacing mistletoe.

Peter can see the outlines of what used to be his comrades. 

"Was there anything I could've done for them?" Peter asked, knowing his new buddy was standing behind him.

"No. They died quicker than most, so that's a small mercy." 

It didn't feel like it. 

Miguel stalked past Peter, making no sound despite his size. He wandered around the crime scene, examining the spots where Peter's comrades used to be. 

He saw the eye markings narrow intently, analysing everything. He watched Miguel pause at a single spot, prodding something.

Hopping over the tape, Peter joined his side, finding charred bone sticking from the concrete. It made him feel sick. 

It was a femur, and the size betrayed that it was Luke Cage's bone. 

Peter had to lift his mask, emptying his stomach. Seeing his friend reduced to that made him ill. Regret, grief and guilt swarmed Peter like locusts to an open field. Ten plagues danced throughout his soul, and come to the final wrath, was no lamb's blood on his door to save him from the inner pain.

Pain fused and interwoven with anger. 

That fucking thing killed his friends, stripped them to the bone and ate them. It was Peter's fault, of course. If he just listened, he would've been irritating Murdock about something dumb and boring. 

He won't get those fun team-ups anymore. 

"You were close," Miguel stated, though no emotion was in his voice. 

"Yeah, we were," Peter answered, feeling a hollowness start to claw in his chest. "He helped MJ and me move into our new place. Cage was a good man. All he did was help people; he didn't deserve to go like this." 

"The greatest stars shine the brightest but are snuffed the fastest. It's a saying in Nueva York. The good fall and become the stairs for the wicked to climb higher."

"How can somebody be reduced to nothing but a step?"

"By something that never valued life in the first place. Life tends to be most valuable when it's already gone." 

"What book did you get that from? Because damn."

"My mother."

"Must be a smart lady."

"She was. Better than I could ever be."

"I feel the same about Aunt May and Uncle Ben. It's hard comparing yourself to great people when you're a major fuckup."

He heard a gruff of agreement. 

Aunt May was a pillar of Peter's life, his mother figure, a great woman he aspired to be like. While Uncle Ben gave him the "With great power, comes great responsibility", May was the one who taught him what that meant. 

It would be helpful if she were here. She always knew what to do, but Peter was a bumbling mess. 

How could he be a father when he causes the death of his friends?

"Parker!"

Peter swivelled to his teammate, watching as Miguel stalked towards an alleyway.

"You find something?"

"A trail. He might still be nearby."

Peter could avenge them. He could do something right. 

That bastard was going to pay for what he did. 

He stuck close to Miguel's side, trying to see what he did. The other Spider behaved like a hunter, tracking his prey, slowly reaching a warehouse.

It's surprising how many of those there are in New York.

"Do you smell that?" Miguel asked, lowering himself cautiously. "Unnatural decay is always a sign."

He nodded to rot in the concrete walls that shouldn't be there. 

Klyntarus sucked life from everything, even if it were inanimate. 

The duo snuck towards a window, peeking into the darkness within. It looked abandoned and derelict, but there was far too much inside for that to be. There are expensive crates of valuables.

Although the date stated it arrived only a few days ago, the wood of the crates looked like they were left to the elements for years.

Unnatural rot, a tell-tell trait of Klyntarus' presence. 

Miguel held a finger to the window, a claw popping out of the fingerpad. He jostled the lock and pushed the window up slowly. 

"How do I get some of that in my suit?"

"They're not part of the suit."

"So, you've got actual claws?"

"You stick to walls; I get claws."

"You can't stick to walls? Dude, seriously?"

"Not the time, Parker."

"What else have you got? Or don't have?"

"Silencio!" Miguel hissed, "We don't want him to know we're here."

That made sense. 

Peter was still curious, though. He recalled how Noir had more endurance, that Penni was quick, and Porker had "Hammerspace". Then there was Gwen, who had far more agility than the others and Miles could go invisible. 

Do all Spider-people have something unique to them? 

It felt like Peter only had extra weight. That sucked. 

The warehouse stank of decay. There's a scorched trail on the floor and suspicious mounds of former people. The gang must've been trying to protect them. 

Out of curiosity, Peter looked in one of the crates, finding several packaged gadgets. There are all kinds of Apple devices, some Windows, Samsung, Sony and more. It must be a warehouse for a supermarket or a store, maybe even a shopping mall. 

He came here to fix that sphere thing, didn't he? Eat the people inside and use the technology to repair himself. 

Peter started to shake, his Spider senses going haywire. He webbed to the ceiling, attaching to it, unable to stop the shivering. He couldn't turn his head when Miguel joined him, his claws deep into the wall. 

Fear sang throughout his bones, a NASCAR race of terror screeching in his very atoms. 

The image of his friends melting into ash clouded his vision, a fog that was so thick it clung to the back of his throat. The weight of guilt caused his grip to loosen, but Miguel caught him. 

Feeling someone touch him managed to snap Peter out of being frozen, Miguel's arm tight around his waist. 

His fellow Spider released his grip, landing on a high support beam. He attached to it instantly, his fingers gripping the metal so tight that it dented. 

A door opened, giving Peter something to distract himself with. He watched as Black Cat stumbled into the warehouse, but his senses warned that it wasn't her. 

Miguel gripped Peter's shoulder, keeping him from going to her.

"Lo siento..."

He didn't understand what that meant. He would find out, though. 

Black Cat shivered, gripping her arms as slime leaked from her face. He could smell the burning flesh already. 

The skin went first, then the fat, the fascia and the muscle; it melted away until there was only blackened bone. That, too, was destroyed, reduced to mere ash. 

Fuck, not Felicia. She was finally getting her life together with her new wife. 

The offending sludge that took his friend twisted and coiled, creating a humanoid-like body. The "scars", as Miguel called them, pulsed akin to a heartbeat; those red eyes locked onto an office room. 

"I'll distract him. Destroy the stabiliser." 

"And leave you to fight him alone? Daredevil, Cage, Jones, She-Hulk and Iron Fist didn't do squat together."

"You burn, I don't. Simple as that. Move fast and get this over with, Parker."

Before Peter could argue, Miguel jumped to the ground, alerting Klyntarus. 

"Ahh, 2099, you still live," Klyntarus chuckled almost gleefully. "I'll admit, you hurt me badly. I'm proud."

Safe to say that Klyntarus is distracted. 

Peter crawled on the ceiling, making his way towards the office. It looked rotten, more than the rest of the building, so he must be hunkered in there. As soon as Peter destroys that damn thing, they can burn the bastard. 

"Shove it. You know what I'm here for."

"You don't have a Venom Burst, so that'll be mighty tough. And your fancy trinket is broken, so negative on the backup, not even that sassy little assistant. You're all alone, 2099. Just the way I like you."

Even in his injured state, he was taunting and acting like he wasn't in danger. Hopefully, he was so up his ass - or the Symbiote equivalent - he won't realise that Miguel's distracting him. 

Peter's senses were on the fritz, panicking like a bucking rodeo horse. He had to focus, though. The sooner they break this bastard, the fewer people will die. 

Klyntarus wandered away from the office-like part, the tail-like appendage dragging on the floor. He was giggling, fixated on Miguel. 

"Just like Alchemex Tower; cuando huiste como el maldito cobarde que eres."

Peter lowered himself to the floor as carefully as possible, using all two decades of experience. When his feet touched the ground, he crept towards the office, the pungent smell staining his suit. 

Thankfully, Klyntarus was too focused on Miguel to notice him. Occasionally, narcissists were much easier to fight than competent people. 

The door was melted like ice cream on a hot day, nothing more than squishy splinters. 

On a desk that was soon to crumble was the damned sphere he should've stamped on before. 

"Ahhhh, memories. That was a grand day. For me, of course. How is my old stomping ground? Been a while since I last visited."

That's right, big guy. Keep him distracted. 

"Nueva was never yours. Nothing of my or any other dimension is."

Peter cracked his knuckles, uncertain how he was going to destroy it. It's already damaged; the parts strewn about were signs of an attempted repair.

All Peter had to do was undo the repairs. That should be simple enough. Right?

He picked up a crowbar lodged in the wall, potentially from a worker fighting for their life. 

"It's cute that you believe that. It was always mine and always will be, just like you. You belong to me, 2099. You'll realise that soon enough."

What did Klyntarus mean by that? His damned curiosity was starting to interfere with the objective.

"I promised to kill you. I don't break promises."

"Aww, but you do, don't you? You broke the one to your whore mother and mistake of a daughter - I know you'll taste even sweeter than she did!"

Oh, fuck. 

Miguel had a kid. He was a dad like Peter would be, and Klyntarus took that from him. 

That's what he meant - isn't it? When he said that Klyntarus made him Spiderman. He took Miguel's family. 

"Estás muerto!"

"Only on the inside, little Border Rat! And like little Gabrielle," he taunted, cackling like the lunatic he was. 

So not only is he a genocidal dimension eater but racist, too. Great. A cherry on top of the corrupted cupcake. 

Peter struck the sphere with the crowbar, hitting it as hard as possible. 

He heard a demonic, distorted screech of surprise and rage. The ground under him started to rumble violently. He saw a black and red mass racing towards the office through the window, barrelling like a bat out of hell. 

Glowing orange webs wrapped around the parasite, pulling him back. 

With each strike, Peter could feel the integrity weaken, and sparks started to fly. His spidey senses were on fire, writhing with panic and terror. 

His tingles screamed, forcing him to jump and stick to the ceiling. A spear-like tendril shot through the window, glass falling like spilt glitter. It reared back and went for Peter, trying to impale him. 

He hadn't let go of the stupid sphere, digging his fingers so hard into it that they were beginning to bleed through his suit. 

Peter pounced out of the doorway, swinging to the rafters. A thick tendril went after him but couldn't even graze his suit. 

The spikes on Miguel's forearms had fused into blades, slicing through like a hot knife to butter. 

"I will kill everything you hold dear!" Klyntarus vowed, chasing after Peter with astonishing speed. 

Miguel lept onto Klyntarus' "face", starting to sink instantly. He clawed at Klyntarus' eyes, following them whenever they moved to escape his onslaught. 

"Go, now!" Miguel yelled, his mask disappearing. "¡Rápido, rápido!" his eyes were almost glowing as red as Klyntarus'. 

Peter kicked a skylight open and started running. 

Get somewhere high and far, beat this blasted thing and save the day. And don't you dare die, big guy.

As much as Peter wanted to go somewhere and focus only on destroying the sphere, he couldn't leave his comrade behind. It wasn't right. 

It wasn't right when Peter left Miles behind. He should've treated the kid better. He can't change that, but he can do better now. 

Klyntarus wanted Miguel alone. Unfortunately for him, Peter wasn't going to allow that. 

Peter hopped to a rooftop, looking for somewhere to hide the sphere. He didn't know if it had an actual name; it didn't matter. 

He found an old pigeon hutch-house thingy, and although it's about as flimsy as wet paper, it's still better than nothing. He carefully placed the ominous orb inside, hoping he wouldn't be the only Spiderman again. 

It's nice to have someone like you around, even if they're a little prickly. 

Great. It's somewhere safe.

Roughly. 

Peter hurried back, worried at what that crazy thing could've done by now. He felt terrible leaving his houseguest alone, especially with how twisted Klyntarus was. 

The skies began to open, rain falling with haste. 

He was worried about MJ. He learned how vindictive Klyntarus was; it put her in grave danger. Their unborn child was at risk. 

He didn't listen and was paying the price for it. He still wasn't. 

Miguel told him to go, and here he was, running straight back to a fight he couldn't win. It would be wrong to leave someone behind to a monster like that. How could Peter ever live with himself knowing he let somebody die?

It's painful enough with his friends, his old captain, his uncle, his aunt - his entire family except for his best friend and soon-to-be child. Not even Felicia was around anymore. 

He missed the other spiders - Noir, Peni, Porker, Gwen, Miles; they showed him he wasn't alone.

They taught him that he could be a better man. 

That kid saved Peter's life in more ways than one. He gave Peter hope for the future again. He got Peter to face his fear of parenthood and wanted Miles to be the baby's middle name - that kid was an inspiration. 

What would Miles think if Peter was told to run and didn't go back to help somebody? The hypothetical disappointment was terrifying. 

He had somebody else to add to the list of fellow spiders. 

In a way, spider people are a unique species, close but different to humanity. It's so weird - since he got bitten, he felt like he was the last of his kind, only to find others. 

Peter crouched atop the warehouse roof, hearing the wrathful shrieking of Klyntarus inside. His spidey senses were terrified, demanding that he flee and never return as Miguel ordered. 

Narrowing his eyes, Peter looked through the broken window, searching for any dark blue. 

"Where is it, you revolting abomination?!" Klyntarus roared, smashing everything inside the warehouse. "Where!?"

Finally, Peter spotted his teammate. 

Klyntarus had him pinned to the wall, writhing darkness constricting around him.

"Debajo del sofá!"

"Oh, you think you're being cute!?" Klyntarus seethed, tightening his hold. 

"Soy tan mono!"

Peter needed to learn Spanish immediately. 

In a rage, Klyntarus threw Miguel into the other wall, then slammed him into the floor with a tendril. With the velocity, Peter knew that it hurt, but even so, the other Spider was making fun of the parasite. 

Yep, he's a spider.

He waited with his web-shooter at the ready. As expected, Klyntarus threw the other Spider again, and Peter fired. 

The web attached to Miguel's back, and Peter pulled, his spider senses panicking as Klyntarus shrieked again. 

"I told you to run," Miguel hissed as Peter aimed for the nearest building. "Why'd you come back?"

"Never leave a spider behind, twinkle toes!" Peter stated, feeling the roof under them start to shake. "That's not good."

A black tendril shot from behind Peter, wrapping around his arm and pulling him down. Although Miguel went to grab him, he only succeeded in scratching Peter's hand. 

Those claws hurt!

"You!" Klyntarus roared, engulfing much of Peter's body with his mass. It burned, regardless of his superhuman endurance. "I will make you watch as I destroy everything you love, Parker!"

"I think you're mad at me," Peter snarked, despite the intense weight starting to crush his body.

"I h-AHH!" Klyntarus yelped, those horrid eyes twisting to... Why is Miguel biting his body!? "How dare-no, fuck, no!"

Light blue was growing through the red scars, burning the blackness around them. It quickly reached the part holding Peter, loosening the ironclad grip. 

Klyntarus had no choice but to break away from the afflicted part, dropping Peter. The hot ash clung to Peter's suit, quickly hardening in the cold rain falling on them. 

He felt hands pulling him as a distorted roar echoed in Peter's ears and the sound of crumbling. 

Though his spidey senses were in a panic, Peter struggled to move. 

Everything went dark for what felt like a few seconds.

When consciousness returned, he wasn't in a warehouse anymore - or he was, and lay in what remained. He tried to move, but having several tonnes of concrete on you sucks. 

Peter's chest hurt, his hand burned like fire, and everything was too dark. His head was thundering.

Peter grumbled, feeling that his leg was stuck. He can move a little, meaning he isn't fully submerged; that's nice. 

His eyes blinked, adapting to the lack of light. He saw red eyes, bright and vibrant, but his spidey sense wasn't reacting. 

Even so, Peter hit the light. 

"¡Ay, coño!"

Oh, shit!

"Miguel?" Peter panted, realising the spooky scars weren't around.

"Hijo de puta, who else?" Miguel hissed, "Try not hitting me while I keep us from being crushed. ¿Te parece bien?"

Everything hurts, but they're still alive. 

"The hell happened, man?"

"Caused the building to collapse. You were stuck to the floor, so... I improvised."

When Peter's eyes were fully adapted, he saw what Miguel meant. The man was singlehandedly keeping the building from turning Peter into a paste. 

He had it all pushing on his back, but he remained unwavering. 

"You could've run," Peter said, unsure why he said it. 

"Never leave a spider behind. That's what you said, araña testaruda." 

He did. It felt good having that stupidity repaid. 

By working together, they managed to push the concrete away, revealing the frigid rain. 

Peter's entire body hurt, and he expected his comrade to feel the same. 

He wanted a warm bath, hot cocoa, and to listen to MJ's dumb puns. Instead of dad jokes, they had mom jokes. 

"Buddy, you allergic to hot cocoa?"

"¿Qué? What, is that a fruit?"

"We've got a lot of things to cross off a list, my guy."

A hot bath was more than warranted. 

"My everything aches," Peter sighed, glancing at MJ as she brushed her teeth. "We made progress, at least."

"You two were pretty battered," MJ said, spitting minty spit foam into the sink. "Did you make progress against the evil goop or with Miguel?"

"Both."

"Hmm, there's a "but" in there."

"Miguel had a daughter. Klyntarus killed her. He taunted him about it." His best friend turned, sympathy and fear growing on her graceful features. "And he threatened us. I'm worried he'll come after you and our yet-to-be roommate."

It's an understandable fear, especially given what Klyntarus was. 

He couldn't begin to know how Miguel felt. No wonder he was so furious with Peter.

Peter didn't even know the baby in MJ's organic oven, but he would die for them. He couldn't bare having that baby, and some sinister snot comes and takes them away forever.

"Do you think we should leave him alone for a bit?" she asked, wanting to be as accommodating as possible.

Her heart was even more gigantic than all forty-nine states combined. 

On a side note, good for Hawaii for their independence. 

"No," Peter answered, though he wasn't sure. "I think Klyntarus has kept him alone for long enough." 

"I understand the holo-suit a lot more now. You don't need so much detergent to clean it. Also, I think he's allergic to that, too."

"We're gonna need a list."

"A lengthy one." Peter got up, cracking the aching bones in his back. With a sigh, MJ threw a towel into Peter's face. "I don't need to see your little Pete, and I doubt our guest does either."

"For the love of all that is holy, never call it that again."

"No promises."

Peter wrapped the towel around his waist, eager for some pop tarts. 

MJ waved as Peter went to the kitchen, spotting their temporary housemate in the living room. 

Although he'd like a nice snack, he wanted to see how his new buddy was doing. 

He walked into the living room, amused that Miguel still had the sunglasses on.

"Concussion still there?"

"Photophobia," Miguel corrected, sounding tired. "Downside to perfect night vision."

"Do your eyes reflect?"

"Yeah. It's not great."

"And you've got fangs."

"I hate them."

"I think it's cool. You've got some venom that hurts him, too. Oh! Is that what a "Venom Burst" is? A bomb with your venom? That's cool."

Miguel grumbled, hiding his face in a pillow. 

It's cool, though. 

Where could Peter get fangs?

"Look, big guy, our door's open. We don't have a lock, but you get what I mean - I hope? If not, we're open to talk."

"About what?"

"How that motherfucker... I can only assume it's rough with MJ being pregnant." 

"It was two years ago. That she..." he couldn't finish the sentence, but Peter knew what he meant. 

Timewise, that would've made Miguel around twenty-five or twenty-four when she died. 

"How old was she? If it's alright to ask."

"Eight." 

"You were around seventeen or sixteen when you became a dad, huh?"

"How do you know that?"

"I have a thing with guessing people's ages. You look my age, but you're not."

"Well, fuck you too."

"I didn't mean it like that, big guy!" Peter said, quickly backtracking. "You've experienced a lot. That's what I meant."

"You could certainly say that. Is there a point to the inquiry? I'm tired. I don't want to talk about my dead family."

"Alright, let's have pop tarts and then sleep, possibly cry ourselves to sleep. Sound good?"

"Sure thing, little Pete."

That motherfucker has super hearing!?

While Peter should be mad, it's a little funny. 

"Only if I get to call you little Miguel."

"Bite me."

"Is that an invitation or an insult?"

"Por el amor de Dios. I'll have something with cheese."

"Great, a toastie it is. I'll turn the lights down for you, big guy."

"Gracias."

He liked having Miguel here. The rapport was fun. 

Chapter Text

"That's it?" MJ questioned, confused by the broken sphere on her coffee table. "This is how a super sinister snot has been killing entire universes?"

"Essentially," Peter answered, equally unimpressed. "He'll be hopping from body to body now, trying to find this."

"Another question. Why can't he do what Venom and Eddie do?"

"It's like a compatibility thing. Symbiotes need a host that fits them. Klyntarus is so toxic that people melt and burn."

"Oh, so Miguel's compatible?"

"What?"

"You said that he doesn't burn when Klyntarus touches him. That means he's compatible, right?"

Oh, shit. 

She's right. Of course, MJ was right; under all that glowing ruby hair was a brilliant brain that could detect things Peter couldn't. 

That explains why Klyntarus is so obsessive, at least. The fact that his fellow spider wasn't a puppet meant that there was something more to it, though. 

Whatever made Klyntarus so toxic and unstable must alter how he takes over people that are compatible with him. There's a lot that Peter doesn't know about him, although he's aware that the beast is vindictive. 

Who taunts someone over the death of their child? That's horrific, especially when they're the killer. 

"This is why you're the brains between us."

"Alright, we destroy whatever this is and hunt the goopy bastard down. Is that about right?"

"Pretty much. The sooner he's gone, the sooner we can focus on the little one," he smiled, unable to look away from her bulging stomach. "Don't worry yourself, MJ. We got this. We always come out on top."

That's what Peter wants to believe, anyway. 

He can't do anything against such a monster. At most, he can be a distraction. How do you fight something that you can't hit?

Fighting alone wasn't going to work. They needed to talk to the others. 

He doubted that the Avengers would be open to Miguel; he's already stolen from Stark. The X-Men, however, are more open-minded. 

Wolverine would be an annoying bastard as always, but with help from Professor X, they can kill this bug. 

"You can't stay here." Jesus, how is such a big guy so quiet? "He'll be coming for you. Staying here isn't safe."

Their guest had taken a morning shower. Annoyingly, he also decided not to put a shirt on afterwards. It was his choice, of course; it was better than no pants.

The problem was that he looked good.

Without the bandages, burns and blood, he looked good. Great, broad shoulders with detailed muscle. His arms were thick, and his waist surprisingly slender. 

Peter could see the V line of his hips disappearing into his pants. 

His hair was still wet from the shower, making those dark brown locks frame his face perfectly. Those cheekbones could cut through paper. Beautiful red eyes, the same he regretfully punched at, didn't look nearly as menacing on him. 

The scars, though...

They were so deep, long, ragged and twisted. Many of them stretched with age. What disturbed Peter the most were the clinical, surgical scars. Although it was probably from surgery due to being Spiderman - it's an injury-prone job - something told Peter there was more to it. 

"About that. I was thinking - shock and horror, I know - we should go to the X-Men for some help."

"They won't be as helpful as you think."

"I mean, it's better than the two of us."

"They'll all go after him, Peter, and they'll all die. He'll hop from their bodies, trying to find the most stable and abuse their powers. I've seen what happens when Xavier loses control over his power - it's not pretty."

The idea of that was terrifying. 

"What haven't you seen?" MJ asked, which was a good question. 

"I haven't been to the universe where everybody is a zombie, so I technically haven't seen that."

"I wanna see that."

"No, MJ, you're not going to the super dangerous zombie universe," Peter sighed, wishing Miguel hadn't mentioned that.

"Don't be a buzzkill!"

The smartest of them wanted to go to zombie land. They're doomed.

"That entire universe is on lockdown; nobody can go to it." 

That sentence confused him. What did he mean by that?

Quickly, the other spider regretted saying that. 

MJ looked to Peter, seeking answers that he didn't have. 

"Are there others with you?" she asked.

"I'm not talking about that," Miguel shot down, silently sinking away in the corridor. 

Peter's not going to let him slither out of this. 

"Miguel, do you have like a team or something? Is that what Klyntarus meant by "no backup"?" Peter pressed, but it only made the other spider close up more. "If there's help, we should ask for it."

MJ couldn't move quickly, but she wanted to know what happened. 

He would get answers. 

Peter followed. If he decided to leave the house, Peter might be unable to follow. Annoyingly, his fellow spider is adept at disappearing without a sound. It's a little creepy how little sound he made when he moved. 

He heard the window open, and Peter shot his web, sticking Miguel's hand to the wall.

"¡Ay, coño!" he hissed, glaring at Peter. "Could you not web me?" the other spider growled, scratching the webbing away.

"You're not going to run. We're in this together, big guy. We're going to be open and communicate - alright?" 

Miguel growled again, his fangs peaking. They do things that they shouldn't to Peter - did he have a vampire thing? That's awkwardly unhelpful and sudden. 

His new friend was pacing, distressed and irritated. He sounded like an upset dog. 

Peter crossed his arms, waiting.

They will talk about it, and Peter will chase him if he has to. 

"You didn't mention that there are others," Peter stated, less than amused. 

"You weren't supposed to know. That's obvious."

"Well, why?"

"That's not a rabbit hole you want to go down, Parker."

"A super evil snot killed my friends and nearly buried me alive. I'm down the hole already. I'm deep underground and tanning in the planet's core!"

Part of him felt bad for pushing his friend like this, given how malicious Klyntarus was, but it was necessary. They needed help, and badly. 

If they can get any assistance, they need to take it. 

"You're not going to like it."

"Oh, right, because the past two days have been joyous and sunshine and rainbows. Can't you see how happy I am? I'm glowing! I cracked my back; I'm shining like a glow stick," Peter huffed, hands on his waist. 

He's getting more self-conscious over his weight for some reason. It's already something he hates about himself, but compared to Miguel, he appeared obese. 

"Alright. Fine."

"Great."

"You're contaminated."

"And immediately, you've lost me."

"Earth-1610B. You and four others were pulled into that dimension. The Spiderman of that universe died and was replaced. I made my first autonomous universe jump a few hours afterwards. That entire universe is in quarantine now."

He's completely lost. 

Miguel knew who Peter was the whole time. He's always known. He knew about the others, too. 

"Alright, why's it in quarantine? Is Miles alright?"

"Miles is why it's in quarantine. The spider that bit him was never supposed to - it belonged to another universe now lacking a Spiderman. As soon as Miles got bit, that universe became unstable. Holes were torn in the multiverse, and people are falling through - we call them anomalies, and our job is to put them back where they belong. Miles is designated as the original anomaly." 

"That's a whole lot of information."

"I said it's a rabbit hole!"

"There's a rabbit hole, and then there's an entire tunnel system. I mean, it's not Miles' fault that he got bit! It was those Alchemex idiots. He shouldn't be treated as some "anomaly" for that!"

"That's not the only reason. It's also because he might be... compatible." 

"What? Compatible with what?"

Peter already knew the answer, but he didn't want it. Not the kid. 

Miles was a good kid. He didn't deserve that level of burden on his shoulders. He's just a kid!

"If Klyntarus realises that there's someone else he can use, someone that can't fight him off, the kid won't stand a chance. He'll already know about the situation with you and the others. We... deliberately avoided you so he wouldn't catch on. All of your universes have been quarantined unless there's an anomaly."

"And the goop himself became an anomaly in my universe."

"I grabbed him as he tried to escape through one of the holes Earth-1610B tore. He's been much harder to track because of those holes. He's a slippery bastard."

"Your watch thingy is broken; you can't call anybody, but you were alone when you came through."

"I've been putting together a Spider Society - they voted on the name; I think it's stupid. Spiders from different universes support each other and provide help if Klyntarus or another anomaly shows up. And I came alone because... I wasn't going to repeat a mistake."

Miguel pressed his back against the wall and slid down, sitting awkwardly. 

It felt like an interrogation, but Peter didn't mean that. He wanted answers about this utter clusterfuck. 

How is he supposed to feel? 

None of this is Miles' fault, of course. It's not fair. While he didn't know about the spider, it's still not Miles' fault. He hated that Miles had to be alone because of that vicious slime. 

If it weren't for Klyntarus, so much would've never happened. 

The idea of a spider society sounded incredible, and Peter wanted to dive headfirst into it. He hadn't been allowed to because of something nobody could've foreseen or controlled.

Except for Kingpin, obviously; that's his fault. 

Peter sat beside the younger spider, feeling bad since it visibly weighed on him. 

"I'm going to guess that you weren't alone last time," Peter said, keeping his tone soft and non-accusatory. 

"It was early on. There wasn't a lot of us, only a small team. Ten spiders, including me. They all died," Miguel sighed, sounding a little detached, possibly a sign of disassociation. "I decided to bring them, and ten universes suffered; I wasn't going to let that happen again."

How many people has he lost to that evil slime? The stress of enduring all of that must be horrible. 

How much has Klyntarus taken from him? All because he was compatible?

Peter couldn't imagine how lonely that was. 

"You went after him on your own?"

It's not a question, though his voice made it sound like that. It didn't feel right for this to be happening. How can someone be carrying all of this on his shoulders alone?

That's how it is as a lone Spiderman, though. You're all alone, lost in a sea of web and tragedy. 

The mere concept of a Spider Society was almost a glimmer of hope. It gave them a chance at community, to be with others like them. People that understood the burden that they carry. 

"That's how it always is and how it should be. When people try to "help" me, they die, Parker. You and MJ are in danger now, and that'll never go away; he'll always wait to break you, no matter how far you think you are. And that's because I failed. Again." 

Depression is a bitch to live with. It's a physical piece of you that doesn't go away, only going briefly dormant. 

Peter spent a while dealing with it alone. He was isolated, depressed, miserable and tired of everything. Meeting Miles kicked him up the butt and made him feel alive again. 

At least he had somebody. 

"You don't want anyone to help because they'll die."

"They always do. I failed to kill him, and now all of you are in danger."

"You never intended on surviving that bomb."

"If it means killing him, I don't care."

Peter is picking up PTSD, depression and possible suicidal ideation. That's not great. 

It's possible that Peter could repay what Miles did for him. Help somebody, offer a hand while they're drowning in nothingness. 

His friend was alone, and Peter knew how suffocating that could be. 

"I care."

"You shouldn't."

"Too bad, kid."

"Don't you dare start the age card with me!"

"My knees pop like bubble wrap. I earned my age card." 

"If you call me a kid, I'll call you old man."

"Sounds like a deal."

"No!"

The mood was lightened; the true power of Spiderman!

"I'm already fat. Being called old is sprinkles on the ice cream."

"Estás obsesionado con la comida."

"It would've been great if I paid attention to Spanish in college."

He was busy falling asleep in class and swinging everywhere at night.

"At least you got to go to one."

"Motherfucker, you built a watch that takes you to other dimensions but never went to college?"

"Didn't go to any school. My "father" kept me locked in a basement for my childhood."

That explained a lot.

Everything about this guy was just miserable. His universe sucked. 

"Fuck that guy."

"Yeah. Was it any good? College."

"Honestly? Waste of time."

"Good to know I didn't miss anything."

MJ opened the door, probably having been listening to them. 

She came in and awkwardly shuffled beside Peter, laying her head against his shoulder.

They're in a messed-up situation. Somehow, they'll stop interdimensional splooge with as few casualties as possible. It sounded much easier than it was.

That sludge was infecting people, jumping like a virus to survive. They need to find him and burn him. 

Also, they need to fix Miguel's funky watch. Despite his reservations, they need help. 

"I shouldn't have sat down," MJ huffed, regretting her choice. "Can you boys help me?"

"Yeah, I'll carry you," Peter sighed, emotionally drained. "Don't stress yourself, MJ. We got this. Don't we, buddy?"

"You're overly optimistic."

"And you're a negative Nancy."

"My name isn't Nancy."

"It's a saying, dude."

"If it's because of the alliteration, it's a stupid saying." 

"Both of you shove it before I take off my slippers," MJ chastised, annoyed. 

MJ's the boss of the trio, as well as the mini-MJ. 

Honestly, Peter wasn't confident about anything. He felt useless, regardless of his endeavour to help. 

She wasn't safe in this house anymore, and that hurt. What father couldn't protect the mother of his child? 

"We need to get you somewhere secure," Peter said, wrapping his arm around her. "It's gonna be dicey for a bit." 

"We'll find something. I've got faith in you."

At least he has that. 

Chapter Text

Doctor appointments weren't MJ's favourite thing. She had a phobia of needles and other medical garbage. The smell of sterile stuff made her ill.

Of course, Peter has to be the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. For her safety, MJ had their new buddy. 

"It's just a checkup. Everything's going to be fine," MJ told herself, biting her lower lip. "I don't feel fine. Ok. Can I have some encouragement?"

"I've never been to a hospital, so I can't accurately assure your safety," Miguel stated, the coldness of it concerning her. "I'll kill whoever comes too close. Does that help?"

"You're trying. That's helpful enough, tough guy."

"I suspect you're infantilising me."

"I have a baby growing in me. Everyone is an infant to me now. And you're, y'know, a decade younger than me."

His little grumble was cute. 

MJ might not know how to make a portal watch or swing webs, but she could see when someone was hurt.

The entire situation hurt her best friend; Peter was a good man with a titanic heart, and it weighed heavily on him. She wanted to hug and tell him it was ok, but she couldn't lie to his face. She didn't know how this would turn out. 

He cried himself to sleep last night. He was grieving the loss of his friends alone. He tended to put himself on an island when in pain, not wanting to put the burden on others. It was a selfless part of him she used to love, but now she worried. 

Her best friend was in pain, as was her new friend. 

"Is there anything that they can do here to help you?" MJ asked, her blue eyes wandering up to meet those dark sunglasses. 

"There's nothing to help in my universe. I doubt it'll be any different here."

"You never know. They might have something for those allergies and the light thing."

"No."

"Hmm, that sounds like self-harm."

"It's not undeserved."

"What is it with Spidermen and being all self-sacrificing?"

"We have the power to do something. We can do enough to make a significant change. By sacrificing ourselves, the people we protect can rest in peace. That's what it means to be Spiderman." 

"Almost sounds like a quote."

"It was. From the Spiderman of my universe before me."

He was from the future, but MJ didn't even consider there might have been a previous Spiderman. Was it like Peter and Miles? 

It's exciting learning about other universes. 

"What was he like? The one before you?"

"I never met him. He died long, long before I came to be. When Klyntarus ruled our universe, there weren't any heroes or anybody with the power to do something - I'm... still alone on that front. But he was a good man from what I understand." 

At least Peter had co-workers, allies and friends. 

She was sad knowing that Peter had died there. All of the other heroes, too. It wouldn't be surprising if Klyntarus had something to do with that. 

It's sweet that he was inspired by the original Spiderman, though. 

He's right, though. If you can make a change for the better, you should. 

The creed of Spiderman is to put others before yourself; it's a heavy burden but an honourable one. She respected it. 

"I'm glad that he inspired you."

"Gracias."

MJ didn't like the smell of the hospital entrance. It was messy, sterile and also tainted with puke. Thankfully, she wasn't alone in her disgust.

"Oh, mierda. Huele como una morgue horneada," he hissed, cringing. 

"No idea what you said, tough guy, but agreed."

She didn't enjoy having to sign in. The receptionists weren't interested in being helpful, mostly ignoring MJ. They only started to pay attention when Miguel growled; it reminded MJ of a pissed-off cane corso. 

Having a giant buff Latino vampire proved helpful. He's like a bodyguard, scaring people into listening to her. She used to do that for Peter when people ignored him for being a nerd. 

She loves nerds. They've got so many interests and know many intriguing things. They can never bore you. 

With the giant having kidnapped their attention, MJ was finally able to get things moving. All they had to do now was linger in the cesspool of stench until her doctor could be assed. 

MJ's not happy about sitting on a warm chair surrounded by sick people, all looking as pleased as her. 

She hates hospitals. 

"How's your first hospital visit?"

"Mierda."

"Agreed."

Although MJ didn't have spidey sense, she had bullshit sense, courtesy of being a little redhead spitfire. She could detect something akin to one of those space wizards in those movies that Peter enjoyed. 

There is a foulness in the force. 

With some scouring, MJ spotted the source of the foulness. It was a woman glowering at her and her friend, paler than carved marble; she must be anaemic. 

MJ's been around long enough to see one of those people. 

She's not standing for it. She might be eight months pregnant and a shorty, but MJ had a spider's spirit. 

Hopefully, she could distract him from that witch.

"If it's not rude for me to ask, is Nueva a Spanish version of new york?"

"No. It was destroyed in the calamity of 2038 and was rebuilt by Hector Nueva, soon named after him. I'm just Mexican. A little Irish, too."

"You're a damn big leprechaun."

"Very funny. I'm more like a Chupacabra, anyway."

"And here I thought you didn't like vampires."

"I don't. Vampires suck. Chupacabras are cool."

"They do suck."

"You're worse than Parker."

"I take that as a compliment, thank you."

Peter will feel much better knowing that she's not alone. She's got a buddy guard to protect her from any ominous sludge. 

All Miguel has to do is sit in the corner and be spooky. 

She was due measurements, weighing, blood pressure, a quick ultrasound, and possibly a pelvic exam - she hated those. It's so awkward and invasive. 

While MJ should want nobody else in the room, she doesn't get a pervy vibe from Miguel. He didn't react when she came out of the shower, not bothered or even interested. He didn't have a single care about that sort of thing. 

Her bullshit sense often intertwines with her gaydar. He's not straight; she knew that much. If she were a gambler, MJ would put her money on asexual. 

Does he know what that is? She might ask later. 

"MJ."

"Yeah?"

"We need to leave."

"Wait, is it him? Is he coming?" MJ questioned.

She was scared of being too close to that monster. It's hurt her friends so much, and she hasn't even seen it. 

MJ didn't get to ask more as a roar echoed from outside. 

Before she knew what was happening, she was facing the pale ceiling, bright orange webbing keeping her there. Several other people were up as well, but not her surprise roommate.

A suited Miguel was beneath her in the waiting room, his hands gripping the thick horn of nonother than Aleksei Sytsevich, also known as the Rhino. 

Something was wrong, though. His thick hide was burned and scorched, ooze dripping and refusing to mix with his blood. 

His face, usually mixed with rage and bloodlust, was full of fear and anguish. Most of his face was gone, reduced to burned bone. He only had a single eye, but she doubted he could see from it. 

"Помогите мне кто-нибудь!" Rhino roared, his voice bloodcurdling and terrified. "Обжигает! Обжигает!"

MJ didn't understand Russian, but she knew he was in agony. 

A black sludge ripped from his spine, red eyes scowling at Miguel. 

"2099! What a coincidence! Such a little universe, hmm?" Klyntarus cackled, forcing Rhino to push forward. "Such weak little bodies. Can you imagine how it feels to be a flame sailing a sea of kerosene?"

"Eres toda mía, perra mocosa!"

"I look forward to you trying."

She winced as Rhino cried again, begging for help that couldn't come. 

Klyntarus rammed into Miguel again, pushing him through the empty reception desk. People were running in panic, terrified. 

MJ scrambled for her phone, texting Peter as quickly as she could. As soon as he realised she was there, it would go to ultimate shit. 

Pick up your damn phone, Parker!

Peter hopped past Morbius' claws, finding them far less impressive than Miguel's. Honestly, the vamp had nothing on Peter's roommate.

He didn't have Miguel's power or claws; even Miguel's fangs were much more intimidating. The red of his eyes had much more potency than Morbius'. 

"You are depriving some village of their idiot!" Morbius sneered, trying to pierce Peter. 

"And Twilight is missing one of its vamps!"

Peter jumped on the ledge of a balcony, cracking his aching back. 

He wasn't sure how to feel about Morbius now. He was somewhat interested at the beginning. After ten years, though? it got old. 

At this point, Morbius was the villain of the week. 

Weirdly, he felt like a knockoff compared to his fellow spider. He didn't have the same energy or vibe.

He can't put it into words exactly, but compared to Miguel, Morbius is nothing. 

"That movie is an insult to what makes vampires so-"

"-Lame?" Peter finished, uninterested. "Are you going to sparkle now?"

"Insolent brat!"

"I'm almost forty, dude."

"You're younger than me, so you're a brat!"

Man, so this is how Miguel felt.

He's still going to annoy him over being younger. What friend would Peter be if he didn't?

When Morbius pounced, Peter jumped onto a nearby roof, feeling his cracked phone buzz. He should ignore it, given he's fighting a "mighty" foe, but his senses demand otherwise. 

Peter looked at his phone, seeing a missed call from MJ. Was she done with her appointment already? That was quick!

The text, however, told him otherwise.

Fuck Peter with a salty menorah. He's there. 

"I've got a thing. Debate movies with you later, Mikey!"

"Darn you, Spiderman!"

"Whatever!"

He wasted no chance racing towards the hospital, and police were already surrounding the chaos. He landed upon a police car, fear dancing in his bones. 

Peter's spidey senses were screaming to run away, but he couldn't. His friends and baby were in there. 

As expected, Jameson was still kicking, talking to news cameras, no doubt blaming Peter for this, somehow. He's glad he quit working for that asshole; it was such a toxic environment. 

Whatever, he's too old to care about what Jameson's whining about. 

Peter swung inside, smelling the rot already. He's here alright. It disgusted him that Klyntarus was attacking a hospital, but he was already vile; Peter shouldn't be shocked at his evil. 

There were glowing, orange webs on the ceiling where MJ's text said she'd been. He couldn't see her anywhere, so he would have to go looking. The trail of bloody melted viscera and rot was a good indicator. 

The hospital looked like something out of a horror movie; it was decayed, in ruin. It's been infected by Klyntarus. 

He was scared that he would find her and hurt them. He was terrified of being a father but even more afraid of losing his child.

Fuck, how can Miguel cope with losing his daughter? Peter hadn't even met his kid and was scared for them. 

Peter crept through the ruins, cautiously stepping over suspicious mounds that stank of death. He relied on his spidey senses, but they were overwhelmed by that monster's presence. 

Something big had barrelled through the hospital, almost like a torpedo or tank. It would take ages to fix this place up if that were even possible. 

Klyntarus destroyed everything around him. It's likely that wherever he goes, it's inhospitable. 

He saw some glowing web, a sign of his teammate. He followed it, finding a deep hole that ran so far down that Peter couldn't see the bottom. It appeared to reach the under levels of the hospital; there should only be a basement, though. 

Another buzz from his damaged phone - a text!

Peter stared at it, analysing the three dancing dots that eventually became a message. His heart was tachycardic with worry and fear.

The older Spiderman ran, looking at the fading numbers on the doors he passed. He paused at 16B, the one that MJ's number indicated. Despite knowing it could be a trap, Peter broke the door open, scouring the room. 

MJ was sitting beside a gurney. She was in shock, afraid and alone.

A recently deceased young man lay not far from her. He was horrifically burned, and most of his left leg was reduced to sludge. He died slowly; Peter knew that as soon as he spotted him. 

He quickly came to his best friend's side, checking her for injuries. 

"He had Rhino's body," MJ whimpered, shaking from the ordeal. "He was crying for help, Peter. Rhino. He was in agony."

That explained why the hospital had a giant hole in it. 

"Come on, let's get out of here," Peter said, bridal carrying his close friend. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No. No, Miguel distracted him so we could run out. Something went wrong, though. The bodies didn't stay -"

"Parker!"

Peter twisted to the deceased man, who was now sitting up, black fluid running from his orifices. His eyes were empty, devoid of life, but something was in there, puppeteering him. 

He was close to tightening his grip but knew it'd hurt MJ. He wouldn't do that to her. 

She clung to his body, hiding her face in his chest. 

"He will reign long, and your friend will be far too gone!" the corpse cackled, rotting at an astonishing rate. He melted to bones before Peter's eyes. Not even his clothes survived the rot. 

As cryptic as that was, Peter knew what it was implying. 

Peter had to get MJ outside first, however. 

He made his way out of the hospital, feeling that fear fade with each step. The further from Klyntarus he was, the more confident he felt. 

Did Klyntarus' very presence rot your soul? It seemed so. 

"Keep her safe," Peter ordered a surprised and confused police officer, turning back towards the building. "And don't let anybody else inside. I mean it."

"It's the same thing that killed those heroes, isn't it?" the officer said, removing her jacket to cover MJ. "Don't die in there, Spiderman."

"I don't plan on it."

He couldn't make any promises. 

So, fear growing in his chest, Peter returned to the leftover Walking Dead set. He wouldn't be shocked to find Rick Grimes' room where he was somehow untouched in a coma for a year. 

That entire show was a fever dream; he was sure of it. After Glenn died, the only fun left was, ironically, Negan. He'll have to make Miguel watch that. 

When he arrived at the suspicious hole, Peter jumped. His knees complained when he landed, cracking in all the wrong and unsatisfying ways. 

The fear of Klyntarus was far more potent than before, suffocating Peter in an aura of fear and death. 

He's not looking for that thing, though. 

Peter quickly spotted the entrance to a tunnel that shouldn't exist. 

Rhino's body lay mangled and twisted at the entrance like a macabre decoration. Instead of being melted, it looked like a savage beast and tore the poor bastard apart. He didn't want to be on the backside of whatever caused that. 

He walked down the tunnels, listening out for his friend. 

His senses went off, sending a tingle down his spine. He turned around, annoyed to see Morbius had followed him.

"Not the time, Count Lame-ula. Ugh, that sounded better in my head. Whatever, could you go and haunt some little kid's birthday party? I'm in the middle of something."

"What horrors could have created such strife?" Morbius asked, both in awe and horrified by the situation.

"An extradimensional genocidal evil Symbiote that decays whatever he touches. You should go before you eats you, too." 

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care."

"You're trying to deceive me!"

"Not everything is about you!"

"Fool! I am the reincarnation of the great Count Dracula!"

"Sure, and I'm the reincarnation of Link - see my little fairy, Navi? We're on our way to rescue Zelda," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes behind his mask. "Just go bother someone else, alright?"

Vampires suck. 

Peter paused, feeling something else was down here. It wasn't Klyntarus, but it felt similar and yet distinct. He could feel it was nearby and dangerous, but not the precise position. 

That "something" was coming and fast.

Of course, Morbius acted like a child and attempted to attack Peter while distracted. He wouldn't get the chance to get close, however. 

A blur of red and dark pounced upon Morbius before he could reach Peter, his senses screaming at him to run. He couldn't see what it was but could hear the rabid rage and terrified cries. 

Peter webbed the mysterious form and pulled it away from Michael, hearing a dog-like grunt of annoyance and frustration. 

A pair of deep, red eyes stared back at Peter. They were similar to Klyntarus'; they had his unique shade, but Klyntarus didn't have pupils or irises. The eye shape was far too human to be Klyntarus, even if he tried to make a human body. 

The eyes were what Peter was focused on at first, but then he saw what the rest of the red was. 

A suit.

"Miguel?" Peter questioned, realising what, or rather who, he was looking at. 

His pupils were so thin they were almost non-existent. He was shaking, breathing heavily and hunched over, foamy drool dripping onto the ground. 

While Miguel didn't exist to Peter's spidey sense, this did. It wasn't the same as Klyntarus, but it was similar enough. 

Miguel was swallowing air. It's like he was in a scary trance, trapped far away. 

His claws were out, ready to scratch something that wasn't there. His fingers were shaking so much. 

Peter felt like he was looking at a werewolf, pure instinct and consciousness battling for control, and the former was dominant. 

Morbius shifted into shadows, reforming behind "Miguel". It was a stupid idea, for Miguel turned and bit Morbius' arm. 

Having seen what it could do to Klyntarus, Peter grabbed his friend. The stupid villain was clawing at Miguel's face, trying to make him let go. Glowing blue was dripping from Morbius' arm - the venom was already being delivered. 

"Get it off me!" Morbius yelled, turning his vampiric claws to Miguel's neck. He wouldn't let go, eyes staring at something that wasn't there. 

It was clear Miguel wasn't there. He couldn't hear Peter, stuck in this bizarre and scary trance. 

An idea came to Peter.

He took out his phone and turned on the flashlight, shining it directly into Miguel's eyes. 

The trance version of his friend yowled, letting go to cover his eyes. While Morbius had left deep scratches on his face, the photophobia forced him to let go. 

Morbius stumbled back, his arm shaking horribly. 

Ignoring the vampire, Peter grabbed Miguel's shoulders, trying to figure out what was happening. 

His "buddy" dropped his arms loosely, glowering towards Peter, but it didn't seem directed at him.

"It's me. It's Peter, alright?" Peter said, trying to get through to him. "How about we sit down? Does that sound good?"

He knew Miguel was much more powerful than him, but Peter's faster. If he needed to, Peter could stick to the walls or ceiling. 

Encouraging his distant friend to sit down, Peter watched him, paying attention to his eyes. 

Without any stimulation, he watched the redness in his eyes fade. When the red left, some awareness returned, replaced by confusion. 

"What happened?" Peter asked, glancing at the groaning Morbius still clutching his arm. 

"Había mucho ruido," Miguel muttered, rubbing his eyes. "He tried to take me. Estúpido bastardo." 

The corpse's warning. 

Did Klyntarus trigger a flight or fight response, only instead of Miles' invisibility, Miguel went rabid? It could've been a PTSD thing, too. 

"Where's MJ?"

"She's safe," Peter said, feeling Klyntarus' presence growing. "We need to go." 

Peter grabbed the taller man's side, feeling his broken ribs. That never seemed to stop him. 

"I can move."

"I don't doubt that, but you still seem out of it."

The possession attempt had an impact, as he was still spaced out. It was like he was stoned or drunk. 

"Happens sometimes," his friend grunted, a noise that did things Peter wished it didn't. "I didn't hurt you?"

"No. All I'm hurting from is arthritis."

"I always hurt someone..."

He didn't like hearing the sadness and regret there. And Peter couldn't say that he hadn't. He attacked Morbius and must've killed Rhino, though that seemed to be a mercy. 

"Indeed."

Peter scowled at Morbius' body, watching "his" head tilt. While Peter was focused on Miguel, he didn't even realise Morbius got snatched. 

He didn't like the guy, but Morbius didn't deserve that fate. 

The kidnapped body was already starting to decay. 

"I'm going to take everything from you, Peter. I'll break you in ways you didn't think could be broken. And I'll have him, too," Klyntarus vowed, tilting Morbius' head too far to the right. "I'll let you play with my toy for now. It'll make it all the easier to break him after I've shredded your soul."

"What's to stop me from walking over there and ripping you out of there?"

"Because you're like all the other Parkers I've eaten. You don't kill, even when you want to. You won't kill me while I'm in someone's body. It's cowardice I thankfully bred out of my true body." His friend hissed, but it only made Klyntarus smile. "You've come so far from the fragile ball of flesh I ripped from that whore wetback."

Peter can't kill. It's his greatest strength and his weakness. How is he meant to beat something that'll only stop if it's destroyed? 

He needed to get Miguel out of here and look after MJ. He had to find somewhere safe for her to stay.

Regardless of how his friend felt, they needed help. They were going to get the X-Men for backup.

"Until I find a more suitable temporary vessel, Parker. Farewell." 

Peter shot a web at Morbius' possessed body, but he vanished into shadow. 

Another day where he could've done something but didn't have the balls. That was a theme he was getting angry at. 

"Maldito cobarde."

"Yeah, to whatever you said, pal."

Xavier's going to have a field day over this. 

Chapter Text

1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester County, New York. He's never been on the property, but Peter knew where it was. 

It's safer than their home. 

He wouldn't be surprised if Professor X already knew they were coming. 

Although Peter would've preferred grabbing what they needed and swinging to the mansion, it wasn't safe for MJ. He needed to protect her. He couldn't carry her and everything else at once. They agreed to use her car. 

They also added car sickness to Miguel's lengthy list of medical inconveniences. The tablets MJ gave to keep him from throwing up had knocked the guy out completely. 

"Don't blame yourself," MJ tried, but it didn't change the turmoil boiling inside of Peter. "What could you have done? Realistically?"

"More than what I did."

"You wouldn't kill someone, even if it's Manic Mike. He knew that." 

Quite the nickname for the possessed vampire. 

Peter should've tried, though. He could've done more. If he had killed Morbius, then Klyntarus wouldn't have a body.

In that scenario, however, since taking Miguel failed, he would've naturally gone for Peter. He would've deprived MJ of a co-parent and his child of their father. He didn't even know their name and almost lost the chance to see them. 

All this happened because Peter didn't listen and wouldn't burn that sadistic bastard when he had the chance. 

People were dying. Innocent civilians, his friends, and even his enemies were suffering. 

"He said something down there. Klyntarus."

"What?" MJ inquired, worried. 

Peter glanced at the rearview mirror. He felt a weight grow in his chest, recalling those harsh words, adding it to what he already knew. 

It kept getting worse. 

"Eugenics. He bred Miguel to be a compatible body."

"Fucking hell," MJ cringed, covering her eyes with disgust.

"I presume that's where the medical problems come from and why he was in a basement for so long. Thinking about it more, it was probably an underground lab."

"He's not going to stop, is he? Until he gets what he wants."

"Which is either asleep in our backseat or is in our trunk. Either way, it's bad."

"We're not letting him get either. That ugly bowling ball or Miguel. He's our friend. We don't leave people behind."

"No, we don't."

Peter looked at the rearview mirror again, taking a brief moment to analyse his passenger. It was difficult not to. 

He couldn't understand why he couldn't sense Miguel but detected that feral version of him. It didn't make sense. How was he invisible but also not?

Even now, Peter couldn't detect he was there, even though Peter could see him. It was baffling. 

MJ chuckled, but he didn't know why.

"What's funny? I got something on my face again?"

"You like each other."

"Of course, I like Miguel. And if he didn't like me, we wouldn't be buddies!"

"He's pretty, and you know it."

What did she mean by that?

Peter had to look again to see what she was talking about. 

Miguel had cheekbones that could cut glass, eyes that smouldered like a raging fireplace and an impeccable body, but he didn't understand what she meant. 

He's a nice-looking guy, but something about how she said it was so weird. Was it his voice? How those growls rumbled deep from his chest like oncoming thunder and the Spanish becoming little flashes of lightning?

The guy could read the menu from Taco Bell and make it alluring. 

"Do you fancy him?" Peter inquired, confused but curious. "I can't tell you who not to like, of course. It's just... he's not from this universe. He'll have to go eventually."

Why did that fact feel sad? He should be happy that Miguel could go home.

Home. Where he was alone. 

Wasn't being made by that abomination terrible enough? Nobody should endure such solitude. At least Peter had MJ; that's better than nothing at all. 

Those scars, the ones that were far too clinical to be mere battle wounds. They originated from him, too, didn't they? More games by the evil sludge. 

To know that you were bred solely to be the vehicle of a monstrous parasite must be horrifying. That parasite then killed your family, even your daughter, and won't stop tormenting you. 

It honestly felt like Peter was continuing that torture. Thanks to him, his friend's abuser was still out there, wreaking havoc on other lives. 

Why can't Peter do what's necessary? He felt so weak and helpless. 

"No, Peter, I don't," MJ answered, though his confusion wasn't satisfied. "Be open is all I want to say. You've got a lot you want to talk about."

"I'm getting tired of talking."

"I know, babes. We'll figure something out."

She didn't sound so confident this time. 

And Peter did want to talk, as much as it annoyed him. He wanted to hear it from Miguel, to understand his friend more and try to keep him from risking himself so much. While he didn't value his life, Peter did. 

Was there anything for him to live for besides revenge? It didn't seem so. 

When Uncle Ben died, Peter didn't rise as a hero without hiccups. He went after the man that took his father figure's life, and was responsible for his death, even if indirectly. It wouldn't be the first time he was tempted to break the rule of no killing.

So, so many times, Peter had wanted to end the problem. He was so scared of becoming like them, though, a villain that only hurt others. 

Without Miles, Peter wasn't sure he would've kept going. 

Could he do the same for Miguel? Try and start him on a journey of finding value in himself. It's unlikely, but he had to try. What Spiderman would he be if he didn't try?

Even if all of his trying appeared to end in catastrophic failure. 

The mansion was magnificent and a little pretentious. 

As it tended to explode once a year, Peter's very unconfident that it would last long. However, if MJ could rest easy, it could work. 

And having superpowered people around your pregnant best friend made him feel a little better.

Peter felt like an idiot and knew seeing Logan after losing Matt and Luke would hurt. He couldn't imagine how he was feeling.

It would be fair to blame him, too. 

"Don't be too hard on yourself," MJ said, but it didn't change how he felt inside. 

"Yeah, Logan will do that for me."

"He might not."

"You know how close he was with Cage. I know he'll start a fight with Miguel, too. I'm secretly interested to see how that'd play out."

"I'd pay for tickets to see that. There's a two-foot height difference, too. It's like a chihuahua biting at a Great Dane." 

"Chihuahua is the most accurate descriptor for Logan. For Miguel? I'd go more for Rottweiler. Capable of doing damage but a big softie inside." 

"I know there's a Mexican version of a pit bull, but I forgot what it's called. Oh, Logan's Canadian; is there a tiny Canadian dog?"

"There is no dog more suitable for Logan than a Chihuahua. Only a Chihuahua with adamantium bones and lightsabres for knuckledusters." 

That created a hilarious image in Peter's head. 

He pulled the car into a visitors' parking space - heh, Parker the parker, that's funny. 

MJ got out first, stretching her legs. Having a literal human growing inside of you must be so freaky. 

After Peter got out, he went to the back, knocking on the roof. 

An annoyed reddish brown eye peeked at Peter. He didn't know why he was so fixated on the colour or why Miguel's eye being only half open excited him.

She's not wrong. He's got a pretty face. 

Rationally, Peter knew it was to protect his eyes from the sunlight. Sadly, those brilliant red eyes disappeared behind sunglasses. 

"Wake up, big guy. We're here."

"I don't like cars."

MJ chuckled as she got the evil orb from their trunk.

"I know, pal."

"You've got leather seats."

"Uh, yeah. Why?" Miguel lifted his arm, showing a rash. "You're allergic to leather? Seriously?"

"That's not even the dumbest one."

"I'm almost scared to ask."

"Dermographia."

"No idea what that means."

"When most people touch me with their bare skin, I get a reaction - you can write on my skin." 

"Cool and depressing. I'm glad I don't trigger that, bud."

"You don't trigger a lot of things for some reason."

He didn't know why he was pleased to hear that. Perhaps it's because Peter keeps fucking things up? That's probably why. 

Peter took several steps back for the taller man to get out of the car, cracking his neck. 

Seeing how in shape Miguel was made Peter feel terrible about his flabby body. If he worked out, he could look like that. What example would he be to his child if he was overweight?

How can Peter date somebody if his tummy passes the door before him?

He looks terrible, too. It's horrible that MJ had to deal with him for so long. Why did she even take him back? She's heavily pregnant and incredible. 

"Mi primera universidad parece pretenciosa."

"I think I recognise university in that sentence - hey, I'm learning!"

"It looks like one of those creepy castles full of spooky shit."

"I can see it, actually," Peter agreed, pushing the gates open.

He didn't even realise there was a lock until it clattered on the pavement.

MJ sighed, picking it up. It wasn't rotten and rusted, thankfully. 

She sneezed. Like always, it was loud, like a car horn. It always made Peter giggle, no matter the situation. 

"Salud," Miguel stated. It's possibly the Spanish form of "bless you". "I'm only reminding you now that I was completely against this."

"It won't be that bad," MJ said, a little too optimistic. "Logan's nice!"

"There are undeniable laws in the multiverse. Lobezno siempre es una zorrita enfadada."

"You just insulted Logan, didn't you?"

"You are learning. There's hope for us yet."

Although Peter should feel insulted, it felt more playful than aggressive. 

Slowly but surely, Peter is infecting this man with a sense of humour. 

Several people stared at them as though they were out of place. He could feel them judging him, which was weird. There was a literal kid that looked like a bipedal ocelot, but somehow a pregnant redhead, overweight guy and giant Latino were odd. 

Sure, because they're the weird ones.

He saw Storm and Cyclops outside of the main building, the obnoxious mansion. 

Honestly, it's begging to get blown up. 

Although Cyclops' eyes were obscured by his visor, Peter could feel the hostility radiating off the man. It was directed solely at Miguel, and Peter wouldn't allow that. 

"Been a while," Peter said, trying to keep things peaceful. "We've got a lot to talk about. Is Xavier in?"

Of course, he was. Where else would he be? Smooching Magneto?

"A lot," Storm concurred, shaking her head. "Logan's not doing well. I don't think it was a good idea for you to come here now."

"Oh, right - I'll just call your receptionist. Stacy's lovely. I heard she's back from her honeymoon. She can schedule a visit after the universe has been eaten by evil snot," Peter huffed, annoyed. "Does that sound good to you?"

"Son tan útiles como un cactus en una tormenta de nieve. No malgastes tu aliento."

"You want to repeat that, hotshot?" Cyclops sneered, understanding Spanish. 

Peter was a little jealous. 

Sensing a rising tension, Peter put himself between Cyclops and Miguel, but the taller man only needed to lean over him. 

"Eres un pony de un solo truco. Estaré encantado de enseñarte a hacerte el muerto."

"Big talk from an invader!"

"Muérdeme, colonizador."

"That's enough, both of you," came the deep English voice of Professor X, even balder than before. How was that possible? "There's been enough deaths these past few days. We don't need bloodshed on these grounds." 

"No puedo prometer nada."

"You can and you will," Storm added.

Great, all of them can understand Spanish but him and MJ. 

Miguel growled, irritated by the man's presence. Interestingly, Professor X realised something he wouldn't share. How rude. 

With a wave, Xavier requested that they all follow him. 

Of course, Cyclops had to sneer at Miguel, who only grinned back, showing his fangs. 

The halls were fancy and a little over the top. It's dramatic for a barely legal school. 

There were kids of all ages, from tweens to young adults.

A small quad of girls with a single boy was eating Taco Bell. It wasn't Peter's favourite, but it got him through some tough nights before meeting Miles. 

Miguel made a slight growl, disgusted by it. 

"What's the matter now, tough guy?" MJ questioned, slightly confused. 

"Taco Bell isn't real Mexican food."

"And bacon sure ain't kosher, but it's so good," Peter shrugged, though he vaguely understood the point. 

"Kosher is a beverage in my universe."

MJ passed the metal ball to Peter, shaking her hands off the evil device. He didn't blame her for not wanting to touch it. 

"If Aunt May were alive, she'd be thrilled to hear that," he chuckled, thinking back to her. 

Peter wasn't overly religious but was raised in a Jewish house. The traditions meant a lot to his aunt, uncle and father; it was important to them, and it felt like he got to be with them during Hanukkah and the other Jewish holidays. 

It's sad knowing his child won't be able to meet them. They were great people. And unlike his egg donor, the baby will have a great mother. 

Was that woman even alive? He wasn't sure, nor did he care. It wasn't like she ever cared about him, so why would he waste any precious time on her?

Mary was an awful person. How she got close enough to anybody, let alone his father, to make a child? He'll never know. 

Hopefully, she was sad and alone, unable to harm other people. 

As if detecting their leaders' seriousness, Rogue, Beast, and Logan quickly joined them. While Peter wanted to say something to his pal, he struggled to find the words.

How could he apologise for Luke and Matt's death?

It felt strange how they were too close, almost escorting them. 

Professor X wheeled into a secure part of the building. It was like a freaky laboratory, and Peter didn't like being in there.

He didn't want Miguel in there, either. He'd spent too long in labs. 

"There's a lot to discuss," Professor X said, facing them. "Storm, please take Miss Watson and get her comfortable. I'm sure she's tired."

"If anything happens to my boys, I'll find you," MJ promised, letting Storm place a hand on her back. 

Peter didn't like the lab. It was too clean, too sterile. It had gadgets, gizmos and goobers everywhere. 

He believed her, too. Even though she was pregnant, she was the last person to mess with. 

"I take it you guys already know about the new villain," Peter said, hoping they'll help. 

Miguel didn't feel the same way. 

"The thing killed Matt and Cage!" Logan roared, tossing a metal table into a wall. "The fucking monster has been slaughtering people left and right, and we can barely keep up with it!"

"Cerebro detected him when he arrived. He's far worse than a mere "villain", and you know that," Professor X said sorrowfully. "I presume your compatriot is of the same origin?"

"Half right," Miguel stated. "He took over my universe some time ago. I made him run and have been tracking him for nearly three years. I got close to killing him this time."

Until Peter fucked it up.

"That's my fault," Peter said, a weight growing in his heart. "Miguel told me to burn what was left of him, but I didn't listen, and he recovered. So far, all we've been able to do is take this from him," Peter continued, placing the metal ball on a non-destroyed table. 

"Without a compatible body, that is how he survives. He feeds off universes by destabilising them. He's so parasitic that he rots everything he interacts with, so he's not hard to follow," Miguel added, sounding angry. "He calls himself Klyntarus. Son of a bitch is so obsessed with his "species' superiority" that he named himself after his home world." 

"Can't be that superior if the dang sludge needs some ping-pong ball to stay alive," Rogue commented, which was a fair observation. 

"That's great, but how do we catch the fucker?" Cyclops asked, glaring at Miguel. "Sure, we can destroy this ball, but that won't stop him from taking bodies."

"If I repair this - we use it to travel between universes - I can call for backup. We've got technology designed to handle anomalies like him," Miguel stated, showing off his funky watch. "It'll be a pain, but I can make another - albeit smaller and weaker - Venom Burst bomb to harm him. It'll be easier to contain and eliminate him after that."

"How hard could that be? You're making a bomb. You already made a dimension hopper," Rogue questioned, confused. 

"Because it's my venom. Do you know anything about venom milking? I can only make so much. I had to collect for months to get enough." 

"I can make something to boost production," Beast said, but Peter didn't like hearing that. "An important question needs asking - how does Klyntarus destabilise a universe enough for him to consume it?"

"Currently, it's only a hypothesis, but it's the Canon Theory. For every Spiderman I've encountered, some criteria are met - if they're disturbed, the universe becomes unstable. Cause enough disturbance, and it breaks apart. He'll deliberately interfere with "canon events" to make it easier for him to flee or feed." 

"Fantastic. How many times has he fought us?" Logan grumbled, irritated by Miguel's very existence. 

"Every time he entered a universe with you in it. He's familiar with your abilities, even if you use them differently. You're not to engage him directly. You'll die or, worse, become a puppet, and he'll use your powers. It was bad enough when he got Professor X once. He killed every mutant on this planet with a thought."

Everything was stacked against them. That sludge was a threat they had never encountered before. He knew all of their abilities and then some. What could they do against such power?

They do everything that they can. 

While Miguel continued elaborating on the situation, Peter felt like a piece of furniture, watching it all unfold.

In the pit of his stomach, something told Peter that he made a mistake. 

Deadpool had a point when he said that Xavier looked like Mister Clean. 

Peter wasn't sure what the wheelchair superbrain wanted and didn't want to know. He knew that it involved Klyntarus in one way or another. 

If he wanted details about the monster, he would've spoken to Miguel. The Professor had been weird with his friend, which was unusual, even for the X-Men's head honcho. 

"Do you know why I asked you to speak with me alone, Peter?" Charles asked, his accent thick and English. It sounded so fancy compared to Peter. 

A funny thing about Spidey's sense is that it interfered with telepathy. Instead of a clear picture, mind readers received static and grainy images. It made Peter quite irritating to those attempting to read him.

Is why Klyntarus hasn't tried taking Peter over? Or it's to hurt him until he's satisfied. Either way, he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Whatever Klyntarus wanted, he couldn't get. No matter the cost. 

"My amazing improv."

"It's certainly a bonus, but I'm afraid not. I want to speak with you about your "friend"."

"I don't like how you put that in quotes."

"My apologies. I wasn't certain how close you were, despite him not even being here a week." 

It didn't feel that short. 

"Haven't you read him?" Peter questioned, awkwardly sitting on the chair across from the Professor. "You're super talented with that stuff."

"In a peculiar way, your friend is telepathic. He has an intriguing mental ability that negates detection or being accessed entirely. He is invisible to Cerebro, me and Jean. I suspect your "Spidey sense" cannot detect him, either."

An invisibility cloak, but mentally. That's a fascinating concept. It's why Magneto and Juggernaut wear those stupid helmets. 

It explains why Peter couldn't feel his friend. It is also why Klyntarus can't track him down so easily. 

Unfortunately, this felt like a deliberate ability. Why would Klyntarus have a host when a telepath such as Xavier can free them from the mental shackles of Symbiote possession?

It's like everything was deliberate, and even still, Miguel used those powers against the one that gave them to him. 

What was the purpose of his venom? The claws? The heightened senses? Why did he have so many medical problems?

Using his brain - horrifying - there was a possible reason. 

Klyntarus made it so that Miguel was in pain without him. A horrific and disgusting possibility, but given how the Symbiote operated, it was likely. If Peter was a mega-evil pile of sentient snot, he might've done something similar. 

Peter already respected his fellow spider, but to still refuse the Symbiote despite that only engorged that respect. It swelled like the feeling in his chest whenever he saw those eyes. 

That posed another issue, however. 

"I can't feel him at all - like a weird black spot - but the other day, Klyntarus triggered something. It was angry and feral, and he wasn't in control. I felt that. How can I feel that but not him?"

"Though I cannot read Miguel, I have felt what you're speaking of," Xavier said, confusing him. "It's quite evident that Klyntarus used his DNA in creating his "perfect host". That would make him part Symbiote."

Fuck. That made too much sense. 

"And even the smallest part of a Symbiote is sentient," Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his wonky nose. "It didn't behave like a Symbiote, though. It was so wild and, well, not in control."

"The piece within Miguel isn't conscious - it isn't alive, strictly speaking. It doesn't comprehend friend or foe, only threats to Miguel, which it doesn't distinguish itself from. You have been deemed not a threat."

When Miguel questioned how he didn't hurt Peter, that's what he meant. This freaky mode attacked everybody, following only instinct and the need to survive. In a way, that was the most terrifying of foes. 

For whatever reason, it decided that Peter wasn't a threat.

Weirdly, it felt like a compliment. 

"Why're you talking to me about this? Why not talk to Miguel about it?"

"There is a lot at stake, Peter. Many lives will be lost if we don't defeat this enemy. To trap this thing, we need... bait." 

"No," Peter stated firmly, scowling. "You're not going to use Miguel as bait for that thing. Nobody is going to be bait."

"We use Miguel or the unnamed sphere. At least Miguel is capable of refusing Klyntarus."

"That's a shit plan. You don't trap something like that. You've got to burn him until there's nothing left."

"Peter, I understand that you've lost your friends to this entity-"

"He wants to hurt my best friend and my unborn baby! Now you want to take the primary victim of an abusive monster and dangle him like a carrot for a donkey! Doesn't that sound fucked up?"

"So does the death and destruction of an entire universe. Not only ours but many more afterwards. It's better than Logan's suggestion."

Peter didn't need to hear it. He already knew what Logan would've suggested. 

"I'm not allowing that."

"I won't lie to you, Peter; it's not something I take lightly. You're a smart man. You've thought of it."

"No, actually, I haven't. I'm not a damn lunatic!" Peter shouted, standing in anger, the chair falling behind him. "You don't kill somebody for being the victim!"

"What suggestions do you have, then, Peter? We're empty of ideas. We've never faced something like this - it's a graver threat than anything ever known." 

"That doesn't give you a get-out-of-jail-free card. I'm not surprised by Logan, but you, the smart one? I'm disappointed. You're supposed to help, not make things worse!"

"Worse for who, Peter? Because I know you aren't referring to us or even your unborn child," Xavier sighed, looking sorrowful.

"We'll make a different plan without using Miguel as bait or fucking killing him like damn cowards. It doesn't even make sense to think of that!"

"People can only take so much. If we don't defeat him, it's only a matter of time before Klyntarus succeeds."

"If there's one absolute certainty about spiders, we never give up, even when we're at our breaking point and desperately want to," Peter growled, hitting his hand on the desk, reducing it to splinters. "We're making a different plan, Professor, and that's the end, understand?" 

Peter left the room, refusing to say more. 

He went to the X-Men for help. They're supposed to help. He's not surprised by Logan, but Xavier? He's disappointed and disgusted. 

They weren't helping. At best, they can keep MJ safe. 

Peter won't sit idly by as someone tries to abuse somebody else. He keeps messing stuff up, but he's still going to try. He knew Miles would be heartbroken if Peter ever gave up, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

He and Miguel can figure something out alone. 

The man paused and glared at an open hallway, and Logan merely shrugged. 

"I know you've got problems with it, Pete, but I doubt Taco Bell hater does." 

"And you don't see an issue with that?"

"Of course. Look, I get that you like the guy - fuck knows why, he's an asshole - but we make sacrifices to save others. This isn't a loser with nothing better to do, Peter. That thing wants to down us like I do beer, and I'm a damn alcoholic."

"There are sacrifices, and then there's just plain wrong."

"You're feeling guilty. Personally? I believe you should, but logically? Not as much. How could you know the snot was an interdimensional super dickhead?" 

He couldn't, and Peter knew that. It didn't matter, though. His Spidey senses were explicit and had never failed him before. 

He didn't listen, and everyone was paying the price for it. 

Peter still wasn't listening; Miguel didn't want them to go to the X-Men, and he was right not to.

Did he know what Logan suggested?

Did he know what Xavier wanted to do? 

The worst part was that Miguel would go through with it.

Anything if it meant destroying the damned creature that created him in the first place. 

Peter's not going to allow that. 

Why didn't he listen?

Chapter Text

Peter's mad. 

Of course, he's mad. How couldn't he be? When Beast said he'd "boost production", it was a damn understatement. 

The entire thing was creepy. He injected something into Miguel's gums, and it essentially caused a non-stop flow of venom. It's nothing short of horrific. 

Peter wanted to break someone's face for that. It was disgusting. 

His friend was almost trained to suck it up and sit through it. If it meant getting revenge, he'd possibly gouge out his eyes. He had no care for himself; he didn't care if he died to achieve his goal. 

Peter and MJ were the only ones that had a problem with that. 

Caffeine also increased venom production, but instead of an energy drink, they used coffee. He was allergic to that, and they still gave it. 

He's fuming. 

"You know exactly what you're doing," Peter growled. "How can you take advantage of someone like this?"

"Because there's a bigger problem. A single bomb isn't going to be enough, and you know that," Cyclops answered, but it wasn't good enough for Peter. "He's not from here, Peter. It's not the same."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"He's from another universe. He's not meant to be here and doesn't belong here."

"Are you even listening to what you're saying, Scott? Because it doesn't sound good. I thought the X-Men were all about inclusion and protecting people."

"We protect our own. He's not even one of you."

"He's a person, Scott!"

"Not entirely."

"Wow. Are you honestly doing this? This is the same shit people say against mutants!"

"We're natural. He's not."

"Oh, and Logan's adamantium claws are "natural"."

"That's different."

"Bullshit."

Peter was sick of this. He didn't understand why they treated him differently. It's not as if he was at fault for Klyntarus being a lunatic. All he's done is be helpful, but they're ignoring that. 

No, Peter isn't going to let them do this. 

How is Peter the only compassionate one here? Why is he the only one that doesn't want to exploit someone that's already been mistreated? Why does Peter want to keep the person imprisoned in a laboratory out of a lab again? It shouldn't be so difficult to comprehend. 

It didn't matter that Miguel was from another universe or how he came to be. That's not his fault. It's bullshit!

Peter struggled inside. He brought Miguel here, so he was responsible. 

Why is he the only one besides MJ that cared?

Since the X-Men weren't going to be helpful, they would go. Of course, he couldn't take MJ with him. She wouldn't be safe.

MJ would get hurt out there. By being far from him and Miguel, she could be protected. In the meantime, Peter and Miguel figure things out themselves.

It's how he should've kept it. 

He'll warn her first. What co-partner would he be if he didn't? But he can't say it to Miguel until they're already outside. If he knew what they wanted to do, he would agree. 

Hell no!

Peter knew that MJ would support him. She will encourage him to help their friend from being exploited. 

It's disgusting.

He took out his phone and started texting. As much as he wanted to do it in person, he needed to get Miguel out of there quickly.

He didn't want Logan going rogue. 

Miguel didn't have Spidey sense. If Logan decided to act alone, how would he know if Logan was coming? 

Peter went to the lab, knowing it wouldn't be a pretty sight. He knew something was wrong because the lights were far too bright.

He was right, unfortunately.

God damn, his friend looked like crap. 

His eyes were a different kind of red; they were watery and puffy. He has hives, swelling and bruising around his mouth and lips. There's a rash on his neck, too. 

Given that his healing factor can clear that up quickly, it meant constant exposure. 

"It's fascinating how quickly you develop a resistance. I've had to triple the dosage already," Beast said blankly, injecting Miguel in the mouth again.

When his mouth was open, Peter saw that he had hives inside his mouth, deep bruising around his gums, a swollen tongue, and something else was bulging. He could only presume Miguel's venom glands were swelling due to being forced to produce too much venom. 

Despite the problem, it was like the blue nerd was magically blind. Did everybody not see him as a person? 

"Have a drink, and we can get going," Beast said, coldly handing Miguel a cup Peter knew was coffee. 

"Whatever," Miguel grumbled, sneering at the cup of hot fluid. He had no self-preservation, taking it regardless of the evident pain it caused him. "Get it over with so I can return to fixing this."

"Hey," Peter said, announcing himself. While Miguel didn't care, Beast appeared anxious. "What's up?"

"Gathering a little venom for synthesising into a more potent "Venom Burst" weapon," Beast answered, but that wasn't good enough for Peter. 

It's not "a little" venom. It's been going on since he arrived, possibly non-stop, 

Yes, Klyntarus is a horrific monster that needed to die, but did they have to torture someone? 

He shouldn't have brought him here. 

After hearing it mentioned the other day, Peter looked at videos of venom milking. With snakes and such, their fangs go through a plastic film over a cup, and that's all. 

Meanwhile, Beast was taking a phlebotomy needle, sticking it directly into the gland and sucking it out.

Peter could see the coffee amplify the rash and hives. The tubing rubbed his lips, threatening to cause blisters if he didn't have them already. It was hurting him, but Peter was the only one that cared. 

Klyntarus needed to be beaten, but this wasn't how.

"What kinda cheese do you want? MJ wants some pizza. I don't know how your card or whatever works."

Mister Classified liked cheese. That's the easiest way to get his attention. 

"Where you goin'?" It was awkward to talk with a tube in the roof of your mouth. "Wha they goth?"

"Stuff with cheese, but I dunno what else you're allergic to." 

He could tell that Beast was annoyed but didn't say anything as Miguel took out the needle. 

The sooner he gets his friend out of here, the better. 

Peter hated it. His friend just looked so empty and tired. At least the swelling had gone down. 

In the end, Pizza is Pizza. It's not incredible, but Scorpio's is good enough. It has some damn fine cheese, and his buddy already enjoyed cheese. 

After two entire margaritas to himself, things were relaxing a little, though he still looked like shit. 

It hurt to see the healing blisters and rash. There was so much bruising on his lips. It must be painful, but he didn't appear to care.

That made Peter worried. What else was Miguel willing to put up with to end the only reason he's still alive? 

He has no self-worth or value. How far would he go if it resulted in Klyntarus' death? Honestly, Peter was scared that there wasn't a limit. 

Peter leaned back a little, thinking over his decisions the past week. Whenever he didn't listen, it blew back in Peter's face. 

And he wasn't even the one that paid the price. 

"We're not going back," Peter said, struggling to say it. "To the school. We're not going back."

"¿Qué?" Miguel questioned, and at least Peter knew what that meant. 

"For whatever damn reason, MJ and I are the only ones that give a shit. You're not an idiot; you know they're exploiting you."

"It doesn't matter."

Peter was angered at that statement. Of course, it matters. Everything did. 

It reminded him of when Peter was in that crappy apartment, surviving off pizza and sobbing in a shower. It was cold, lonely and a sea of darkness. He still had his friends, although two of them were dead now. He got a spark ignited by Miles, and while there are still bad days, he had MJ and his future child. 

Who did Miguel have? Who could tell him he was worth something more than a tool for others? 

So far, Peter and MJ were the only ones. 

"It does, Miguel. It matters a lot. I'm frankly disgusted by all this."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? They're hurting you. On purpose!"

"Parker, I'm always in pain. Always. It doesn't matter what's causing it anymore. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be."

"I shouldn't be at all," Miguel emphasised, calmly chewing a slice. "Y'know, I considered it some time back."

"Considered what?"

Somehow, Peter already knew the answer and wished he was wrong. He's been wrong quite often so far. 

"Suicide. To spite him and deprive him of his "perfect body". He spent decades mutilating and torturing people to make me - probably more than that. If I killed myself, he'd start all over again. It's bad enough that I exist. I'm only alive for him to be destroyed by the very thing he created."

"You're not a thing, Miguel. You're a person. For some fucking reason, MJ and I are the only ones that care about that." 

It hurt to see him ponder that as though it were a riddle. 

Peter felt like shit, and he's only experienced Klyntarus for a few days. It must be demoralising for him to haunt you for your entire existence. 

His friend was lost. He didn't have any meaningful support - that was depressingly obvious. 

"I want to hate you."

"Because if you like someone, he'll take them away," Peter sighed, unsure of the future. "Too bad. I'm the most likeable man alive. You're stuck with me."

"You're incredibly adamant about staying around me."

"I like you."

"What's there to like?"

"What isn't there to like?"

"I... don't have an answer to that."

"Alright. Once a day, you're going to say something nice about yourself. I will not take no for an answer. Starting now. Say something positive about yourself." 

Miguel grumbled in Spanish, annoyed by Peter's persistence. 

His friend finished the slice, leaning back and thinking about it. The fact he had to put something together was depressing. 

With a sigh, he finally relented.

"I can play the guitar?"

"That's more of a skill but a good start," Peter said, pleased to have gotten somewhere. "How good are you at playing the guitar?"

"I dunno. Started playing one because my daughter liked it."

"That's so sweet. Wish I could play an instrument."

"It's not as difficult as it seems."

"What, you're gonna teach me to play a guitar?"

"Maybe," Miguel shrugged, poking at his watch. "What did MJ say, anyway?"

"About what?"

"About you leaving the school and taking me with you. You don't do anything without letting her know."

"She agreed with me. Actually, she suggested the pizza thing. You really like cheese."

"When you're allergic to way too many things, you enjoy what you can." 

That's a fair point. 

It's good to know if he needed his attention, all Peter needed was to say they're getting cheese. 

"Cheese is good."

"Es el mejor invento, sólo superado por las enchiladas."

"Man, I used to love it when Uncle Ben made enchiladas. Fucking superb." 

"Taco Bell enchilada or mexican enchilada?" Miguel questioned, though only half serious. 

"You offering to make me an authentic one, Mister Classified?" Peter shot back, grinning. 

"Like my mama made it in Guadalajara. And maybe you could show me that kosher stuff." 

"Putting me on the spot, huh? I accept your challenge."

Why can't others see this man as a person? He's like Peter. He's a different kind of spider but is as much a spider as Peter. 

Spiders stick together. Always. 

Chapter Text

Curt Connors' old place was derelict and a mess, but it was a good base for now. 

He didn't doubt that Lizard was hiding under a rock, scheming to turn them into reptiles and cowering from the evil sludge. It's a weird predicament to be in. 

It's only been a few months since Peter kicked him out of this little hole, so it's good enough. Having a technologically savvy guy certainly helped in fixing a bunch of stuff. It's not secure enough to protect MJ, but it's alright for a pair of spiders. 

It'd be nice if they didn't need to use the sewers to get to it. He felt like a knock-off of the Ninja Turtles. 

Is there a Spider-Turtle guy? Probably - Cowabunga, taste my pizza webs!

There wasn't anywhere decent to sleep, so they used their webs. It wasn't something Peter had done before, but it was a fun little project. They could attach strings and make little traps. If something set them off, the duo would feel it. 

The mix of white and glowing orange was a little silly. It's also where Peter discovered that Miguel's webs were organic; he made them with his body!

He had actual spinnerets and a hole on his forearm where the webs came from. He got too curious, squeezed his arm and some web shot into Peter's face. It was a nightmare to get out of his hair. 

Peter wanted organic webs. He wanted some cool claws and epic fangs. Having impeccable dark vision would be so helpful. 

He's got spidey sense and could stick to stuff, but it's not unique. All the other spiders had those powers. 

Miles could go invisible! And Porker had Hammerspace! 

Peter had a gut, sore joints and general fatigue. What was so great about that?

The stress of the past week was getting too much. 

He couldn't sleep. He missed his home. He wanted everything to go back to before Klyntarus burst into his universe. 

So much has happened, and it's only going to get worse. 

Even if they beat this bastard, it won't bring Peter's friends back. They're gone, and he couldn't change that. It made his eyes burn with fluid and frustration. 

"You're upset."

Peter jumped, almost falling out of the weird web platform the two had made. Even though he was supposed to feel any movement, the bigger man somehow moved without alerting Peter. Instead of another power, it was from practice and experience. 

The elder sat up, rubbing his eyes. While he couldn't see as well as Miguel, his vision was better than the average Joe. The fact that Miguel's eyes glowed made it easier to see him, too. 

"I'm not feeling great, no," Peter admitted. The constant moving must've woken the other guy up. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I can smell the salt." 

Right. All of his senses are super sensitive. He could probably hear Peter's heartbeat. 

"I feel like shit, to put it mildly. My friends are dying, people are suffering, and my best friend is alone and pregnant with my baby, and I'm at fault for all of it. It's not ideal."

"I won't pretend to be any good at... this. You're doing your best, and that's better than most." 

"It doesn't feel like it, but I appreciate it, buddy. Thanks for trying."

"Is... there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so, buddy. Try and get some sleep. I guess I'm on night watch." 

He felt the webbing shift, hopefully indicating that he would try. In the meantime, Peter can lay back and ponder his awful decisions. 

So, so many people are suffering, and more will die. It wasn't even a quick death, either. 

It was awful recalling how Felicia melted away, reduced to nothing but a memory.

How much of this has Peter honestly processed? 

Everything was a futile and bleak mess. He didn't know what to do. 

Peter heard the strum of something, almost like the plucking of strings on an instrument. It was soft at first, tuning and seeking satisfaction from the player. 

With no ambient sound in the "base", it brushed away the suffocating silence. The sounds bounced off the walls, chasing the eerie coldness from Peter's periphery. 

Something warm and gentle, precise and intricate, a soulful attempt at easing the ache festering inside. 

And like a flower feeling the embrace of the sun, it bloomed.

I've been gone for, so long now

Chasing everything that's new.

I've forgotten how I got here

I've not forgotten you.

Peter was astonished as this sound rolled over him, echoing through the walls and almost brightening the room. 

Is it possible for a spider to serenade? 

We were just children, with our eyes opened, and

You were all that I could see

You came close enough to know my heart-beat, but

Still not close enough for me.

Luke Cage was a good man. He protected Harlem, keeping folks safe when the police refused to. He would go out of his way to be a good example. Several kids looked up to Cage as their hero, seeing him as the epitome of a role model. 

He was a great man who forced Peter to go to the movies while he was all alone and deeply depressed. It was some brief escapism, and it got him out of the apartment that wasn't work-related. 

He helped Peter and MJ move into their new place, only asking for doughnuts afterwards. 

The world was worse off with him gone. 

Through the good times and the bad

You were the best I never had

The only chance I wish I had to take

Matt was another pinnacle of heroism. While he fought tyranny at night, he was a lawyer during the day, fighting for those who couldn't afford it. He worked almost for free. He made Hell's Kitchen safe and was a thorn in Kingpin's side throughout his tenure as a grand hero. 

He was a bastard at poker, often sweeping them all without mercy. He was a good friend, giving Peter advice when he was still a rookie at being a vigilante. He was like a mentor for Peter, showing him how to safely restrain people so they didn't hurt themselves or others.

Daredevil was a name that would go down in history as one of the greatest heroes in the world. He knew it in his soul. 

There was no writing on the wall

No warning signs to follow

I know now, and I just can't forget

You're the best I never had.

Felicia had such a colourful and warm life, a great friend in some of Peter's darkest days. She was a free spirit that enjoyed racing him and "stealing" to force him into something like eating or getting new clothes. 

She lent him money on hard times, though it was doubtful she got any of it legally. 

Did her wife know that Felica was never coming home? They wanted to start a family together and move to Canada to start fresh. It was never going to happen. 

Could Peter tell her that Felicia was dead? It was his fault she died in such an agonising fashion; how could he explain that? 

She might not've been a "hero", but she was a good person that did what she believed was right, even if that put them at odds. She was as much of a hero as Peter, saving people in the shadows and using less-than-ideal tactics. 

New York would have a much worse animal problem without Black Cat's program of trapping and neutering. Many homeless kids would've gone without food or a safe place to stay when the shelters turned them away.

A good woman that deserved so much better. 

In this motel

Well past midnight

When I’m bluer than a bruise

You come drifting in through the half-light

In your funny yellow shoes

Poor MJ - She's been such a trooper through all of this. How could she forgive him for his mess-ups? 

Gods above, Peter was terrified that she would die as well. And the baby he hasn't met yet. 

Fatherhood is so scary, especially when you know how cruel the world - how the universe - is. It was so twisted and monstrous, a writhing mass of tragedy, much like Klyntarus himself. 

And I hope that’s you standing at my doorway

That’s the scratching of your key

And I hope this song I’m singing

Someday finds you wherever you may be

What would Aunt May think of him now? Uncle Ben, Dad, all of them. He felt like such a disappointment. 

Spiderman is supposed to save people, not endanger them.

That was all Peter had been doing - he was hurting others. It was just like the bastard that took Ben from him. 

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have a plan or anything concrete. 

He was so lost and scared. 

Through the good times and the bad

You were the best I never had

The only chance I wish I had to take

But there was no writing on the wall

No warning signs to follow

Peter was lost, but he wasn't alone. 

A man he's only known for a week was in the sewers with him, ready to face an interdimensional demon, even if it cost his life. They were both Spiderman, a title with intense responsibility and burden. They equally understood the gravity of their duty and what it meant to be a spider.

If your legs break, stand anyway. 

I know now and I just can't forget

You’re the best I never had

Nana nanana

Best I never had

Nana Nanana

Best I never had...

Peter didn't even realise that he'd been staring, watching so intently despite the darkness. 

The weight of that voice rolled over Peter like a hug, tugging at the mould growing inside and scraping it away. It was downright angelic.

"It always helped my daughter when she couldn't sleep," Miguel said, his voice having more power than before. "Do you want me to play more?"

Peter laid back, missing the music already. 

Miguel strummed his guitar again, the sound tickling his nerves. 

Knowing that Miguel could see Peter fine, he nodded his head, waiting for the strings to get plucked again. He could listen to that voice for weeks on end. 

It was like magic how it scrubbed his brain and made the weight of everything far easier. 

"Thank you."

"Do you want that one again? Most others I know are in Spanish."

"I might stay awake just to listen if you sang in Spanish, big guy."

"Do not tempt me, araña."

As Miguel began to play again, Peter calmed, focusing on the music.

The writing was on the wall; spiders stick together. 

Chapter Text

Peter was dreaming. He knew he was because he knew that Matt was dead. 

Poker night was something he'd been barred from for a while. The actual game, not spending time with his friends. 

He wouldn't be sitting at the table, cards in hand. He knew it was wrong and a lie but couldn't move, like he was stuck in a painting. 

"We're friends, aren't we?" Matt said, turning his head slowly towards Peter despite being blind. "Are we not friends anymore?"

"We should be," Carl continued, the emptiness in Cage's usually lively voice sending shivers down his spine. "Why aren't we your friends, Peter?"

"We've been replaced," Felicia added, which didn't make sense. She didn't even play poker. "You don't want to play with us anymore. Why did you leave us?"

"We'll be missed, Spiderman," She-Hulk said, which also didn't make sense. "You killed us all."

"We didn't deserve to die like that, Peter," Jessica heaved as slime started to fall from her mouth. 

"We trusted you, Peter!" Danny seethed, energy forming around his fist. 

"We relied on you!" came the puppet corpse man from the hospital. 

"We begged for your help!" Rhino and Morbius pleaded in pain and anger. 

"We were working on a way to win!" Logan yelled, sticking his claws into the table.

Peter was able to move, to stand and try to run away. The door flew open, but the hallway was endless. The people he failed were fusing, repeating their cries and pleas. 

He didn't have an answer for them. He was terrified of them. 

Like a coward, Spiderman fled, running as far as his weary bones would carry. 

The doors along the corridor would fly open, showing his friends in various states of decay. They repeated themselves without end, becoming increasingly grotesque and gory. 

"You left me!" Miles' voice roared, the kid's face mostly gone, sludge pouring from his throat. 

He only wanted to keep Miles safe.

"You got my dad's robot destroyed!" Peni screamed, the flesh around her abdomen dissolving away to create a pool of oil. "It was all I had left of him!"

He tried to help her.

"You treated me like a joke!" Spider-Ham cried, his body skewered like a pig at a barbeque. 

He didn't mean to!

"You acted like I was an idiot!" Noir sobbed.

The unusual desperation and misery of it broke Peter more than the anger. It was desperate for an answer, pleading to know why Peter had done this to them. 

"You wanted to protect Miles but not me!" Gwen added, the blackness rising from her skin and making her bloated like a body left in the water for too long. It burst outwards, connecting to the other endless doors. 

It was building and growing, red veins pulsating with hunger and hate. 

Peter froze as Uncle Ben waited for him, scowling with vitriol and spite.

"You killed me!" Ben declared, pointing to Peter with a rotting finger. 

The deluge of sludge was coming closer, as was the cacophony of cries and pleas. 

"You're just like your mother!" Aunt May's voice echoed. 

"You've doomed us all!" Professor Xavier's usually calm voice bellowed though Peter couldn't see from where. He didn't want to, either. 

He jumped onto the ceiling, running, fighting the burning sensation in his lungs. He had to keep going and never stop. 

"You killed our friends!" Cyclops yelled, standing upside down in his doorway. Instead of his visor, blackness poured from the eye sockets like a broken faucet. 

"You stole from me!" Iron Man, blackness seeping through the cracks in his armour, spilling out. 

The darkness leaked through the ceiling and walls, growing like an uncontrollable mould. 

Hands burst from the ceiling, grabbing Peter, gripping hard enough to break bones. No matter how hard he pulled away, Peter couldn't get free.

He could feel and hear the tsunami of slime coming for him, seeking to rip him to pieces. 

With whatever strength left, Peter was running again. The hallway wouldn't end; the walls were laughing at him. The doors turned into mouths, yelling at him for causing so much despair and misery. 

There's no escape. 

"Peter!"

MJ's voice! A place of reprieve and safety. 

He didn't know what he was doing, only that a cackling door shut behind him. He saw MJ on the bed as nude as the day she was born, hands on her bloated stomach. Her belly was growing, fear on her graceful features. 

Peter held her hand, shaking and scared. Her abdomen wouldn't stop growing, swelling to a horrific size. Faces started to push through the skin, screaming at Peter. Of them was Miles, sounding like he was in agony. 

She was screaming, sobbing, pleading for it to stop. His MJ, his best friend, couldn't even have the mercy to die. 

"You did this to me!" she cried, pointing at him. 

Sludge and slime broke through the door, crashing into him. 

He was falling in darkness, nothing but red lightning dancing around him. It mocked Peter, laughing at him for his awful failures.

Peter stopped falling, his body embraced by one far stronger than his. Instead of burning cold, he felt serenading warmth. 

"I got you," Miguel said, shielding him with his larger body. "Spiders stick together."

Everything is too much. He's hurting everybody. 

Shaking, Peter broke away from the hold, pushing the other man away. His hands were freezing, frostbite growing on his fingers. 

His gaze returned to his friend at the sound of terrified screaming. 

Miguel was clawing at his chest as slime grew across his body. It emanated from where Peter pushed him away, his handprints charred into his scarred skin. It kept spreading, sinking into his skin and veins. No matter how hard he tried to rip it away, it grew.

Those beautiful reddish-brown eyes fixed on Peter; the pain and betrayal burned Peter worse than Klyntarus' foul body. The fear was suffocating. 

"I trusted you!"

Everything piled onto Peter, forcing him to his knees, breaking. 

The sludge fully enveloped his friend. While leaving the man encased in filth and evil, large red eyes burned into Peter's shivering soul. 

"Thank you for helping me," Klyntarus cackled. "I wouldn't have become so powerful without your help, Peter. I'm in your debt. Truly."

To add to Peter's distress, Klyntarus peeled back his face. It wasn't only Miguel's face but distorted and mixed with Miles'. 

"Why won't you help us!" the pair pleaded, quickly covered by Klyntarus.

"Because you're weak. You always were and always will be the lord of failures. When I succeed in my endeavours, measly rat, I will reward you most handsomely," Klyntarus cackled, extending his arm into Peter's chest. "You're just like me!"

Peter felt like he was drowning. He was scrambling, fighting to breathe and to escape. The darkness was all-consuming, the only light being the pulsating scars of death and despair. 

His eyes burst open, struggling against something holding him. 

"Respira, araña, respira."

The Spanish coiled in Peter's gut as he recognised the dark blue and red of Miguel's suit. 

He couldn't speak, only pant and cry, breaking like a toddler. The loss of his friends, the weight of causing so much despair, shattered what little control he had left. 

He was crying, sobbing into the chest of a man he barely knew, desperate to escape the growing coldness inside of him. 

"Estás a salvo conmigo. Te tengo y no te soltaré. Las arañas se mantienen unidas."

Peter didn't understand what Miguel said, but it made him feel safe. 

"Don't go..." Peter whimpered, hating how pathetic and weak he sounded. He was holding onto Miguel so hard he might hurt him.

Terrified of hurting him more, Peter was going to try to push away but remembered the night terror. 

Everything he touched fell apart. 

"And miss out on your riveting insights? Ni en un millón de años," the other spider said, keeping his arms secure around Peter's shaking frame. "Prometo que serán más fáciles. The nightmares. They get easier."

"I've hurt so many people..."

"Araña estúpida, we don't hurt others more than we hurt ourselves." 

"I keep ruining everything," Peter sobbed, wanting to disappear and vanish into the other man's sizeable chest. 

The sound of his heartbeat was strangely soothing. 

"You're a good man. Good people feel the weight of horrors more than others. Don't lose that. ¿Entiendes?"

What "good" man gets his friends killed? 

What "good" man feels safe in the arms of someone he barely knows?

What "good" man believed the conviction and concern of those deep reddish-brown eyes?

Peter Parker wasn't a good man, but for a brief moment, Miguel O'Hara let Peter delude himself into feeling like one. 

Chapter Text

Peter was tired, stressed and all sorts of messed up. 

Not even some cheese quesadillas made him feel better. 

Texting MJ was different from talking face-to-face with her. She was everything to him. His best friend, the person he trusted with his entire soul. 

Having a horrific nightmare was a lot. It was so awful and terrifying; he couldn't get the screams out.

Not even sitting under a balcony made him feel better. 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: You sure you good?]

[Me: Not really. Everything is so messed up, MJ. My head's all wrong]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay:...]

Maybe-Baby-Jay: Look after yourself, Peter. You bottle stuff up sometimes]

What else was Peter meant to do? For all his quips and witty comments, Peter's awful at communicating. 

How could Peter explain the immense guilt inside of him?

[Me: I want everything to return to before. I want to be asleep on the couch beside you, watching a silly movie. I'm scared, MJ]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: I'm sorry I can't be there, Peter]

[Me: I appreciate it, MJ. How's everything going at the spooky school?]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Not good. The X-Men are angry that you left with Miguel. I overheard that his venom degrades quickly, so they need more. Xavier's been trying to find you, but being close to Miguel cancels him out. I think?]

The Black Spot.

For now, Peter was invisible. He had to stay that way to protect his friend and fight that fucker. 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: How is he?]

[Me: Still obsessed with cheese]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Not what I meant! XD]

[Me: I know. He's doing better and is enjoying a milkshake. It's nice having another person like me]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: You like him. I think he likes you, too]

She wouldn't say that if it was the regular sort. She meant more than that, but what?

[Me: Hmm. I suspect you mean more than that]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Me? Noticing something you don't? Heaven forbid! Hell is freezing over as we speak! I need to get you ice skates]

[Me: Very funny. What do you mean?]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Hmm. You should figure it out for yourselves. I'm going for a nap. See you soon, Peter!]

Yeah, he wished that he could see her. 

The image of her body bloating like that was horrifying, though. 

"MJ said hi," Peter said, his body aching more than usual.

Without any care, the other Spider hopped over the balcony railing, hanging by his glowing web. He slightly tilted his head while chewing on the milkshake straw.

"Let me guess. X-men are pissed."

"Bingo," Peter sighed, looking at his web. "What do you use to make that?"

"Everything but my suit is organic."

"You have spinnerets in your arms?"

"I have spinnerets in my arms."

"The more I learn about your powers, the cooler they are."

"You've never had to deal with a web block. It's like a kidney stone in your arms."

"Horrifying. I retract my statement."

The pair paused as several police cars sped under them. Whatever it was, they knew Klyntarus was involved. 

The spiders swung through the city, unincumbered by traffic and curious bystanders. It seemed as if every cop in the state was on the move, rapidly approaching a single apartment building. Funnily enough, it was the same one where Peter used to live. 

For such a large city, it felt like a tiny world. 

They stopped at the opposing apartment building, peering over, curious. It wasn't the usual affair as Peter couldn't see or feel any villains. However, there was a lingering presence that indicated Klyntarus had been here. He wasn't there now, but it was recent enough for Peter to feel him. 

What Klyntarus couldn't know was that Peter knew this building.

With a quick swing, Peter was on the roof of what he once called home. The rooftop entrance always had a door that never closed; the owner wasn't the type who could be bothered to fix it. 

Peter used to sit on this roof. He would look at the stars, wondering what his purpose was. He still didn't know. 

Taking down the evil snot would be a good start. 

Peter didn't even need to try opening the door as it disintegrated into rusty dust.

"Eso no es bueno."

"For once, I know what you said. Super no bueno." 

"I don't need spider-sense to know something's wrong here. Moreso than usual."

"That's par for the course with this guy."

He hoped everybody that he knew had moved out. It would be very distressing otherwise. 

Miguel jumped past him, practically bouncing off the concrete walls and disappearing below. A little unnecessary, but Peter wasn't going to tell him otherwise. He was close behind, taking advantage of his wall-crawling ability. 

If Peter wanted to get shoulder muscles like his comrade, he needed to do more than wall crawling. 

They perched on the top level, peering down to the ground floor. So far, Peter couldn't see any inhabitants. Everything was too quiet. 

"¿Hueles eso?" Miguel whispered, glowering at door 58. "Fresh blood. Three different scents. Two are... I don't know. It doesn't smell right."

"Then that's where we start," Peter stated, concern twisting in his gut.

That was Peter's apartment. The welcome mat he forgot to take was still there. Even the pepperoni from the last Domino's he got was still stuck in it. 

Miguel jumped over the gap, kicking the door off its hinges. There were no lights inside, but Peter could smell the blood now.

His senses went off, warning him to stay away from there. It wasn't as potent as Klyntarus' presence. However, Peter suspected that the abomination had left something behind. 

Cautiously, Peter stayed close to his friend, eyes narrowed in the pitch dark. It looked like Logan had taken meth and gone on a rampage, or the aftermath of Deadpool's "casual" flings. What used to be Peter's home was a horrific mess of destruction, vandalism and tragedy. 

He'd been here. He was confident. 

Peter opened what used to be his bathroom, finding proof. He felt Miguel scowling behind him as the decaying body of Morbius stared back at them. It lasted surprisingly long, and Peter didn't know if that was a good thing or not. 

"Dios mío, todavía está vivo..."

Peter's senses went wild, panicking as the corpse sat up; it wheezed like a broken vacuum cleaner. 

"He waits..." Morbius croaked, black fluid bursting from his eye sockets. "Always waiting..."

The poor bastard was still alive. Despite being left with Klyntarus for however long, he left him alive. Why? What possible reason would he do that?

How did leaving Morbius alive benefit his endeavour of being cancer?

"Lo siento, chupasangre. Lo haré rápido."

Miguel went past Peter, rearing his fist back. Before Peter could say anything, Miguel dropped his arm like a guillotine, ending Morbius' misery. It was fast but messy, bursting bone and grey matter across the rotting bathroom tiles. 

It was a small mercy as Morbius had laid there for hell knew how long, suffering, waiting to die. 

Klyntarus always acted with a purpose, no matter how twisted and monstrous. 

"You smelled three. Where are the other two?"

"You can wait outside if you'd prefer."

He knew what Miguel meant. He's offering Peter to be absent when he puts the potential victims out of their agony. 

Peter was in too deep to turn away now. 

"Too late for that, buddy."

"No voy a discutir su elección. Take the bedroom, I'll look in the kitchen."

"Sounds good to me. Watch your back, big guy."

"I got you for that."

"Funny."

"Sólo cuando esté cerca de ti, hermosa araña."

One of these days, Peter will know what Miguel says. He'll use that evil green owl if he must. 

Peter walked out of the bathroom, heading to the bedroom. It was small like everything else in the apartment, but in the dark, it felt huge. 

He had walked around this place several times. It shouldn't feel so ominous and alien. He lived here for almost three years!

When Peter's hand grazed the closet-like bedroom door, he froze. His spidey sense demanded that he didn't. 

Someone could be in danger, though. They might be in agony like Morbius was. 

Shivering, Peter opened the door, squinting his eyes as the stench of decay burned his nose. 

"Help me," whimpered somebody. "Help me!"

Damien Diaz, the building janitor. A nice guy who deserved a better paycheck. He sent any money he had to his sick mom in the hospice.

More good people suffer the consequences of others. 

Peter inched towards the sound, his spidey sense on high alert, ordering that he flee. 

The need to help others was far more overpowering. 

"Please, somebody help me!"

The elder Spider paused, suspicious of the noise. It sounded too distant regardless of how close Peter was. He shot a web towards the noise but only heard something clatter to the floor. 

Investigating, Peter found a tape recorder. 

"From brightest day to darkest night, no itsy bitsy spider will escape my sight," came Klyntarus' recorded voice, cackling in Peter's ears. 

Son of a bitch wanted them to come here. He knew that Peter used to live here and set a trap deliberately. 

He dropped the recorder, stepping away. 

Someone started screaming in the room, jumping towards Peter. He quickly lept out of the room, shutting it behind him. Whoever was in that room smashed their head through the wooden door, shrieking like a rabid fox. 

"¡Mierda!"

Peter ducked his head as Miguel punched the snarling, savage monster. Despite shattering its skull, it was still groaning, seeking its demise. 

"He wanted us to come here."

"No shit," his comrade gruffed, irritated. 

"What happened in the kitchen?"

"Half a woman inside of the sink."

"Oh. Terrible. Glad I didn't see that."

The pair froze as gunshots went off. Knowing it was coming from downstairs, they jumped out, using the railings to descend. 

They pounced onto three floors below, landing on the railing.

Miguel managed to dent the metal; he weighed more than Peter did. Unlike Peter, though, Miguel was all muscle. He was so envious of that man's figure. 

Another shot went off, passing through the door and between the Spiders. 

"At least they're a bad shot."

"Eres asquerosamente positivo."

"Yes, I am positive. Thank you. I take that as a great compliment."

Peter kicked the door open, alerting whoever was inside to his presence. 

The elder Spider ducked, avoiding the barrage of bullets, eyes narrowed. He webbed the offending rifles, ripping them out of people's hands. His comrade pounced past him, landing atop a man in makeshift "armour".

He could only imagine how terrifying it was to see a spooky suit full of muscle and nearly seven feet of pure man. He couldn't because, to Peter, he's like a giant puppy. 

A puppy that can rip your throat out. Isn't that most puppies?

"Don't hurt him!" yelled a teenage girl, throwing a chair at Miguel. It shattered when it struck him, not even phasing him. "Get off!"

"Not infected," Miguel stated, getting off the individual. 

Peter knelt beside the man, watching as he sat up. It looked like Kevin, a decent guy who would sit with Peter on the roof and share a beer in depressed silence. 

While Miguel wouldn't trust him, Peter trusted Kevin.

His former neighbour got up as Miguel backed off, glancing at his leg. It had a makeshift bandage made from curtains around it. 

"Everyone else is dead," Kevin panted, rubbing his sore chest. "Since when was there another Spiderman?"

"You're from another universe," the teenager realised, looking confused and astonished. "How'd you get here?"

"Genocidal space snot. You?"

"Demons."

Oh, that sucks. 

Peter felt a shiver run down his spine, an alert of danger. He shot his web onto the girl, bringing her to the floor as gunfire shattered the window. A helicopter was outside, but it wasn't police. 

Kevin grabbed a string of web to pull a rifle to his hands, gripping it anxiously.

He turned to the window, firing.

Peter quickly turned to the door, feeling something coming. It's a roar, a wave of rabid anger like the things from his old apartment. They're coming and fast, inhumanly so. 

The roars were getting closer, scrambling up the steps, shrieking. 

Unlike the mindless remnants of his old neighbours, Peter knew this building. 

"I promised to get you to Doctor Strange," Kevin said, holding the teen girl's shoulders tightly. "Spiderman, I need you to get her to Doctor Strange."

"No! You're going with me!"

"I'm taking you both," Peter stated, refusing to let anybody else die. 

"I'm sorry, but someone has to help the people still here. They're dead, but they aren't at peace. They were my friends - some were like family - I owe them that much."

When Peter went to web them both, Miguel held his other wrist, keeping him from doing so. Only the girl was restrained by his webbing, leaving Kevin free. 

Kevin nodded in understanding, silently thanking the taller Spider. He had tears in his eyes with a faint black tint on the left.

The torn curtain wrapped around his leg made more sense. 

He wasn't going to leave the building alive. 

Another face to add to the portrait of guilt and anger at Peter's constant failure. 

Another doomed soul ravaged by a monster. 

The girl kicked and cried, desperate for Kevin to go with her. 

Miguel went out the window first, landing on the asshole that shot at them. Although Peter couldn't see it, he knew those people wouldn't have a good time. His comrade was ruthlessly efficient. 

It gave Peter the opening to flee, though the thought of abandoning Kevin to a hoard didn't sit right. He deserved a better fate, but what could Peter do? He didn't have a cure for whatever means Klyntarus infected people.

The fact that Kevin said everybody else was dead weighed on his soul. There were children in that building. 

Darcy Lanes had recently had a baby when he left, a sweet boy named Julian. He barely made a peep, a happy boy with bright brown eyes and shining black hair. Knowing that baby was probably a rabid imitation of the person he once was, who he could've been, angered Peter. 

Klyntarus did it all on purpose. The only thing he doubted that Klyntarus planned was this mystery girl. She must've thrown a wrench in his disgustingly well-oiled machine. 

Peter would go to Doctor Strange and fulfil Kevin's wish. They wouldn't do it today, though. He didn't have the strength to cope with Stephen's weird magic. 

He made it to the sewers quickly. What he wanted now was answers from this other-verse girl. Why wasn't she glitching out?

As soon as he untied her, she tried to kick him. She only succeeded in spraining her ankle. 

"You left him!" she cried, deeply upset. "You just left him to die!"

"He was infected," Peter sighed, kneeling beside the teen. "I'm sorry, kid. There's nothing we could've done. There isn't a cure for what infected him."

She curled in on herself, hiding her dark eyes in her knees. 

"Everyone around me dies..."

"I know the feeling," Peter concurred, removing his mask. "What's your name?"

"America. America Chavez."

"I'm Peter Parker. My friend is Miguel O'Hara. You guessed right, he's from another universe, and so is the monster that infected Kevin. He's called Klyntarus."

The girl froze, recognising the name. That saved Peter from having to explain anything.

"He's here?" she squeaked, horrified. 

Klyntarus has some reputation out there, huh?

"Yeah. Miguel and I are professional pains in his goopy backside. We'll get you to Stephen, and in the meantime, we'll scare any demons away." 

America wiped her eyes, trying to put on a brave face. She was still a kid, and it broke his heart to see her so distraught. 

"You look like a hobo."

Charming.

"I get that a lot," he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It's hard, though. "I am sorry, America. For everything that's happening. It'll get worse, too."

"I heard stories about him. They say he eats entire universes, how he rots everything - he melts you from the inside out."

"Yeah, it's true. I've seen it. We'll do everything we can so you never see him, alright? We'll send you on your way to wherever you're going."

"I'm looking for my moms."

"That's sweet. Could you tell me about them?"

"Why'd you wanna know?"

"I'm a good listener. Sometimes it's good to talk to somebody about things. Y'know?"

He did listen. 

The poor kid had an insane superpower, but the first time, it sent both moms somewhere random. She's been running, searching for them, desperate for her family. To make matters worse, demons had started hunting her two weeks ago. It was terrifying.

He'd be enraged if something like that was happening to Miles. 

Gods above, Peter was terrified for that poor boy. He was scared for him, Gwen, and all the other Spiders he called friends. 

How is he going to be a father like this? He felt like a piece of useless shit when faced with the atrocity of his actions. 

Everything was Peter's fault. 

While America was finding somewhere to situate herself, Peter was on the web, trying to hold it together. He was failing horribly. 

There are people out there now dying horrifically to that monster. He wanted to rip his heart out and crush it. 

He was so caught up in counting the faces now lost to time that he didn't even notice the weight change on the web. 

Fear spiked in his chest, and Peter's arm acted without him, aiming to strike at whatever was close. His arm got caught by large and careful hands, the warmth promising to snatch away the growing coldness.  

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Peter questioned, wishing the other Spider hadn't let go. 

"That was your apartment building. He attacked it on purpose."

"Yeah. I'm not feeling great about it."

Miguel sat next to him, visibly awkward and unsure. When it came to communicating, he was also terrible.  

"Peter. This is going to sound stupid coming from me. Don't blame yourself."

"I'm literally at fault for all of this."

"That guilt fills you with so much lead that you can't swim out of the darkness surrounding you. It will drown you. You'll end up a miserable fucker like me." 

"You're traumatised without support, but the swimming analogy was nice." 

"And you're being traumatised but not acknowledging it."

Peter's got lots of trauma from the crazy shit in his life. 

He had somebody for that, though. When it came to Klyntarus, all he had who truly understood was Miguel. 

"How about a deal? If one of us is drowning, the other drags them out."

"Sounds like what you've been doing for me already, vieja araña."

Why did his voice do such weird things to him?

He wasn't wrong, though. 

"Spiders stick together, right?" Peter sighed, holding out his fist to the taller man. He awkwardly hit back, making Peter giggle. "Have you never done a fist bump? Seriously?"

"Keep that up, and I won't make enchiladas," Miguel teased, striking false fear in Peter's heart. 

"Shutting up!"

"Get a room!" America yelled, not that either understood what she meant. 

His close friend was dead asleep on the web. A few feet away on a makeshift hammock, America was asleep, too. She was using a coat given by Kevin as a blanket. She couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen, only a child. 

Peter would be dead asleep, too, but his senses demanded otherwise. Someone was coming. The only relief was that it wasn't Klyntarus. 

The elder Spider carefully hopped off the web, landing with barely a sound. He cautiously exited their current base, spotting an annoyingly familiar face.

He wasn't in the mood for this.

"How'd you find me?" Peter questioned, crossing his arms and leaning against the damp bricks. 

"I've been following you, twinkle dick. The bright red and blue ain't hard to track, bub."

"How about you go back to the house of hypocrisy," Peter said, uninterested in Logan's bullshit. 

The shorter X-man put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes. 

"Don't be like that, Peter."

"Like what? Like a decent living being with a little thing called empathy? You, of all people, should know what being a lab rat does to somebody." 

It stung Logan; he could see it. It should sting, too. Nothing about what Beast was doing was ok. 

If Logan intended to take them back to Professor Xavier, he would find out how strong Spiderman was. He wouldn't hold back for once in his life. 

"That was different."

"Yeah, Scott said something similar."

Seriously, Scott could suck on a pinecone for that. 

"No wonder he was so upset when you two skittered off," Logan said, tossing something to Peter. "Name's being worked on, but Jubilee's dubbed it the "Toxinade". Sounds like a fucking Pokemon."

Something to cause lasting damage. He was grateful, but Peter didn't appreciate how it was created. 

Too many people are treated like toys. It's not right, and he won't tolerate it. 

"Why do you care, Logan?"

"I'm fucking furious about Matt and Cage - I want to turn this sludge into a personal lava lamp - but you're still my friend, dumbass. You're a good guy, Peter, and there aren't many left. I think your spider squeeze realised that too."

What did he mean by "squeeze"?

If it was for alliteration points, he failed. 

"It's a sad day when you're the reasonable one."

"I'll fix that. I called Wade."

"You better not have!"

"Too late. The lunatic is on his way after spending the week irritating Taskmaster and Fury. Speaking of, Fury's pissed. He wants Klyntarus for the wrong reasons, though."

"Is there a good reason?"

"Fair point, I'll give you that - Don't forget I've got your back, even if it's pressed against that big vampiric Hispanic."

"Latino," Peter corrected.

"I don't fucking know. As soon as I learn a label, it's been changed fifty times over."

"No, that's been around for a while. You'd know if the neck of a bottle wasn't kissing your tonsils."

"Funny."

"I'm here all week."

"Fuck you too, Parker."

He doesn't want to deal with Deadpool.

He didn't want Nick Fury, either. 

Miguel was right. They were better off alone. It's becoming frustrating how often he's right, except concerning himself. 

Peter seriously needed to listen more. 

Chapter Text

It turns out that America speaks Spanish. 

All Peter could do was watch as Miguel and America yelled at each other. They were speaking so fast that Peter barely picked up a word or maybe a phrase. They were verbally sparring, and he was a helpless bystander.

At least he had some coffee. 

"¡No te atrevas a sermonearme sobre las consecuencias!" Miguel spat, almost hissing at the teen girl. "¡Los Illuminati y la TVA pueden atragantarse con mis pelotas!"

"Hay normas. No puedes ignorarlas porque te dé la gana," America shot back, but it only annoyed Miguel more.

"El canon y el nexo son sólo una teoría. Aún no hay pruebas absolutas de ellos, y un adolescente no me va a decir lo contrario."

"I've been travelling the multiverse for ten years!" America yelled, distressed. "¡Sé más de lo que tú podrías saber!"

"Falling through holes every time you get the spooks doesn't mean you understand squat, kid."

"¡Que te jodan!"

"¡Muérdeme!"

"Alright, that's enough, kids," Peter sighed, hopping between the pair. "Did you say Illuminati?"

"Universe 838. Pretentious fuckers," Miguel elaborated, though that didn't clear anything for Peter. "They tried stopping me from making the Spider Society. Emphasis on tried." 

"You have no idea how dangerous that is!" America argued, but Miguel merely rolled his eyes at her. 

"What's dangerous is a gaggle of holes in the multiverse sending the wrong people to the wrong place, which is how I suspect you ended up here since you didn't use your powers - according to Parker, at least - we put people back where they belong. Wow, right? It's almost as if I know what I'm fucking talking about." 

He hated multiverse problems. These two had too much experience with it.

Even Peter's experience felt like nothing compared to theirs. 

There's America; she has the power to go anywhere but can't control it. Then there's Miguel, who built a device to send him anywhere he wants. As soon as it's fixed, he can go - Peter didn't like that idea, weirdly - and the rest of his Spider Society can kick Klyntarus' ass. 

Sighing, he clapped his hands.

"We're going stop fighting and agree that I know nothing about the universe and cannot comment on it. Alright?"

"¿Tregua?" America offered.

"Truce," Miguel agreed. 

Excellent. They've stopped fighting. They agree on something, which is a plus. 

Honestly, Peter needed to understand the intricacies of the multiverse. 

"No es culpa mía que estés hecho un Dorito."

"Eso es mucho viniendo de un chihuahua." 

Peter understood what the last two words meant.

Their bickering degraded or upgraded to teasing; Peter couldn't tell which was worse. She was determined to win against Miguel, but the other wasn't willing to let her have that victory. 

It's like a game, but with no clear winner. At least it distracted the two from their harrowing life. Compared to them, Peter didn't have anything to complain about. 

There's America, who lost her parents the moment her ability activated and left to search the multiverse for them - they might be dead, which is unfortunately probable. 

Jesus fucking Christ, there isn't any time to explain what Miguel's got going on. The sheer amount of trauma in that man was horrifying. 

Peter should feel terrible for the man. It was weird how much he didn't. Sure, Peter felt bad; who wouldn't? There's more than that, however. 

People have broken from far less. He once had a coworker at the Daily Bugle that woke up to a cockroach on their arm and was almost catatonic. She never would've withstood that. Hell, Peter wouldn't survive enduring losing his child's life. 

The mere thought of that terrified him.

It isn't any pity that Peter felt. Was it respect? Possibly. Perhaps even admiration for still getting up and fighting despite the huge scars left behind. 

"Can I ask you something?"

America looked between him and Peter, putting together pieces that Peter couldn't see.

She trailed behind them, giving a little space, though he didn't know why. 

"Sure?"

"Despite everything, how're you still going? It can't all be from spite and revenge."

"I made a promise to my ma and my daughter. I vowed that even if only a little, their loss had a twisted, evil, fucked up purpose. Better than nothing at all. A meaningless death is suffocating."

"Say he dies. What do you have after that?"

"I don't."

"Not even the Spider Society? Aren't you in charge of it?"

"It's not supposed to have a single leader, but I'm currently the "defacto" since it's my place. It's supposed to run without me. Still working on organisation. Spiders are chaotic." 

"What? You kill him, then you just... what?"

"I'm destroying every last piece of him."

"But you're..."

"Yes. Nothing of him will be left to infect the multiverse."

Miguel hated himself that much? 

He believed the conviction and determination in his rumbling voice. It was easy to see why other Spiders wanted to follow Miguel, despite his social blindness. 

Peter didn't want him gone. Even though he had to go home eventually, he didn't have anybody. 

That's not a life anybody should live. 

"What if you didn't?"

"I don't understand."

"I don't want you to die. I mean... I know we'll die eventually, but not like that. Living beyond him is a lot more insulting."

Even with the sunglasses, Peter could feel those rosey-brown eyes staring into him, reaching his wrinkled soul. 

While he knew that America was awkwardly behind them, it was as though she was invisible. All he could see was a lost man that needed someone. He needed to know he wasn't loathed or despised for what he was.

He's a person, an equal. Everyone didn't feel the same way, leaving emotional wounds that needed healing. 

If Peter and MJ were the only ones willing to make a start, so be it. 

They stopped outside Strange's emporium, a little over the top and obnoxious, particularly the fancy window. It's always looked terrible.

Tingle-tingle.

Those are bad tingles. 

Peter acted without thinking, webbing America against the wall as he dragged himself and his buddy to the ground. 

He didn't mean to end up against his friend's chest, effectively sandwiching him with the ground. Despite being built like a brick wall, he was surprisingly soft.

It had knocked off his sunglasses, letting Peter see those wide, bright mahogany eyes. 

Huh. He never noticed how Miguel had freckles over his nose and cheekbones. Cute.

"Demon!" America cried, startling the spiders. 

The Spiders scrambled to their feet, looking at the demon. It certainly fits that name. What the actual fuck was that?

The body was centaur-like, but it was so wrong. It shouldn't have reptilian feet, a whip-like tail with a scythe tail and a gnarly-looking "human" part. The head was like a crab's claw with a smaller humanoid face. 

So, that's what America meant by demons. Horrifying. 

"¡Ese es un asqueroso hijo de puta!"

"I've got the head. Go for the legs!"

"¡Que no te coman!" Miguel nodded, his suit covering him in a nanosecond.

"America, get to Strange, now!" Peter ordered, jumping up the wall and waving to the monster. "Hey! Fugly furry! Come get me!"

The monster roared, their yellow gaze fixated on America. When she said that demons were after her, she was being way too literal. 

Peter pounced, landing on the creature's back. They began bucking, trying to throw Peter off, but he stuck tight. He wasn't about to let this weird demon kill a kid. 

He wasn't a sports guy and had never watched the rodeo before, but this must be close. Despite their frantic scrambling to get him off, Peter crawled to the torso, admittedly uncertain. He can web the eyes, blinding them, and then trap them.

It's not the greatest of plans, but it's better than nothing. 

When he reached the other back of the monster, he heard them yowl, stamping their freaky feet at something. He could only presume it was Miguel, possibly trying to break the legs. Do demons even have bones? He'd have to ask Strange. 

Once Peter had reached the summit of the moving mountain, he peeked over, finding those beady yellow eyes. 

"Could you stay still for a second?" Peter asked, webbing one of the eyes. "Gimme a minute-Oh, no!"

The demon had grabbed his leg and wasn't kind about it, ripping Peter off their face. 

While it snarled, clawing at the webbing and blinding it, the demon suddenly dropped forwards. It loosened the grip keeping Peter captive, allowing him to hop away. His leg hurt like hell; he might even have a fracture from how hard it held holding him.

Miguel had its legs wrapped in glowing orange silk and pulled from behind, putting those impressive muscles to good use. 

Getting an idea, Peter webbed the back legs, pulling oppositely. With the lower half writhing for freedom, the upper part tore the webs from their eyes. They searched for America, fixated on their mission.

He didn't know if the demon had pronouns or anything; calling them an "it" felt mean. 

All life had meaning, even if it was a demon from another world or realm.

"Haven't seen one of these in a while." Stephen Strange - the sorcerer supreme weirdo - stood beside Peter, drinking a coffee. "Takes a lot to summon one. So much Himalayan salt. And caramel, weirdly."

"¡Mátalo ya!"

"You must be the outsider that followed the universal parasite. Nice to meet you too."

"Strange, could you please take care of this thing?"

"The Agamar? Very well. You'll need to make me a coffee, though."

He doesn't like wizards. 

Stephen did the goofy circle thing with his hands, conjuring white rings of magic. Spooky symbols appeared around the demon, quickly branding themselves onto their body. Mystical chains wrapped around their wrists and pulled downwards, sinking them into some ominous portal. 

The spiders let go, keeping their distance from the freaky magic. 

They watched as the demon was sent away, possibly to hell or new jersey; it was hard to know which was more miserable. 

While Strange was walking away, unphased, Peter turned away from the roaring mass of hellish anger. He was distracted, watching the wizard leave. His tingles went off, but Miguel was faster. 

He'd forgotten the demon's tail. 

Peter didn't realise he was flat on his back with scratches in his suit before the tingles slapped him in the face. 

He lept to his feet, ignoring the thin trails of blood seeping through his suit. It's easy to deduce that his fellow arachnid had pushed him away from the demon's tail, but given he had no regard for himself...

As Stephen stood there, mildly observing, Peter followed the blood splattered on the road. He didn't care to watch the rest of the now-cackling demon get plunged into purgatory. 

Miguel was against a wall, partially in an alleyway, his suit glitching and trying to repair itself. 

"Eso duele mucho..." he grumbled, the eye patterning widening as he saw Peter. "You good?"

"Miguel O'Hara, if you weren't bleeding out, I would slap you."

"Got your back, mi araña," his friend sighed, reaching out to feel the scratches in Peter's suit. "Mierda. Sorry."

"It's fine. Come on, big guy; let's fix you up. Again."

"I'm good. I'll be right with you. Just need a minute."

"You're not healing out here alone, doofus. And I'm not giving you a choice."

Peter shifted the three-hundred-pound man to his feet, holding his arm over Peter's shoulders. Instinctively, Miguel gripped his side, red fluid leaking through his fingers. 

Although Stephen could help, he decided not to, watching with an irritating coldness. 

They followed behind Strange, entering the sanctum. The place was like an old haunted house with spooky shelves and flying books. He didn't like any of it.

Young America ran to them, distressed and worried. She tried to help Peter with Miguel, but it was awkward for her, given how big he was. The man was a giant. 

Still, Stephen wouldn't help. 

"¿Por qué eres tan grande?" America huffed, helping Peter get him to one of Stephen's sofas. It must be for meetings or reading, not a makeshift gurney. 

With care, Peter and America got Miguel onto the couch. 

"I'll need a new couch," Stephen said, watching from afar, sipping his coffee. "Here. Fix him," he added, waving his hands to make a box appear.

It opened, showing medical supplies with vaguely magical energy to them. 

It's better than nothing.

"Alright, close your eyes - it's a bit bright in here," Peter warned, reaching for the back of his neck.

The suit vanished, causing trapped blood to drop and fall onto the couch and floor, staining Peter's shoes. 

His ribs are caved in, cut, and Peter swore he could see Miguel's heart moving. Much of his lung was destroyed, almost cleaved from his insides. How he wasn't screaming like a baby, Peter couldn't fathom.

He's probably so used to pain that he can hide it so well.

America, however, wasn't desensitised to such gore. She cried, turning away quickly, dry heaving. 

"¡Débil!" Miguel teased, grunting as Peter started to try stitching the shallow wounds. 

"¡Estás loco!" America yelled, whimpering as he pulled the eviscerated lung out. "¡Te odio!"

Annoyed, Stephen stopped being a piece of furniture and started moving. 

Peter backed away as the needle and threat began to stitch alone, hovering in white light. It wasn't gentle like Peter tried to be. 

Like before, Peter can see him healing. It's so eerie and horrifying. 

"I'll speed this up. I don't want viscera all over my floor," Stephan said, beginning a spell.

"Leave him to sleep it off. Don't meddle with someone's healing factor."

Stephen looked at him, showing irritation, but Peter wasn't budging. He wouldn't let someone mess with Miguel's body; enough people have done that. 

While the wizard was annoyed, he didn't care enough about Miguel to argue. 

His friend's shirt was ruined; he needed a new one. While seeing him hurt was disgusting, Peter couldn't deny how good his body looked. It made him feel gross; he was overweight but lanky. He doesn't look strong at all. 

Although he's awake, seeing his eyes closed felt strangely impactful to Peter. Why?

Could it be because Miguel trusted him, given he had no spidey sense? Possibly.

"I don't need to sleep," Miguel sighed as Stephen started using his magic to remove the bloody mess. "Need to go."

"After you've healed up, we'll go. If my tingle goes off, I'll get you up."

"I hate it when you call it that."

"Too bad. It's my tingle!"

He didn't understand what was weird about calling his spidey sense a tingle. 

"While I don't enjoy having guests, you're somewhat necessary to have here," Strange grumbled, very unhappy. "There's a lot to discuss."

"About the demons chasing America or the genocidal goop?" Peter questioned, irritated by both situations. Although he could move, he wanted to stick with his friend. "It's a messy story for both."

"I already know about America and Klyntarus. I wasn't expecting to ever share a dimension with them, but here we are," Stephen shrugged, waving his hands around to form a ring in the air. 

It showed an image that looked to be from a book, the picture of a girl with a star behind her. It had America's attention, fascinating and confusing her. 

He created a second ring, showing a writhing black mass with red eyes; Peter's too familiar with that revolting image. It filled him with more anger than he was used to. 

That thing has caused so much misery and strife. Countless suffered because of his evil. 

"Why is there a picture of me and him?" America asked, frightened by Klyntarus' image. "Why do they look like they're from the same place?"

She was right. The foxing on the paper, the artistic style and the ink betrayed that they shared a scroll, book or author. Why?

What did some teenage girl have to do with an abomination such as Klyntarus?

"These are taken from the Darkhold. America is from a pocket dimension outside the multiverse, and Klyntarus has similar origins. There is only one of each in existence," Stephen explained, glancing at Miguel. "For America, someone with a Darkhold has discovered her. As the Agamar didn't kill her, its mission was to capture her. It's most likely that the one hunting her wants to take her power for themselves." 

Although Peter's never heard of a Darkhold, Miguel had. He didn't like how his friend cringed at the name. 

"What's a Darkhold?" America asked, a little lost. 

Thank hell, Peter isn't the only one. 

Part of him felt terribly for her. While there are many Spiders out there, America was alone. She had nobody who could train or empathise with her unique struggles. It wasn't fair on the poor kid. 

"An evil book. It was written by a demon with nothing better to do. Anybody that reads the damn thing is cursed. Klyntarus used to have one until I ripped it apart," Miguel explained, partly for Peter's sake. 

Super-mega-duper evil book. Great.

What name is the "Darkhold"? It's like naming a magical evil wardrobe the "Blackbox". No imagination.

As Stephen is only showing pictures, they should be fine. Right?

"And you're still alive?" Stephen questioned, fascinated. 

Peter hated it when people had that look. Whenever someone had that gaze, it never ended well for his friend. 

"I heal quickly."

He shouldn't say that like it's good. It's not. 

The idea of his friend dying frightened him more than it should. The fact he wanted to die didn't make it better, either. 

"What does this mean when it comes to our main problem?" Peter asked, changing the subject.

"If Klyntarus got America, he could travel anywhere unencumbered, much like the one sending demons after her. While Miguel can reject him, she cannot." 

They keep her away from Klyntarus. They can do that. 

"That's super bad, but it doesn't help them with the evil snot," America said, furthering Strange's irritation. He did not like people. "There has to be something to stop him once and for all."

"There's not much I can do for you there. Any sorcery I know would at best cripple him, but not enough to stop him."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Miguel growled, shifting himself up. Although Peter tried to keep him down, he was determined. "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

"What would that be?"

"Book of Vishanti. I know where you can get one."

Whatever that book was, Stephen wanted it. It's the first time Peter saw "genuine" anything in the odd sorcerer. 

What library holds these freaky books?

"The Book of Vishanti, the antithesis to the Darkhold," Strange elaborated. "It's considered a fairytale to all but a select few. And you know where one is?"

"One of my spiders is a sorcerer supreme. She showed where it was in case of a Darkhold anomaly. I can tell you where, but you've got to help us."

"Even though the book likely has the answers to save America?"

"With you and the book, we can get rid of Klyntarus," America argued, siding with the Spiders. "I've only heard stories about how monstrous he is. You can't deny that he needs to be stopped. Not only for me but for everybody."

Begrudgingly, Stephen sighed, waving the images away. 

He shook his head, probably wanting to kick all of them. 

"Fine. I'll help you. Try not killing yourself before then," he sneered, pointing at Miguel. "You're far too eager for that."

For once, Peter agreed. 

He's working on it. 

"Can they stay here?" America asked, annoying Stephen even more.

"Only because he knows where the book is. Wong's old room is down the hall. She won't mind; she doesn't visit anymore. That's all."

"Eres más gilipollas insufrible que yo," Miguel grumbled, forced to keep those sensitive eyes closed. "Eso es casi impresionante."

Dammit, Peter will need to find new sunglasses. 

Strange also knew Spanish, leaving Peter the only monolingual. Partly.

He knew Hebrew/Yiddish, but he couldn't speak it well. 

"Ella es importante. Él es útil. Tú no eres nada - Eres tan peligroso como él. Cuanto antes mueras, más seguros estaremos."

Peter didn't know what that meant, but he could feel an insult. 

"¡No puedes decirle eso a alguien!" America argued, distressed by Strange's words.

"Aceptó su destino. Tú también deberías hacerlo."

All Peter had to go off was America's frustration and the faint, defeated way Miguel lowered his shoulders. That was enough, however. 

Peter merely brought Miguel's arm over his shoulder and walked away. He wasn't going to talk to that overrated magician. 

They would return to the web and focus on taking down Klyntarus.

He followed Stephen's instructions but wouldn't leave his friend there. He wasn't making that mistake. 

Once they reached the room, Peter entered, helping his friend towards a stale untouched bed.

Wong must've left a long time ago. 

Getting his friend to the dusty bed wasn't difficult, but it forced Peter to check the wound. While he was annoyed that Miguel pushed him away, he knew that level of injury would've killed Peter.

He wouldn't have survived that. However, thanks to this misused healing factor, he could. 

Whatever Stephen had said affected him. He had rolled on his side, back facing Peter and trying to look small. That's hard, given how large he was, but Peter understood. 

How often had Peter curled up when his emotions hurt more than his physical body?

"Remember our deal, big guy. Can't pull you out if you don't offer a hand," Peter said, looking at the man's broad back. 

"It was just the truth."

A mere insult wouldn't have done this. He must've preyed on Miguel's insecurity about himself.

"We've got different definitions of what that is."

"The sooner I die, the safer everyone will be."

"If you died, Miguel, we'd be more fucked than we already are," Peter stated, lightly patting the taller man's shoulder. "And I would be deprived of a good but annoying friend."

Miguel shifted, looking over his shoulder at Peter. The glowing burgundy peered deep into his soul.

At first, he thought they were similar, but it's the opposite. While Klyntarus' eyes are of death, Miguel's are of life. Beautiful.

It's a colour he could stare at for hours. 

"You've barely known me a week."

"We're spiders. The moment we're bit, or in your case, born, we're meant to be buds. It's the law."

He loved the brief flash of confusion. 

"I don't think that's a law."

"It is. I'm making it a law. It's now forever written in the code of the matrix."

Peter moved back, allowing the titan of a man to turn around, looking at him.

Despite everything happening around them, these moments make it much less terrifying. It was only them or him and MJ, and it was safe.

"What is that?"

"You've never seen the matrix? Damn, now I do pity yo-ow!" Miguel playfully hit his arm, and Peter feigned injury. "I've been wounded. I will never recover!"

As Peter pretended to faint, he fell off the bed, legs high in the air. 

There are better ways to look like an idiot. 

He could feel his fat, and it disgusted him. 

Those molten rubies peered down at him, curious and amused.

"Do you need help, mi araña? Or are you too wounded?"

"More like I'm too old."

"I don't think you're old. You're just... older than me. Elder?"

"Elder is worse, thank you. That makes me sound like I need a walker," Peter sighed, climbing back onto the bed. His buddy shuffled backwards, giving him space. "You need a new shirt."

"Sorry about your suit."

He'd forgotten about the scratch marks. 

"Compared to what could've happened, a few nicks are fine," he shrugged, gently taking his friend's hand. His nervousness brought out those powerful claws. "These? These are cool." 

"They hurt you," he tried to pull his hand away, but Peter's light hold kept him still. "They hurt everyone."

It felt like Miguel wasn't talking about his claws. 

Damn, what did Stephen say to him?

"You called me a good man, even though I've fucked up. Now it's my turn. You're a good guy, Miguel. Despite all this crap, you still save people." 

"That's what Spiderman would do."

"It's what we do," he sighed, gently locking his fingers with Miguel's. "Huh. Look at that. No hurt there."

There's so much body dysphoria and low self-esteem over his body. Little by little, Peter wants to change that. 

Everything from those burgundy eyes, claws, and even his fangs, was integral to Miguel. They were as in place as arms or legs. They belonged to him. 

Spiders stay together, even if they look a little different. 

"You're weird."

"Me? The guy that can crawl on the ceiling? No. Whatever could make me weird?"

"You're not scared of me."

"What's there to be scared of? Other than you hurting yourself to help others. Let me see how it's healing, big man."

"I'm nearly thirty."

"And? Someone's got to take care of you, buddy. I'm nearly forty, and I need support. Seems like me and MJ are all you've got."

His friend needed somebody. That's what friends are for. 

Miguel pulled the rest of the shirt off, allowing Peter to check the wound. The magic stitches strained against the movement; it was done poorly and with little consideration for him. It was still leaking blood, but thankfully not as profusely as before. 

Even with the stitches, it would take a while to heal. 

It begged the question. How bad were his other injuries for them to scar when others didn't? 

"Could you stay?" his friend asked, sounding awkward and anxious. "I don't trust Strange."

"I'm not too fond of him, either," Peter agreed, patting his shoulder so he could lower his arm. "I'll stay right here, pal. I'll be messaging MJ, letting her know that we're fine. You nap and get healed up."

Using Stark's money, they'll get him a new shirt and sunglasses. He desperately needed those.

Peter should stock up on sunglasses for Miguel; he must protect his eyes. 

It is a shame that it keeps Peter from seeing them, though. He's seen red eyes before, but something about Miguel's was magnetising. They would change in intensity depending on his mood. He had mood rings for eyes!

He hopped onto the wall, sitting and looking at his cracked phone. There were some messages to read. 

"You remind me of my ma," his friend said quietly, flat on his back. "She was nice. Like you." 

"Do you want to tell me about her?"

"She's gone. She's been gone for a while. But she always thought the best of me, even when she shouldn't have." 

"What was her name?"

"Iris. A lot of folks called her Rio. She showed me how to speak, cook, read, all kinds of things - I only had her from twelve to seventeen, but they were the best five years of my life."

That short?

It felt like it would've been longer. He admired her so much and seemed almost happy at remembering her. 

"Can I ask why?"

"Tyler, the sperm donor and ex-partner of that goopy bastard, thought he'd conditioned me enough to kill her and her children. I hadn't been outside the lab before, but the arrogant idiot sent me to Mexico. Even though I'm a monster, she took me in."

He was to kill his family at only twelve after being isolated for most of his life. It was implied he didn't even know how to read before then. 

Why would Klyntarus waste time teaching his "perfect body" anything? 

He wasn't with her long, but Iris sounded incredible. She didn't have to adopt him, to invite him into her family and show him how to live. She connected him to his heritage and the outside world, free from his father and creator's cruelty. 

Twelve. 

"I'm glad you had her. Even if it was only for a little while."

When Peter was twelve, he was scared of Uncle Ben and Aunt May discovering the raccoon he had living in his closet. He was waiting for an episode of Star Trek or rewatching Star Wars. He cried when Firefly got cancelled. 

"Yeah, so am I. I looked to her as a role model for Gabrielle."

His daughter. A little girl, a child, who died to Klyntarus' evil. 

"Who was her mom?"

"She didn't have one," he answered. The silence requested more elaboration. "She was a failed clone of me, mi araña. I've never done anything like that. I can't get close enough to anybody. It's not like there's anything to look at, either."

"I'm not so sure about the last part."

"How do you mean?" Miguel questioned, genuinely confused.

His molten rubies burned into Peter's eyes, seeking an explanation. 

"You look good. Y'know, you're in good shape, symmetrical face, decent hair and great eyes."

"My eyes are disgusting. They're like his."

"No. They're yours. I'll admit, they looked similar at first, but yours have more brown. You're burgundy, and he's vermillion. It's a lot prettier."

It's equally heartwarming and sad to see how that explanation stunned the other Spider. Had nobody told him that before? That his eyes were beautiful?

He got to feel like a good man when boosting his friend's self-esteem, even if only a little. 

"See you when I wake up?"

"Yeah, see you in a bit, buddy. We can get some cheese after."

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Something's going on here. Logan's moving me.]

[Me: What? What do you mean?? :( ]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: I don't know! I asked Logan, but he won't answer. Kurt and Rogue are with us. I don't know what happened, but I think there was a fight between him and Charles.]

That's not good news. 

Peter lowered himself from the ceiling, sitting beside his dead-asleep friend. It barely made him shift.

[Me: Kurt? Nightcrawler? I thought he was in Washington?]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: I think Rogue called him.]

[Me: Can I ask you to translate something for me? Kurt knows Spanish, doesn't he?]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Oh! I can try. Why? Did Miguel say something?]

[Me: No. We're "cooperating" with Strange, and he said something that upset Miguel.] 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Do I need to bring my bat?]

[Me: No. Wait, why do you have a bat?]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Logan gave it to me. If something happens, I'm going down swinging! And I played baseball in high school.]

It's 50/50 whether their child becomes a nerd or a jock. 

[Me: Please don't. Anyway, what he said sounded like "Ella is important-ey. El is ootill. Two no eris nada. Eris tan peligroso como elle. Kuanto antez mooraz. Mass seguros esteramos."]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Gimme a minute, pretty boy.]

Peter waited, turning his attention back to Miguel. 

He looked almost peaceful like this, able to rest and recover without fear of others. It let Peter examine his features without stress. 

When he wasn't angry, depressed or stressed, he appeared more like his age. It's weird to remember that he's not even thirty. 

His phone buzzed, making his friend grunt and hide that pretty face in the old pillow. 

Dammit. 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Hallo, Peter! Is Kurt! Your friend is mean!]

He already knew that. 

[Me: Strange isn't my friend, lol. What did he say exactly? Because Miguel won't tell me.]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: She's important. He is useful. You are nothing - you are as dangerous as he is. The sooner you die, the safer we'll be - Ja, he's very mean. I'm giving back to MJ. Bis bald, mein Freund!.]

Miguel had told Peter what he said. 

Fucking christ. Why would you say that to somebody? No wonder America was so angry about it. 

He's far from nothing, and Peter would prove it as often as possible. 

Peter will have words with that magic dickhead. Nobody gets to talk to his friend like that. 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Why would anybody say that!? :( ]

[Me: I know. It doesn't help his negative self-esteem.]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: How is he? Has he talked about anything?]

[Me: He told me about his ma, which was sweet. I remind him of her. I take that as a compliment.]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: You'll be a great father, Peter.]

[Me: I'm glad you believe in me. I'm feeling down as late. Everything's so messed up, MJ, and it's my fault.]

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: Peter Benjamin Parker, you aren't responsible for the actions of others. You did what you do best; you saved someone who needed it. You're a good man. I won't accept otherwise.]

She always tried to lift Peter, even when he didn't feel the same.

He is responsible. He got his friends killed. 

Peter didn't deserve MJ. He never had. 

[Maybe-Baby-Jay: My phone's going to die. Please look after yourself, Peter. And take care of him, too.]

[Me: I will. I promise, MJ.]

He put his phone down, rubbing his eyes. 

He didn't intentionally fall asleep, but he hadn't slept on a bed in ages. Even though the web was surprisingly comforting, it wasn't as good as a bed. 

For a brief moment, after Peter woke up, he forgot that he wasn't alone. There was a giant sleeping next to him.

Surprisingly, Miguel didn't wake up from Peter's stink. 

Peter needed to get his suit cleaned up. Or a new one entirely. They can pick it up from the house. They needed a shower, too. 

He hated being gross and dirty. 

The elder Spider got out of bed, checking his phone for possible messages. He saw a text from Logan, which was weird. He hated using phones - it's also because he always broke them.

[Logan: Don't know what MJ told you, but shit's gone to shit. Get your ass underground and keep your vamp in his coffin. It's going to get wild, fast. I'll bring a beer because it'll be a lot, bub.]

Oh, fuck. 

Peter gently patted Miguel's shoulder, encouraging him to wake up.

A tired burgundy eye peeked at him, adorably groggy. 

"We're going. Let's get some clothes and food. We need to go back to the web."

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. 

"Don't know. MJ and Logan said that something was going down, and it was bad. Also, I got them to translate what Strange said to you."

"S'fine..."

"It's not, Miguel. You don't deserve that treatment; you've done nothing to earn it. So what if you're part symbiote? That's bullshit. The quality in a person matters, not their genetic makeup." 

"You think I have good quality?"

"Hell yeah."

"Your standards are low."

"Well, yours are subterranean."

"Touche," Miguel sighed, sitting up. 

It's like he was never injured, his skin only marred by old scars. It's admittedly impressive. 

Peter got out of the way, letting Miguel get off. He activated his suit; it shimmered with energy, dancing across his broad back. 

Meanwhile, Peter had a dirty, stinky, torn onesie. 

"I need a shower. I smell like crap. And a new suit."

"Have Strange fix it."

"He can kiss my ass after what he said to you."

"It's fine. Really. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. Remember the thing - compliment yourself once a day. Go on. Try it." 

"I..." Miguel started, thinking it over. It was sad that he had to do that. "Can I have a hint?"

"It's not - Say something nice, but it applies to you. Like, you've got a great ass or good hair. That kinda thing."

Why the hell did Peter say that?

"I do?" he questioned, turning to look at himself. "Hobie said that once but I thought he was mocking me."

He could feel his face being a hot red, embarrassed that he said that. It was true, annoyingly. 

While Peter isn't an expert on male bodies, look at his pre-child dad-bod, he was an ass man. He hasn't checked out guys much, but he knew a good ass when he saw it. 

Miguel had a brilliant ass. It's probably due to how active he is. Maybe genetics, too. 

A lot of things about Miguel are beautiful. Even the way he was so self-conscious and nervous about himself was admittedly cute. 

Ok, Peter's paying a lot more attention than he usually does. He got confused with Nedry in college, but that was just hormones. Right?

He's suddenly doubtful. 

"I'm a good cook. How's that?"

"Excellent. You are a good cook, too." 

"Gracias, mi araña."

Peter could only assume that araña meant Spider. 

Hearing him talk in his first language was nice. It had a lot of meaning to him, thanks to Iris. It would be helpful for Peter to learn, too. 

Being monolingual sucked. 

He went out of the door first, cracking his back and knuckles. Having old bones and joints sucked. 

"Does that hurt?"

"I mean, yeah, but I'm used to it. All part of ageing."

"I... could make it easier. If the dose is small enough, it can lessen pain."

"That's alright, buddy. It's part of getting older. You'll probably feel some joint problems when you're older."

"It's not as much of a problem in my universe. Then again, you can get meth from vending machines. Still need to destroy the rest of those." 

"Why don't the police?"

"Because they're the ones running it. The police in my universe are corrupt to the core. They all need to be rooted out and replaced. Permanently if that's what's best for the city. Fuck, now I sound like Hobie." 

Who is this Hobie guy?

"And you're the only hero in Nueva?"

"Nobody's a hero in my time. We're vigilantes with varying degrees of moral ambiguity - there are five groups in North and South America, and I'm the least aggressive - it's been getting easier since setting up Spider Society; it's almost like a training ground for the recruits." 

There's a massive negative, but there was a positive. Coming from Miguel, that's huge. 

It's sad knowing there aren't heroes in his world. There was no help until the Spider Society. It sounded like incredible training potential for the young Spiders, where they get encouragement from veterans. 

Peter would've loved to have a guide. It could've saved him from so many mistakes. 

He liked the idea of the Spider Society. It had great potential. While it mainly existed to handle anomalies, it gave fresh Spiders a sense of community. They aren't alone; there are others like them. 

"I hope to see it."

"Yeah. I want you to see it, too. You'd be one of the oldest Spiders, so you'd have a lot of advice and experience to pass on. And you're a bit of a life coach."

"I'll have you know that's an exclusive honour."

"I take it I've got to pay for this exclusivity with my cooking?"

"You truly are a genius!"

"Expect empanadas within three business days."

"Make it two, and I can impart more excellent advice forged in the fires of my original fuck ups!"

"You're a blacksmith of mending inner mistakes. An invaluable occupation."

"The most important of them all!"

"Whatever would we do without your expertise?"

The building is freaky and quiet. He didn't like it, so being able to poke fun with his friend alleviated the unease. 

What's the purpose of floating books, anyway? It seemed like a fire hazard. 

It's neat that Strange cleaned up the place, but Peter couldn't forget how much Miguel had bled. He needed to eat something.

Both of them did. 

"¡Arañas!"

America's up? Great!

The teen girl ran down the stairs, which was also a safety hazard. So far, they couldn't see Strange anywhere, and Peter wanted it to stay that way. 

He wasn't tolerating him saying anything to Miguel again. 

"¿Dónde está el mago?" Miguel questioned, watching as America excitedly hugged Peter. "You're chipper."

"I was reading about you all night! All the things you've done for people here," she said, looking amazed. "You're like a real hero. An actual one!"

While Peter wasn't as good as others, it's nice to be called a decent hero. 

"I've been around for a long time, kiddo," Peter chuckled, his cheeks feeling hot. "I certainly try."

"Es demasiado humilde para admitir lo bueno que es."

"Translation for the monolingual, please?"

"He said you're too humble to accept how great you are," she grinned, earning a scowl from the taller Spider. "¡Preguntó!"

"Aww, that's real sweet of you, big guy. I'm touched!"

It's true. Since he's been around many more Spiders, getting called great by Miguel, it made Peter feel good. 

Getting any compliment from him felt good, honestly. Maybe it's because Peter knew he meant it.

He meant everything he said. The man is quite honest.

A ring portal appeared, and Strange walked out, visibly annoyed that they were still there. 

"You need to apologise," Peter stated. "For what you said to Miguel. You need to say sorry." 

"It's fine, Parker."

"No, it's not. That's not acceptable to say to anybody. You want that book, but why should he give it after you say shit like that? You need to say sorry." 

"¿Lo veis? ¡Peter está de acuerdo conmigo! Deberías disculparte," America added, siding with Peter. "He's an annoying asshole, but he didn't do anything to earn that."

It's concerning that his friend was so confused that they were defending him. How often did stuff like this happen, and nobody said anything?

Not anymore. 

"I'm not apologising for the truth."

"Then you don't get the book."

"You can't be serious," Stephen stated, befuddled. "We need that book. America needs it."

"See? I told you to apologise," America said, crossing her arms. "Just say it."

Peter wouldn't wait until Strange pulled a magic staff from his ass. 

No, they're going. He's not an idiot; he saw how interested Strange was as soon as Miguel mentioned that book. He wanted it and for more than helping America. 

Since a load of folk consider it a fairytale, it must be super rare; the book version of Excaliber, possibly? 

Either way, Miguel's the only way to get to it, so he has to play nice. 

"Come on, Miguel; we're going to Scorpio's."

Though understandably unsure, Miguel stuck by Peter, leaving with him. Young America waved as Stephen grumbled angrily.

He'll cave eventually. 

Peter told him where they'd be, so they'll be easy to find. As soon as he stops being a douchebag, they can get on with magically crippling the sludge monster. 

It's a little weird, though. His buddy was silent, looking conflicted. It worried him. 

While outside the sanctum, Peter stopped, gently touching his buddy's arm. 

As it was bright outside, he had to bring up his mask, hiding those burgundy eyes. 

"Hey. Are you alright?"

"Why did you do that?" he asked, which was odd. 

"Because it was wrong. Look, pal, I know that you're used to it, but you shouldn't be. Until you tell people to stop, I will." 

"It's tough to get used to. You. Being so... adamant," he said, perplexed. "You're quite stubborn over standing up for me." 

"We're Spiders. We're stubborn and adamant by nature."

"That's true," he agreed, more at ease. "This is why you're the good guy." 

"What, like good cop, bad cop?"

"I'm content being the bad spider." 

"I can see it now! Coming soon to theatres near you, Spider Cops!" Peter joked, elbowing his fellow webbed hero. "Detective Parker, the fat one. And Detective O'Hara, the scary one!"

"Ah, yes, the dynamic duo of doughnuts and pizza. You can be my Spider Sidekick."

"Excuse me, I'm older than you! You're the young, fresh kid cop trying to prove themselves."

"Right, because you're grumpy enough to be the grizzled veteran. I'm way more grumpy than you are. You're like sunshine compared to me." 

"Always be more wary of the ones that smile, Miguel." 

"So you're a clown detective? Are we getting a police clown car?"

"Fuck off."

Clean, fresh, brilliant. 

For a small pizza place, Scorpio's is incredible. They'd been in there for almost an hour and were still eating. 

It was a little fun to splurge and enjoy so much food. It was fantastic, even though Peter shouldn't be eating such fatty and awful food. He needed a diet before he got too fat to swing. 

Also, he got to share Miguel's enjoyment of cheese. 

Healing from such grave injuries gave him a massive appetite, and he wasn't stopping anytime soon. It's not like Peter's going to tell him to stop. 

"I feel bad for whatever bathroom we have to use after this," Peter joked, biting down a burp. 

"I'll wait for you."

"What? You don't go to the bathroom?"

"Anything my body doesn't need goes into my venom and spinnerets, so, no."

Peter was silent. He thought about it. 

He never did take a bathroom break, did he? 

"Oh, my god. You don't need the toilet? At all!?"

"Weird topic we've stumbled on but not exactly. My stomach acid is genuinely insane, though. If I'm ever sick, don't go near it." 

"Are all of your body fluids toxic?"

"Don't think so."

"That's cool."

"You think everything about me is cool," Miguel shrugged as he finished his eighth pizza. "I need to get one of these in Nueva. I like this place."

"Because you are cool."

"Monstrous? Sí. Cool? Nunca."

The entrance opened, a bell ringing. Curious, Peter leaned back, confused when he spotted America. She looked upset and tired. 

Strange wasn't nearby; she must've walked all the way here.

Poor kid. 

He waved at her, making her join them. She sat beside Miguel, taking one of his mozzarella sticks and almost swallowing it whole. 

"¿Estaba siendo un gilipollas?" Miguel asked, not looking at her. "La salsa de ajo y hierbas es sorprendentemente buena."

"A demon appeared inside the sanctum," she sighed, rubbing her eyes. "He was such an asshole about it after. It made me think about Kevin."

"Who did he promise to get you to Strange?" Peter questioned, offering her a slice of his pizza. She gratefully took it. 

"She was the Black Panther in the universe before this one. Kevin found us in a parking lot, and then she died, so he took me in. He was a good guy."

"He was my neighbour. Quiet but kind. The world is worse off without him." 

Miguel lightly pushed the box of mozzarella sticks to her, letting her eat. 

"Did he say anything to you?" Peter asked, concerned. 

"Lo mataré si lo hizo," Miguel said, and Peter got the idea he was threatening Strange. "You better not have walked here, niña pequeña." 

"I don't exactly have any money, feo," she shot back, clearly hungry. "Bueno, pero no tan bueno como tu comida, hombre triángulo."

"Te daré esa, estrella corta."

"No, he didn't say anything to me," she sighed, answering Peter. "He can understand the magic stuff in that book, but he's so cold and mean. It's not like with you and dark Garfield." 

"Eres un maldito comediante," Miguel grumbled, feigning insult. 

"We'll figure something out, kiddo. Eat up. You must be starving."

"I am. All Stephen had was yoghurt and weird vegan stuff." 

"El yogur me sienta mal," Miguel gagged. 

"Exactly! It's so gross!" she agreed.

He needs to learn Spanish. 

Peter felt that oh-so-familiar tingle wriggling up his spine. It belonged to one entity, and he was terrified of it.

Without having to say anything, Miguel understood, his suit encasing his entirety. 

"Quédate debajo de la mesa y no salgas hasta que te encontremos," Miguel said, lifting the table for America to clamber under. "Ready?"

"Never. Stay close, big man."

"Someone's got to be your shield, mi araña."

That's one way of looking at it. 

They didn't have to go through the door. Somebody had thrown a car that crashed into the building, shattering glass and breaking the wall. 

Rude.

Peter and Miguel webbed up, getting above the road. Cars and people are running, thankfully in the opposing direction of the chaos. There's that familiar dark mass writhing and a blond lunatic flying around with a hammer.

Since when was Thor back from Asgard?

Regardless of why he's here, the help is appreciated. The Spiders swung towards the battle, grabbing people close to being consumed by the monster. For whatever reason, Klyntarus was throwing cars at Thor. 

"I shall vanquish you!" Thor bellowed in his dramatic Shakespearean speech. "Demon!"

"I'm far worse than a demon, baby Asgardian," Klyntarus cackled, twisting his mass to avoid a hammer swing. "You couldn't pour water from a boot with the instructions upon the heel!"

"Your tongue will be mounted upon my throne!"

"Oh? Like how I took your mother's?" the fiend teased, dodging a powerful strike of thunder. "You missed again, child! Are you going to cry some more? Beg for dear Daddy to save you again? Without your little buddies and that paperweight, you're nothing - Thor, son of Odin, failure of Asgard!"

"Silence!" Thor demanded, unaware that Klyntarus was close to impaling him from below. The monster had distracted him with his words, an unfortunately potent weapon. 

Peter moved, leaping high and webbing the blond buffoon before Klyntarus could skewer him. 

When Klyntarus tried to catch them, Miguel used his web to keep the organic halberd from striking true.

"Ah, 2099, good to see you again," Klyntarus grinned, the red scars upon his mass pulsating with excitement or hate. Either way, it repulsed Peter. "How is my favourite little wetback afterbirth?"

"Come up with some new material, cara de coño!" Miguel growled, climbing up an unfortunate apartment building as Klyntarus followed him.

It gave Peter a chance to try and convince Thor to run.

"Cease your interference, arachnid. I must destroy this creature!" Thor exclaimed, ripping Peter's webs away. 

"You have no idea what you're dealing with. Go and don't look back, now!" Peter tried, but Thor wouldn't listen. 

"It has slain many of my people and family - it has taken my brother's body! I cannot let that stand!"

How in the fuck did Klyntarus get to Asgard?

"Thor, you will get yourself killed!"

"In the endeavour to destroy this monstrous creature, so be it."

"No!"

Damn Asgardians and never listening!

Peter hurried, scouring for his friend. The vile blob of death was seeping into the building, eating anybody he found. Narrowing his eyes, Peter flung himself through a window, broken glass scraping across his arms and back. 

The landing was rough. Despite his weary joints, he was still quick to his feet. He had to break any door untouched by the rot and grab anything he saw that was alive. It didn't matter what or who; he had to get them out. He couldn't save everybody, but he could do as many as he could. 

Thunder sang outside, lightning hitting the building. It shook, becoming unstable from the chaos, causing the civilians to panic. They didn't do anything to deserve this distress and misery. 

He got to the lower floors, kicking down another door. 

Was that Eddie?

"What the fuck is going on, man!?" Eddie exclaimed, terrified.

"Super bad interdimensional "supreme" Symbiote. Since you're here, you and Big V can help get people out."

"The condition of not being in fucking prison is that we don't do that," Eddie argued. Another shake caused Venom to poke his head from Eddie's shoulder. "Dude, no!"

"I must beat Ganke Lee at the Mario Kart - I cannot do that if he perishes!"

"And what, risk you being ripped out of me? Hell no to that!"

"You couldn't live with yourself if you did nothing, Eddie. That is more than motivation." That didn't sound like Venom. "Beating Ganke is an extra!"

There he is. 

"Fuck it, fine - but we're going to Colombia after this! No whining about missing New York!"

"Deal!"

Eddie's human form disappeared under Venom's mass. It reminded him too much of Klyntarus and when they were once in the same body. That was a weird time. Back then, Venom was a mindless creature starving for blood.

He's mellowed out since meeting Eddie. 

The "good" symbiote punched through the floor, helping in a destructive but efficient manner. As long as it saved people's lives, Peter would take whatever help he could get. 

Thunder clashed again, sounding louder and almost desperate this time. 

While Peter should continue, he couldn't leave Thor and Miguel to fight Klyntarus alone. That wasn't enough. 

The idea of Miguel being alone with that monster made him feel sick. 

The thing that made him, that ruined his life before he even got a chance to live it. He would die to destroy Klyntarus, and Peter was desperate to keep him alive. 

He didn't even know what it was anymore. He needed his friend to stay with him. 

Picking a piece of glass from his shoulder, Peter kicked out the window, turning his head to watch black sludge pour into the room from the door. It was vile, causing everything it touched to decay rapidly. He scowled at it as he jumped, swinging himself onto the roof. 

Thor is still in the air, trying to destroy Klyntarus with lightning. If he got lucky enough to get a hit on Klyntarus, it was one of those spindly limbs at best. He needed to go for the eyes. 

Take out Klyntarus' vision and work from there. 

Peter felt his senses go off, instructing him to leap as high as he could. The roofing where he once stood had crumbled away, revealing writhing, angry slime rotting the building. The entire thing would collapse soon. 

Something strange happened. 

Klyntarus shivered, retching and growling. His body regurgitated a skeletal mass, charred and almost reduced to ash. Thanks to their flying support, Peter knew it used to be Loki. He didn't know how the trickster fell, but it wasn't pretty. 

With him distracted, Miguel pounced, shoving his fist into one of Klyntarus' revolting, repulsive eyes. The symbiote curled in on himself, sucking Miguel in with him. 

Dark clouds filled the sky, and lightning danced to the beat of thunder, a cacophony of grief and wrath. 

Thor's cries of pain could rattle even soulless stone, his grief washing over all with hearing like waves from the sea. With his tears came cold, unrelenting rain. 

The Asgardian levitated, swinging his hammer, gathering lightning around him so much that it'd make Storm blush. And while a hit like that would hurt the goopy bastard, Peter was worried about the one inside him. 

His healing factor wasn't like Logan's or Wade's - what took him hours would only be a few minutes for them. A violent strike from lightning, plus Klyntarus' burning effect, would do some damage. The hideous fucker would exploit that!

Hissing in anger, Klyntarus threw Miguel from his mass, light blue spreading through the red scars. The symbiote removed those parts, tossing them aside as his eye regenerated. He was pissed, and that kept him distracted from Thor. 

Moving as fast as his body would allow, Peter jumped. He webbed his buddy and pulled. 

The other Spider dug his claws into the building beside them, smoke rising from his suit. As Peter landed beside him, Thor released an upside-down geyser of lightning. 

Although he shouldn't enjoy it, Klyntarus' cries were all too satisfying. 

"Still alive," Miguel huffed, spotting the scratches on his back. "Did he get you?"

"Don't jump through glass," Peter shrugged, unable to look away from the other Spider. "You good?"

"All good," he answered, giving Peter a thumbs up. 

The two were so focused on each other that they didn't see the part that Klyntarus threw away begin to wriggle.

When Peter felt something was wrong, he was too late, and Thor's thunderous cry of vengeance was silenced. That piece twisted into a spire, impaling Thor through the throat before it dissolved into ash. 

He fell into an alleyway, clutching his bleeding throat, unable to breathe without inhaling blood. 

As his previous vessel was ash, Klyntarus dove for the Asgardian, seeking to use whatever he could. 

Both having the same idea, the spiders webbed the dying man, pulling him towards them. The symbiote was quicker, however. 

Instead of clambering into his dying body, Klyntarus wrapped a tentacle around him and yanked him backwards. His strength caught Peter off guard, and the concrete under Miguel's claws gave way. 

Peter felt his blood run cold as his friend was flung into a truck, close to the slime that caused this all. 

He could see America cowering behind a bin in the alleyway nearby, and he knew that Miguel noticed her, too. 

Peter swung to Thor's body, checking for any sign of life. Unfortunately, Klyntarus had severed his spinal cord. Even if he managed to survive, he likely wouldn't walk again. 

All he could do now was help Miguel. 

Peter's spidey senses went into overdrive, screaming at him to flee but telling him to go in too many directions. He couldn't make heads or tails of it. 

"Peter!"

He didn't have a chance to see his friend as darkness crashed into him, burning and rotting his suit. 

The living world dissolved into nothing but black and red. 

He's had a symbiote in him before. He knew that Klyntarus had jumped into his body. 

Well, shit. 

"Spiders tend to last a little longer than others," Klyntarus teased, those disgusting eyes scowling in Peter's consciousness. 

"We're stubborn," Peter huffed, struggling against the burning binds. 

So, this is how it felt as his friends died. The burning, the heat, the decay, the loss of control. 

He knew that this monster was using him to hurt his friend. 

"Oh, it's so much more than that," Klyntarus cackled, wrapping slime around Peter's face to force him to look at him. "And deep down, you know it is. I can't fathom why, though." 

No. There wasn't anything that the monster was implying. 

Nothing he said was trustworthy. 

That only made him cackle harder, entertained by his delusions. 

"You can lie to yourself, Spiderman, but you can't lie to me. I've consumed enough people to see it as clearly as a lighthouse in a night-drowned sea." 

"Will you stop talking about yourself like you're not a ball of rectal pus!?"

"I like it when my food has bite. It makes it all the more satisfying to digest. It's the least you can give me after you stole my Khri Sphere."

He was sinking, falling into the bubbling mass of death and decay. He was going to die if Klyntarus didn't let him go. Even then, Peter would be forever damaged by the experience. 

His baby could grow up without their father. They might not even get a chance at life, as Klyntarus would try consuming them. 

If Miguel didn't kill him, then Klyntarus could get the opportunity to find another host. That was plain cruelty, forcing him to kill his only friend. That was Klyntarus' plan, though. Wasn't it?

Klyntarus always used others as weapons. 

"America... What an intriguing turn of events," Klyntarus mused, his face disappearing into the darkness.

Shit. He knew about her now.

Although his spidey sense was already panicking, he felt something. It was foreign, alien, something he should reject. It wasn't Klyntarus; that much he knew. 

The more Peter opened to this foreign feeling, the less he felt the burning. It's like a light at the end of a hot and dark tunnel, begging that he follow it. 

What else could Peter do? The monster is already in his body and head. Something in his gut told him to grab on tight and not let go. 

"No, no, you motherfucker don't you dare, you beaner bitch!"

There's no sound, no heat, nothingness. The darkness burst into scorching light, cold oxygen hitting his lungs. 

The last thing that Peter saw was two eyes. Instead of that revolting red, they were a warm burgundy.

That's his new favourite colour. 

He didn't understand what happened. 

Klyntarus had Peter. He was inside of him. He should be decayed and dead, but he's only burned, maybe with some frostbite. How was he still alive?

His head hurt like a motherfucker. 

The last thing Peter remembered was hearing and feeling Miguel, more than physically, and then the burning was gone. He still hurt, but it didn't make sense. There's no way Klyntarus would've left him alive. 

"You're awake."

Peter didn't want to hear that voice. 

"I'm not dealing with you, Nick. There are more pressing matters," Peter grumbled, analysing the SHIELD cell. "There's an evil booger out there causing havoc."

"It's a deranged super symbiote, but still a symbiote. We've dealt with those before."

"He's nothing anybody has ever dealt with before. I've seen it. I've felt it!"

He's still not clear how he's alive. 

Peter scowled at Fury, watching the Cyclops stand there ominously. 

There's no way that he only took Peter. He knew Nick had Miguel and probably America, too. 

Strange wasn't going to stand for that. If Logan's his friend, he wouldn't, either. 

How long did they think they could hold Miguel? If Klyntarus couldn't, what made SHIELD assume they could?

"And yet, you're still alive," Nick pointed out, seeming to be almost impressed. "Do you know why, Peter?"

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me with your villain monologue."

"I'm a bad man. I can admit that. I'm not a villain, though."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"That's a highway I'll happily go down if it means the survival of our universe." There's no surprise there. "You, Peter, are toxic to it."

What the hell?

"It's incredible what a little positivity can do."

"Your escapade into another universe coupled with the Symbiotelepathy has made you inhospitable for all Symbiotic lifeforms, including Klyntarus. You've gone from the victim of a radioactive spider to being the radioactive Spider. Ain't that cute?"

"I was following until the "Symbiotelepathy". That sounds stupid."

"We're working on the name," Nick shrugged. "All Symbiotes have subconscious telepathy with one another. The hybrid can do that too - somehow, it transferred the ability to reject Klyntarus to you and, combined with everything else, made you toxic to that slimy motherfucker."

He didn't like how Fury referred to Miguel as "it", implying he wasn't a fellow person and Spider. 

Instead of joining with other Spiders, his friend connected to Symbiotes. That's a peculiar adaptation. Is that what blocks other telepaths? It's interesting.

Somehow, it can be transferred to others, even if partially. 

Peter being toxic to Klyntarus changed so much. He could fight back, and it would matter. He wouldn't be in the way!

"If all this crap is true, why have you locked me up? I can go out there and put a stop to this!"

"And how are you going to do that? Throw some webs? You're out of your league, Parker. To put it simply, Spiderman, we're using your blood."

"Fuck you."

He's terrified. 

Peter's been in several situations similar to this. He even dealt with Olivia Octavius wanting to watch him dissolve like one of those satisfying TikTok compilations. He hadn't been captured by his allies, though.

He didn't like Fury, but they had worked together for years. Did everything they did mean nothing? Not even the shit with Thanos?

No, it seemed like none of that mattered. 

Is this what it's like to be wanted only for your body? For what it can make instead of you?

No wonder Miguel has so many issues. 

"Where's Miguel? Where's America?"

Peter pressed his hands against the glass, quickly retracting them as electricity burned his palms. 

"We're still figuring out what to do with America. Cap suggested we let her go back to Strange. We'll see soon enough."

He was avoiding the other person in Peter's question deliberately. 

"Are you going to take his venom too?"

"Already have. It's easier to remove glands than Beast's way of extraction, and they regenerate in under an hour. We'll be able to synthesise it artificially soon. After that, Klyntarus won't have its little backup plan." 

What Beast did was cruel. That was fucking sadistic. 

That's surgically opening someone's mouth, prying it open, cutting and removing an organ. It's organ harvesting. It's the story of Prometheus, but instead of the liver, it's in the mouth. 

Peter was lost for words. 

"Why?"

"To save our universe against a multiversal threat. I figured you for one of the smart ones."

"Why don't any of you treat him like a person!? You can't just harvest parts of somebody like this!"

Nick wasn't annoyed, merely confused. 

"You're too emotional, Parker. There are unfathomable lives at stake. You know as well as I that it's accepted its fate. Better destroyed than in Klyntarus' sludge."

"I'm not letting you do that."

"It's cute you think you can do anything."

"You haven't been paying attention. Spiders never give up. I'll break out, and I'm getting my friends out of here, and you better not be in my way."

"You don't have the stomach to kill anybody, Peter."

"Afraid I'll treat you like you treat Miguel? You've never seen me mad, Nick. You're pissing me off more than you could ever understand."

"Then it's good you're not leaving here alive."

"You wanna bet?"

"I'll bet my good eye on it."

"Deal."

Nick merely smirked, turning to walk away. As he did so, Peter searched his cell, looking for anything suspicious. Knowing SHIELD, there were at least fifty different cameras. He'd find them all and destroy them. 

He'll get out of here and raise hell. 

No more friendly neighbourhood Spiderman.

Nick Fury isn't a good man. He isn't a nice man. 

With so much at stake, bureaucratic tape and stupid ethics only get in the way. It's a hindrance that will waste what limited time they have. 

This creature, the supreme symbiote, had been hunting down his agents systematically. It could almost sniff them out before Fury could warn them, consuming them alive. Not only did it take their bodies but their souls and minds. It grew in intelligence with each life it stole. 

Terrible men do what good men are incapable of doing. 

Officially, Nick Fury was tracking down a new psychotic symbiote, another offshoot of Venom. Off the books, the Pentagon and Whitehouse agreed that they needed to end this threat as soon as possible. If it meant taking apart the tool of an interdimensional monster, so be it. 

It's curious how Peter managed to get so attached to it. It isn't a person; it's a bio-engineered vessel for a lethal villain.

It's Ultron all over again, but this vessel will never get close to its intended master. 

He knew that Charles was struggling with this. He had too much empathy, but at least he understood the gravity of the situation. 

"You are one ugly motherfucker," Nick huffed, crossing his arms.

His single good eye met a pair of blood-red, inhuman eyes. The hybrid hissed, baring those venomous fangs like a rabid dog. 

Astoundingly, they had to use the emergency Hulk restraints to keep it still enough for harvest. Even then, it had an irritating resistance to tranquilisers and anaesthesia. The amount needed to knock it out would kill a whale. 

While it has a surprising amount of medical problems, all deliberate to make it dependent on its master, it's resistant to several toxins. So far, mustard gas was the only thing keeping it disorientated enough to stay trapped. 

It managed to create a multiverse travelling device. It's more than capable of escaping from here without the proper safeguards. 

"This is a pretty neat thing you got yourself," Fury said, glancing at the translucent box containing the said device. 

Thanks to Peter, they knew it relied on that to keep from destabilising. 

As if on queue, the hybrid began to glitch violently. 

It kept eye contact, however, glowering into Fury's shrivelled dead soul. 

"Fuck you," the hybrid snarled, attempting to imitate human speech. It's likely a design choice to lull people into a false sense of security. "It won't operate without me."

"We don't need to use it. We only need to keep it from you, 2099-MGL-B."

They found the production tattoo on its shoulderblade covered by a futuristic skin-like tape. That's its identification number, one of several previous creations by the threat. 

If Nick Fury were a good man, he might've caved to the devastated look on the hybrid's face at hearing that. However, he didn't believe it was genuine; it was all manufactured for Klyntarus' benefit. 

It did decently at replicating fear hidden behind anger. 

"Where's Peter?" it requested, which was peculiar. Why did it care where Spiderman was? "Where is he!?" it hissed, struggling against the bonds.

When Fury heard something creek, a potential indication of failure, he activated the electro-pulse, shocking it.

Although he expected a cry of agony, he heard a roar of wrath, far too inhuman for its appearance. 

"I'll kill you!" it shrieked, its voice doubled over. Red fully clouded its eyes, and a dark fluid started leaking from the tear ducts. 

Charles warned them about this, though. That's the symbiote DNA acting up, trying to protect the human DNA, what little there was. 

The echo blasters activated, the loud sound forcing the symbiote aspect to retreat for its safety. 

"I very much doubt that," Fury stated coldly, wondering how long it'll take to disintegrate. "Since you give so much of a damn about Parker, how about this - You're going to be a good abomination and behave, or I have to bring out the super rolled up newspaper on your "friend" in the brig." 

It imitates fear and concern quite well. A lesser man would believe its facade. 

Interestingly, it stopped struggling, looking somewhat defeated. It's almost like looking at a puppy that's been thoroughly kicked, though that pup is also an interdimensional abomination.

As it was part-symbiote, perhaps it possessed an intense need to attach to somebody, and Spiderman was chosen. It could be a ploy, though. 

It must've been trying to join its master while Klyntarus was possessing Peter and accidentally made him invulnerable to Symbiotes. 

"Tu muerte será más lenta que cualquier cosa que la cabeza de Cíclope pueda comprender si te atreves a tocar mi araña..."

Unfortunately for it, Fury understood Spanish. 

Perhaps it tried to possess or infect Peter, feeling like he belonged to it and its master. 

"You should keep that mouth shut. Can't have you leaking any of what we need - drooling like a rabid dog."

"Don't call me a dog!"

"But that's what you are. You're a feral dog that's lost and aimless without its master. After we've got what we need, it's euthanasia time."

"Good luck with thaa-AH!" The glitch light show is almost beautiful. 

Several of Nick's science quacks were ready, holding the timer that indicated the glands were regenerated by now. They'll harvest them, wait for a time, and do it again. They'll take as much as necessary to win. 

With Peter's mutated blood and 2099-MGL-B's Venom, they can cause some damage. 

When Doctor Ford prepared their dangerously powerful tranquiliser - probably enough to kill two whales - Nick held his hand up, making her stop.

"Sir? We don't know if we can extract the glands while he's conscious," said a concerned doctor, but Fury wasn't listening to such nonsense.

"It fooled you too easily, Doctor Palmer. It looks and sounds human, but it isn't. It's designed to manipulate your emotions."

"He's scared of what I know," the hybrid smirked, locking its disgusting eyes onto Doctor Palmer. "I've been to so many worlds. You always try your best, Christine, but Stephen just can't let go of needing to be the one to hold the scalpel, can he?"

The woman stepped back, terrified of what it intimately knew. 

Proof that it was all a lie, a trick to manipulate them.

"Nice trick."

"The things I know about you, Fury. The secrets you've tried to hide, but I know. I know that deep down, you're just an old, scared, paranoid man with a desperate need to control everything because you know without that iron fist, you're nothing!"

Fury activated the electro-pulse again, but the abomination merely laughed at him, clearly in pain but mocking him. 

It was desensitised to pain. It was trained to infiltrate and emotionally destabilise its master's targets. 

"Doctor Palmer. Remove the claws, fangs and spinnerets. Every time they regrow, remove them again. It needs to learn that it's got a new boss now."

It spat on the floor, refusing to submit to Fury. 

While Fury would usually leave, he would stay this time. He wanted to watch as they cracked its skull open to get to the glands. 

2099-MGL-B is SHIELD property now, regardless of what it and Spiderman believes. 

Chapter Text

There wasn't any way of telling how long Peter was trapped. They would come, do their best to restrain him and take so much blood that it made him sick. 

Of course, Peter put up a fight. They had the gall to get Steve to pin him down. For the love of god, he never imagined he'd want to castrate the patriotic idiot with his dumb shield. 

He needed to get out of there and rescue his friend. 

The walls are bland and strong save for the "glass" one. However, it's electrified. 

He could wait until they bring him food or possibly when they want to take his blood, but it's frustrating. 

Peter had to get out and save him. He knew how far Fury would go for the United States of America; there's no line with that man. 

That man is cruel, unfeeling and twisted. If Fury believed it would protect his country and save the world, Fury would tear a baby in two. He's got a superiority and hero complex and probably a god complex, too. They are bad qualities for a leader. 

They'd taken his web shooters, but Peter still had his strength, senses and wall-crawling. Staying on the ceiling proved to annoy them soon enough. 

The moment that Peter got the chance, he'd stop holding back. He would break bones and run fast. 

Fury's science pricks had come back. They have Steve with them, and Peter wouldn't go down without breaking at least one bone. 

"Come on down, Peter. We don't need to make this difficult," Steve said, looking up at the annoyed spider. 

"I'm already visualising the duct tape over your mouth," Peter sneered, refusing to cooperate. 

"This is for the greater good."

"See, Steve, I would agree with you, but we would both be wrong," he shot back, staying on the ceiling. "You know full well this is bullshit. You can't use people like this."

"Will you cooperate?"

"I would've cooperated if you hadn't kidnapped my friend!"

"It isn't your friend, Peter; it's a danger to you and everyone else. It-"

"Don't you dare call him that! Don't dehumanise him to make yourselves feel better; you're doing heinous things, and deluding yourselves won't change that." 

How couldn't they see it? 

Peter's shared a bed with him, even if unintentionally. They slept on the same web. He held Peter during that nightmare, sat with him and ate with him. They talked about their feelings, sharing fears and the weight of guilt. 

He kept risking his life to save Peter. He trusted Peter, even though they hadn't known each other long. 

It was mutual, too. He trusted Miguel; he wanted to make the other man not hate himself so much, to see how Peter saw him. 

Of course, Steve wasn't going to listen. Why would he? He wanted to save his country and believed mistreating people would achieve that. 

When push came to shove, there was a line in the sand. He's already taken his side; Steve chose the opposite. 

Either Steve backs down, or Peter goes through him. 

"I don't want to do this, Peter."

"If you didn't want to, you wouldn't. Can't say I'm sorry about what's next."

Twenty-two years of non-stop active duty. He's gotten fat, but that didn't take away Peter's years of experience. He's been on the web almost every day of every week of every month for two decades. 

They've always looked down on the funny, quippy Spiderman of New York. 

Peter was in the top corner, eyes locked onto Steve's. He's strong, sure, but he's not the strongest bastard Peter's fought. 

It's still going to hurt like a bitch. Good thing he's used to that, though. 

Those idiot scientists should leave. Otherwise, he'd have to go through them, too, 

Peter dropped from the ceiling, immediately kicking his feet into Steve's chest. While Steve managed to block one of Peter's feet, he didn't get the other. It shouldn't feel good to feel the crack of a rib or two. 

He didn't stop there as Peter stuck his feet to Steve's body. Despite protest from his knees and back, Peter threw him back into the wall, cracking it. He let go, hopping to the wall beside Steve. 

As expected, the science douchebags are panicking. With a jump, Peter got out before the cell closed again. It was much easier to incapacitate the whitecoat douchebags; they only had medical equipment and tasers. 

So that they didn't chase him, Peter threw them in the cell with an angry Steve. 

"Peter! Don't do this!" Steve yelled, breaking from the wall and hitting his shield against the barrier. "We need to destroy it! You know we do!"

Time to tune out the patriot. 

"We'll do it on our own. You assholes are just making it worse."

Just like Miguel said, it would. 

He was right. He's right about everything unless it's about himself.

Although it's been a while, Peter's familiar with the base. Assuming they knew Miguel's power, they were holding him somewhere secure. That wouldn't be far, but because they were taking his venom, he'd be in SCD - Science Containment Division. That's deep under him. 

Several floors underground deep. 

There is so much that Nick could've done by now. It scared him.

Peter had to go and quickly. He'll have to go through the vents and find a way after that. They're alone as they should've been in the first place.

If MJ were here, she'd know what to do. 

Leaving one last glare at Steve, he jumped to the ceiling and crawled through the vent. 

Vents aren't great for his aching knees, but it's manageable.

It's hardly something he isn't used to. He's done several jobs with broken bones, fractures and pulled muscles. He even fought Green Goblin with a slipped disk before. 

Spiders are stubborn. They kept going, even when they had every reason not to. 

They don't give up. They don't leave a spider behind. 

Except when he left Miles behind. 

He was only thirteen, a child that had barely touched puberty. He made Peter realise he wanted kids, even though he's still scared he'll mess it up. In the brief time they were stuck together, Miles was almost like a son to him, a sweet kid that got dealt a bad hand. 

Could Peter do that for his child? Could he be a good role model for them? Could he be good enough to raise them to be even close to Miles? It was so daunting. 

Would he ever be good enough? It didn't feel like it. 

Peter awkwardly climbed downwards, relying on his sticky ability. 

He found an opening to the elevator shaft. Wary, he checked whether it was above or below. 

The elevator was lowering quickly. He wriggled backwards, waiting for his chance to jump. Moving quieter than you'd think for his body type, Peter pounced. He grabbed the cable, climbing down until he was crouched on the roof. 

In the grated opening, Peter could see that people were inside. 

Emma Jolene Frost, The White Queen, a bitch as cold as her name. She's also one of the strongest telepaths in the world.

She's nothing to sneeze at. However, he knew all of her tricks. There were many nights that Logan would complain about her.

Curiously, she should know Peter was there. However, his spidey sense didn't go off, possibly indicating that he was also mentally shrouded. Whatever Miguel did made him more than able to reject that goopy bastard. 

With her was Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Black Widow. 

That's the last combination he expected to experience. 

"Emma, can you go through with this?" Natasha asked, sounding uncertain and concerned. "After last time..."

Yeah! Didn't Frost try to mind-bend somebody, and it backfired on her? He was sure that Logan had mentioned that once. 

"It's not a matter of what I want, Nat. Fury's been trying for three days, but it won't give up how to stabilise the venom," she sighed. What the hell did she mean by three days? "It's all we've got that hurts this fucker."

They've been stuck here for three whole days!? 

Oh, MJ must be so worried. He hasn't been able to message her at all. 

Peter wanted to break something, namely Fury's face, for holding them captive for so long. 

Knowing they'd been trying to rip information from his friend was disgusting. He knew Fury would pull out everything he knew and would take advantage of his healing factor. 

"If Fury hadn't kidnapped them, this would've been much simpler."

Yes, it would've. 

Peter wouldn't mind giving his weirdly changed blood if it helped. He knew Miguel wouldn't mind providing venom again; Peter would've only been hovering to keep him from being exploited. Again.

Kidnapping them was unnecessary! 

"Fury doesn't think like that."

"I don't see the difference between him and the people I left in Russia."

"One would set the world on fire if it meant they win, and the other has an eyepatch."

He couldn't argue with that. 

Fury's insane. 

"And you're fine with that?"

"Either way, I'm getting what we need."

Didn't sound like a no.

"Even if it breaks an innocent man's mind?"

"Fury assured me that it's not a person. It's just made to look that way. Do you feel bad for a raccoon?"

They're all lying to themselves. They know it's not true. It's a delusion to absolve themselves of well-earned guilt. 

Also, raccoons are adorable. 

"I'm not a psychopath, so yeah, I do."

"Then you're an idiot."

He's got a potential ally in Natasha, at least. 

Peter remained quiet as the elevator stopped, opening to let them out. He worked fast, removing the cover and silently crawling inside.

It'd be much easier with his web shooters, but he's alone. All he has is himself and the determination to escape this horrid place. 

He slipped through the closing doors and scrambled up the wall until he reached the ceiling, dropping onto a support beam. The underground area is large, obnoxiously so. 

It's like a warehouse containing obscure and foreign things, even alien ships. What remained of the Guardians of the Galaxy's ship was down here. 

He should check if Rocket's still in Alaska. 

Determined, Peter jumped between the beams, examining the movement below him. After twenty years of swinging through New York off skyscrapers, his vision was perfected for long distances. It meant he needed glasses for shortsightedness, but he was a living binocular. 

Peter followed where Emma walked, focused on her. He had to stay in the shadows. 

A red alarm went off, meaning Cap must've escaped. He should've taken that stupid shield. 

People were running, distracted. It ironically helped Peter to move. They likely didn't know how far he'd gotten, and he needed to keep it that way. 

It wasn't difficult to see Emma. She's bright white compared to the dark and edgy scenery.

Peter followed her, keeping a distance and taking advantage of his new mental shield. She would've acted by now if she knew he was there; she's not a merciful or nice person. 

He watched as she and Natasha split, going opposite ways. She went left, so he did as well. 

The elder spider stuck to the wall, alert and cautious, as he climbed towards another ventilation shaft. He removed it, the screws standing no chance and breaking off. He was careful to catch the falling pieces, not wanting to give up his minimal advantage. 

Peter squeezed through the smaller vent, annoyed by his weight. Several years ago, Peter could've done this with ease. 

He had to use the openings to see where he was going, searching for any semblance of his friend. He could tell this was a secret place, an underground area 51. 

In the background is the song of anguish and exploitation. It's SHIELD taking and tearing, refusing to consider that they're equally the villain. 

If he tried, he'd find more similarities between Fury and Klyntarus than not. 

The elder spider paused, feeling something new. It's akin to when he connected to the other spiders, but this is different. 

It's from this shared mental shield. Whatever Miguel did, it made it so Peter could feel him, albeit vaguely. 

That makes things easier. 

Although it isn't precise, Peter could triangulate. If the feeling got weaker, he was going the wrong way. 

Left, forwards, right, right - no, that's left. It's like a weird video game level. 

Peter reached a room that was on the way to saving his friend. The vents didn't go further, annoyingly. 

He pushed it open, keeping the guard from clattering to the floor. 

So what if he's winging it? That's when he does his best work. 

Getting to Miguel is one thing. Getting out, however, would be another story. 

Unlike Peter, Miguel can't stick to walls and wouldn't fit in the ventilation system; the man is a giant. They would have to find another way out, though that depended on his condition. 

Knowing Fury, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight. He was already distressed seeing his fellow spider hurt before, let alone whatever Fury had done.

Since the big man wasn't giving up what Fury wanted, his methods would be cruel and unorthodox. Bringing in Frost must be a last resort. 

Good luck with that. Even Mr Clean couldn't get in there. 

As Peter snuck around the room, he realised it was storage. There were fridges inside the walls, containing something valuable.

Behind the glass were vials and jars of various substances and... organs?

There's an Asgardian liver, horrifically rotten and decayed; Thor came to Peter's mind. They must've taken his body and done an autopsy. 

Peter had to pause at a cube container; floating in some yellowish fluid was a venom gland too large for any animal on Earth. He shouldn't be surprised as Fury did say they were harvesting them, but he was still disgusted. 

He recognised Morbius' eye; the cartoonish red was unmistakable. There's the familiar decay of Klyntarus' touch. 

Beside it is Rhino's lungs, claw marks engraved on the left one. 

Horrifically, he saw Kevin's head. It was moving, acting like a zombie; Klyntarus' residual harm on living things. His evil somewhat reanimated corpses, puppeteering them. 

That explains the bastards that shot at them; it must've been Fury's people. 

Morbidly curious, Peter gandered at the next container. He shouldn't have. 

It's an eye. 

It was burgundy.

Anger is something Peter knows well. Bubbling hatred, however, wasn't so familiar.

What could they have possibly gotten from that? At least with the venom and Peter's blood, it hurt their shared nemesis. 

It's hard to refrain from looking for Fury and return the favour. 

He'll have that Cyclops' head. 

Burning with this strange sensation, the infuriated spider broke the door lock, stepping out and feeling for his friend. 

Down the corridor to the right. It's the only "right" here. 

He spotted Clint; he lacked the energy for the glorified Robin Hood. Move faster than he can pull an arrow from his ass, and Peter will be fine. He didn't want to kill Hawkeye but should get him out of the way. 

That plan burned to ash as Ironman exited the room Peter's aiming for. The suited megalomaniac is uncharacteristically stoic, possibly due to sharing a room with his ex. 

Peter slipped away back into that repugnant room, hiding behind the door. Until they left, he was stuck. 

"Over already?" Hawkeye questioned, monotone and unconcerned. 

"Something like that. Fury wants us to keep an eye on the fugly nutella monster."

"We should try and get Spiderman before we go. He can't have gotten far."

"I'll stay and look for him, then. Full offence, Barton, your arrows won't do shit against him." 

"Fuck you too, Tinman."

"You wish you could fuck me."

"I'm going! Don't talk to me!" Hawkeye groaned, the sound of jogging echoing in the halls.

Peter would run from Ironman too. The fact that Stark was looking for him, though, sucked. 

His spidey sense went off, alerting Peter to get away from the door he damaged. He was already on the wall as it opened, Ironman looking directly at him but standing still.

They kept eye contact for a few moments. The silence was suffocating. 

"Make it quick, spider boy," Tony said, his helmet returning to cover his face. "You haven't got long."

As if he didn't see a thing, Tony turned around and followed after Hawkeye. 

Well, shit. The psychopath in a robot suit painted with literal gold had more of a soul than the X-men. That shouldn't be, and yet, it was. 

He almost felt bad for stealing from Ironman. 

Almost.

He hasn't got the capacity for mercy right now. That was out the window and plummeting to the centre of the planet. 

Move fast, take them by surprise, and do whatever's necessary. 

Peter ran and kicked the door, flinging it from the titanium hinges. His knees and back protested, but he wasn't listening. The tingles go off, and his elbow is deep in an armoured idiot's stomach, knocking the wind out of them. Shiny metal started to fall, but it quickly landed in Peter's hands before hitting the ground. 

It's aimed at a shocked Fury, only now processing what he held. 

The door had crashed into Emma, knocking her to the floor. He should feel bad for potentially crushing her, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. 

What Peter wanted was before her, unconscious.

Gods above and below, he looked terrible. 

Old and new blood is caked on his face around his mouth. Fresh red dripped from his nose, a symptom of the attempted telepathic intrusion. 

His arms are bloodied, too, exactly where the spinnerets are. His shaking hands had bloody tips where the tops of the fingers had been removed. Since they've taken that, they must've taken his fangs, too.

He's so pale from the continuous loss of blood. He's not healing as fast as before; that was a bad sign. It's like the factor wasn't there at all. 

While Logan and Wade could heal almost instantaneously, there was always a limit. For that to happen meant constant stressors and injury, and without proper rest, it can do its job. 

They had pushed his healing factor to the point it couldn't function. With what he'd survived before, it terrified Peter.

What had they done to his friend? What hadn't they done?

The pit in Peter's stomach wasn't something he'd felt before. The closest was when MJ got hurt several years back. It's an unfamiliar pain in his chest that nothing would cure. It was a close third to when Aunt May died. 

How did seeing Miguel like that hurt more than Felicia, Cage, and Matt dying? That didn't make sense. 

That's when Peter saw that he didn't have that watch. How long had it been since they took it off!?

How long has he been glitching, his cells degrading and dying while they played Mengele!?

"How'd you get down here?" Fury questioned, angry and surprised simultaneously. 

That dark eye, akin to Klyntarus' revolting mass, eyed the gun in Peter's hand. 

He's never held a gun before, not even a toy one. However, he'd dealt with people shooting them for long enough to know how to handle one. 

Captain George Stacy, god bless his soul, told Peter about gun safety. Sadly, he had to do the opposite of what the man advised. 

"Easy. I'm not an idiot." Also, his people were incompetent or - as Tony showed - didn't support his tyranny. "Everybody out. Now," Peter commanded.

It felt weird to be authoritative and threatening, but it felt right, given the bullshit they've endured these past few days. 

The scientists wisely heeded his orders, scrambling out the door behind him. 

"You can't kill, Peter," Fury tried, but Peter wasn't listening to his games. "You're not a killer."

"I am," Peter corrected, anger burning in his throat. He was responsible for everyone Klyntarus killed. "Try me, Nick. I dare you to test me."

He needed to hold this weapon. It kept him from crushing that bastard's head in Peter's hands. 

If there is a single consistency in this universe, Fury's a dick. The man hit a button on the control panel, activating the electro pulse. 

Electricity shocked through his friend, the light burning into Peter's retinas. 

Like the coward he was, the bastard ran, leaving Peter to choose between chasing him or helping Miguel. It wasn't a choice at all.

Peter raced to the panel, shutting whatever he found off. 

He got to his friend before it released him, keeping him from collapsing onto the floor. 

When Peter tried to get any semblance of consciousness, he found none. He's pale from blood loss, maybe in hypovolemic shock. 

There wasn't any reason for this madness. To hurt someone so horrifically without an excuse was nothing short of cruelty. 

The only possible semblance of a cause would be anger at Klyntarus, and they directed it at the closest to him.

His breathing is slow and weak, as is his thready heartbeat. 

He's held many people in a state like this; it never meant anything good. 

The watch was in a container. He broke it out and put it back on, desperately hoping they hadn't fucked with it.

There wasn't any way for Peter to repair it if it were broken. 

Peter kept his arms around the unresponsive Miguel, angry that he couldn't do anything for him. He was suffering, slowly dying, because Fury was a dick. 

How could someone do this? Encourage such horrid abuse and mistreatment. 

That beautiful man had given up so much already, but they kept taking. It wasn't even the venom anymore; they wanted to how everything about him. How he worked, why he was so different; he was nothing more than a lab rat to them. 

To abuse someone's healing factor so much that it stopped working was horrifying.

Three whole days of non-stop torture. 

They needed help. He's dying in Peter's arms from blood loss, probably sepsis and whatever the fuck they've done to his body. His lips are cracked from dehydration. His eyebags were heavy from sleep deprivation.

All Peter could do was hold him, hoping to comfort him. He's in no condition to be moved anywhere.

It's heartbreaking to feel Miguel getting colder, his pulse weakening. He hadn't done anything to earn this. 

Once again, Klyntarus was making his life miserable. 

"I'm right here, pal," Peter said, hoping he could hear him. "I got you. I'm not letting go. I've got you."

He was pleading for someone to help.

Unfortunately, something listened. 

Peter shivered, feeling the presence of the symbiote within Miguel. It's so close to Klyntarus, yet so far. A copy, a distant relative. 

His friend's eyes shot open, the white scleras turning red as fluid leaked from his eyes and nose. It was dark and foul but not black; it was closer to midnight blue. 

Frightened, Peter turned him on his side, and Miguel vomited more of the substance. It moved, creeping up his body and taking form. It's an abomination of how symbiotes usually take over the host. 

He was forced to let go when the symbiote bit at his fingers. It enveloped his friend, taking shape as an angry, twisted version of a Hulk. 

Peter has seen symbiotes. He's been part of one.

That is not a symbiote. 

There wasn't a semblance of sentience in that mind. There's only a single objective - protecting Miguel. 

There's no higher functioning, only pure instinct. You're a threat, or you aren't; there's no middle ground. 

It can't even be called they as it had nothing resembling an identity. There was only anger, bloodlust and an obsessive yearning to protect its host. 

It's unstable, shivering and struggling to move. It's like it's never done this before, taking steps for the first time. 

Bleeding eyes looked at Peter, judging whether he should be destroyed or ignored. 

With unnatural speed, the force of nature ran, soon hovering over Peter. It lowered its head, gnarled and twisted teeth sticking out of its torn lips. 

It's scarier when facing something that doesn't comprehend friend or foe. 

A feral monster that's cornered and desperate to get out. 

It roared, burning with rage and a taste for vengeance. 

Its first action was to throw the door away from Emma's unconscious body. She was still alive, but that changed as the entity spread its arm to encompass her entirety. It enveloped her, the smell of decay burning into Peter's nose. 

After mere moments, it pulled away from her, stumbling through the doorway as though it had never walked before. 

What remained of Emma Frost was a shrunken raisin with blackened skin and ooze leaving from her orifices. It's like it had drained her dry. 

That symbiote-like creature was made with Klyntarus' DNA, so it stood to reason that it had similar abilities. 

Peter hurried behind the symbiote-like entity, hoping to minimalise the damage it caused. It was on a rampage, attacking anybody that wasn't Peter. 

It broke through doors like paper, draining anybody unfortunate enough to be in its way. 

He knew it was in that weird hangar due to the screams of panic and gunfire. He even heard the distinct sound of Tony's plasma cannons going off. 

The idea of Miguel getting hurt due to its rampage frightened him. He's already in critical condition, let alone whatever the entity was trying to achieve. 

Regardless of how his joints cried from the stress, he ran, racing to stop it from killing itself and him.

Peter won't let him die here, not in this damn place. 

As the elder Spiderman reached the hangar, he found chaos. Soldiers were shooting at the entity, only succeeding in pissing it off.

It would roar and pounce on them, draining them before searching for its next meal. With each person it drained, it seemingly grew in mass. Was it trying to get stronger? That's possible, gaining strength to break out, protecting its host. 

He felt something different, however. Deep down, Peter concluded that it wasn't feeding but healing, taking the health of others to repair itself and him. That seemed more in line with its objective. 

What's the point of escape when its host would die anyway? 

"Get everyone out!" Peter shouted, hoping someone was listening for once. 

"Follow me!" Natasha yelled, startling him for a moment. He didn't even know she was in there. "Hurry up!"

She broke the door to an emergency staircase, leading the charge through it. Spotting it as well, Tony flew there, hovering like a sentry. 

While Peter wanted him healed, this wasn't how to do it. 

The older spider jumped onto a damaged truck, the advanced rust and decay betraying what caused it. They must've been studying the effects Klyntarus had on inanimate matter. 

He whistled to the entity, earning its blind focus. It started to stumble towards him, potentially drawn due to their fragile connection. 

It leapt to the truck, digging its tendrils into the damaged metal and climbing towards Peter. 

Peter jumped onto a different vehicle, trying to draw it away from the running people. 

"I'll get back to you, spider boy. Don't die!" Ironman ordered, shoving frightened workers through the emergency staircase. He quickly ran behind them, acting as a shield to keep them safe from it. 

Peter ran along the remnants of the Guardians' old ship, trying to keep its attention.

He encouraged it to get closer, using whatever strange connection they had to keep it focused on him. As it began to climb up the damaged vessel, a blue and red shield flew into its face, angering it. 

The frisbee bounced back to the prick that threw it; Steve's back, and he's mad. With him was Hawkeye, who had an arrow aimed at the beast. 

It shrieked, enraged.

"You idiots don't know what you're doing!" Peter yelled, knowing it wouldn't consider them non-threats, especially after Steve attacked it. "Run, now!"

Of course, nobody listens to friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. Why would they?

Peter's got vastly more experience with such entities. They should heed his warning!

It'd be great if Peter had his web shooters. He could blast them and stick them to the ceiling; it didn't have the same wall-crawling abilities as Peter. 

The semi-symbiote launched at Steve, taking another hit from the shield to the face. At the same time, Hawkeye hit it with an arrow, electricity dancing across its unstable back.

Worried that they could hurt Miguel under there, Peter intervened, jumping on its back and pulling the arrow out. 

"You're siding with that thing!?" Clint yelled, getting another arrow ready. 

"I'm not letting you hurt my friend any more than you already have!"

"That thing isn't your friend, Peter; it's a monster!" Steve argued, technically right about the symbiote but not Miguel. "We have to kill it!"

He won't let them. 

Peter's senses went off, allowing him to catch an arrow Clint sent. It exploded, burning Peter's hand, arm and shoulder. 

The entity roared, charging at Clint. When Steve went to throw the shield again, Peter pounced, grabbing his arm. 

His body hurts like hell, but he's not backing down.

Spiders always stick together. Despite the feral symbiote, Peter's not going to change that vow. 

"You're making a grave mistake," Captain growled, pulling his arm away and hitting Peter with the shield. "This is for the good of everyone!"

"Oh, just shut up already!" Peter grunted, ducking under another shield swing and planting his fist into Cap's knee. 

He felt a pop and heard a yelp of surprise. As usual, they underestimated how strong Peter was. No surprise there, sadly. 

Although he shouldn't have, Peter hit the knee again, feeling bone crunch under his fist. Essentially crippling somebody wasn't something Peter actively tried to do, but he felt that burning anger demand it. 

Somebody needed to pay, an overwhelming urge crashing into him like a tsunami, threatening to drown Peter in its cold, comforting depths. 

When Steve tried to hit Peter with his shield, he caught it, digging his fingers into the strong metal. They pushed against each other, Steve's stance weakened by the technical kneecapping. 

Peter locked eyes with the blond, that anger surging through his bones, his very blood, to the tips of his fingers. Feeling an unusual sneer, the spider stuck his hands to the material and began pulling.

He didn't pull towards himself.

He pulled across, giving in to the grief, the hate and the wrath broiling inside. Knowing he was the cause of everything that happened lit a fuse in his muscles. 

Peter's friends, family, city, everything; he failed them all. He failed MJ, failed his friends, and he failed Miguel. 

Thanks to Peter, he almost died under Fury's cruel hand.

Thinking about that horrid man gave the final push to cause an echo that struck fear into Steve's patriotic heart.

The shield had a crack. It grew akin to a tear rolling down a cheek. 

Peter pushed, forcing Steve to step back. No holding back, no playing nice. He could feel his fingers bruise and bleed from the pressure, but he wouldn't stop. 

He couldn't stop. 

One last flex of his arms and the shield became two. Taking advantage of Steve's surprise, Peter kicked his chest, sending him tumbling into a rusted car. 

He dropped the pieces, numb to their clatter. 

It wasn't enough. The heat under his skin kept growing; it demanded retribution and nothing less would smother those flames that danced in his blood. 

He heard the entity roar, earning his tired and adrenaline-filled gaze. It had beaten Clint, reducing him to little more than a leathery remnant of his former self. 

It stalked towards him, lowering its head and fixating its eyes on Peter's. 

The message was clear - Non-threat. Ally. Affiliate. 

It walked past him, seeking the stunned and frightened man behind Peter, who didn't have the power to turn around as it struck. 

There's somebody still here that could end this raging inferno that threatened to burn Peter alive. 

As a mere, powerless human, Fury couldn't have gotten far. If it hadn't got to him first, that is. 

Somehow, Peter knew it hadn't. 

Peter felt a burning cold, unfamiliar with it. Was it the thirst for revenge? He wasn't sure. 

Quietly, Spiderman stepped away from the crime scene, searching for the one that caused this.

Room by room, Peter searched, seeking that one-eyed craven. 

For what felt like years but was only half an hour at best, Peter found him. He was cowering in a control room of sorts. 

The dark wouldn't protect him. Not anymore. 

"You only needed the venom. Why take anything else?" Peter asked, frightened by how empty he sounded. 

"The more we knew about it, the easier we could destroy it and its master," Fury said, glaring at the spider. His gaze held no power anymore. "You saw that... thing! I was right!"

Delusional to the end. 

"I don't believe you," Peter said, frozen like a statue. "I'm not sure what I believe anymore. I know this, however. You're not leaving here alive."

Peter slowed his breathing, feeling hunger and anger lurking in the corridor behind him. 

"What makes you so sure of that, Spiderman? You would've killed me if you wanted to. You haven't got the balls."

"I wanted to. I still want to. But it'll be far more fitting if they do."

As Peter said that, he felt the hot breath of the symbiote breathe down his neck. Its presence terrified Fury, as it should. 

He looked at Peter, expecting him to do something, but Peter didn't. He wouldn't. 

His silence delivered the message that Fury wasn't going to leave alive. Better yet, he'll help undo the damage he's done. 

It snarled, almost as if waiting for Peter to give the go-ahead. Without a word, it pounced, scrambling towards the scared, helpless, but heartless monster. 

Peter should feel bad. He should be horrified that he wouldn't save somebody, choosing to stand aside, but he couldn't. 

It felt too right to for any sorrow or regret. 

Alas, Fury had a final attempt at saving his craven hide. The room was fitted with sonic cannons, and he'd hidden beside the button to activate it. 

Sound rang across the room so much that Peter felt his very sinew vibrating. 

It caused immense pain to the symbiote, forcing it to drop and seize. 

With his enhanced eyesight, Peter saw that Fury had a gun. He intended on using it while the symbiote couldn't protect him. 

Peter's faster. 

The spider jumped, almost skating across the wall to kick the gun from the man's hand. He felt and heard Fury's wrist and phalanges shatter under the force. 

He scowled at the Cyclops. He was wounded, blood pooling from his abdomen. It was a last-ditch attempt to win, but Peter wouldn't allow it. 

Never again.

After shutting the cannons off, he heard Fury's final, pathetic words. 

"I misjudged you," Fury coughed, blood splattering across his face. "You're a killer after all..."

It shouldn't be so satisfying to watch the light leave his eye. 

With him finished, Peter turned his attention to the one that mattered. 

He knelt beside the shivering mass, watching as it shrank, wounded by the noise. 

The symbiote began to sink away, forced back by the immense sonic resonance. While Peter hated Fury, he was right to use the sonic cannons; it was out of control.

It was going to kill everybody. It would go after Ironman, despite him being on their side. 

As the outline of his friend started to come back, Peter held him.

"Come back to me, Migs," Peter begged, holding the writhing mass. It felt disgusting against his fingers, blood leaking onto the floor. "Come on, big guy. You can do it."

He waited, holding the shivering form as it returned to his friend. He looked far better than before, confirming Peter's suspicions.

It was draining people to heal him, to follow its only directive and protect him. While it's great that he has something to defend him, it doesn't understand that not everybody is an enemy.

Then again, it's probably had few times to see allies. Too many have been enemies to it and him, hurting him unnecessarily. 

As the red faded, Peter saw a glimmer of awareness. 

"Hey, buddy," Peter said, relief swelling in his chest. 

"Peter?" He sounded so tired. 

Never has burgundy been so beautiful. 

"Yeah, I'm right here, big guy," he confirmed, brushing some hair from his face. "Just stay awake for me, alright? I know you're tired, but it's important." 

He only got a grunt in response, but he could see his friend trying. 

Peter needed to keep him conscious and responsive. 

At least he's stable enough to be moved. 

Careful, Peter picked his friend up, though that was difficult with how big he was. He's so tall compared to Peter, easily a foot taller. 

Getting out would be a bitch. There's an army of angry SHIELD agents and delusional "heroes". 

"Déjame atrás..."

"Kinda glad I don't know Spanish, big man." 

"No te mueras por mi culpa," Miguel grumbled, sounding loopy. "Eres demasiado bueno."

"Save it, pal. Focus on staying awake."

Knowing Miguel, he's probably asking Peter to leave him behind or something stupid. It's dumb and ridiculous; Peter wouldn't leave a fellow spider behind.

Not like he tried leaving Miles.

They're in this together. They're against the world and that monster.

He never should've gone to the X-Men.

If Peter listened to him, this wouldn't have happened.

He's responsible for this. It's Peter's fault that his friend was hurt so much. It broke Peter to see such a damaged man harmed further for little more than greed. 

Being Spiderman is a thankless, merciless duty. They didn't have to do it alone anymore, though. 

It's not like Peter can go through the vents again, so he'll have to find another way. 

His body had other ideas, his knees buckling as the adrenaline left him. Everything had been so exhausting, terrifying and stressful.

He's so tired. Carrying someone didn't ease his aches. 

A spark in the air, then another. They grow, spreading in the emptiness like spilt milk. It formed a ring, opening to reveal Stephen Strange. He stood quietly as Wolverine, young America and Rogue stepped through, joining Peter. 

Rogue took Miguel from him, pulling his arm over her shoulder. She groaned until Kurt appeared beside her, taking Miguel's other arm. Both struggled a little with him; he was twice their weight. 

While Peter wanted to help them, he was exhausted. 

Like a dick, Strange stayed on the other end of the portal, drinking coffee. 

"You're one pain in the dick to find, spider geezer," Logan said, helping Peter to his feet. "Come on. Let's get the fuck out of here. We both need a drink."

"I can't drink, but I'll watch you," America added, patting his aching back. She's a sweet kid. 

He could do with getting fucked. It's been a rough two weeks. 

Chapter Text

He's hurt.

Peter didn't realise how badly the grenade arrow had burned his shoulder. It stung like a bitch. 

At the time, Peter felt nothing besides anger and other less-than-positive things. Now? He felt like shit. 

Spiderman didn't just fail at saving someone; he actively let people die. 

He's upset over that.

Aggravatingly, he isn't upset over who died. 

Spiderman was supposed to save everybody possible, but Peter stood by and did nothing. He only intervened when the mindless entity encompassing his friend was incapacitated. If not for those sonic cannons, what would Peter have done? 

Would he sit there with Fury's remains as the symbiote consumed him? Would he do nothing as it hunted for more? 

He did something terrible. He shouldn't have been so villainous. However, it was impossible not to feel guilt over who died. 

Peter's main regret was that he didn't deliver the final blow to Fury. That shouldn't be, though.

He shouldn't revel in knowing somebody is dead. How their death was awful, painful, but so deserved. 

It's disgusting that Peter felt that way. It wasn't right, but it felt so. 

The scene played over in his head where Fury ended in far slower ways. They felt just and deserved but would then be drowned by revolting guilt; it disgusted him to wish he did more. 

Wakefulness was slow. It did little to save him from the replay nor the irritation that he hadn't done more. 

Peter Parker, who prided himself on not killing, had lost that integral piece of himself. And he enjoyed it. 

He didn't give the final blow, but he killed Steve. He killed Clint, too. They got eaten by the symbiote. He did nothing to help them. 

The room was dark, but his eyes saw well enough. It's familiar and comforting.

It's the same room he shared with Miguel before they were taken and tortured. The thought of that urged him to move, but his injuries demanded otherwise. 

His shoulder requested a divorce, but the internal turmoil hurt more than his body. 

Concern burned more than his bandaged form, thinking over the past several days. His arms have scars from where they took his blood. He'd pull out the small IV but knew he needed it. 

Fluids, probably painkillers, maybe some electrolytes. All to help his body heal and recover from captivity. Though he has a healing factor, it's limited. 

A broken leg would take six days instead of six weeks. A burn like he had would easily take two weeks to heal. It'll scar; he didn't need to see it to know that. 

Peter realised something had changed. The big bed from before was gone. Despite how much his body hated him, Peter sat up, staring at the empty spot. Why was it gone?

He looked over the room and paused to the left, a second mattress on the floor. A large, broad back was directed at him, a slight glow of orange coming from the other side. Beside him was an IV drip and blood bag. 

While he should stay still, Peter couldn't. He needed to make sure he was alright.

What silly idea is that; of course, he wasn't. Those bastards pulled him apart and didn't even get anything worthwhile out of it. It was all for nought, leaving scars that'll never heal. 

He paused as the larger frame shivered, trying to shrink and look smaller, a poor attempt at the fetal position. It was a more than understandable reaction to being tormented for days and probably not getting any sleep.

Even Peter struggled to do that, and he only had to deal with getting his blood taken. 

Gently, Peter touched his shoulder, unintentionally startling him. He quickly found himself on his back, staring into frightened red eyes burning through his soul. 

He deserved that. 

It's just the symbiote reacting. It's on high alert, as it should be. He didn't blame it in the slightest for acting first. 

After a few seconds, it seemed to recognise Peter. He was a non-threat. As long as he stayed that way, it shouldn't harm him. 

The red slowly faded away, revealing that warm, deep burgundy he grew magnetised to. It's so different to other shades of red he's seen in people; knowing the man that held them added to their uniqueness.

The image of one alone in a yellowish fluid would always disgust him. 

As his friend returned, he faltered, nearly collapsing on Peter. His IV got pulled out from the launch, fluids he desperately needed. 

Still somewhat dazed and confused, getting him on his back and placing the IV needle back in was simple.

The blood bag needed replacing soon. He'd lost a lot of blood back there.

"Peter?" he heard, the voice raspy, tired and far from the rich snark he's familiar with. 

"Right here, buddy," Peter said, unsure what he remembered. "We're out. And we're never going back."

Hard to go back when the head honcho is dead.

"What happened? How?"

Miguel appeared to put a few pieces together, such as the location they're in now. 

"I broke out my cell and went to get you. Do you remember Emma Frost? I came a bit after her." 

He wished he arrived sooner.

He should've tried harder. 

"She pissed it off; I remember that." 

"More than pissed it off, pal. It went on a rampage."

Peter wouldn't tell him what it did. Not yet, anyway. He tended to blame himself for others' actions, let alone what the symbiote did. 

Maybe later. After he's recovered more and was rested up.

Miguel needed it, and more than physically, too. Recovering from something like that would take a while, probably years. 

The unnecessary cruelty would forever baffle Peter. It was all bullshit, a pathetic excuse to take out their helpless rage on the closest second to Klyntarus. Everyone kept lying to themselves, trying to keep up the delusion he was not equal to them. 

Willful ignorance is a horrid flaw with disastrous consequences. 

"Did I hurt anyone?"

And despite being the primary victim, that Spiderman quality shined through. 

"You didn't. That's not you, Miguel. It's a separate thing, and it only perceives threat and non-threat. Luckily, I fit the latter." 

It's a bizarre privilege to have. 

Whatever made it come to that conclusion was a blessing. It could've recognised that he wanted to achieve the same endeavour.

Peter pulled the other mattress beside his friend, briefly looking for the light blankets they'd been given.

Miguel's one had claw marks, so he'd give him his. He needed it more. 

"I... how can I feel you?" Miguel questioned, those burgundy eyes looking deep into Peter, confused. 

Did he even remember what happened with Klyntarus? 

"Don't know, buddy," Peter answered, watching him roll onto his side to face him. "You remember that bastard getting me?"

"It got hazy after that. How're you not... a puddle?"

"You." That didn't clear anything up for him. "No idea how you did it, but you pulled me out. Fury said I'm toxic to him now - He said it was because of Symbiotelepathy."

"Stupid name."

"Agreed," Peter chuckled. "Somehow, you saved me. Even gave me a built-in shield from the fucker."

"I didn't know I could do that. Or how."

"I don't understand it too much, bud, but I'm grateful. Because of you, I'll meet my baby, and MJ won't be alone. I can even vaguely read the symbiote."

Any praise would make him tense up. He's incredibly deprived of that kind of thing, and the last three days wouldn't have helped.

All those people being adamant about him being a thing pissed Peter off.

"I wanted to get you. Fury... threatened to hurt you."

He was trying to protect Peter, even if it was detrimental to himself. That's the most Spiderman thing Peter's ever heard. 

"I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, buddy. You did great."

"How'd we get out? There were others, like Stark."

"Tony turned coat and is on our side. I think. And I... took care of Steve. Went a little off the edge." 

The curious surprise was startlingly cute. 

"You fought Captain Puerto Rico?"

"Captain America."

"He's only got one star with stripes - Puerto Rico."

Huh. That's a fair observation. 

"Anyway, I broke Steve's shield in half. I didn't even know I could do that."

There's a warm pride in the pair of burgundy that shouldn't affect Peter the way it did. It was like those eyes were heating his blood.

Although it was terrible what Peter did, breaking that frisbee was a decent accomplishment.

"You're sad about it."

"Because he didn't survive. I killed him, and I wanted to. I enjoyed it," the older spider sighed, wanting to melt through the floor. "What good guy does that, huh?"

"Eres humano. You have limits."

"I'm angry that I didn't do more, Miguel. I hate it so much - how much I wish I did more. I wanted Fury's death to be slower, to have crushed that bastard's face... I'm scared that I don't feel any remorse for it." 

Peter should keep it to himself. He shouldn't be dumping this on a man with enough trauma and emotional scars as is. 

When Peter finally grew a pair, it was at an awful time. His friend being tormented shouldn't be what pushes him to be more proactive. 

These feelings, though, they're so foreign and twisted. They're growing and burning through his heart and soul like a weed, hungry for blood and revenge. 

What'll he do when there's someone he should save, but they're repulsive and monstrous?

They can't save everybody. And perhaps they shouldn't. That's now how Spiderman is supposed to be, though.

But if he killed Klyntarus, none of this would've happened!

How many people could've been alive if Peter wasn't a coward? 

"Don't lose what makes you, you," Miguel said, his hand encompassing Peter's. "You're a good person, mi araña. You care. You help people, even when they don't deserve it. That's something special. Hold onto that. Tight."

People are suffering. All he had to do was listen, and others suffered the consequences. 

What is there to hold onto but a mountain of regret and mistakes? 

Being called "special" was a little silly, too. 

"I'm hardly special, Miguel. There are loads of spiders out there."

"I've met many spiders in every shape and size imaginable. You can share a name, a face, or even a voice, but each of you is different," he said, the words washing over Peter like a thick blanket. "There are people like you, but you stand out - in a good way. Like different shades of a colour. Don't lose what makes you special."

The shade that came to mind for him was burgundy, the colour of his eyes. That reddish brown was unmistakable. 

Compared to Peter's dull brown, they were like a sunset. 

Hearing that from Miguel, though, had an impact. He'd seen several universes and knew loads of spider folk, many of which were a variant of Peter Parker, and he still saw them as different - they were all individuals. 

He considered Peter special. Why? Because he cared.

Even if it was too much, he cared. 

"Starting to sound like me, big guy."

"That's not a bad thing. Eres una buena influencia. You've got a way with words that make them physical. Like a hug on the inside... That doesn't make any sense."

"No, it does," Peter agreed, feeling something warm inside his chest. "Could you pick us out in a crowd? Even if we all looked the same?"

"I'd always know if it was you. Even if I couldn't smell the difference. Siempre sabría." 

"How so?"

"It's how you look at me - like I'm not some revolting hybrid, a mutant that shouldn't exist and is a danger to everybody. Me ves como un igual. Even after my symbiote went rabid, you still see me as... me. I'm not sure who that is yet, but it's comforting to think you could."

The price of isolation, mistreatment, fear and loneliness; you struggle with your identity. 

What is there buried under that self-doubt, self-hate and fear? He was curious to see. 

Peter didn't think that he looked at Miguel differently. Then again, he was one of the few that saw him as a person, separate from the one that made him. It's like with Peter's birth giver - she created him, but he was nothing like her. At most, they shared DNA.

He could empathise with that.

Sadly, it implied even the other spiders saw him as a product of that horrific monster. That'll change, though.

He'll make it change. 

"I think you know," Peter sighed, comforted by his presence. "Under that self-loathing and inferiority complex, a badass guy is waiting to bend reality into a pretzel."

"¿De verdad? You think so?"

"I know so, big man. And it's nice hearing how much you believe in me."

"It's not something I'm used to either. But I know you're a good guy. Eres mejor que cualquier cosa que yo pueda ser. You have a big heart bursting with this neverending empathy and love - it's admirable, even. That's more valuable than anything." 

"Thanks, big guy. It means a lot hearing that." 

"Now you know how I feel any time you talk to me. You make it... less suffocating, y'know?"

Yeah. He knew how that felt. 

While Peter still wanted to hide away from these gross feelings, he felt selfish. He hadn't talked to him about how he felt.

Peter sat up, watching as that warm gaze followed him. 

"How're you feeling?"

"Fine."

He said that too quickly. And it wasn't like Peter would ever accept that answer. 

"Miguel, you can't be fine after that. You weren't even healing properly."

"As opposed to?"

He's dodging the issue. 

"Your healing factor is fast. I can watch as your body repairs itself. That didn't happen when I got to you, so logically, they didn't let it recharge - you need a lot of rest and food after a should-be fatal injury. I doubt they gave either."

Peter watched Miguel curl in on himself, gaze darting away from Peter with haste. 

He moved, getting closer to the taller man as he attempted to look small; he deduced that it was instinctive. 

That wasn't going to be enough. 

Being confronted with prior events was affecting him heavily. Through their strange, fragile connection, Peter felt fear and the need to self-blame; it was his only coping mechanism. 

It's like a compulsion brought on by years of hearing the same thing from many people. If you're told something often enough, you'll believe it. 

"That wasn't your fault," Peter said, lightly touching his shoulder. "None of this is."

"Siempre es."

"Miguel, you need to say it. What those fuckers did - what they took from you - wasn't your fault."

"Soy débil..."

He's shrinking further into himself. 

Though Peter can't speak Spanish, he's learning to decipher the other man's self-deprecation. It's like a different person was talking.

A few moments ago, he told Peter he was a good person and needed to cherish it. He knew what to say unless it was about himself. 

"You're still here. That's better than most, buddy. A lot of people would've given up by now."

Not spiders. They're stubborn by nature.

"If I gave up, this would stop."

The self-loathing was powerful, but Peter's more stubborn. 

It's the doubt, the echo of dehumanising and blame, the wounds left by others that were either ignorant to the gravity of the cost or assholes. 

Is that what Fury had told him? Maybe Steve or even Frost? Either way, it was significantly untrue. 

"Without the limitations of incompatible bodies and that broken basketball, he'd be free to do whatever he wanted without consequence. Refusing to give in is unbelievably difficult - I can only imagine how that feels - and it's not anybody's fault but Klyntarus for forcing that onto you."

"Debería haber sido yo en lugar de mi bebé."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in you, big guy."

There's some progress, feeling those eyes turn back to him. 

Despite how much he must be hurting, Miguel made himself sit up, bewildered by Peter's total belief in him. 

Is it so foreign?

"You said it yourself. I care," Peter sighed, getting closer. "I care that they hurt you. I care that you need somebody." 

"I hurt people."

That felt directed at Peter more than "people".

"You were protecting me."

It was messed up of Fury to use Peter against him. He must've brought that up whenever Miguel acted out.

Peter, unfortunately, would've done the same. 

"It's ok that you're scared and hurting. That's why I'm still here, to bear that with you, pal. I won't let you drown."

He was so close to the other man, able to hear how quick his breath was, the strained desperation to keep his eyes dry. He's fighting a losing battle, and for once, Peter wanted him to lose.

He needed it so badly. 

Peter felt a twinge of something on the fringe of this bizarre connection, though it wasn't the symbiote. It could be from the rise in panic and stress. 

"We've got a deal, remember? But I can't pull you out if you don't give me your hand."

Gently, Peter took his hand, aware of those sharp claws and unafraid of them. At worst, he'd get a nick by accident. 

That sensation came back, stalking Peter. Admittedly curious, he reached out to it. 

The feeling grew in intensity, turning his vision dark. 

Peter's on a table, but he couldn't know how he got there or how long he's been staring at the ceiling, cold. What was most prominent was the pain. It's as if his skin was made of wet paper, fragile and brittle. Everything hurts in ways he didn't know it could.

Everything was too bright, the noise was too loud, and the smells burned his nostrils like someone had poured acid down them. A dry, tasteless presence was in his mouth, and whatever it was kept him from being able to move. Every breath was like being underwater. 

Whenever he could move his tongue, he felt his teeth were either gone or broken. There was an open wound in the roof of his mouth; it struggled to close. 

He's so tired. They wouldn't let him close his eyes for long. Why is it so cold?

"S̶t̸i̵l̸l̶ ̶c̴o̴n̵s̴c̸i̵o̵u̸s̸.̴ ̸I̷m̶p̷r̸e̵s̶s̴i̷v̵e̵.̶"

A faceless person, a roughly masculine voice. They're hidden behind protective gear for something hazardous. 

Something inside told him it was whatever they were pumping into his lungs. They needed his body flaccid and weak; he'd rip them apart if he could. 

"W̸e̸'̶l̴l̶ ̵s̴t̵i̴c̵k̶ ̶w̵i̴t̶h̷ ̸S̴a̴r̷i̴n̴,̵ ̷t̸h̵e̶n̵.̵ ̴I̶t̷ ̵l̷a̷s̸t̸s̴ ̶l̵o̷n̷g̴e̸r̷ ̶t̶h̸a̵n̶ ̴t̴h̵e̶ ̷m̶u̶s̴t̶a̷r̷d̸ ̷g̵a̵s̸ ̴d̶i̵d̷.̶"

That explained the tastelessness. 

These masked people looked at him as one would a cockroach, a pest, something to disdain. So many have held such a gaze, too much for it not to be true. 

"W̶h̶a̸t̸ ̷i̸s̵ ̸t̸h̶e̶ ̴e̸s̴t̵i̸m̸a̶t̴e̷d̸ ̷t̸i̵m̵e̴ ̴o̴f̴ ̴r̸e̷g̸e̴n̸e̴r̴a̵t̴i̸o̷n̴?̴"

A container is placed on the little metal cart they've wheeled in. No, there are three; he can see them from his peripheral. He's scared but can't show it.

Peter is frozen still, only able to hear garbled voices. His eyes hurt so much from the light; why is it so bright? Why is it so cold?

His fingertips would be black if he still had them. The amputated flesh stung constantly. It was no better in his arms, deep gouges where his spinnerets used to be. 

How much would they take? How much could he survive?

Was it even worth wanting to?

"F̸o̸r̵ ̵t̷h̷e̷ ̷l̶i̸v̷e̶r̶?̸ ̵F̵i̷f̶t̷e̶e̸n̷ ̵m̶i̷n̸u̶t̶e̷s̸.̸"

A feminine face loomed over him, shining a scorching hot light into his eyes. She mumbled something, but the feeling of his retinas singe muffled her. 

"W̵e̷'̴r̴e̷ ̷t̷a̴k̶i̶n̴g̸ ̶t̵h̸e̴ ̸h̴e̸a̵r̷t̸,̵ ̴s̶t̸o̶m̷a̷c̵h̵ ̵a̷n̴d̸ ̶s̵p̴l̴e̴e̶n̵.̶ ̵B̴e̴g̵i̴n̵ ̵t̵h̷e̵ ̴p̴r̶o̵c̶e̶d̴u̷r̷e̸ ̷a̷n̶d̵ ̴d̴o̸c̶u̸m̶e̵n̸t̴ ̴a̵l̴l̷ ̴c̸h̷a̷n̵g̴e̵s̸.̸ ̶"

Panic set in as Peter felt a scalpel press just under his throat and glide downwards. He wanted to move, cry, anything, but he was stuck. 

He's trapped in his body at the mercy of those that didn't possess any. 

It travelled deep, warm blood dribbling from the cut. It stopped at the pubic bone, air digging invisible claws into his exposed nerves. He couldn't make more than a pathetic whine. 

He couldn't do anything as gloved fingers dug into the cut, peeling skin away from muscle and fascia. The smell of his exposed body wasn't anything new, but it had been a while since this last happened. 

Peter hadn't been trapped on a table and dissected since he was eleven.

The woman flashed a light in his eyes routinely, then scribbled on a notepad. She must be measuring his consciousness, not that they acknowledged that he was alive. 

It was easier to agree with them than to argue. 

He felt tools graze against his ribs and break them, the cracking sound echoing in his ears. Ribs breaking are nothing new, but the reason why was far more harrowing. 

Hands are rooting around his insides, moving and wriggling. There is no care or caution, only the drive to pull him apart. 

There's nothing like feeling someone handling your stomach, cutting the connected tissue and pulling it away. Seeing the organ life from your cut-open body is a unique experience. 

How often do you watch your spleen taken from your cavity and placed in a container beside you? 

You can feel the blood begin to fill the space left vacant. It chills in the air, making his innards even colder. He would shake if he could. 

They've pulled his ribs from his chest now. His lungs expanded further than they should without a sternum to keep them contained. 

A man is there, his bloodied hands reaching into his chest, making brief eye contact. There was anger like he was the cause of everything wrong.

They weren't incorrect. Because of him, people are suffering. His daughter was dead because of him.

His ma, brothers, sisters, the police chief, anybody that dared get close to him. It was all his fault. 

He was suffering because of him.

Fingers curled around his beating organ as another pair of hands clamped it off. They cut away, and his heart left his bare, exposed chest. 

Peter felt his body panic, concentrating all its healing ability in his chest. Somehow, his heart reforming hurt far more than the removal. It was akin to a seizure, and the people around him merely watched, gathering data. 

He wanted to die. He wanted them to let him die, but he knew better. They wouldn't let him go. 

This was what he was made for. To be used by others as a tool. 

"E̵d̶d̵i̷s̶o̸n̶.̵ ̴R̷e̴m̶o̶v̴e̵ ̷t̸h̸e̸ ̷l̸e̸f̴t̸ ̴o̸c̶u̷l̷a̷r̸ ̵o̷r̶g̵a̵n̴ ̵f̷o̴r̸ ̶e̵x̵a̸m̴i̶n̸a̵t̸i̸o̵n̵.̸"

The woman is back, bringing something metal to his face. He wanted to move but couldn't, the gas in his lungs paralysing him. He could barely make a sound as she forced his left eye open with metal clamps.

Adrenaline pounded past his ears, knowing what they wanted next. A scalpel came down, and half his vision was rendered to darkness. 

He was back with a jolt, a residual ache throbbing behind his left eye. 

No words measure up to the gravity of what he just experienced. It was horrifying, a glimpse at a neverending process that left deep scars. 

Knowing what happened was one thing. Experiencing it was another thing entirely. 

Those pearls of burgundy were searching for something, anything to cling to. Gently, Peter brought one hand to his face, a thumb lightly touching the cheekbone under his left eye. His other hand went over his chest, silence speaking louder than any words could. 

Symbiotelepathy. Despite the stupid name, it's potent. 

There was no chance in hell that he meant to show any of that to Peter. Everything revolving around the symbiote side was subconscious at best. Maybe the symbiote showed it to Peter, sensing how much distress there was due to it. It's doubtful; it doesn't possess that level of cognitive awareness. 

He knew they hurt him, but to feel a semblance of it was something else. Not even breaking his back was like that. 

It took a few moments for the other man to recognise why Peter was feeling him in those places, the meaning those locations held. 

The look of horror was brief only because Peter embraced him tightly. No words would alleviate the weight inside. Those are scars that'll never heal. 

That finally broke through those thick, damaged walls. 

The cry and scream of a broken man, hurt by everybody and everything, alone in the multiverse, was a heart-shattering sound. 

All Peter knew how to do was to hold on, stroke his back, and ensure he knew Peter wouldn't go anywhere. Even as water burned in Peter's eyes, he wouldn't let go. 

Though slow, the embrace was reciprocated, and he held Peter like he was fragile glass, scared to break him. It was like he was frosted ice carefully removed from a leaf on a winter morning, delicate under the touch.

Peter B. Parker was anything but delicate. 

"You can't hurt me," he promised, bringing a hand to the nape of his neck as he hid against Peter's, wetness forming at his clavicle. 

That gave a needed push, those powerful arms tightening around him, shaking in tandem with scarred sobs. 

He would stay as long as he needed to. 

They're in this together.

One always has their hand out if the other's drowning.

They don't leave a spider behind. 

They stayed like that for a while, holding tight. He was silent save for brief moments of reassurance and comfort. 

The wish he did more was more potent than before. They got off too easy. 

He held on, feeling as his breathing slowed to a steady, exhausted pace. Contrary to what that goopy bastard proclaimed and enforced, it's good to cry. It's the release of excess chemicals in the brain; it could be for many reasons. 

Letting it out, even though it hurt, was good.

That's nothing new to Miguel, sadly. 

Peter had severely underestimated how far Klyntarus had gone to try and encourage him to give in. If he did, Klyntarus' joining with his body would take it away, but he still refused.

Nearly thirty years of that. 

He's stronger than Peter, that's for sure. 

Peter gently laid him back down, pulling the blanket up. He'd stay close, ensuring that if Miguel had a night terror, Peter was there for him. 

His trust was to be cherished and treasured; it was a vulnerable thing he needed to guard and protect.

Spiderman was more than fit for that duty. 

Chapter Text

MJ shouldn't be so attached to a young man she's barely known for a week. It was hard not to, though.

She saw how Peter changed around him. She's known since college that the door swung both ways, even if Peter didn't. She knew he had a crush on Nedry in high school. 

After their divorce, she hoped he would figure things out. When it came to stuff like that, he was oblivious.

Even now, he still didn't realise how much he's brightened up around their latest addition to the family.

Miguel can try to hide from it, but he's stuck with them now. Not only did MJ think he was sweet and desperately in need of friends, but he had Peter's entire soul and didn't realise it. 

They're the only ones who didn't notice, and it was cute. 

Hilariously, the nearly seven-foot-tall vampire ninja Spiderman from the multiverse isn't the scary one. She sees how protective Peter is, how he is more than willing to fight the world for that lost Latino. 

Or, as America called him, Dorito man. That kid had a nickname for everybody.

"You're making a mess."

She's still mad at that arcane asshole for being immensely unhelpful. 

"Cry me a river, magic man," Logan grumbled, flipping Strange off. She agreed. "Mary, you can't have knuckledusters while pregnant."

"You're not stopping me, Logan. I'll get them one way or another. I hit Jessica in the face once; I can hit this bastard ooze, too!"

It's sad knowing Jessica's gone. A lot of their friends have died. 

"I called you Bloody Mary as a joke, not a title."

"Bloody Mary wants to break some noses after what Nick did to my boys."

"Your... boys? Plural?"

"You might drink enough to be braindead, but even Matt would've seen it. And besides, he's a giant teddy bear."

"A venomous teddy bear."

"Says the man with katanas in his knuckles."

"Touche."

She's got a metal bat and knows how to use it. If anybody insulted her boys, she'd show that kneecaps are a privilege, not a right. 

MJ might be pregnant, but that's temporary. In three weeks, she'd be free to bust some butts. The little warrior in her belly kicked, and she liked to think it was an agreement.

She'll show her baby how to beat ass like their parents. And their giant possible second dad. 

With the rate of those two, they'll kiss before the baby's even here. She'll be there with a camera to commemorate the moment.

Peter deserved to be with somebody. And it was evident to everybody that Miguel needed someone, too. 

A pair of self-sacrificing spidermen. They couldn't be better for each other. 

"Stick to breaking ankles after the baby, alright, ginger girl?"

"I like Bloody Mary much better."

"Sure you do, lunatic. Anyway, you got names for the tyke yet?"

"Of course! However, it's a surprise."

"Hate surprises."

"You hate everything that isn't made of glass and smells of anti-freeze."

"What'd I do to deserve this bullying?"

"You didn't stick up for Peter straight away."

"Alright, kinda earned that."

"Kinda?"

"I give in. I deserved that a lot. You happy?"

"I'll be happy when that goop is turned into a lava lamp."

"You're a scary lady."

"It's part of my charm. Be a good traitor and get this scary lady some pickled ice cream - the baby demands it!"

"Now you've gone from scary to disgusting. Of all the things, pickles and ice cream?" He questioned, only receiving her determined scowl. "Alright, I surrender, but we're adding your baby brain food choices to the fucking Geneva Convention." 

She took that as a compliment. 

As Logan meandered to what might be the kitchen, young America hopped over the couch and sat with her. 

The girl was sweet. She had a bad situation, particularly with what happened to her moms. 

MJ hoped for the best for her. 

"What's it like? If I can ask. I should've started with if I could ask," the girl said, naturally curious. 

"Growing a human inside of you? It's so surreal, incredible and stressful. I love the bean, but they're just like their dad." 

Her baby would be a runner. She knew it. 

"My moms said I came out of a cabbage." It's not serious, but it's humorous. It lightened the mood, and that was desperately needed. "I like your Spiderman. He's nice."

"Yeah, Peter's a good man. Better than most. I'm glad you found him."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't do more. To help him. I was terrified seeing... him."

She was how they knew that SHIELD had taken Peter and Miguel. She recognised Hawkeye carrying Peter into a helicopter. 

They took Miguel in a heavily armoured truck, which was partially why they took so long to locate them. They were under the impression that the two were in separate places. 

For three days, MJ was panicked, worried for her boys. They were hurt and needed help, and Nick Fury would never be the man to provide that. 

And they were. Her poor boys suffered the entire time they were trapped there.

It took Ironman to know their precise location. The pair were in the same building, which made them feel incredibly stupid. 

Somehow, Peter had managed to break Miguel out, and things went bad. Whatever it was, it terrified Tony. His only description for it was "if venom took over Hulk". 

Even when brought to the sanctum, MJ didn't see them. One of Logan's pals, Triage, passed out twice while caring for them. 

She still couldn't see them. 

"What could you have done, sweetie?" she asked, hoping her best friend was alright. His body needed healing, but she had no idea how he was mentally. 

"I don't know, just something."

"We knew who had them, thanks to you. That's something. And besides, none of it would've happened if the magic man wasn't an asshole." 

She didn't have all the details, but MJ knew that Stephen had been an asshole to Miguel, and Peter wasn't standing for it. If he apologised, her best friend could've been fine and not stuck with Fury for three days. 

Annoyingly, Strange was still steadfast to be as unhelpful as possible, only making a portal to them. All he wanted was for Miguel to live because of some spooky book. 

MJ was startled when she heard yelling; it was Rogue, her southern accent echoing throughout her skeleton. 

Kurt appeared beside her, consoling her, and the noise made the magician grumble something. 

She didn't understand why until a man in a red suit decided to announce him.

"Where's my favourite Canadian knife-fisting cock goblin!?"

MJ's going to kill Logan.

Sleep is something needed and to be cherished. It's like the kiss of an angel. 

It's something that Peter's been struggling with for years. Being Spiderman encouraged insomnia, so any sleep is worth more than gold. 

So when Peter was awoken by yelling, he was upset. Why wouldn't he be? He barely slept in SHIELD's base, wherever that was. 

His anger dissipated when he realised he was moving. Up and down routinely. He's warm, too. It's like laying atop a heated waterbed.

Peter's mind blanked over the ambrosial smell. It's smoky and sizzled in the back of his mind. Confusingly, he was familiar with it. 

Why is his mattress moving?

Because Peter wasn't sleeping on his mattress, it was across from him, cold and empty. 

That heartbeat isn't his.

Oh.

Peter stilled, unable to form a cognitive thought besides the realisation that, somehow, he was on Miguel's back. 

How is a man with over three hundred pounds of muscle so comfortable? And warm! 

Gods above, his back is huge. It must've taken years to gain that much muscle, and being tall helped. 

Meanwhile, Peter was more akin to soft-served ice cream. He has some muscle, sure, but not like that. He's got a big belly that increasingly annoys him. As an older man, he should've cared for his body better and be fit. How can he run after a child like this?

He wanted to be fit. He didn't have a nice nose or a strong jawline, and his hair wasn't as soft either. He felt like a knockoff, frankly. 

It's humorous how the duo have opposing views of each other.

While Peter saw Miguel as an incredible fighter and Spiderman, he couldn't possibly think less of himself. 

While Peter saw himself as not nearly as terrible but not as positive, Miguel tried to correct that. He and MJ as a team would certainly boost his crumbling confidence, even if only a little. 

As Peter's mind wandered, he spotted something that shouldn't be there, a deep inked scar across Miguel's shoulder blade.

2099-MGL-B.

It wasn't there when he and MJ bandaged him up the first time they met, but it was far too old to be recent. He must've been hiding it somehow, and SHIELD uncovered it. 

That's why Klyntarus kept calling him 2099. It's like a barcode. 

You can't reduce a person, an individual, to a number. He could feel Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and Dad turning in their graves over somebody having numbers stamped on their person as though they were property. 

There's a lot of power in a name.

He followed past the number, seeing his strong shoulders and the dark curls on his nape. He can see that funny cybernetic implant that controlled his suit. It looked like SHIELD tried tampering with it, sadly. 

The man beneath him shifted, his face becoming visible, smooshed against the pillow. His fangs had cut into the fabric, an accident they'll fix later.

When not pissed off, hurting or stuck in his self-loathing, Miguel's features matched his age. The guy wasn't even thirty yet. 

Another yell burned Peter's ears, beating against his eardrums. It sounded like Rogue, weirdly. 

The body under him moved, a small grunt of annoyance vibrating through Peter's nervous system. 

"Fuerte..."

Peter assumed he was complaining about the noise. 

Foo-er-tay, too, big guy. 

He shifted again, and Peter stuck to him instinctively, which appeared to be the final thing to wake him up. That was a shame, particularly due to how badly he needed to rest and recover, 

"Mi araña, diles que se callen. Estoy cansada..." he grumbled, opening one of those burgundy eyes. "¿Qué carajo?"

Peter felt his face get hot as his eye rolled to him. Weirdly, there's no surprise your distress. 

"No idea how I got here, but you're very comfortable," Peter blurted out, embarrassed. "Very, uh, warm."

"Me gusta el peso."

"Translation for the Yankee, please?"

"The weight. It's nice."

No wonder he didn't wake up when Peter somehow ended up on his back. If anything, that made his sleep easier. 

Peter has to introduce him to weighted blankets. 

He felt the man under him move again, realising what was bare for Peter to see. 

"What do I need to do to get shoulders like this? Because damn."

"You can see it."

So much for trying to distract from it. 

Knowing how twisted Klyntarus was, he's probably had that since birth. It's a product stamp.

What happened to the other two-thousand infants before him?

"I see a darker scar than the rest. Like this one," Peter said, lightly touching a wide scar across his spine. "And here's a lighter one," he continued, trailing a smaller one. "This one kinda looks like a pony."

"¡Vete a la mierda! I don't!" the larger man huffed, rolling Peter off his back. A little too quickly, he was on top, looking down at the startled elder. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Peter questioned, watching those glowing pearls of burgundy soften, burning with curiosity and confusion.

That shade would never leave Peter's life. 

"Make everything about me not... monstruoso." 

"Because you aren't a monster. You're like me. You're a spider."

"Spiderman doesn't have claws."

"I've spoken to a looney toones spider pig. You're far from weird, Miggy."

"Miggy? That's what you get from my name? Por el amor de Dios, ese apodo es horrible."

"You gave me a nickname! I want to give you one. Is there a Mexican nickname I can give you? Otherwise, I'm just going to call you something like Mel."

"Why that?"

"Nobody else does. Like how I suspect you don't call other people "Me Aranya". Because I'm special."

"Special in the head, maybe," Miguel smirked.

Peter responded by shoving a pillow in his face.

When the taller spider removed it, he noticed the scarring on Peter's shoulder. Gently, he felt the wound, investigating it.

It still hurt, but that was nothing compared to breaking his back. 

"I'm sorry I did this."

"Hawkeye, actually," Peter corrected. He watched the brief sneer on his friend's face at the name. "He's gone."

The bastard quacks that hurt him weren't, though.

Peter's never going to forget that. Part of him wanted to use it - to feed into his anger and track those fuckers down. The other part?

It was what Miguel told him - don't lose yourself.

Revenge is satisfying, but it's also addictive. 

"It happened before. Didn't it?" Peter said, not meaning to sound so cold about it. 

It came with being a valuable resource. If you shat gold, you'd get fed nothing but laxatives.

"It'd been a while... I almost forgot what it was like," his friend said, beginning to try and make himself small again.

He tended to do that, shrink into his head where years of bullshit replayed. So far, Peter touching him eased that habit. 

Peter did, reaching his hand up to touch his friend's cheek. The contact grounded Miguel back here. He wasn't there anymore. He's here, and Peter would do anything to keep him from going back. 

Never again.

"I don't know how you did, but I am thankful you showed me. Words wouldn't have been enough." 

"I shouldn't have..."

"Oh, and you could use your webs instantly like a pro, huh?"

"Well, no, but-"

"You saved me, and you got to show something very personal. You've got my back, and I've got yours. That's how this works, right, Mel?"

"Odio lo que me haces, pero no quiero que pares."

Hopefully, that was in agreement. 

He shifted, getting off Peter and trying to hide from his touch. For whatever reason, Peter didn't trigger his endless list of allergies, particularly the skin one. He must be so touch-starved due to that. 

It meant that any physical contact that didn't hurt held significant meaning. Something as small as touching the shoulder could be immeasurable. 

With that, Peter followed, his hand never leaving the other man.

"Why can't I do it when I want to?"

"Maybe it's an adrenaline thing?" Peter shrugged, unsure. His hand drifted to Miguel's shoulder, keeping the physical support. "It's a good thing you can do it, though. I'd be screwed otherwise."

"I don't remember that too well. I only saw red and black, and then I was at SHIELD. I didn't want to lose you, too."

"Well, buddy, you've made that much harder now. Good luck getting rid of me."

"You'd convince me not to try."

"I'm happy to hear you think so highly of me."

"My standards are subterranean."

"Ouch, right in the heart," Peter whined, falling to his back, hand clutching his chest. "How will I survive?"

"With insane luck."

"Oh, Mel, my lucky clover."

"I am part Irish, so you aren't incorrect."

"You're big for a leprechaun."

"A lot of talk from a pile of gold that needs shoving into a pot." 

"You'll never take me pot o-ouch!" Peter whined as Miguel threw a pillow at him. "I'm being attacked - by a rabid leprechaun!" he feigned injury as another crashed pathetically into him. "No, not the dreaded chupacabra-chaun!"

The barrage ceased as a throttled snort hit Peter harder than one of Green Goblin's bombs. 

A noise he'd yet to hear, something so mundane but sweet simultaneously. 

"Shocking what!?" Miguel heaved, holding his abdomen, face darkening as he tried to fight against the insane wordplay. "¡Deja de hacerte el gracioso!"

It was a spur-of-a-moment thing, but Peter was glad he said it. Seeing his friend failing to fight against a laugh was brilliant. 

"Chupacabra's Puerto Rican!" his friend said, gagging on air as he failed to contain himself. 

Oh, Peter learned something; that was cool!

He enjoyed seeing his friend in a better and healthier mood. 

That could never last, however, as his tingles went off. He didn't intend on flipping Miguel onto his back, feeling bizarrely protective as the door to their room opened. 

It's Rogue, her face red hot with anger.

"Spider, get your dumbass out 'ere and get rid of that bozo!" She yelled, not paying attention to the giant behind Peter. "I ain't got the dang patience for that dickhead!"

"Don't be so mean to me!" whined a familiar Canadian voice. 

When in the hell did Deadpool get here?

The Merc with a Mouth shoved Rogue aside, excited to see Peter again. That quickly shifted as he saw Miguel, the white eye parts of his suit growing weirdly wide. 

Oh, no.

"Oh my god, sit on my face."

Why him, gods above, why him!?

"¿Qué diablos significa eso?" Miguel questioned, perplexed by the loud and, unfortunately, enamoured mercenary. "¿Por qué me sentaría en tu cara?"

"So you can crush my skull with your thighs."

"¿¡Por qué!?"

That's it. 

His friend was already traumatised. He didn't need Deadpool perving on him!

Peter grabbed Rogue and Wave, shoving them out and shutting the door behind him. For good measure, Miguel webbed the door. Thank hell for organic webs. 

Tired and a little traumatised - why would you ask to get your face sat on? - Peter sat back with his uncomfortable partner.

Deadpool was so extroverted that he made maniacs anxious; it's part of his "charm".

There's being friendly, and then there's whatever Deadpool's deal was. He was like this with Colossus some years back and did it to Taskmaster a lot lately. If he liked somebody, he would yell it to the high heavens. Being obnoxious was how Wade flirted. 

He hadn't met someone like Miguel before, and annoyingly, those images weren't as disturbing as they should be. 

"Every shocking time."

"You've dealt with this before?"

"Every time I've met a Deadpool variant. Never ceases to freak me the shock out."

"I'll protect you."

"Gracias, mi araña. They're all nuts."

"Agreed. Hopefully, he'll be leaving."

Peter knew otherwise, though.

The image of what Deadpool requested had caused heat to grow in Peter, and in the last place he wanted it to. 

Chapter Text

In the last four days, Klyntarus had wreaked utter havoc. Wherever he went, he decimated the place. 

Currently, Staten Island was his lair. The place was littered with infected corpses, a bizarre rotting fungus, and it looked like something from an apocalypse film. 

"It's safe to say he's building a new ball thingy," Logan presumed, looking over the chalkboard of information. "Only Xavier knows where the old one is, and we ain't on speaking terms."

No surprise there.

Peter was frustrated. Despite what they had, the information about Klyntarus as an individual was close to nothing. Even Miguel knew little about his origins, what he was precisely or how he came to be. 

Like America, he appeared to be a hiccup in time and space - an anomaly. 

He's alone, similar to Miles. 

The idea of him learning that he's compatible with Miles terrifies him.

"He's running out of people in New York. People are fleeing the state to get away from it," Stark stated, writing on the chalkboard. "Magic man, don't you have something other than 19th-century crap?"

"Don't interrupt me; I'm looking for the spell that'll cripple him."

"No, you're drinking coffee so slow it's beginning to evolve," Rogue argued, throwing a book. Stephen opened a white portal, sending it to the back of her head. "Son of a bitch!"

With fewer people to eat and use, he'll have to move. They couldn't allow that. 

Peter's eyes drifted from the chalkboard to the sofa, watching as the kid going by Triage was hovering over Miguel. While he looked much better outside, his insides were still fucked up. 

He's asleep, head on MJ's lap, magically ignoring everybody. 

For the love of hell, Peter wished he could do that. He also wanted Wade to stop staring at him like a lovesick puppy. 

"Anything to offer, Wade?" Logan asked, earning an annoyed grumble from Rogue. "It's been six years. Get over it."

"He fucked my brother!"

"I usually have had sex with most people in whatever room I'm in. #SlutGoals."

"You stabbed him afterwards!"

"I stabbed him before, but not with my sword," he giggled, not attempting to dodge a rage-filled fist thrown into his face. He would heal from it in a few seconds. "We need napalm. Lots and lots of napalm."

"Your suggestion is to burn down New York?" MJ questioned, surprised. 

"Oh, no, that's not going to be enough. We use the napalm to scare away his food, destroy his spy network and corner him in a singular location where we unload every itty bitty piece of destructive awesomeness." 

As much as Peter didn't want to destroy his home, they were low on options. 

They needed to get rid of him now. They'll have to move, find somewhere else like Canada. Somewhere his baby could be safe and far from the scar that's become the city. 

A place is far less important than life. 

"That's certainly an option, coupled with the magician's voodoo," Logan agreed, adding that to the board. 

"I can make some with a synthesised version of Miguel's venom. It's not as potent, but as close as we'll get," Stark said, which Logan also added. 

He preferred that to harvesting. 

There's been enough of that.

"And then there's that berserker symbiote. That'll help," Stark continued, which Peter was ready to shoot down.

"No," Peter said firmly, annoying Stark. "It's not conscious; it sees threat and non-threat. It would attack you as much as him, and our allies are dropping faster than we can gather them. Friendly fire is the last thing we need."

"Can't the damn thing like make us immune to this sludge bitch?" Rogue inquired, which Peter also needed to clear up.

"That wasn't the symbiote. He doesn't know how he did that, either, and I'm the last person who has to tell you how delicate untrained telepathy is. Put a baby behind the wheel of a truck, and it won't end well." 

"I had my head explode from that a few times," Deadpool added, proving Peter's point. "Let me tell you, brain slushie puppy mush is a bitch to clean out of your suit!" 

A train of thought Peter wanted to avoid like the plague. 

"For now, Deadpool's idea is the best we've got," Logan grumbled. "Saying that makes me feel sick."

Peter was curious why the kid wasn't speaking. He didn't know Triage's name, only that he was a new X-Man with healing powers. 

Briefly, Peter made eye contact with MJ, watching her try to keep her focus on their friend. Thankfully, nobody has suggested using him like an object. 

He'd have to fight them otherwise. 

"You said spy network. How do you know he has spies?" Stephen inquired, possibly his only attempt at being useful since Peter met him.

"Haven't you losers watched The Last of Us? Other than for Papa Pascal, obviously, but the fungus. Cuntarus is using some iffy spacey wiggly timey-wimey form of the stuff. Touch one part, and everything else connected will know, like a mutant spider's web."

"We could trigger it on purpose, have him come to us and cripple him with Stephen's light show," Stark concurred, genuinely surprised with Wade. "You're a loudmouth idiot. How do you know about fungi?"

"Because I'm a fun guy."

"You learned about it for a pun?"

"You have no idea how far this Canadian Bacon will go for the lols."

"How can you have so much useful information but be insufferable to listen to?"

"It means you don't take me seriously. And anybody you underestimate can stir your ass like a hot bowl of chilly, and I've got some sharp ladles." 

Watching Stark and Deadpool exchange words shouldn't be so amusing. 

"That's enough, morons. We got work to do. I'll put out a call for anybody that wants to help. With how many heroes are dead, we're up a shit river without a paddle."

"Then ask villains," Peter proposed, confusing the others. "This affects them as much as it affects us. You can't rule the world if there's nothing left to rule. Mutually beneficial arrangement." 

"I could call Tasky Masky. I'm sure Marc would love some of this, too," Deadpool proposed.

Peter could only assume he referred to Marc Spectre, the renegade with DID. Not what Peter wanted to deal with, but it could work. 

The Asgardians are out, as are most of the X-Men, but Magneto's posse could be up for cooperation. 

"What's to stop them from siding with this slimy bastard?" Rogue argued.

"Because Klyntarus is too much of a narcissist. And given that he's low on bodies, he's more likely to use than have them work for him," Peter said, shutting down her concern. "After Aleksei and Manic Mike, I know a couple of mine are going to be pretty pissed off - I can bet that Octavius and Connors will want him gone." 

"I can commune with the remaining sorcerers at Khamar Taj," Stephen added. That's two times he's offered to be not useless. 

"And I can look into retired heroes and have Natasha check the prisons. There's a girl around my area, Ms Marvel; she's young, but every little helps," Stark continued. "And I know where Banner is. He'll want payback for Jennifer."

Every little did help. It was desperately needed. 

They have a plan. It isn't good, but it's better than nothing. 

"-and that's what we have so far," Peter explained, watching his friend still eat. It's impressive how much he can consume. "Maybe you can build more of those red laser containment things?"

"Me llevará un tiempo, pero puedo hacerlo."

Before Peter could ask for a translation, Wade jumped over a chair to sit beside him, leaning far too close to his friend. The sudden contact startled him, making him uncomfortable. 

Peter didn't like how touchy Wade was. He never understood boundaries. When they first met, he was always touchy-feely, trying to make him feel hot under his suit and teasing him constantly.

Wade leaned over to look at Miguel's food, interested. 

"¿También te gusta el queso? Es increíble," Wade asked, speaking Spanish as easy as Peter could breathe. It had Miguel's immediate intererest. "Mi ex me enseñó esta cosa llamada envoltura de queso. Es sólo un wrap con queso, ¡pero está tan bueno!"

"Es una de las pocas cosas a las que no soy alérgico. Como casi cualquier cosa con queso."

"Tuve un novio que era alérgico a la luz solar. Hacía el mejor sushi de la historia. Lo que era genial -porque el pescado es asqueroso- ¡es que no era sushi de verdad! Era pastel que parecía sushi."

Wait, what about sushi?

"¡No! ¿Cómo?"

"¡Sí! Doom podía hacer literalmente cualquier cosa y era pastel. ¡Para uno de mis cumpleaños, me hizo este delicioso consolador que tenía caramelos popping!"

"A mi hija le encantaban los caramelos pop. Murió hace dos años. Decía que eran como fuegos artificiales en su boca."

"Lo siento por eso, cara bonita. Bajo los colmillos, eres un gran oso de peluche. Como eres tan mono, te daré la receta. Víctor fue muy amable conmigo por robarla después de que rompimos."

"Estoy horrible, pero gracias."

"Parezco el resultado del sexo furioso y odioso de un aguacate podrido e inmaduro y una rata con sarna. Usted, señor, es hermoso. Tus ojos son increíbles, y eres más fuerte que yo. Lidiar con la pérdida de un hijo y tener literalmente diarrea de perro por padre es más de lo que la mayoría puede soportar. Él también lo ve," Wade said, putting his gloved hand over Miguel's. Surprisingly, Miguel didn't hiss at him or pull away. 

Peter didn't understand what they were saying, and admittedly, he didn't like how Wade's words affected his friend. 

What is this sensation? It's warm, hot and different to anger. There's the protectiveness, but even more.

Why did seeing Wade wriggle his way into Miguel's attention annoy him?

"Estuve enamorada de él durante años. Ese hombre puede tomar las peores partes de ti y hacerlas hermosas. Yo también me odio, amigo. No dejes que la zorra oscura y asustada de tu cabeza te haga alejarlo, porque es lo mejor que nos puede pasar a cualquiera de nosotros. Y a diferencia de mí, tú no eres un cabrón despreciable, porque le haces feliz," the masked mercenary continued, each syllable etching into his friend's attention.

Whatever Wade was saying, it left a mark. 

He hated not being able to speak Spanish. It was so awkward and irritating.

"¿Por qué crees que le hago feliz?"

"Porque lo veo. Tiene un gran corazón y tú eres importante para él. Es una buena influencia para ti, y creo que tú lo eres para él. Lo entiendes de una manera que nosotros no podemos, y eso es especial. Veo que tú también tienes un gran corazón, y está a salvo con él. Puedo prometértelo después de conocerle durante veinte años."

"¿Cómo lo sabes?"

"Porque es mi amigo y me preocupo por él. Se merece un gran tipo como tú. Me burlo mucho de ti, pero me importa. Él será tu familia, cara bonita. Por una vez, tienes a alguien que el bastardo no puede quitarte. "

Wade patted Miguel's shoulder, waving at Peter as he awkwardly hopped off the chair, heading to annoy somebody else. 

What the hell did he say? Why was Miguel contemplating something?

Did he proposition him!?

"I wish I knew Spanish," Peter sighed, embarrassed. He shouldn't be so irritated over a private conversation.

"I'll have to teach you."

That sounded incredible.

"I'm sorry if he said anything rude. He's like that."

"No, none of that. It was good."

"Deadpool wasn't obnoxiously gross, sexual or outlandish? Are we talking about the same guy?"

"Astoundingly, no."

While Peter didn't believe that Wade wasn't a little gross, he believed Miguel. Why wouldn't he? The man couldn't lie to save his life. His anxiety wouldn't let him. 

There needed to be more food. He needed more, but after the last time, Peter was anxious. 

He couldn't risk a repeat. He wouldn't let that happen again. 

"You're upset."

"What?"

"You're upset," Miguel repeated. "Is it because of the Spanish?"

"No, no, it's not you at all. Wade does that to people - he's the king of pressing the right buttons." 

Was Peter jealous that Wade could speak Spanish? Maybe.

No, he's for sure jealous. Monolingualism sucks. 

Peter watched his friend continue to eat, refilling his energy reserves. It was hard to think that he was moments from death. Again. 

But that's what Peter could see sometimes, especially when asleep.

Sometimes, he saw Miguel covered in blood, those beautiful eyes glazed with fear, pain and confusion. Then it was as though nothing ever happened. 

Peter would never forget how it felt to hold him, pleading to the universe to be merciful. It was a fool's beg, of course. His friend was the multiversal punching bag.

How isn't he in a corner, shaking? 

How can someone live when everything hurts them, where even skin contact causes a potentially dangerous allergic reaction? 

Peter got a taste of what he endures, and honestly, Peter didn't know how to process that.

They used sarin gas. 

"How're you feeling?"

"Hungry."

"Not what I meant, buddy."

"That's not a door you want to open. Y no quiero hablar de ello."

"I'm opening it because I care. I only got to see a moment of what they did. That's not ok."

"Peter, I'm going to shoot this down now. I'm used to it. Really. I just reacted badly because it'd been a while. That was my life from two to eleven. It's fine."

Fucking christ. There is no possible therapy for this man. 

A toddler. A small child with no way of defending themselves strapped down and cut open. How often did they do that?

Knowing Klyntarus, it was only to break him.

Peter had his dad. He had his uncle and auntie. He even had his grandmother for a little while before she died. And his friend had nobody but that thing. 

"No, it's not."

"What am I going to do? Cry about it?" Miguel shrugged, attempting to brush it away.

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed, almost surprised at his reaction. It startled his friend, too. "You were horrifically abused and mistreated. You've got every right to be pissed off and upset about it."

"Doesn't change what happened."

"No, but it can be a step forward." He needed to try a different angle. "It's never the fault of the child. Never. It took me years to learn that."

His mom was an awful person. 

He hated that woman for what she did. There wasn't any excuse for that. 

"You?" his friend inquired. 

"My mom," Peter sighed. "I only know so much about her from police files I, uh, "borrowed" a while back."

Miguel was quiet, paying attention. It's not something Peter liked to talk about. It took years to work up the courage to tell MJ. 

But it's important because he could empathise, albeit to a lesser extent. 

"She hated me. Dad spent too much time with me, and she resented me, an infant, for it. She took up smoking just to put them out on me, managed to break my ribs, and wouldn't feed me; Dad loved her too much to believe she was doing that. It wasn't until he caught her trying to kill me that he took shit seriously. I still remember being locked in the car as it rolled backwards into the water." 

"How old were you?"

"Five. Was I at fault for that?"

"No. Lo siento."

"I felt like it. I had to have done something to make my mom mad. Why else would she hate me? But it was out of my control. I couldn't have done a thing. It wasn't until twenty that I accepted the fault was with her, not me. Maybe that's why I was scared of having kids because if my mom could change so drastically, I could've as well. It took being flung in another dimension to see otherwise."

It took that great kid to help Peter. 

He owed Miles a lot.

"I'm not like my mom," Peter continued. "And you're not like him. Who we come from doesn't determine who we are or who we'll be. We're not responsible for what those pieces of shit did to us, and we aren't at fault for it - and we're allowed to be fucking pissed that they were so cowardly that they hurt a kid." 

There's no excuse for what she did. There's no excuse for what Klyntarus did. 

And as much as the concept repulsed him, technically, Klyntarus was Miguel's bio-donor. No surprise they were compatible due to that. 

That didn't define either of them, however. They're separate people who overcame the obstacles their so-called parents created for them. 

Peter is going to be a father. The thought terrified him. He wanted to be like his dad, Uncle Ben and Aunt May. 

The fear of being like her, not being good enough, would always be there. 

"Lo siento, mi araña. I see your point, though. It's how I cope - it's easier to be angry with myself than countless people who say the same thing." 

"A million people can say that a tomato is blue, but the tomato is still red."

"Depends on your ocular colour cones and the universe, but I see that, too."

"There's a universe with blue tomatoes? Wait, sorry, off-topic," Peter chuckled, trying not to imagine a bright blue tomato. "But you see what I'm saying, yeah? None of this is your fault; you are allowed to be upset."

"I... break things when mad."

"I'm pretty mad too. Let's find some stuff to break. A junkyard, maybe?" 

"I don't want to scare you. I get... into it."

"Buddy, after the past two weeks, we both need to let loose and break something."

Dear god, does Peter need to break something. He was fuming.

His friend needed it. Both of them needed it.

There's so much that Peter wanted to do, and it wasn't to objects.

Peter wanted to break bones and squash organs; people needed to pay. It was so hard to refrain from hunting those bastards down. He was furious over what they willingly did. 

He's going to interrogate Stark for details. He needed a list. 

If Peter wasn't going to do it, he at least wanted to allow Miguel to take back control.  

"Do you want to know what Wade said to me?" 

"I can't make you tell me if you don't want to."

"He said I finally have somebody he can't take from me." 

Oh.

In a way, Wade was correct. That goop can't consume Peter and use him against Miguel, as many had before. It was so sad but also sweet.

Now he felt bad for being jealous. 

"That's right, big guy. And I won't let him take you, either. We're family now, doofus."

Spiders stick together. 

Chapter Text

They needed to break stuff. 

They're angry, hurt and defeated. That monster has wrecked them, taken their friends and ravaged the city they loved. 

Destroying rusted cars was the best option. 

There's something about listening to a man yelling in Spanish that pumps your blood.

"¡Eso es para mi niña!"

"Why the fuck is maternity leave so expensive?"

That might've been an Audi once. 

"¡Mi mamá! ¡Mis hermanas! ¡Mi hermano! ¡Mi madre biológica! ¡Mi sobrina!" Miguel shouted, turning a fairly intact truck into scrap metal. "¡Ni siquiera necesitabas matar a Sofía!"

It's impressive how quickly he turned a truck into a handful of scrap metal. 

"What's the point of college other than debt!? Waste of time. Useless! There are no jobs, and everything's too expensive!"

"¡Odio mi ciudad! ¡Odio que me adoren! ¡Deberían odiarme como odian todo lo que él hizo!"

"Everybody keeps fucking dying! My dad, my aunt, my uncle, my best friend, my mentor, my Gwen, my Captain, my coworkers, my friends, my city, what the fuck next!? MJ? My baby!?"

Going off like this wasn't something Peter could do with just anybody. For all that heroes are revered, they're feared. They have so much power; it's easy to hurt a regular person. 

He could never do it in front of MJ. He couldn't live with himself if he terrified her like that. 

There had been countless times Peter wanted to rip a truck in half out of frustration, just to hit something that couldn't get hurt. How many days had he been so close to not holding so much back? It's like he's a flame in a world of matches, a bullet dancing in a glass house. 

Everything and everyone is just so fragile. When you're capable of lifting a killer whale, everything has the durability of a balloon being held by pins. 

MJ, the love of his life and best friend was a sculpture of ice, and his warm hands threatened to break or melt her into nothingness. 

The friendly neighbourhood Spiderman can't be angry. He can't have a bad day. He has to wear a smile, put the people at ease, and be their symbol of hope even in the bleakest times. They loved Spiderman, and occasionally, they hated him.

Spiderman, the one who always saved the day.

Spiderman, the one who stopped thieves. 

Spiderman, the one who smiled and made jokes. 

Spiderman, the faceless hero. 

Only a handful knew that there was a person behind that mask. A man with fears, regrets and frustration. A man that wanted to be a good father for his family, even when he might not come home one day. 

If Peter died, only a handful would know. Fewer would care. But the mask? That'll live on, and the people who presume he either gave up or died - they would grieve the suit, not the man who wore it. 

Is it wrong to be angry at your legacy? Is it even his?

Spiderman was the one who saved everybody, no matter who they were or what they did. 

With great power comes greater responsibility, but Ben never told him how heavy that burden would be. For all Peter's strength, he struggled not to buckle.

He caved in SHIELD. He wasn't a Spiderman at that moment. He hasn't been since that fucking ball of slime invaded his home. 

No, Peter hasn't been Spiderman for longer than that. The sludge merely made that apparent. 

As a naive sixteen-year-old, he easily fell into black and white. There's a good guy and a bad guy. He stops the bad guys and helps the people. 

How long did that view last? Six years, sadly. Perhaps it was denial. Nothing in the world is ever simple or clear - there's always a bigger fish with a whiter collar. 

Do you blame the soldiers that follow orders or the general that commands them? Do you blame the country or the people who run it? The easy answer is seldom the correct one.

If there even is a right answer. 

Peter spent too long catching the worker bees and not the Queen. Instead of pulling a weed, you need to get at the root. 

Some that fell into the criminal world didn't choose that path. There isn't always a choice. 

There's a choice, but sometimes, you cannot make the one you want or what fits your morals. 

Peter was disgusted with himself. He was angry that he let a man die, but in the grand scheme of things, Fury took three precious days from Peter. That time could've been spent going after that goopy fucker. He hurt Peter's partner. He would've done a lot worse if Peter hadn't broken out. 

Fury chose to be an obstacle in a race against complete decimation, and Peter couldn't let that stand. 

At that moment, he couldn't be Spiderman. He couldn't be Spiderman when facing Steve, either. 

Spiderman doesn't kill.

Peter did. 

He didn't stop the symbiote from eating Clint or Steve. He didn't stop it when it attacked Fury, either. Part of him regretted that he didn't let it consume all of those bastard scientists. 

At this point, he wasn't even hitting the car anymore, beating the muddy concrete under him. Due to his unrestrained hits, the ground was cracked, and his hands would soon bruise. 

He didn't know when he started crying. 

He didn't know when a warm hand rested on his back, but it was gravely appreciated. 

Gods above, he must look pathetic. 

"Déjalo salir todo, mi araña. Es más terapéutico de lo que debería ser."

"Fuck!" Peter shouted, hitting something inanimate nearby. "God, it's just falling apart."

"I won't lie and pretend everything's ok. It's shit. Estamos completamente jodidos. But us? We're still here, and that's something. Maybe not much - my existence proves that the universe has a macabre sense of humour - but it's still something."

"The more I try to fix this, the worse I make it," Peter whimpered, disgusted with how pathetic he sounded. "Everything I touch has just fallen apart..."

"On the contrary - I'd say that you're holding us all together."

That's a nice sentiment. 

"All of this came from not listening," Peter hiccuped, sitting up to look at his concerned friend. "Whenever I don't listen to you, bad things happen."

"Correlation doesn't equal causation," Miguel argued. "I'm cautious about getting assistance from anybody, let alone the X-Men. You only wanted to help." 

"It feels like me trying to help isn't helping."

"You're a good person, mi araña, so it's hitting you harder. I'm familiar with awful people - I know you're far from any of them," he assured, using a thumb to wipe some stray mud from his stubble. "Eres mejor de lo que yo jamás podría ser."

He can't argue with that.

Miguel has spent all of his life around horrible people. It's something he's a connoisseur at. The man almost expects it from people.

It's huge for him to determine that Peter's a good person. It felt more impactful somehow. 

"I wish I wasn't."

It wouldn't hurt so much if he weren't so empathetic. 

"If you weren't, I wouldn't be here. A lot of people wouldn't. You do the right thing not out of duty or a need but because that's just who you are." 

"Can I cry eat a burger?"

"With limitations. Don't want to encourage a potential eating disorder." 

"I'm already fat," Peter whined, getting up and grabbing his gut. It felt so gross compared to the living marble carving that towered over him.

Once upon a time, Peter had a great body and ruined it. 

"I wouldn't say you're fat."

Peter is fat, and water is wet; what's there to argue?

"Oh? And what am I?" Peter inquired, somewhat sarcastically. 

"You're... squishy."

Peter had to do a double take, almost astonished by the sheer deadpan and monotone way Miguel said that. 

Squishy. He called Peter Squishy. 

"Squishy?" the word is like a whisper, astounded. 

"I don't gain adipose like you can, so it's different. You're squishy. I like squishy. It felt nice on my back." 

One thing, Miguel is possibly incapable of gaining too much weight.

Second, he admitted to liking Peter's squish. Now he's calling it squish!

Squish is a nicer word than fat.

"You can get weighted blankets, y'know."

"I can?" Why is that reaction so cute? "Good to know, but it wouldn't be as good as your squish. Your heartbeat is soothing, and your scent is calming - I think I associate you with safety now, mi araña blanda." 

Being the designated safe person for somebody that's been so mistreated is a valuable position.

Peter would protect that trust until the end of his days. It was an honour, and it made him feel warm and giddy. 

For all that Miguel hated himself, and others saw him as a monster, he was adorable. How can a guy that's been hurt so much by everybody be so sweet?

Why is this man so casually sweet? Either it's the social ineptitude or his dry honesty. 

"Oh, right, I nearly forgot," the other man said, tossing something to Peter. "A bit of a rush job. Did it while trying to repair the chronology anchor in my watch."

Peter cradled the small items in his hands. He didn't know what the anchor thing meant, but what he held was incredible.

He lost his web shooters to SHIELD. They were probably ruined by Klyntarus, too. He assumed they were gone, at least.

Here they are, repaired and upgraded. They looked like something out of Tron. 

He knew they were the original ones from the engravings on the inside that Aunt May did. It was a way for her to be with him, even when she wasn't there.

In a stupid fit of anger and grief, Peter had covered them after her death and regretted it, but there they are.

"You went back?"

"America guilted Strange into letting me. Also, Stark wanted to recover some data. A little annoying to find and fairly damaged, but it only took three hours."

How couldn't Peter cling to that man like a koala?

There was a small squeak of surprise, then a thick arm around his back. The magnitude of what was in Peter's hands was incredible; it's like she'd freshly made them when he was twenty. 

Losing her had been one of the hardest things Peter ever endured. She was his mother figure; she was there when his dad and uncle died. She comforted him after Harry, Captain Stacy and Gwen; she always had his back. The day she died was one of the worst. 

May was an incredible, selfless woman. 

"Thank you," was all Peter could grind out, his eyes burning, but any fluid that leaked out seeped into the holographic suit he had his face pressed against.

You wouldn't think refined pectoral muscles would have such an inviting softness. He could feel Miguel's breathing and his strong, warm heart. 

He didn't need to do that. There wasn't any necessity to preserve his last piece of May, but he did. 

"Sé lo importantes que son estas cosas. So long as you remember somebody, they're never truly gone - she's with you, mi araña. She'll always be with you."

A large hand softly stroked Peter's back, comforting him. 

Peter couldn't thank him enough for that; it was such a kind and thoughtful thing that wasn't necessary. 

What could Peter ever do that was even close to the magnitude of what he gifted to him?

"I can't thank you enough for this. Really. It's one of the few things I've got left of her."

"I've got very few things left of my family, so I know how much even the smallest things mean. We don't realise the value until they're gone, and it's always too soon."

He's talking about his daughter; Peter knew that. 

Only eight years old, still a baby. He wasn't far off from that age when his father died. Losing your parent is one thing, but your child? That's a fear Peter could only fathom.

The idea of losing his baby struck fear into him. 

"It's nice. Talking with someone that understands."

"Espero que nunca lo hagas." His friend had a sad look that Peter wanted to wash away. "You're hungry, so let's go find something to eat. They should operate the same as before. I can always tinker more if you'd prefer."

"No, it's fine, really," Peter assured, finally stepping away from his friend as he attached the web shooters. They were soft against his wrists. "I haven't gone swinging without my mask since... Miles attached me to a train."

"How the hell did that happen?"

"Don't remember too well, but it's been a while. Since it was me and not the mask."

"Is there a difference to you?"

"The people don't see me as a person. I hide my face to protect my family, but sometimes I regret wearing it because I'm just a mask and not a fellow guy who worries about rent, taxes and bills. Spiderman's a persona; it's pretend. Spiderman always gets up, even if the human in the suit is crumbling. I'm more than a mask."

"The mask is, as you said, a way to protect your family. You can't control how the populace treats you. Unfortunately, it's easy to be shackled to a pedestal, caged high above. When people are scared, they look to someone who appears strong, knowing and in control; we can be as equally frightened, but not showing it gives off an illusion that works too well. We're dehumanised so that they feel safe because, as fellow humans, they know how fragile we - and therefore their protection - truly are." 

The consequence of being a public shield is that they forget it's one of them holding the said shield. 

Peter is human. He has powers but is as much a middle-aged soon-to-be father as any other guy. He didn't have a college degree despite the immense debt. He spent much of his adolescence working as a photographer, and Peter was lucky to get with the Daily Bugle - they paid more than the average paper place. 

Even then, it wasn't good enough to live off of. He'd taken so many odd jobs, struggling to make ends meet. Even after he got married, it was a battle.

TJI-Spideys was a bust. He didn't know much about running a business, and he didn't like firing people, even if they were useless and refused to work. 

If Ramone and Stephanie were still alive, he hoped to all that was unholy that they stopped being whiny bastards. They refused to show up for work for three weeks. He called about the absence, so they sent their dad to "deal with it". 

Even when powerful bones, a metal bat hurts like a bitch. 

"I get to swing as me. Just me. Not Prometheus on a mountain."

"That's Greek mythos, right?"

"Yeah! Try and keep up, big man."

"¿Qué?"

Peter was gone. He knew Miguel would have no problem following him, so there was no concern.

The city is so eerie without the bustling population he was familiar with. It's near-apocalyptic, which isn't far off. 

With far fewer people, Peter's almost free to fly, to glide in the air as though gravity is a mere afterthought. He's the most free when he swims amongst skyscrapers. 

There's nothing like flinging yourself up, running across windows and dancing on nothingness. It's like you have wings you can't ever see but always feel. 

It's certainly different without a mask to buffer the wind and the cold and block out the extra visual stimuli, but it's so freeing. 

Crispy cold wind rushes into his lungs. It tickled the way down and left him heated from his racing heart. As Peter jumped from what was once a thriving hotel, he saw a string of neon red attached to it behind him. 

His friend swung past him, landing on a crane. 

To anybody else, he'd look intimidating. To Peter, though, that's his friend. 

When Peter got close, his fellow spider merely dropped off, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleyways. 

Curious, Peter followed after him, landing at the entrance of one of the many alleyways. 

"Miguel?" Peter asked, wondering what the man was doing. "What you got planned, big guy?"

He paused, feeling something tug against his foot. Within seconds, Peter was upside down. It was less that he was trapped and more confused.

A pair of glowing eyes floated in the darkness, ominously burning into him. However, they lacked those vile scars to be him. 

His friend had a stupid grin on his face, stalking him. 

It was somewhat intimidating how silently he moved. Not in the way that Peter expected, though. 

Sometimes, Miguel was something out of a vampire movie, one of the good ones. He's the opposite of Twilight. 

"Any particular reason I'm upside down?"

"Curiosity, mostly," the other man said, his fangs glimmering in the low light. "Do I need to recalibrate them?"

Oh, he meant the web shooters. 

"No, they work great."

Peter decided to show by webbing his friend in the face. It was amusing for a moment, but it got stuck in his friend's hair. 

"¡Ay, coño! ¡Se me ha clavado en el ojo!"

"Stop scratching at it; you'll poke an eye out!" Peter shouted, waving his hand. "Just get over here so I can get it out!"

With some whining, Miguel got closer, letting Peter pick the web from his soft hair. A bit had gotten stuck in his eye, which explained the sudden reaction. He did that once, and it hurt like a bitch.

He was so close. He never realised that Miguel had a scar under his left eye; it was small, easy to miss. Was it new?

Peter knew where it came from if it was new. 

Finally, he got the web out, hand still on his friend's face. It felt so eerily familiar yet different. 

So much of Peter yelled at him to get closer, even though that wouldn't solve anything. Why?

There's a wish to wipe away that scar. 

"That mierda stings."

"Sorry, buddy," Peter apologised, yelping as Miguel cut him down.

The man wouldn't let Peter fall on his ass, though, as he caught Peter in those powerful arms. Damn, what did Peter need to do to get that thick?

It felt a little goofy to be held bridal style by a titan. 

"There's a food place nearby," he said, setting Peter down. Part of him felt sad that he wasn't being carried. 

Gods above, Miguel is so warm. 

"The area looks pretty much abandoned?"

"I didn't say it was inhabited."

"Breaking an entering. Seems like a running thing with you."

"As if you haven't, mi araña."

"Touche," Peter accepted, knowing he's broken into several places during his tenure. "Do you at least follow laws in your universe?"

"I've never cared much for the law in any place. A majority of them are only for the poor and oppressed. I don't subscribe to that notion. There are consequences for certain actions; that is all."

"No black and white, huh?"

"White is an encompassing of all colours while black is devoid of them - the grey area is merely deciding what to include and exclude." 

"So... a grey area kinda guy?" 

"Essentially."

"Then just say that instead of being all philosophical!"

"Do you want food or not?"

"Always. Still didn't need to be so fancy about it." 

"I'm from the future; everything about me is fancy."

He couldn't argue with that. 

It's creepy how quiet everything is, but it's a good sign. It meant that people were far away from Klyntarus, the horrid cunt. 

The further innocent people are, the better.

Miguel stopped outside of a door on the street. He waited for Peter, those eyes glowing like rave sticks. They're almost comical. 

"What made you choose this?"

"I can smell the food inside. It's the least degraded."

"So, you just smell like everything?"

"I don't know any different, but yes."

Before Peter could say more, Miguel punched through the door, glass and wood clattering to the floor. 

He went in, unconcerned with the destruction of property or trespassing. Did they even have those laws in his world? If they did, he probably didn't follow them. 

Given Miguel's background, did he have much experience with the law? He's an unethical, illegal experiment, so probably not. The law had never protected him, so why should he care?

The law wouldn't help them destroy Klyntarus, so it didn't matter. 

The restaurant is eerie without people there. He felt bad that they were breaking in, but at least nobody would be hurt. 

Miguel had no such concerns, mildly entertained by the old style of the place. He's from a futuristic world, so that made sense. Everything must be so retro and weird for him. 

The place was a copy of the 80s style of diner. That was back when Peter was little, a long time ago. 

"¿Es un Jukebox?" Miguel inquired, fixated on a jukebox. "Esto es genial. Sólo los he visto en un museo o en holos."

Peter wandered over, amused by Miguel's intrigue. Had he never seen one of them before? 

Assuming the whole building was shut off, Peter searched for the breakers, hoping to give his friend a fun time. After finding them, he turned the place on, feeling a little like a hooligan. 

He's broken some cars in a junkyard, broken into a place and is now stealing. It's for sure; Spiderman's staying home tonight. 

It's just him and not the mask. 

"Dios mío, it's hideous," his friend commented as Peter re-entered the dining hall. 

The bright neon pinks, blues and reds were certainly odd nowadays. Probably in the future, too. However, it's a piece of the past and a simpler time.

Then again, that's probably because Peter was a child.

"If you think that's bad, you should've seen the hair back then. I had a bowl cut."

"What's that?"

"A very humiliating hairstyle." 

"Your century is so weird."

"Don't say it like that! You make me feel old."

"I mean, you're from the twentieth century, and I'm from the twenty-second, so..."

"You don't have to bully me," Peter grumbled, leaning behind the jukebox. It was unplugged, so Peter put it back into the wall. It buzzed to life, amusing his friend. "Have you never seen one of these before?"

"In a museum."

The outer lining hummed and danced with colours. It brought back memories of his dad, Ben and May when Peter was a small kid. He valued those memories, even the ones where the birth giver was present. 

Peter looked through the available roster. There are some bangers from the 80s. 

What is future music like?

"What do you guys listen to in the future?"

"Synth Wave, mostly."

"What's that?"

"Nobody's quite sure yet. Klyntarus didn't allow music, being a symbiote and all, so people have been very... creative. It's also been called Dawn Drive, Cyberpunk and Coil Metal."

Right, Peter forgot that his world had been a dictatorship. A life without music wasn't living; it was misery. 

Yeah, he could see people diving headfirst into creative freedom without that monster around. 

"You're a good singer for a guy that grew up without music."

It's true. He sounds beautiful, better than Peter could even dream of being. At best, Peter was like an armadillo coughing in a house fire. 

"Mexico wasn't completely free, but Guadalajara was one of the places with the least influence. I learned guitar there. My sister Sofía taught me to sing. She taught me Tuyo for my quinceañero."

"I thought that was for girls."

Peter's learning a lot about Mexican culture. At least Miguel's universe's version of it. 

What is Tuyo, anyway?

"It depends on the family. Ma was insistent on it."

That's sweet. The more he learned about his mother, the more he was sad she passed. She was an excellent influence on Miguel. 

"I had a Bar Mitzvah."

"That's cool."

Peter wouldn't have considered that statement genuine if it wasn't for who said it. 

"It was more for Ben and May. I still had fun, though," Peter said, looking for a spare quarter.

Miguel went to the cash register and broke it open, effectively robbing the place. He took some coins out and tossed them to Peter.

He didn't have qualms about stealing. Meanwhile, Peter felt bad if he ate "too much" of his and MJ's shared leftovers. 

It's cute how excited he was to see the machine in action. 

"We got a good list here. Foreigner, Bonnie Tyler, Queen, Kate Bush, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, ABBA - what do you want to try first?"

"You choose."

"I'll just go with the playlist - looks like Michael Jackson first."

"¡Muy bien! I'll make food."

"With what?"

"From whatever's in the freezer."

"You seriously don't mind stealing, do you?"

"Soy un anarquista, mi buena araña. If needed, I'll give them Stark's money. Wanna watch or situate on one of those hideous seats?" 

"Dinner and a show? I'm spoiled."

"Sí. It's hardly a show, though."

"Compared to me, it's theatre. I'm fucking awful at cooking."

"You can't be that bad."

"I set a freezer on fire in college."

"And I've been corrected. Mantén tu culo alejado de cosas inflamables."

Miguel hopped over the counter because why use the door?

Feeling like a naughty teenager, Peter followed him, listening to "Beat It" in the background. 

The building was so empty that the music echoed off the walls, vibrating in Peter's bones. He couldn't help but shimmy to it, even though he resembled a fish flopping on land. 

Watching his friend investigate the cooking equipment and plan a meal was incredibly entertaining. He's a perfectionist type. He washed his hands, even his claws, before touching anything food related. 

It shouldn't be so entertaining, honestly. It's like a cooking show. The man didn't even have spidey sense, just a trained and honed knack for preparing food. 

Did he learn that from his mom too? 

It's hard to believe that not even two days ago, this man was on the cusp of dying again. He's like a ping pong ball, bouncing back in ways Peter could only marvel at. 

Before he knew it, Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" sent waves up his spine. The nostalgia of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" from Tears of Fears sent sparks from his back to his toes.

As Peter watched, he noticed some silver on Miguel's nape. That's the nodule that activates his suit. 

How odd. He should ask about it. 

"Can I ask about the thing on the back of your neck?"

"It's a cybernetic implant. Usually, I have Lyla to control it, but I'm cut off from her - she's an AI I developed. She was supposed to be a gift to my sister, but she died, so she's mine. Annoyingly, you two would get on well," the man answered, the final part slightly sarcastic. 

From how Miguel described her, she sounded like a person he happened to have invented. 

"You made an AI? Like... a sentient lifeform?"

"Sí. She's my assistant. She's a second pair of hands that make operating the headquarters much easier," Miguel said, starting to sizzle something in a pan. "That includes assuring the watch accurately locks to the correct quantum coordinates. It'd be nice if she weren't so sassy, though." 

Peter was going to pretend he understood what quantum coordinates were. 

He couldn't get over how Miguel had created an AI, though. 

That's major and incredibly difficult. Keeping them from becoming Skynet or Hal 9000 is also a problem. 

"About the watch, what's a chronological anchor?"

"Time tends to flow differently between universes. The chronological anchor stops that. Everyone wearing it attaches to my universe's time, ensuring we're all able to communicate and function as though we were from the same place - it makes communication more efficient."

He says this as though it's so simple.

"So... you're out of alignment with everybody else?"

That would explain why none came looking for him despite being nearly three weeks. 

"I approximate that I've been missing for about four hours to them. The anchor component is fried, and the necessary materials don't exist in your universe." 

"I guess that explains how Noir is still in the Nazi era and how Gwen showed up in Miles' universe a week early."

"Yeah. That means no spidey backup. And unfortunately, SHIELD messed with the watch, so at best, I can attempt to boost the communication to send an SOS - that could take another week to get to them. Any more than that, and I could ruin the stabiliser."

"How about you don't destroy the thing keeping your atoms together."

"That's the plan, mi araña hambrienta."

That hurts so much. He hated it so much when in Miles' dimension. 

Gwen managed to survive over a week, which was a good sign - or it was unique to everybody. 

He never wanted his friend to endure that again. 

Peter smiled as "Careless Whisper" came on. It was one of May and Ben's favourite songs. He remembered when they danced to it in the living room, sharing a love he longed for. It hurt that he couldn't do that for MJ for so long. 

It's a bit corny for Peter, but he was happy that it reminded him of his parental figures. 

"Come on, I'm done," his friend said, gently pulling him from that memory. 

Peter was intrigued. What had his friend created?

He followed behind his taller friend, smelling something different but familiar. 

They left the kitchen, and Peter was excited. He sat behind the counter, feeling his cheeks warm as a plate got placed before him. It looked fantastic, delicious and fresh. 

When Peter tried to lean over, his back froze up. It's nothing he isn't used to. 

Peter was unprepared for over three hundred pounds of interdimensional hybrid to hop over the counter and turn him into playdough. 

Miguel had casually cracked Peter's back and neck like bubblewrap, alleviating the spasming muscles around his spine. 

It's like a punch to the face, but it was good and made him feel better. 

"That should bring some relief, albeit minimal. A temporary fix for now."

Since when was Miguel a chiropractor?

"For now?" Peter questioned, a little startled.

What couldn't this man do?

"Obviously. When I have my equipment, I can design a replacement for the damage to your thoracic and lumbar spinal regions - specifically the L1, L2, T12, T10 and T8, possibly even the T4 - they didn't heal correctly and are the source of your reoccurring back pain."

He wanted to fix Peter's back. He wouldn't even get anything out of it and had shown he had no care for money - he wanted to do it just because. 

"You got all that from hearing!?"

Peter underestimated how sensitive the man's senses were. Could he hear everything inside a body? That's so cool but also freaky. 

"Sí. Now eat up."

With gusto. 

He couldn't help but watch his friend fiddle with a little thermometer, investigating it like an ancient relic. It's like a child checking out a new toy. 

Peter watched him, the song "I Want to Break Free" by Queen bellowing from the jukebox, freshly made burger in hand. As he bit into it, flavour and care exploded in his mouth. 

If he could, Peter wanted to hire this man as his chef. It's an orgasm in his mouth - a foodgasm. 

"God, I need you to teach me to cook. I want my kid to bite into heaven like this."

"You've got low standards."

"Nope, don't ruin this. Keep that shit where it belongs; in the trash! You're a great cook, and I am biting into what was hidden in the Ark of the Covenant - Nazis died to see this! Indiana Jones had to look away lest his face melt."

"Indiana's a state, isn't it?"

"We're watching Indiana Jones as soon as we're back. I will not have you withheld from such fun."

"Old movie stuff isn't around much, so it'll be entertaining to see how the old films were depicted, even if they're at best fantasy with science and physics."

"If it were meant to be scientifically accurate, Migs, it'd be a documentary."

"That's a fair point. So it's a "turn the brain off" kinda thing?" 

"Exactly! It's something to laugh at, to make you feel, think, and experience. Some are stupid, but many are artistic ventures. Even bad movies can be interesting, like The Room - that's a trip and a half! It's a tradition to throw spoons at the screening of it."

"You're very passionate about it, so it must be fascinating. Could make a night out of it."

"If you made food, too, I would die a happy man." But then his mouth kept making sounds. "Are you happy?"

What a stupid question to ask somebody. 

Despite that horrific mistake, he observed his friend ponder the question seriously. 

Fuck, he needed to fix it. 

"I mean, like, y'know, in this diner? With a funky jukebox, just us, and the bad decor. I'm not half-bad company; I hope not, at least. You're good at this, helping me forget about all the bullshit, even for a little bit. That gives me a space to enjoy something and be happy without the pressures of more bullshit. I was hoping it's the same for you." 

Now he felt even more stupid. 

Why did he have to open his big mouth? All Peter should do is eat, not poke his friend while he's still emotionally vulnerable. 

Peter wanted to shrink into himself and disappear.

"I haven't felt happy in a long time," Miguel started, making Peter's heart skip a beat. Oh shit, he could probably hear that, too. "That's been changing lately, despite, y'know, everything. It's weird. I shouldn't be so glad that there's someone angry for my sake and not because of me. It's nice. So... Yeah. I think I am," he said, looking into Peter's soul. "In this diner, far from the bullshit, with good company." 

That's relieving, but it shouldn't make his heart beat faster. 

He's so close!

Peter could almost feel his breath, the freckles over his nose and under his eyes shimmering like stars under the lights. His pupils were large, likely from the adrenaline, and they shined, reflective like a golden mirror. It was possible that Peter could see his soul in those endless pools of burgundy. 

Why is he panicking?

"Do you want any?" Peter blurted out, offering what remained of the burger.

"It's got tomatoes in it."

"Oh, shit, I didn't even realise. You put those in just for me?"

"Obviously."

Stop being sweet for the love of all that's in the force. 

As Peter finished the meal, he turned to the jukebox. The music was flowing, echoing, begging for attention.

It tingled under his skin, helped by the heat brought on by how sweet Miguel was. The man threatened to give Peter cavities with only a smile. 

He needed to burn it off. He needed to distract from the warmth growing in his cheeks. 

The elder spider hopped off the seat, his friend merely observing curiously. 

Rick Asterly was dancing in Peter's eardrums. And no, he would never give up. It's a great song! 

It's also a great meme! Rick Rolling was amazing. 

"I've been sent this song so many times," Miguel admitted, confused. "Why?"

"It's a joke, Migs. You've been Rick Rolled!"

"So... I can send it back as revenge?"

"And they'd never believe it was you."

"The perfect crime. I like that."

Teaching his friend to prank people was going to be immensely fun. 

Peter can't dance; that's a fact. That didn't mean he couldn't try to make his friend laugh.

He watched as Miguel paid attention, observing his moves, somewhat entertained. He had such a great smile, and Peter wanted to see more of it. So many people have stolen that small joy from him, and Peter wouldn't allow that. 

Never again was Peter going to let anybody take a thing from his friend. 

The lights above them flickered and shut off, the jukebox dying soon after. 

Well, shit.

The only light in there was Miguel's brilliant burgundy eyes. 

And Miguel started whistling, replacing the sudden silence. It prickled against Peter's skin, sending sparks up his spine.

It's a tune that Peter hadn't heard before, something fresh and new. That was a running theme with Miguel - he was always new, unique, exciting and interesting. Everything from those eyes, his voice, how he fought, his history, how he overcame such trials and managed to stay sane. 

Peter could never tire of that voice. His smell was different, a mix of cinnamon and smoke, ambrosia to the senses. It's uniquely his. 

What held the greatest power, however, was his soul. He could see Peter in ways so many others couldn't. They had only known each other for not even three weeks, but it's like he's been there for all of Peter's life. 

But whistling wasn't enough. It didn't compare to the audible gold that flowed over Peter like a soft, warm shower after a hard day. 

He started to sing.

Soy el fuego que arde tu piel

Soy el agua que mata tu sed

El castillo, la torre yo soy

La espada que guarda el caudal

The lyrics were in Spanish, often considered the language of the soul. The inflexions were so uniquely him, though, how the sound rolled with presence and power from the larger man. 

It was a hypnotic trance, how an angel's whimper came from a fellow mortal. 

If the singing wasn't enough, Peter's friend stood, towering him in the darkness, save from those glowing rubies of light, a promise to escape any darkness threatening to consume him. 

Tu el aire que respiro yo

Y la luz de la luna en el mar

La garganta que ansio mojar

Que temo ahogar de amor

There were no words that could escape the grasp on Peter's throat, trapped by the whispers of the heavens themselves. 

Every move of those lips, the flick of a long tongue, and the shine from those beautiful fangs plucked Peter's heartstrings as though he were an inanimate harp. He had no idea what those words meant, but they felt right. 

The mystery was almost as enticing as seeing those great eyes half-lidded, focused solely on Peter's enamoured stare. The world around them had melted into nothingness save for that beautiful sound. 

And he kept getting closer, but never close enough. 

Y cuales deseos me vas a dar?

Dices tu, "Mi tesoro basta con mirarlo

tuyo será, tuyo será"

Like a flash of lightning, the magnum opus of nature was gone as soon as it came. 

"Holy shit," was all Peter could muster, his friend so close yet, too far from him. "That was... beautiful."

"You looked bummed out, so I wanted to change that. Didn't think you'd be so... focused."

"How couldn't I?"

"Aren't I spoilt for compliments?"

As always, he undervalued how incredible he was. Once again, Peter would rectify that misconception. 

"Not nearly enough," Peter said, urged to end the brief gap between them. Thoughts out the window, Peter wrapped his arms around the man's warm back. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. This. The food. My shooters... just being you."

What did Peter do to deserve a person like this? Someone so hurt with every right to take it out on the universe, but with a heart that shined brighter than a flashlight on polished gold. 

A man with the strength of a tank but the gentleness of a hummingbird. 

He would say looks were deceiving, but Peter had never seen him other than just, well, him.

A man, a human, with incredible powers and the incentive to help others. Somebody that can hold Peter with true empathy, knowing as once he'd been in Peter's place, something so few could ever understand. 

It's fate that Peter didn't wish on anybody. He didn't want any of the hardships Miguel held on his shoulders to burden him further, and it was a mutual endeavour. 

"Thank you. For making me feel human." 

"Always, buddy. Always."

With the restaurant cold and dark, there was no point staying inside. 

The night still had much to show, and how better to end their escapade into normalcy than to enjoy the peace? To see the lights above twinkling, shining and painting the sky with such marvellous shapes. 

The duo made short work of reaching the highest points. It was easy for them, like a fish gliding across a reef. 

For now, there was only them and the sky, free from the existential dread. 

Peter chose one of his favourite spots, where he would read a paper, eat a doughnut with coffee, and enjoy the sun. It was a slice of peace, of safety, and he would share that place with his friend.

Having somebody like you, who understands your plights without a PowerPoint lecture, was a gift.

And so they sat, feet dangling over an edge that would be precarious for anybody else. Not them, however.

The stars were brilliant, and the moon hung high. 

The night is cold and dark without the bustling life of New York. It's not empty, but many have fled. He could barely recognise his home. 

Peter glanced at the man beside him, feeling his warmth. He wasn't sure why Miguel was warmer than necessary, but it was comforting. In Peter's darkest hours, he was there. 

His glowing eyes should be disturbing, but they're just that special shade. What was so magic about burgundy, Peter didn't know anymore, but it's his favourite.  

"I don't want to be a pessimistic asshole, but what if we lose?"

As usual, he had to ruin it with his big mouth.

"Then we lose together."

That shouldn't be so immensely soothing. 

Peter felt weight lean against him, heavy and warm, the smell of ambrosial smoke and cinnamon hitting like a soft punch. It was like an embrace, holding him tightly. It was like a shield protecting Peter from the harrowing situation, giving him a space of peace and safety. 

Despite everything that's gone so horrifically wrong these past weeks, at least one thing has been right.

It felt good to lean back. A muscular shoulder is surprisingly comfortable to rest his head against. 

"You won't be alone, mi araña. Y si está demasiado oscuro para que veas, sostendré tu mano como tú has sostenido la mía."

No, he won't.

He thought about when his friend was alone, left to the sadistic enjoyment of those bastard scientists and Fury. It pissed him off. 

Peter moved, looking for the mark he saw earlier. Without thinking, he reached up, touching the scar. It was so small but had a gigantic, painful, frightening story.

A part of Peter was glad to know, to have felt it as Miguel had. That was another thing he didn't have to carry alone, a small burden lifted from those thick shoulders. 

Although his friend had every right to push him away, Miguel didn't. 

"Does it still hurt?" Peter asked, his thumb dragging under that little thin line.

He wasn't sure there was a word that accurately described how he felt when Miguel rested his cheek against Peter's palm. 

"Not any more."

So much of Peter wanted, no, needed, to get closer.

He wanted to brush that mark away, to make it disappear. If his thumb wouldn't do...

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," Peter said softly, crashing that train of thought before his heart imploded. 

"You always are, mi preciosa araña."

Damn straight. 

Oh, to have a perfect night, free from the horrors and stress of their duty. It was a peace Peter longed to savour.

He laid his head into his friend's clavicle, looking up at the endless stars above. Without the city's light, more were visible than ever before.

As if it wasn't already perfect, he felt Miguel rest his head against Peter's, watching above as well. 

He never wanted to leave this moment. 

Chapter Text

The night was amazing.

Over the past couple of weeks, Peter had been through the wringer. It sucked. The only bright side of it was his new friend. 

It gave Peter a brief time of peace, safety and fun. It was incredible. Dinner, gifts, music and a race across the skyscrapers. If Peter ever had a date, he wanted it to be like that. 

Gods above, it made Peter feel so good. It filled him with warmth and comfort. 

The best part was that there wasn't a plan or expectations besides enjoying themselves. Being able to be free, to be him, was liberating. 

It's so special to share an intimate part of yourself so few saw or even acknowledged. To Miguel, Peter is just that; he's Peter.

He isn't another spider or the mask; he's himself. 

Part of him was upset when their night was over. They needed it, though. It was beautiful, comforting, and he wished it never ended. 

In a way, it didn't. They went to bed - of course, Peter was happy to be a weighted blanket again - and then it started. 

Peter's in the diner again. He knew it was a dream because the sun was out and the city was alive again. He saw MJ outside, drinking tea and talking to May. 

He'll never forget how horrible she looked as she was dying. As thin as a stick, pale and not the same woman that raised him. Her mind started to go before her. It broke him to see her like that.

Here, though, May was well. She looked a decade younger, healthy and happy. 

A whistle tickled the hairs on the back of Peter's next. That song. The one in Spanish he couldn't translate but felt deep inside. 

The smell of food made his stomach shudder, the addition of that smoky cinnamon only making him feel warmer. 

He was drawn to the origin of that great sound and scent, the giant that captivated Peter with every waking moment. 

The smell was potent because Peter was asleep on top of that man. His warmth must be what's radiating through Peter's being. The man's a living hot water bottle. 

The image his sleepy brain conjured stared into his soul, that whistle coming from deep in his chest. 

That heat in Peter kept growing. 

Peter couldn't move as he stood, stalking him as he had in the alleyway. Those eyes were warm, glowing burgundy with cat-like pupils. 

Deep inside, the primitive monkey inside him quivered, and his heart raced. Those are the eyes of a hunter, a predator, something to flee from. 

He was but a lamb facing a dragon, a creature not of this earth but also a culmination of nature's ferocity. Every breath from that broad chest held power which could break Peter into five pieces. 

But Peter didn't run as his lizard brain pleaded. As much as those teeth, eagle-like talons, and razor-sharp pupils should frighten Peter, it was who they belonged to that kept him still. 

"Eres tan mía como yo tuya, mi araña," came a voice belonging to a mighty seraphim. His vocal cords fluttered like wings, creating a rich sound only comparable to the horns of the rapture. 

The lizard brain was a fool. What's safer than a tiger standing beside you than before you?

His eyes hazed as the memories of their shared night washed over him. The echoes of that song licked at his brain and soul. 

A freak to many, a marvel to some, but to Peter, that's his friend. A man that has been through hell but managed to dance upon the tightrope of heroism. 

Peter could only dream of being that selfless, that humble and determined. He was so weak in comparison.

"I wish I spoke Spanish," Peter mumbled. 

His skin lit like a forest fire as a finger dipped under Peter's chin, making him look up into that chiselled face. 

"I'll teach you, among other things, mi araña."

"L-Like what?"

"Cooking, for one thing," said the dreamed version of his friend, his voice dipping lower. "I'll make you sing."

Before he could respond, Peter felt something tug at him, begging him to follow.

There's a doorway that didn't belong there. Standing there was a shape that he knew, but something was wrong. After a few moments, Peter's mind recognised the familiar presence. It's the symbiote.

If Miguel could connect to Peter, it made sense that the symbiote could, too. Why it was here, he couldn't fathom. 

There's another intangible tug requesting him to follow. 

For a moment, Peter's gaze returned to the facade of his fellow spider.

"Be the hero I know you are, mi araña."

It felt like permission, letting Peter go. He didn't know what for, but he trusted his friend, even if he was a subconscious creation.

Although nervous, Peter let the symbiote pull him from the magical scene. He would grieve for the serenity of it if he were allowed. 

As soon as he was through that "doorway", everything was different. 

For a few brief moments, Peter saw a new york that wasn't his. It was vast, more than anything he's ever seen. Skyscrapers surpassed the clouds, cars flying within invisible lanes and neon lights humming like a heartbeat. 

It's something out of a futuristic film, a cyberpunk core concept art that came to life. Despite the sheer beauty, he could feel the dread and misery. The city was a colourful prison, and the warden was the same monster that threatened to destroy Peter's universe. 

There's something that clouded the smell of smoky cinnamon. 

That's the smell of fire. 

His vision has changed, like Peter's watching a first-person movie. 

Emotions pierced Peter's heart like a harpoon, bleeding grief, terror and guilt through his veins. His eyes burned from exhaustion and fear, his arms trembling. 

He could barely blink, fixated on a fragile May in his eyes. She's bleeding out, and there's nothing he can do. The sheer helplessness was second to the terror of losing his May, she who offered her hand when all others dismissed him.

She saw him as more than what he was. 

"You're a good boy," May said weakly, her hand caressing Peter's face. It felt so cold. "With great power comes incredible potential. I know you'll do good, my sweet baby."

"Ma, please," Peter heard himself whine, shaking. He's never called May that. "I don't know what to do. I'm not ready - I can't lose you!"

"Nobody is ready, my hijo. You're going to stop that monster, and you'll save the world," she continued, sounding quieter, more distant. She wiped away a tear, smiling softly. "No llores, mi dulce bebé. You're perfect. You've always been my son, and you always will be."

"Mamita, please," Peter begged, feeling bile rise in his throat as her hand dropped. He couldn't breathe as the light from her eyes disappeared. He couldn't hear her heartbeat. "Ma! Mamita!"

What else could he do but pull May to his body and scream, cry, curse the world for taking her away? She was the first to offer her hand, see him, give him a name, and teach him to be alive.

He couldn't accept it. His May couldn't be gone. She promised to always be with him, to make the hurt disappear. 

"Hermanito!" MJ cried, grabbing his shoulders. Her skin connected to his, and it burned like a branding iron. "We have to go! ¡Vámonos!"

When Peter looked at her, there was a glitch, a brief shift in his vision. Where MJ knelt, gripping his shoulder, was a young woman. She had curly brown hair tangled in debris, dirt and blood; she had a cut over the bridge of her small but familiar-shaped nose. 

As quickly as the stranger appeared, she was replaced with MJ. 

"We can't leave her," Peter sobbed, unable to hold it inside. "We can't!"

"Yes, don't leave. We just got started," said a voice that seeped into Peter's very bones. "Look how big you've gotten, little pet. I've missed you."

As the tsunami of sludge neared, he felt MJ grab him, desperate to pull him away from the oncoming abyss. It was so gigantic, a neverending deluge of darkness that hungered for him specifically. It was starved for his soul. 

Gw-Sofía-en died because of this monster, and it took his May. His ma. 

Peter felt his heart plummet as Harry and Norman stood on the sidelines, waiting, watching with malicious spite. Why did Har-Arthur-ry hate him? They were brothers!

"I can't let you do that," Miles said, earning the monster's intrigue. 

"Oh? And what'll you do, Mi- Gabri -les?" 

"Don't try anything, son," Norman added, revolted by Miles' presence. 

No. Please, don't. Not this.

"I love you, Hermana, Hermanito," Miles said, holding a detonator. It merely amused Klyntarus, far too arrogant to believe he could ever be harmed. "For Mamita and Sofía."

"No!" Peter yelled, protesting as MJ pulled him. He shot a web from his wrist, but a dark barrier prevented it from reaching his brother. 

It confused Klyntarus. Curiously, the abomination pressed against it, reeling back as his tentacle burned away. He turned to Gab-iles, scowling with hate. 

Miles shed a single tear as he pressed the detonator. For a second, the image of Miles shifted to that of a young man, pale and sickly, with goggles atop his head and a purple scarf around his neck. 

Instincts took over. He grabbed onto MJ and ran. He hurt, but he couldn't let her die too. His heart raced as he jumped into the polluted sky, smog burning his throat.

The sound of an explosion burst his eardrums. The city screamed around him, lights burning from every direction. Without thinking, he bolted for the undercity, falling through one of the many vent holes. He shielded MJ with his body, crashing harshly into a dilapidated building.

He couldn't breathe. There was no air. It constricted around his chest, crushing his ribs into dust as water burst from his eyes. The smell disgusted him, as did the blood on his hands. His May's blood.

MJ was back, holding his tear-soaked face and making it look into her own. She was dishevelled and bruised but alive.

"Ma-" he struggled, feeling bile sting his vocal cords.

There wasn't even a guarantee that Felic-Lyla-ia had succeeded. She could be dead, too. 

She hugged him, sobbing into his chest as he struggled to process losing May and Miles. His big brother's gone. It was one thing with Harry, but Mi-riel?

Peter sank through the floor and wasn't in that place anymore. 

No, he's back in front of May's body, but it's not her anymore. It's somebody else, a Latino woman. Instead of MJ, it was that girl. 

He wasn't holding her now; he's been separated, viewing it as though he'd intruded on an open stage in a theatre. 

Peter stared at a young man - no, Peter knew he wasn't a man, despite his size. He was only seventeen, cradling his mother's body, his sister reaching for him. 

In slow motion, it played out, and despite there being no sound, Peter had already heard what was spoken. He felt the emotions burning in the kid in front of him. 

What had felt like hours was mere minutes, not nearly enough time to process. 

Another tug inquired Peter's attention. 

Peter looked up and saw it. The symbiote stood there in the sky, a wriggling mass of midnight blue. It chose to show him this. Was it behind the other one? The experience at SHIELD?

"Why?" Peter choked, struggling to process the immense grief burning in his chest. 

It used every piece of its limited intelligence to send the message to him directly - Peter is safe. He makes Miguel feel safe and heals the wounds it cannot. It doesn't care one way or another for Peter, only that he's a benefit for the wellbeing of its host. 

Was it behind their freaky link? Possibly.

And then it's gone, and Peter's eyes are now open. 

Names swirled in Peter's head; Gabriel, Iris, Jasmine, Tyler, Arthur, the people in that snippet of his friend's harrowing existence. He didn't know whose name belonged to who other than Iris'. 

It was a knife that twisted in Peter's chest. Nobody should lose their mom and brother like that. And it was implied that another of his family died before that. 

When Peter was fully awake, he heard something that didn't belong. It was small, shaky, an attempt to be silent. 

Peter gently shifted, not wanting to startle his friend. After a moment, Peter saw Miguel's face scrunched in unconscious fear and distress. The symbiote must've pulled Peter into the intense flashback. 

May died somewhat peacefully in a hospital with Peter at her side. He lost his mom in his arms, murdered by a monster. 

Do all spider folk get that line? With great power. He liked Iris' interpretation of that exhausted line, though. 

With great power comes incredible potential.

He couldn't let his friend endure that torment any further, but he couldn't shake him awake. That'd only scare him more. 

Gently, Peter touched his face, softly rubbing away the creased wrinkles on his forehead and around those beautiful eyes. There's a dampness that Peter wiped away, struggling not to cry with him. 

That thing has taken so much. The greedy monster has stripped his friend bare and wounded, vulnerable to further torment. He planned on doing the same to Peter and his world, too. 

Peter wouldn't let him win. He won't allow him to break Miguel. 

He wouldn't let Peter break. He dove into the belly of the monster that tore his family away to save his fat lazy ass. 

That's more than most others would do for Peter. That's what a real hero does, fighting to save others. 

A real hero wouldn't abandon his son and brother figure. 

A real hero wouldn't allow a twelve-year-old to fight regardless of her robot. 

He knew that Miguel wouldn't allow that. He was everything Peter dreamed of being. So strong for withstanding such burdens. 

What did Peter know about anguish in comparison?

After some painful moments that felt like years, a burgundy glow betrayed that his eyes had opened.

"Hey, buddy," Peter said, soft and understanding. 

There's a look of confusion, then embarrassment.

"I woke you?"

The guilt was thick and heartbreaking. 

"No, pal, you didn't." Technically it was the symbiote. "I'm sorry."

His friend isn't stupid, far from it. He's a borderline savant. 

The realisation hit hard. Once again, Peter saw through Miguel's eyes. It was a mere peek at his harrowing existence. 

Before the guilt-ridden apologies could roll out, Peter put his hand over the younger man's mouth, stopping him. 

"Don't apologise, Migs; you didn't do anything wrong," Peter said, removing his hand. He didn't want to trigger anything, thanks to that fucking muzzle. "It was the symbiote."

"The... what?"

"Yeah. It came to get me and showed me everything. I'm so, so sorry that happened to you."

He was only a kid. It's debatable whether to call him a teenager; he'd only been living for five years by then.

Being locked up in a lab, isolated from existence, wasn't living. It was certainly no life, either. 

"How? It shouldn't... it's never been like that before."

Despite the situation, his confusion was still cute.

"I don't understand it myself, but I'm glad. If it believes I'm safe, that's a damn big compliment."

"I don't want you burdened with my stupid shit."

"That's far from stupid or shit, buddy," Peter argued. "I'm so sorry that you lost your mom like that."

Peter wanted to hold him and make all that pain vanish, to keep that slimy fuck from hurting him more. 

"I failed her," Miguel said, hiding his face under those incredible eyes into the pillow. "Soy un maldito fracaso. Ella me odiaría..."

Peter shuffled. He didn't want to get off the man's back, but he needed to move to comfort better.

He moved, bringing Miguel's head against his chest. Even now, his hair was soft; it reminded him of a cat. To provide some sense of security, Peter pulled up a blanket, covering his broad back. 

"You haven't failed, Migs. You saved your world, and you're stopping him - not only in your dimension but others, too. You've gone beyond what she knew you'd do." 

He felt warm wetness grow against his chest, and Peter was content with that. 

That's not a life any kid should endure. He's been through hell himself, let alone what his friend has. 

And yet, he's still standing. Figuratively. 

"I failed her," his friend cried, mixed between anger and grief. "I failed Gabriel, Sofía, Jasmine, Lyla, my baby girl, and even that asshole, Arthur. He won't stop until I let him take me... he'll keep taking until there's nothing."

Hearing how much that beautiful voice was breaking hurt Peter in the soul. It sounded wrong. It's like listening to a cat moo; that's not how it should be. 

To try and bring more comfort, Peter lightly pulled the blanket over them, blocking the outside world. The only light was those brilliant eyes smothered by Peter's "borrowed" shirt. 

"You solved that. He can't take me."

"He can still kill you, araña."

Technically true. However, Peter wouldn't allow that. 

"He'll die trying. No spider left behind, right?" Peter sighed, raking his fingers through those soft, curled brown locks. They were nicer than anything Peter ever had. "I've got you, buddy. And if there's another nightmare, I can pull you out and talk you through it."

He needs someone to tell him that he's not nearly as horrid as that slimy bastard has convinced him he is. 

Peter sees how good he is, the warmth and the desperate need to be more than his condition. As Miguel saw Peter under the mask, Peter saw Miguel behind the fangs, not that they were unpleasant. He couldn't imagine his friend without them.

They're just another part of him, like those freckles on his face or the small birthmark on his thigh. 

"Can I help you?"

As always, he prioritises others over himself. It's so endearing and frustrating. 

The question was more than a request. He was asking himself if he could help Peter on the inside.

Peter didn't see why not. It's not like Peter's trauma was comparable to his. That wasn't something to tell him, though. It's not a competition. 

"You already do," Peter said, feeling a near choke, the weight of his words both adding to and alleviating the burden on the taller man's soul. 

He's so sweet. It was only fair for Peter to make sure he knew that. 

"¿Incluso después de haber arruinado tu vida?"

"I don't know what you said, buddy. Knowing you, though, it's time for our once-a-day. No repeats."

"Eso no es justo..."

"Come on. You can do it."

"I make you happy...?"

It wasn't incorrect.

"Yeah, you do," Peter agreed, enjoying how his hair felt. "If you need me, I'll be right here, alright? I'm always here."

"I'll get you next time."

"I know you will."

Tonight, Miguel was the weighted blanket, and Peter was happy with that. 

Chapter Text

MJ should be resting, but she needed to know her boys were ok. 

America and Triage were with her. They were sweet kids. Young Triage was mute, and thankfully, America knew ASL. They were uber cute together. 

It seemed like her best friend wasn't the only one finding love.

It's so clear to everyone else, and she was so happy for him. 

"Are you sure you don't want us with you?" America asked, Triage almost hugging her shadow. He's such a sweet kid. He passed out so many times to heal her boys. "Puedo decirle que mantenga su boca colmilluda cerrada para ti."

"I'll be fine, darling. I'll only be a minute."

Her best friend and their former stray needed her. She didn't have spidey sense, but she's a Watson. They always knew when their loved ones needed them.

Triage opened the door for her like the sweet young man he was. If he were white like her, she knew she'd see the burning red on his cheeks at America's approving grin. 

Young love. It's a precious thing.

Old love is just as invaluable, though. 

Peter deserved to love and be loved in all the ways he needed. He's such a good partner, always willing to bend backwards to help. 

She'd pray to whatever god was willing - or unwilling - to give him peace. 

MJ snuck into the room, smiling softly. 

Peter was sprawled out on their combined mattresses, Miguel using Peter's stomach like a pillow. Curiously, he had his head covered by the blanket. Maybe he was protecting his eyes?

He wasn't asleep, only on the cusp of it, fingers kneading where his crush's hair must be. He's always had a thing for doing that, a small reminder that he's still here and his loved one is safe and close.

The elder spider noticed her, about to move, before MJ raised her hand, stopping him.

Although heavily pregnant, MJ is a determined woman. She manoeuvred her way to the greying man, sitting beside him.

The weeks have been cruel and unrelenting to him. He needed a break, something to reprieve him from this constant existential horror. 

"You're tired, Peter," MJ sighed, feeling him lean his head on her shoulder. 

"I'm always tired, MJ," Peter said, his eyes drifting to the younger man's head that rested on his stomach. "I want to be strong. Like him."

"Don't be silly. You've always been strong."

He was the strongest, sweetest man she knew. 

"No. Spiderman's strong. Me? I've never been... not nearly like him."

There were many times since knowing him where he showed some annoyance at the mask, at his hero identity, but never like this. 

He sounded like he resented his version of Spiderman compared to Miguel's. She doubted he was thinking clearly; Peter was one of the best heroes alive. 

Children felt safe to play because of Spiderman. Not currently, thanks to the evil snot, but that time would come again. He would win because he always does, albeit at his expense. He always lost a piece of himself after the more harrowing jobs, not that he ever gave her the details. 

Spiderman held that burden alone. 

Two spiders, however, could share that load. 

"Peter Benjamin Parker. You're one of the most incredible people I've ever known. Even when you hurt your back, you helped others. You've got such a big, beautiful heart."

It scared her sometimes. She used to lay awake at night, wondering if he'd never return one day. It's one of the downsides to loving a hero. 

The day Peter broke her back was the start of their relationship's demise. He didn't come home one night, and she was terrified that he was dead in a ditch. 

After several hours of driving around in her car, she found him. He was hiding in that gross old apartment building. One of the residents, a sweet guy called Kevin, alerted her that Peter was hurt and was hiding in that tiny space. 

It must've been why he chose to live there after their divorce.

She broke in, and he was curled up on the floor, spine disgustingly out of shape. Hell knew how her husband at the time managed to even get there from wherever he was hurt. 

MJ wanted to take him to the hospital, but she knew better. They would discover he was Spiderman, and everyone they cared about would be in danger. 

It never healed correctly. He never went to therapy for it. He wouldn't tell her how that happened or who caused it, either. 

Logan, Matt, Luke and even Deadpool tried to break it out of him, but Peter never told.

Maybe Miguel was the one he could open his heart to?

She sees how deeply Peter loves the young man, and it's beautifully reciprocated. They're comfortable with one another, safe and secure. Despite the monster he fell into their universe with, he's one of the best things to happen to Peter. 

From the moment he showed up with the barely alive young man to now, she watched their bond progress. 

Peter had Miguel using his tummy as a pillow. It was sweet, given how badly Peter saw his body. After the back injury, he started binging to cope and gained weight he never lost. He hasn't even acknowledged that he had a problem with food after his back injury. 

It's possible that Miguel can help him see that. As much as she tried, she didn't know what it was like to be them. 

She's happy he's found somebody who cradled his lonely heart and understood his rhythm. 

They just needed to realise they were seconds from sucking each other's faces off. It's only a matter of time.

Everyone is in on the bet. She gives Peter another week.

"Thanks, MJ," Peter smiled, glad to see her. "How's the little one?"

"Getting more active. I think they approve of their new uncle."

"I feel like an ass, but I'm so glad he knows about kids. I sure as hell don't."

"You love Miles."

"He's thirteen! Or fourteen now. Anyway, he's a teen. This is a baby."

"Our baby," she corrected. "You'll do great, Peter. I know you will. But I agree, it's nice; having someone experienced, I mean. Even if it's... unfortunate how that turned out."

"He's lost so much, MJ. There aren't words for what that thing has done."

"Then it's good that he's got you. And you've got him. And we," she started, placing Peter's hand on her stomach, "have you both."

She loved Peter. He would always be in her heart. He'll be that nerd who stood by her in the worst times, supporting her, not even fighting during their divorce. 

If she asked him to, he would pull a kidney out. 

The major problem in their relationship was that MJ couldn't help him. She would never understand what it meant to be a spider, the terror of people discovering who you are and being alone against horrendous monsters. How many times has he almost died?

She could never have his back when he needed it most. She was trapped on the sidelines, watching from the peanut gallery. 

Finally, Peter has connected with somebody who truly understands the weight of that mask. Unlike MJ, Miguel can be beside him during the terrifying but necessary battles.

He's got so much love to give, his heart too big for his body.

The man she loved, her little brother, the father of their child, deserved somebody who could meet the needs MJ couldn't. She can't soar in the sky like them, dance across the clouds and throw cars like tennis balls. 

"I don't know if I'll ever be good enough for them," Peter sighed, brushing his fingers through Miguel's hair. "I don't want to be like her."

He never talked about his mother. It wasn't something MJ liked, either.

She never told Peter that she knew where his mother lived. She knew the woman who broke her best friend's heart - the one who should've protected him but tried to kill him. 

"You'll never be like her, Peter. You don't wake up one day and act like that - that kind of thing is always there, hidden away. You're not like that. I know your heart; it's as incredible as you are."

Peter looked like he was going to cry, so she turned his head to hide between her neck and shoulder.  

"I'm scared," he whimpered, shivering. "I'm terrified, MJ. I don't know what to do."

"We'll get there," she promised, although she was also uncertain. She stroked his head, hoping to soothe him to sleep. "We always do."

They had to.

Resting is becoming a hazard. Whenever Peter slept, his mistakes and failures came to haunt him. 

The one time it hadn't was right after his night out, and then it changed into his best friend's trauma. It horrified him.

Peter was falling apart. He knew that. His mental state is crumbling and fast. It's disintegrating from the stress and the guilt. 

His punishment for getting so many people killed is nightmares. Loud and suffocating, cutting through his soul and dicing it into a foul soup. 

It wasn't enough, though; Peter's done so much that he deserved worse. 

A poker game. A table that grew bigger by the day, more faces joining the party of judgement. All people that he's failed.

More will join.

"How long were you going to leave me there?" Miles asked, holding several cards, his vibrant brown eyes devoid of that special spark. "Were you ever going to come back? You were going to die if you stayed. Would you have made me watch you die like I did with my uncle?"

He never planned on surviving. That was a dark time in his life. If Miles hadn't stepped up and been the adult, despite being only thirteen, Peter would've died. 

MJ would've been all alone. She would be waiting for Peter, and he would never be there for her. 

For all that Peter tried to be as good as MJ and Miguel said, he was so selfish. 

"After everything I did for you, you let me die," Matt sneered, the cards creasing under his grasp. "You did nothing but make it worse."

"Always using everyone and leaving them to die when you're done with them. That's what you do," Luke continued, dark fluid dripping from his nose. "My kid lost her father because of you."

"Are you proud of what you've done?" Gwen asked, fluid leaking from her piercing. "Letting him go to hurt us?"

It wasn't on purpose. He didn't understand. He didn't know.

"You never were one for listening," his dad added, his features blurred and marred by over thirty years since Peter last saw him. "If you listened, your mother wouldn't have tried to kill you."

Peter is in a car. He's small, cold, and his mouth was stuck closed. He couldn't move; the seatbelt was wrapped around Peter like chains.

It's his dad's car. It had scratched leather, a piece peeling away that he always promised to fix but never did. There was always the smell of old cologne, the mustard that Uncle Ben spilt once and the mysterious thing hanging from the rearview mirror - it was ancient, and its smell was unique, though not in a good way.

It was like his jaw was wired shut. He can't move. Every breath is tight and constricted. He's like a statue. 

Something knocked on the window. Only his eyes can move, searching for anything in the darkness beyond, but it's Felicia. Her face is rotten and decayed, an eye-popping onto the car window. 

He wants to cry, to scream, look away, but he's frozen solid. 

More faces join, beginning to rise and swarm the car. It shakes and rocks, metal creaking and threatening to open like a can of soup. Dark, foul-smelling fluid seeped from the bottom, slowly rising. 

The smell is one thing, but the screaming is another. With every second, it gets colder. 

The cold burns, as does the thick slime with angry red eyes staring into his soul. They curled and became brown, the specific shade and little sliver of hazel tightening the seatbelt.

His mom's eyes.

He felt the seat beside him lower. Frozen, Peter's eyes slowly turned to his right, his breathing growing laboured as Ned looked back.

"Ṕ̸̩̣̞̈Ë̶͉̞̻́̉T̵̉̈́͗ͅḘ̴̦́̀̚R̴̻̜̿̕"

No. No. It's not happening. That didn't happen.

He tried to look away, but the rotting remains of his former friends or his mother's gaze only struck further terror into his racing chest. He felt the foul slime rise past his ankles, his feet burning cold. 

"Ŷ̷̠͇͍Ò̸̻̅Ū̵̙̕̕ ̷̹͔̌̎̀L̴̫̯̾͋͌E̵̟̓͠F̶̰̀T̵͖̝̉̈́ ̵̛̙̙̻̐͠M̷̗̬̅̽ͅE̵͉͊̾̽͜,̸͇̝̾͗̓ ̸̯̰̄P̷̘̺͐͆̄Ḙ̸̞̇̄͠T̶̡̽̈́̃Ė̷̘͍R̸̗̖̤̿͗́"

He couldn't open his mouth to scream, cry or beg for rescue, any semblance of reprieve from the onslaught. He couldn't move as Ned's crushed and broken hand reached for him, so cold that frost followed his fingertips. It grew on Peter's shoulder, digging into his shaking muscle and freezing his blood. 

It was only a nightmare. That didn't happen.

Nedry moved to New Jersey with his girlfriend. He gets letters every couple of months. 

"I̷̜̪̟͗̒ ̴̢̢̰̌̾͝N̶̪͕̳̓̕E̷̢̽̈́V̴̤̕E̵̠̗͒̐R̶̬̐̎͐ ̴̛͕̃L̵̛̘̃È̴̢̹̞͝F̵͇͌̀͝T̸͔̽̀͝ ̵̢̛̗̍Q̵̡̘̙̈́Ū̶̥͈̑̒Ẽ̵̝̼̈̍Ĕ̴̳̇N̴̩͍͓̍͊S̷̳͘̚,̸̞̖̊ ̷̣̮̻̅͠P̶̙̿̂̀͜E̵͔̅̏Ţ̶̈́͛̒Ḝ̷̥Ȓ̸̳͠͠"

No, he's there. He's far away and is alive and is fine. 

This is just another twisted abomination of Peter's guilt and anguish. It isn't real. 

Ned is alive. He's a dad, has a great fiance and has two guinea pigs. 

A deep pressure kept building in his spine and threatened to break him in half. It grew like a weed, wrapping around the individual bone segments and squeezing them. 

The smell of burnt concrete and brick and molten glass burned his nose. The feeling of smoke scratching his throat stuck like a fly to shit. It wouldn't go away no matter how hard Peter tried to cough. 

It's so dark, but he can see everyone. There's the sound of metal pipes clanging, falling debris and the distance screaming his name, demanding that he stop hiding like a craven. 

A bang, the stench of gunpowder and sulfur, and the screaming stopped. Heavy stone and brick pressed into Peter's back, as did a metal-covered hand, grasping and clawing for escape. 

"Y̴͕̩͘͠Ō̵̲̟̕͝Ų̴̡̺͘ ̸̼̤͝ͅL̴̯̬͐Ẽ̷͇̟͐T̷̖̂͆ ̸́̿ͅM̵̤͍̠̚E̷̹̰̎ ̵̲͙̎͝D̴̘̣̠̐͘͠I̶̡͎͛̃̋E̷̦͉̮̾̕"

Bone cracked and shattered, his lower half becoming terrifyingly numb, and he scrambles to escape, leaving that hand behind. 

It wasn't Ned. It wasn't him. It was someone else. One of Vulture's goons? Maybe a Green Goblin fanatic?

It wasn't Ned.

It couldn't be.

The darkness swallowed him, the cold folding into him. He's unable to breathe and panicking.

He's falling. 

Peter couldn't move, couldn't make a sound, only sink.

As Peter fell, the feeling of warm arms pried him from the frigid heat. 

It was only a sensation at first, but with time, the physical form of his friend became clear. Those eyes glowed, scaring away the darkness that tried to consume Peter's very soul.

The shadows had disappeared, becoming a place Peter had never seen. It's so warm here, the sun on the precipice of setting. There were mountains, hills, and a wide river raging with life and power. It was relatively rural. Across that river was a village, plain and simplistic, almost medieval. 

He had only seen this in movies, books or video games.

Peter felt a new warmth near him, a presence that wasn't merely physical. He reached for it, and safe arms appeared around him, shielding him from his night terrors. 

Protection. Safety. Warmth. Smoky cinnamon. Things that Peter didn't deserve but desperately wanted. 

He could disappear in that chest, melt away and vanish. It made the guilt grow, churning in him. 

"Esto es muy extraño. ¿Es realmente mi araña?"

That Spanish threatened to untangle the well-deserved knots in his chest.

He's real. He's here, and he's taken Peter out of that nightmare.

Miguel broke contact first, investigating Peter.

"I felt you calling for me. I don't know how, but I guess I - I think I pulled you?" he said, perplexed. 

They can figure out the specifics later. He wanted to forget what he saw. 

Likely, he never would.

"It's not the first. It won't be the last," Peter said, hating how angry, spiteful and defeated he sounded.

He hated the hurt on his friend's face, too. His words were knives. All of them cut deep. 

"It'll be the last alone."

Miguel stated it as though it were fact, a law in the multiverse, the eleventh testament of god. The sheer conviction and promise in those five words touched Peter in a place he didn't know he still had. 

No spider was left behind. It's starting to become a motto, a mantra. 

That's what the Spider Society is. It's a chance to stop being so lonely. They have a community, people who understand what it's like to be them. 

"It's not that bad. You've dealt with worse."

"When two people are shot, do you compare the wounds? Do you dismiss one if they don't bleed as much as the other? Doubt downplay your pain, mi araña. It leaves a wound that'll fester out of control. You can't outrun it; créeme, lo he intentado."

Peter believed him. How couldn't he?

He's falling apart, and his friend can only hold so much. He wouldn't leave that burden on MJ, either, especially in her condition.

"I don't think I can cope with more. It's just piling, and I'm being suffocated," Peter admitted, somewhat comforted by the calm and serene location. "It feels like nothing we do is enough."

"Even if it isn't, we tried. Better on our feet than our knees. That's what we do - we try, even when it's impossible. Even when we don't want to. Unfortunately for everyone, spiders are shocking stubborn."

"And hard-headed."

"Somewhat masochistic."

"Insomniacs."

"Workaholics."

"Don't forget cripplingly depressed and traumatised."

"With a topping of unhealthy coping mechanisms and an inability to effectively communicate." 

"We're so fucked."

"Pretty much. But we make him miserable, and that's something." 

It is. 

It's barely anything, but it's still something. That was better than nothing.

His friend always had a way to uplift Peter.

They were on the other side of the river now. He didn't know how, but he was fascinated by the small village life. 

"Where is this?"

"Guadalajara. Well, outside what's left of the city. Out here was one of the few places he couldn't get to. For a while, at least."

This is where he began to live, where that amazing woman saved him. It was his first home.

This was his first exposure to safety, even if it was brief. 

Peter recognised a woman, her face striking him like a punch to the gut. It was the lady he saw in Miguel's flashback, a little younger and full of life. She was carrying a basket of baked goods, whistling something.

Her face made his friend happy and heartbroken simultaneously. Like everyone else, Klyntarus had taken her, too. 

"It's beautiful."

"I didn't get to go outside until a year. I was too "feral", as Gabriel and Sofía put it. In all fairness, they weren't wrong." 

"That's not your fault."

"Ma told me that, too. She gave me the whole basement as my "room". It was quiet and didn't smell like Lyla and Jasmine's obnoxious perfume. Nunca olía como la etiqueta" 

"I was terrified of Uncle Ben's basement. I always thought a monster was down there waiting to eat me."

"In our home, I was the basement monster. Sofía called me bicho del sótano - basement bug. It was certainly an upgrade from the lab."

Anything would be an upgrade.

Peter would see it eventually. He almost wanted to. He could help his friend feel less trapped that way. It would be shocking if he didn't have claustrophobia. 

"Are you able to show me?"

He felt rude for asking, but learning more about his friend was distracting. He needed to push away those fears and terrors. Listening to that powerful voice gave him an escape.

He also wished he got to see this place in person. It was magnificent.

It was also gone, as Miguel had illuded to. Was nothing left of his only decent years? It certainly seemed that way. 

There wasn't much remaining of Peter's good years, either. His last family besides MJ died, and he was helpless, only able to sit by her as she passed. It was like Captain Stacy and Uncle Ben all over again.

It was different when it came to his father. His dad died overseas somewhere, so Peter only felt his absence, not having been there for his passing. Perhaps it was worse that he never got to say goodbye to his dad. 

What Peter would give to have had a mother like Iris. 

That woman was terrible. Who tries to kill their child? Sadly, that's something Miguel can empathise with, although it's his father. They have opposite parental problems.

Peter's mother was awful, and Miguel's father is a multiverse Hitler. 

How did they end up turning out better than they did? It's a literal marvel that they aren't both psychopaths. If any of them had the right to be a villain, he knew who had the top placement. 

Peter liked to think he'd be in the top fifteen or so.

"How is this in the third person?" his friend inquired, confused. 

"I'm not even going to bother trying to figure that out."

They trailed behind the younger version of Iris. She had a bright, warm smile, like a living sun. 

It's something out of a fantasy story, like Lord of the Rings. The people here hide from an iteration of Sauron, using the trees as cover and a barrier. 

"What was it?"

"What was what?"

"The nightmare. It must've been strong to pull me in."

Peter felt his body stiffen. 

"It was nothing."

"Are you saying that to me or yourself?"

Sometimes, his friend is annoyingly perceptive. 

Miguel cocked a dark brow, not believing Peter's attempt to brush aside the coiled stress inside him.

Well, at least nobody can see or overhear them here.

"It's been... a lot. I see the people I love, and they're so angry with me." That's an understatement. "I mean, nightmares are part of the job, but lately... everything is rotting and decaying, and there's just slime everywhere."

"And the smell is infuriatingly accurate."

"Exactly! It's rot and nasty stuff, like black mouldy snot. Ugh, I feel gross saying that!"

"You had a nightmare about Klyntarus?"

"Barely." Fuck, why did he answer that? "No, the slime was there, but it was just that. Slime. Not him specifically." 

Peter wanted to melt in on himself. Why did he have to open his giant mouth?

A large hand squeezed his shoulder, making Peter pause. Even in dreamland, his presence is overpowering.

It's astounding that he's related to that hideous monster. Nothing about Miguel was as horrifying, but Peter was scared of himself; he couldn't think about who was in the car.

It wasn't him. It couldn't be.

Those deep burgundy eyes weren't letting him go. Though not as constrictive as the seatbelt chains, they held firm.

"I... I was in mom's car. I couldn't move, and my mouth was stuck shut; it was so damn cold. Instead of water, it was that bastard's ooze filling the car. And my mom's eyes were staring at me, and N-someone was next to me."

"Es mucho con lo que lidiar. Me alegro de que me llamaras," Miguel said, keeping his hand there but lessening his grip. "Do you know who they were? The person next to you?"

"I know who it wasn't. It wasn't Ned. He's alive. I haven't seen him in a while, but he's fine! That guy was all crushed up and fucked." 

He didn't like his friend's reaction to that. 

Awkwardly, Miguel shuffled past him towards a single house close to a thick tree with a partially built treehouse in it. Sitting on the supporting branch was a woman with beautiful dark skin, darker freckles across her face and an amethyst dangling from her right ear.

She was stunning. She'd be an impeccable model in Peter's world. 

"¡Hola, mamá! ¿Conseguiste las fresas? ¡Jaz se comió las mías!" the young woman asked, dangling her feet. 

Peter needed to know why Miguel was suddenly being quiet.

"¡Puedes conseguirlos tú misma, Sofía!"

Oh, shit, that's Sofía?

Is everybody in their family a literal example of gods in mortal flesh? What the hell is in their gene pool? Gold!?

"What was that face for? Come on, man! Do you know something?"

"Potentially. Again, canon is just a theory, but... a close friend becomes a villain, occasionally more than once, and the more common candidates are Eddie Brock, Flash Thompson, Edward Leeds, Harry Osborne, and sometimes even MJ. Regarding Ned, he tends to call himself Hobgoblin."

Hobgoblin.

No. No.

Peter felt his world collapse in on him.

Ned's fine. He's fine. He's in New Jersey. 

"Lo siento mucho, mi araña. Me imagino cómo te sientes. Está bien, te tengo," Miguel said, bringing his arm around him and pulling him against his chest. "Peter, focus on me. Follow after me. Breathe in - hold for a second - and breathe back out. Repeat." 

Peter didn't want to think about it. It couldn't have happened. It wasn't him.

It's so hard to breathe. It was cold and dark, and dust clogged his airways. It's all wrong. 

The pain in his back pulsed, laughing at him.

"No es culpa tuya. Te tengo a ti. Estás a salvo aquí," he heard, the voice coiling inside Peter's chest. 

He couldn't believe Ned was Hobgoblin. 

That fight was hard and painful. The bastard caught him by surprise and used a chemical in his pumpkin bombs to disorient him. The shit going on with MJ certainly didn't help. 

A close explosion burst his eardrums. He struggled to hear the angry yelling at him or the collapse of the building. He'd damaged Peter's web shooters so he couldn't swing away when it collapsed, and they both fell several floors down.

So much concrete pressed on Peter's body. Even so, Hobgoblin was adamant about fighting Peter.

He was so fucked up that all he could think about was escaping, unable to register his lower half not cooperating. 

His back was broken, and he probably had a severe concussion, not to mention shock.

It was horrifying.

It couldn't have been Ned.

It wasn't Ned. It wasn't him.

It couldn't have been.

Ned wouldn't have done that.

"Please. Please, it wasn't," Peter begged, but he didn't know who to. Nobody would listen. "It wasn't him."

Standing in the broken window, fingers digging into broken glass, looking back at the outstretched clawed hand for him, part of the mask broken away.

It wasn't Ned's face.

Is it possible to cry like a baby in your mind? He's doing it.

Ned wasn't the Hobgoblin. He wouldn't allow it.

It hurts so much. The denial and the knowing of the truth, but it's too heavy to bear. He's breaking.

Any more, and there will be nothing left of Peter to try and make up for his terrible mistakes. He did horrible things and hurt so many people.

Peter has ruined so, so many lives. 

He didn't have the right to cry. He was the cause of so many problems. 

"We're not having that. You aren't responsible for other people's actions. No dejaré que te caigas; estaré ahí para cogerte. Ahora sueno como mi madre."

"He broke my back," Peter choked out, hiding in the other man's chest, magnetised to his warmth. "Ned wouldn't have - he's not gone..."

The letters. The empty envelopes sat in a box under the bed. 

Ned always wanted a good husband and a guinea pig empire; he drew plans for it in college. They were his favourite animals.

If he were alive, he never would've stopped at two.

It was easier to cope with his spine breaking by believing that Ned was fine and it was a stranger, not a close friend.

Why else would Peter try so hard not to think about him?

"It's likely it wasn't him. More often than not, he's brainwashed. That's out of your control."

"I should've done something!"

"You did, mi sol. You're still alive. Without you, the collider wouldn't have been stopped, Miles wouldn't have had a mentor, and MJ wouldn't be pregnant... I doubt I'd still be alive. You help others by waking up in the morning; I could never repay what you've done for me, mi araña."

Peter should be grateful for such warm words. He didn't deserve them. 

He didn't deserve MJ or Miguel, and they were so adamant that he was somehow better than he was. 

It was one thing to leave Fury and Steve to their deaths; he left Ned to die. He's always been a failure, even before Klyntarus made it much more apparent. 

He didn't deserve to be held, to be consoled and comforted. 

Reluctantly, Peter pulled away, not wanting to burden his already troubled friend with his crap. He must look like a mess. 

More than he usually does, at least.

Peter always looked like a mess. He's wonky, fat, greying and irritating; he's killed his friends. Nobody should be close to him. 

Now that his messed up face wasn't pressed in Miguel's chest, he could see they weren't outside anymore. It's still warm, but not as much. 

It's not dark - there's a red light above them - but it's the basement. 

There are stairs leading upstairs.

Peter's brain churned as he put the two pieces together and slowly looked at his awkwardly sitting friend.

"I... didn't know what to do, so I brought you inside."

"You took me to your room?"

"I wasn't going to leave you outside!"

They aren't outside; this is the dream world. It's the thought that counts.

Peter would give anything to be as thoughtful as him.

The room is small; it was never meant to be a bedroom. There are toys carved from wood by a knife, deep claw marks etched on all of them - some looked like futuristic dog toys. 

Instead of a bed, there's a roughly made hammock. There's red webbing around it like an awkward nest, which is a little cute. 

This was the first safe space Miguel ever had, and he brought Peter there without a second thought. He could've gone anywhere, but he chose here.

"Why're you so nice to me?"

"I don't have an answer for that. Is that one of those rhetorical questions? I hate those."

"No," Peter sighed, rolling his eyes. It's cute. "Don't I get too much? I'm always loud and annoying and more. I'm... a lot."

Physically, too. He has too much fat in places he shouldn't. 

"You're you. That's enough."

"Stop being sweet. You'll give me cavities."

"It's something my Ma used to say to me. Eres tú mismo, y eso es suficiente - you are yourself, and that is enough."

"Thank you, Miguel. For dealing with my crap."

"You're almost as bad as I am."

"Ouch, you wound me."

Although Peter's eyes were sore from sobbing like a little bitch, the softer lighting helped. It wasn't as blinding as regular light. 

Iris must've chosen it on purpose.

"¡Miguelito! ¡Gabriel! ¡Jazmín! ¡Vengan adentro, bebés!"

Speak of the angel - she was calling for her children. 

"Migu-what?"

"It means Little Miguel."

"That's adorable. I'm calling you that now."

"Better than Miggy."

"What about me? What's little Peter?"

"Pedrito. Pedro is the Spanish Peter."

"Oh. How about Peterito?"

"Now you sound like a burrito."

"That's not a bad thing. Burritos are amazing."

"Como tú."

That sounded like an agreement. 

With some encouragement, his friend assisted him upstairs. Despite being in the dream world, his body felt real and heavy. The stress of being confronted with such horrors made him weaker than usual.

It opened to the living room and kitchen, where Iris stood, unimpressed with Sofía's handling of a carrot. 

He felt hurt in two ways from seeing her. He knew what could've been, and he'd felt the grief of losing her. 

Feeling like an asshole for forgetting an important part, he turned to Miguel, his heart sinking at the loss, grief and love he held for her. 

How long had it been since that day when Miguel got to see his mom?

"¡Deja de retorcerte, pequeño bastardo!" he heard a woman yell. It sounded like the same one from that same horrific flashback.

Jasmine.

"¡Hablamos de morder piedras!"

That had to be Gabriel, the young man replaced by Miles in Peter's version of Miguel's flashback.

God, this must be horrible for him. All of these people died. 

"Is this too much? Seeing them?"

"No, it's alright. It's good to see them. I... didn't appreciate this when I was a kid." 

Oh. Oh.

When the door opened, Jasmine was holding a soggy and muddy child. 

Small and scrawny, scraggly like a feral, squirming cat. He's so tiny compared to them, awkwardly dangling in Jasmine's muddy arms.

"Mi Miguelito, necesitas un baño," Iris sighed, wiping some mud from baby Miguel's face.

"¡No! ¡Nada de baño!" tiny, adorable Miguel hissed, his speech poor and far behind his supposed age. 

Didn't Miguel say that she taught him to speak? That's so sweet.

"Cariño, estás cubierto de barro. Puedes ayudarme con la cena después," Iris said, sounding more firm but still soft. "Querías aprender a hacer empanadas, ¿verdad?"

Peter felt his heart implode at this adorable kiddy, smaller than Miles was, scrambling from Jasmine's dirty arms and running somewhere.

"Mamá, creo que el hermanito tiene alergia. Deberíamos hacerle un chequeo," Jasmine said, her words worrying Iris, who nodded softly.

Gabriel looked interesting compared to everyone else. He looked anaemic and needed crutches. What was his story?

"You were so cute as a kid. Like, adorable."

"I was a feral mess, Pedrito. Hardly cute."

"Why were you covered in mud?"

"Jasmine would take me out and play with it, encouraging me to make things. I didn't realise it then, but it soothed my skin condition."

Miguel leaned close to Peter's ear, pointing something out to him.

When Peter followed his friend's finger, he spotted an interesting picture. He couldn't help but wander towards it, finding an old-looking photo of a Spiderman.

The photo's unfocused and shaky, poorly taken. It was also autographed by... him.

This universe's Peter Parker of the past. Many, many years before this. 

The one that Iris told little Miguel about and inspired him to look up to.

"He was ginger in this universe," Miguel chuckled, his chest almost against Peter's back. "Had more freckles than MJ and had this cool neck tattoo. He was one of the greatest heroes of the Heroic Age before Klyntarus ruined it all... I liked hearing his stories."

"I can't see myself as ginger, weirdly. And I'm too wimpy for a whole tattoo."

"I wouldn't say that."

"About being ginger or -" Peter paused when he turned, their noses almost touching.

The freckles sprinkled over his face, those high cheekbones, the tiny scar under one eye, and warm, plush lips slightly parted enough to see those fangs. 

He's too close.

He isn't close enough.

Peter's going to implode.

Panicked, Peter backed away, biting his tingling, lonely bottom lip.

"What tattoo would I-I look good with?" Peter squeaked out, and thankfully, Miguel was oblivious to it.

"A spider is too easy. Maybe... a Quetzalcoatl - the feathered serpent of life and light. I could see that very nicely on you."

Heat rose in Peter's soul.

"I... wouldn't mind that, Miguelito."

The smirk from that little nickname did things to him.

"I'm glad, Pedrito."

Chapter Text

Peter awoke to the yearning to relieve his bladder. Unfortunately, he was trapped. 

Miguel is still wrapped around him, head on his stomach, soft hair tickling his belly. He was drooling a little, which was adorable. Unlike him, Peter needed to use the bathroom. 

With a grimace, Peter tried to shuffle out of his powerful grasp but failed. His friend was too strong. Also, he was too comfortable.

You'd think someone who doubled your weight would be heavy, but no, he's like a weighted blanket, far warmer than any covers. His muscles, when relaxed, were shockingly comforting, like a promise of protection and security.

As much as he didn't want to, Peter had to wake his friend up for a moment of freedom.

"Miguel," Peter whined, stroking his hair. "Migs, please, I need to pee."

An adorable whine came from his friend, hiding his face in Peter's chub.

"No," squeaked out, almost making Peter laugh.

"I don't want to pee on you."

"Can shower."

If it were anybody else, Peter would be concerned. The man has no idea how awful piss can smell, especially after waking up. 

"I'll be back. Come on, Miguelito. Please."

Miguel grumbled, lifting his arm so Peter could wiggle out of his comforting grasp.

Already, Peter missed the warmth and security wrapped around his body. 

"Time is it?" Miguel asked, face hidden in the pillow, sounding tired and barely awake.

It was admittedly adorable. 

"I don't know, but I'll be back soon."

"You're comfy."

"So are you, big guy."

He's like a teddy bear without the fuzz but in a good way. 

Begrudgingly, Peter wandered from the shared room. He never thought about the fact they slept in the same spot; Miguel was comfortable to sleep with, either on his back or below him. His morning brain liked the idea of somebody being above Peter. 

He hasn't gotten laid in nearly nine months. That's the issue, little else. 

After some fumbling with the door, Peter entered the bathroom.

Taking care of his full bladder, his stupid brain wandered back to how good it felt to have Miguel's arms around him, particularly in the dream world where Peter cried like a baby. 

The scene of Miguel being mere inches from his face, noses nearly touching, a smile reaching those sharp, high cheekbones...

A strange throbbing entered his loins, distracting Peter from that magnetising image. With an embarrassed and surprised squeak, Peter found himself with late-morning wood. Or was he hard beforehand and didn't notice?

Oh gods below, did Peter have a tent while Miguel hugged him? Of course, Miguel was too sweet to bring it up and make Peter feel bad about it or, hopefully, didn't notice.

He didn't like how the little lizard in his brain hoped Miguel did know. Something wanted Miguel to see him without the thin fabric barrier between them.

Wow, it has been a while since Peter's been with somebody. He's imagining the closest person to him.

If Peter got laid, all these funny feelings would go away. He wouldn't be directing all this stuff onto Miguel.

It's weird that Peter's thinking of a man, though. Well, maybe a few in college, Jason Mamoa - who wouldn't want some of that - and Ned...

Fuck, he didn't know what to do about that. He still wanted to believe that Ned was in New Jersey, but he knew better. It broke his heart worse than his back. 

Somehow, Miguel didn't judge him for that. 

Peter did.

With a small sigh, Peter flushed the toilet. As he washed his hands, he looked into the mirror, examining the thick misery on his features. He needed to shave; he looked more like shit than usual.

Hells above, what did MJ ever see in him? 

How is Peter going to make up for his mistake? Will the baby be born in a world ravaged by a monster whose atrocities were due to Peter's cowardice?

"Get yourself together, Peter," he told himself. "We'll get this shit sorted, MJ can be happy with her baby, and Miguel can go home... well, wherever he lives now."

That village is gone. His family is gone, too. Everyone he knew was dead. So far, Peter was on the way to losing it all.

How much more can he lose? How long until there's nothing left?

He didn't hear the bathroom door open, but his spidey tingles told him who it was. 

"How long have you been here?" Peter asked, feeling exhaustion burn his bones.

He wanted to return to bed and sleep atop that warm teddy bear. 

"An hour. More are on the way," Magneto stated, making himself visible via the mirror. "You look terrible, Peter."

"I feel it."

"A reasonable feeling, unfortunately. These are trying times."

"Would rather time wouldn't try - sorry, still sleepy."

"Don't apologise; you need it more than anyone else, even that spunky Chavez girl. And congratulations, Mary-Jane is looking great."

"Yeah, thanks. Kinda weird that we're being civil in a bathroom - Strange's bathroom, at that."

"Yes, the impeccably unhelpful magician who is only assisting us due to some book our multi-dimensional friend knows of."

"If Xavier's shown up, I won't be nice about it."

"Nobody's heard from him since SHIELD went under. I'm immensely disappointed and rather disgusted by his and Cyclops' behaviour - I haven't met this friend of yours, but I, of all people, know the pain of being dehumanised."

That's right. It's easy to forget that Magneto was alive during the Holocaust, enduring the worst of humanity.

Seeing what Klyntarus is doing must bring the elder back to those horrific days. 

Peter's biological great-grandfather died in one of those camps. Numerous other family members, too. His grandmother was born in Treblinka a mere month before liberation - she was found by Richard Parker, who then married his great-grandmother and adopted her and her elder sister. 

Although Peter never met them, May and his father liked to talk about them. His father was even named after the man who saved Grandma Judith. 

It felt like centuries ago. It wasn't even a few decades. 

Klyntarus is like the slime version of Hitler or Ghengis Khan. That's freaky.

"The bastard is going to insult you over that. He likes using slurs to upset his "playthings"."

"There's nothing it can say that I haven't already heard." 

"I used to think that too. Now we're both here in Magic Mike's bathroom. It sounds like an awful Deadpool joke - Spiderman and Magneto walk into a bathroom." 

"I see your point there. You can call me Eric, by the way."

"That feels very weird."

"I called you Peter."

"I kinda prefer it."

"Very well."

"I'm going back to sleep. My head's more messy than usual."

"Sleep well, Peter. There's going to be a meeting in three hours. I'll awaken you."

"Thanks... Wait, you don't sleep?"

"Sleep is a luxury I seldom afford."

"Likewise." 

Awkwardly, Peter scooted past the elder mutant. 

He still felt Magneto's eyes on his back as he returned to that room, a little space of safety with one of the few people who saw him.

Peter opened the door, unable to hold back a smile. He couldn't have been gone long, but Miguel had fallen back asleep, face smushed in the pillow. 

The floor creaked as Peter entered, awakening the giant. A single burgundy eye looked into Peter's soul, a faint redness receding from the corners. The symbiote must've gotten startled, and it woke him up.

"Too long," Miguel grumbled.

"Sorry, buddy. Magneto surprised me. It's fine. We've got another three hours."

"Wan you here."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Peter chuckled, entertained by the sleepy demands.

He quickly got back into the shared bed, and Miguel gladly wrapped around him, resting his head on his stomach.

It felt so natural and right. 

"Am I that comfy?"

"Yesh."

"At least one of us likes my fat."

"Squish," Miguel corrected.

"Alright, fine, my squish. Glad I'm comfortable for you, buddy. See you in three hours."

"No..."

He's so funny when he's sleepy.

"Sure thing, Miguelito."