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[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 17

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

School might not be for everyone, but learning was. Miles truly believed everyone enjoyed learning given the right method and setting. He loved learning new things, especially when it fueled his creativity. Learning the fundamentals of mechanical engineering and physics from Mr. Ohnn was a little boring, but the tinkering was fun. 

Miles learned a lot from Mr. Ohnn, but some things they were learning together. Being villains were at the top of that list. Miles didn’t involve himself with the bad crowds when he was younger and Mr. Ohnn didn’t have much villainous experience either. Sure, if anyone saw their resume, there wouldn’t be any question of their ability, but they were lacking in certain departments. Killing Spiders? Good exercise. Building deadly gadgets? A fun night in. Collapsing universes? Just a regular Sunday. But thievery? They could use some work.

You’d think Miles would be better at it with the invisibility and the sticking to ceilings. On top of the fact Mr. Ohnn could teleport them anywhere inside the building, they should be undetectable. But that made them a little complacent. Getting in was never the problem, getting out never was either, but staying undetected was a whole different story. 

Which was how Miles found himself back to back with Miguel fighting off wave after wave of Alchemex security while Mr. Ohnn scrambled to shove any interesting piece of tech into his portal. They were in a large open lab on one of the upper floors. There was a lot of tech lying around for them to take and it was taking a little longer than usual.

Suffice to say, it was fortunate they just gave Miguel his Spider steroids yesterday. He sliced through the armor of a goon and kicked him into a wall. The security team might not have focused so much on the plain clothes thief among a decidedly superpowered party if not for the fact that Miguel’s talons were out and slicing through any stray hand pointed his way. 

Miles gave a dramatic gasp. “Miguel, so violent.” Even with his mask on, he made an equally dramatic face under it. 

Miguel slammed a guy into the floor. “Not like you’re going to stop a bullet for me.” He tossed a chair at another one trying to get back up. 

“I most certainly would!” Miles stabbed a guard in the neck. 

“And lay around for a week just because neither of you deigned to save me from gunfire that isn’t to my chest or head? No thanks,” he snarled.

Miles got a good chuckle at the situation. It amused him to no end. It wasn’t even life or death for Miguel, he was just tired of being bedridden. He wasn’t going to complain about a little helping hand, especially not when it so obviously displeased Miguel to be helping them. 

Miguel was smart enough to know escaping right now was impossible; no active collider for him to even dream of throwing himself through, so the man must have reasoned that he might as well get some exercise out of this trip. He slammed a security guard into the wall, knocking the poor guy unconscious. “What are we looking for anyway?” he asked. 

Mr. Ohnn made a noncommittal sound. “Iunno.”

Miguel blinked at him harshly. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. 

“Don’t tell me this is how you normally do things.”

“Well, we don’t normally get spotted so early,” Miles said. “Your shoulders are too big for the vents.”

“The Spot can teleport you in!”

“I would need to know the layout of the building for that,” Mr. Ohnn clarified. 

“You don’t?!”

“Uhh–” Mr. Ohnn said so very intelligently. To be fair, it has worked out for them so far. The only hiccup this time was Miguel. 

“You don’t grab the floorplan?” Miguel ripped an AR out of a guy’s hands and whacking him with the end of it. Miles and Mr. Ohnn shot each other a faceless look over his shoulder. He spun around like a top giving them both an incredulous expression. “If you’re accessing their database, you could also take another step and get other security details, like access to doors, guard rotations,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

And it kind of was in a way. Hm. File that away for later. 

“Seriously?” Miguel stressed. “You’re telling me, no mission, no plan, no forethought besides ‘iunno’.”

“Well,” Miles said, tossing a man out of the broken window. “When you put it that way.”

“How did–” Miguel’s hands waved furiously, “Tell me you put more effort into breaking into the Society.” He hurried to slam the last goon unconscious, before Miles could get his claws on him. Hmph. Ever the hero. Whatever, he could have this one. 

“You’re a special case, Miguel.” Miles looked around the empty room to Mr. Ohnn still shoving unknown tech into his portal. Since they were clear for the moment, he would probably also want to get on a computer and see if they had any good data. “Also, I’ve been in that building before.” 

Miguel ran a hand over his face. “But if you took steps to–” he huffed. “Nevermind. I should be–” his lips screwed shut. 

“No, no, Miguel. Go on.” Miles clasped his hands together and pressed them against his masked cheek with a metal clunk. “Please do tell, what should I do to be a better bad guy?”

Miguel scowled, or more accurately, his scowl deepened. “It not– It’s about effectiveness and stealth.”

“Yeah no such thing as stealth with that bulk,” Miles waved generally at Miguel. 

He rolled his eyes. “I can be.”

“You’re the reason we got caught.”

“Because of your inept planning.” Miguel heaved a sigh and adjusted his posture. “Stealth isn’t just walking around without being seen. Planning and training is how you achieve true stealth.”

“I’d like to remind you I can turn invisible.”

Miguel turned away shaking his head. It was funny how frustrated he got over their subpar thievery. But because it was Miguel, maybe it was more understandable that it was more about their ineffectiveness rather than the act itself. After all, vigilantism was a crime in most universes. 

“Whatever, man,” Miles waved off. “You're huffing and puffing over nothing.”

Miguel shot an unimpressed look his way. “You think it’s something you do rather than something you are.” He held up his hand to stop himself from going on. “It doesn’t matter. Not my problem.”

That ticked Miles off. The man didn’t get to dismiss him like that. Sure, the tension between them was more of a simmer as of late, but that was no reason Miguel should think it was ok to talk to him like this. He squared his shoulders. “Run that by me again. I’m not your problem?”

“To the extent of your success in this particular field,” he said carefully. 

Miles scoffed. “We’ve done perfectly fine without your input.”

Miguel backed off on that note, wandering to the otherside of the room. He looked over some documents on one of the desks, killing time while occasionally looking up at the door, expecting more security. They were both aware how long Mr. Ohnn could take. 

“How much longer?” Miles asked.

“Give me a moment,” Mr. Ohnn responded, not looking up from the screen. He always said that. Miles wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t already have an extensive backlog of blueprints, research, and data to go through. But like a hoarder he could never have too much. 

Miguel approached Mr. Ohnn with a few pieces of paper. “Hey,” he said. 

Whatever was on it, piqued Mr. Ohnn’s interest, grabbing it out of Miguel’s hand. He murmured to himself. “The energy efficiency of this…”

“Right,” Miguel didn’t even need him to finish his sentence. “The tech itself is rudimentary even in your time, but the conservation potential here is–”

Mr. Ohnn turned back to the computer. “Where did they put it?”

“You sure you didn’t shove it into one of your portals already?”

Mr. Ohnn had the awareness to sheepishly say, “Possibly.”

Miles scowled at the interaction. Nerds. And when did they get on such good terms? It wasn’t like he left them alone that often. It wasn’t a surprise Mr. Ohnn found common ground to talk to with Miguel. By nature he was a research fiend; his previous occupation was all he cared about until Miles came along. But he was suspicious of Miguel’s intentions. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try and use the connection to his advantage. 

Miguel looked up from Mr. Ohnn’s fiddling to raise a brow at Miles’ quiet sulking. He glanced between the two of them, hesitating before waving him over. 

Miles reluctantly obliged, more curious than anything else. He was just going over to tell them to hurry up. “Why are you encouraging him?” he asked. 

Miguel shrugged. “Maybe this is more encouragement for you to actually listen to me.”

“Again with this?” Miles hissed. 

“Hack their servers, figure out if what they’re working on is worth the effort, and execute,” Miguel pressed. “Would save you a lot of time, and save you from this.” He gestured vaguely to Mr. Ohnn hunched over the computer. 

Miles sighed, wishing they were already on their way. “Then maybe I will consider it,” he grumbled. He turned towards the blueprint. It was labeled as some sort of large scale projector. He could read it relatively well enough, but couldn’t quite discern the interest Miguel or Mr. Ohnn showed it. Not like it was the device itself, but rather, as Miguel said, the energy whatever was more important. 

Miles slid himself onto the table, kicking his feet as they dangled. Now that his curiosity was sated, he was bored again. With Mr. Ohnn too busy to explain anything, he’d much rather be back at the safehouse either tinkering or sleeping or– oh, getting a snack. Did Alchemex have a snack bar for employees? He looked up from his musing to see Miguel looking back. Weirdo.

“Hey,” Miguel said to Mr. Ohnn. “You grabbed a lot of materials, maybe you can just build it if you don’t already have it.”

Mr. Ohnn tapped his chin. “I could.”

“Great, so can we get out of here?”

A blur of red and blue flew through the window. “Hold that thought,” a familiar playful voice chirped. 

Miguel froze. Horror eclipsing his previously dispassioned face. His body was tense, ready to bolt at any second. Where he would go no one knew, except Miles. The answer was nowhere. There was something amusing about the man being afraid of Spiderman in some capacity. Though, not for the reasons the masked hero might think. 

Honestly, Miles wasn’t even in the mood to mess with a Spider, but he was always in the mood to mess with Miguel. And if the man was already on edge just by the mere presence of one, this might be worth their delayed departure. 

“Mr. Man,” Miles greeted. “What a coincidence running into you here.”

The Spider tilted his head. “Mr. Man? That’s a first.”

“First name Spider, last name Man, am I right?”

He laughed. “Oh you’re a funny one! We don’t get that much around here.” This was probably another Peter Parker variant based on the demeanor; preppy, quippy, toeing the line of annoyance. Geez, there were certainly a lot of those running around. This one wasn’t a teenage Spider, definitely older. He had more ease in his shoulders. 

Miles waved coyly at the compliment. “You think I’m funny?”

“Yeah! Now, why don’t you tell me what you guys are up to.” 

Mr. Ohnn hadn’t even bothered to look up, already knowing the trajectory of this encounter. Miguel was the only one who’d hope for anything else. 

This Spider didn’t recognize Miguel. Sure, he might not be as imposing as when they first took him, but he still had the same gaunt half dead eyes. The Spider must not be part of the Society. Miles wondered why.

Miguel looked like he was running a marathon in that stupid brain of his. As the seconds ticked by his anxiety grew. He squirmed where he stood, knowing doing or saying anything could set Miles off and turn the playful banter into violence. 

“Stealing,” Miles said. 

“I like the honesty! And I get that Alchemex has its fair share of questionable mega-corp decisions, but stealing from them is still bad,” the Peter said. 

“You can’t be a little flexible here?”

“Hah! You’re a really funny little dude, kinda remind me of someone.” He threw his hands up placatingly. “And hey, I would have loved to look the other way,” his voice turned serious, dropping his hands, “but you killed people and I can’t ignore that.” 

“Shame about those unshakable morals,” Miles grinned underneath his mask, pulling a throwing spike from his armband. “You could have lived.”

“Ooo you do a good threatening too!” 

The squee of metal being crushed was practically an echo in the quiet room. Miguel’s knuckles were bone white. “Let’s just go,” he hissed. The slightest turn of Miles’ head had him ready to leap out of his skin. “Please.” 

The spike of absolute glee might be more concerning if it didn’t feel so satisfying. Miles expected the man to squirm, but this was a wholly new delightful result. “What’s the rush, Miguel?”

Miguel was at a loss for words. He knew going to they ol’ reliable, ‘You don't have to do this’ only did more damage than anything else. “Please,” was the only miserable response he could logically come up with. 

Miles was inclined to kill the Spider just to further upset the man, but he was not so petty, and meek was a good look on him. 

“Listen, Miguel was it?” Spiderman piped up. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll put in a good word with the police captain.”

Miles ran his tongue over his teeth. Now, he wasn’t some animal. He wasn’t about to be set off by the mere mention of a police captain. But the hero shtick started to annoy him. “Oh, it’s not you he’s worried about.” 

Miles did a trick spin with the spike and threw it at the Spider before he could open that snarky mouth. And they were off to the races. He grabbed another, holding it in a reverse grip as he stabbed at Spiderman, testing his defenses. Spiderman let him take charge of the tempo, waiting for him to tire himself out. That wasn’t going to happen. 

Miles was thinner, shorter, scrawnier than Spiderman. In Spiderman’s eyes, he was a fresh villain on his first night out. It was a textbook template for an unfair fight. Compared to the veteran Spiderman, he was just a kid flailing with a toy. 

Spiderman would underestimate him, especially one that didn’t recognize him as The Anomaly. It wasn’t a matter of if Miles could beat him, but when.

Miles threw out his spikes, all deftly dodged by Spiderman. They littered the room, one in the ceiling and a few in the walls and the floor. Even his normal combo of getting the Spiders in the air and caught at a bad twist was narrowly dodged, the spike only leaving a small tear in the pristine red and blue suit. 

“Wow!” Spiderman said when he landed back in a crouch. “You’re really good with those.”

Miles’ brow twitched. “Not good enough apparently.”

“And it sinks into a metal wall like paper!” He said in a very Peter exclamation.”Who’s your supplier?”

“Your mom,” Miles readied a spike, calculating for it to hit Peter at the same time as his words. “Or should I say your aunt?”

Peter didn’t stumble, but it was a close thing, more importantly, it was a hesitation. That was all Miles needed for the spike to catch him just above the clavicle. 

Game, set, match. 

Miles stuck his hand out, his bioelectricity coated his hand. The blue lighting streaks pierced through Peter’s shoulder, jumping to all the spikes embedded in the walls. The spike acting as nodes surrounded Peter in an electrical cage. His victory sounded with the sharp scream of Spiderman.

There was never really any doubt. Miles could manage one Spider without difficulty; it was his specialty. He and Mr. Ohnn killed hordes of Spiders. What was a lone Spiderman to do against them?

A kick to Miles’ side sent his world spinning. He clattered into a desk, knocking both it and him sprawling to the floor. He whipped up to glare at the person who dared interrupt. 

He was expecting Miguel, maybe another hero. He wasn’t expecting the lean figure that was practically all limbs. He wasn’t expecting the iconic Spiderman crouch. He wasn’t expecting the black and red suit nor the familiar, yet alien voice saying, “Mind if I cut in?”

Miles' brain stuttered to a halt. That wasn’t– Surely, not. 

The other Spiderman took his frozen state as an opportunity to help Peter back to his feet. He must not recognize Miguel either because this one also did not see how deadly the situation he has put himself in. If he was smart, he would fling himself out the window. If either of them were smart, they wouldn’t be speaking quiet reassurances to each other. 

There was so much he wanted to say. Instead, he coughed out a laugh. “No.” He turned away from the two Spiders. “No.” He stared at the mess littering the room. “No.” He waved his hands in front of his face as if that would erase the image of the two Spiders from his mind. “No.” He turned back around to see if they were really there. They were. “No. No. No.” A laugh bubbled out of his chest. “Are you–” Ha. “You’re kidding.” He giggled hysterically. “That’s not–” real. “He’s not–” me. 

He turned at Miguel and Mr. Ohnn’s to get their take.

Mr. Ohnn was more focused on him. Occasionally the portal on his face flickered over to the pair of Spiders, but Miles ultimately held his attention. But he was stock still, shoulders straight, waiting to see if he needed to step in, if Miles would ask him to.  

Miguel… Miguel’s face was drained of color. His mouth was agape, staring at the new Spiderman like it was his worst nightmare come to haunt him. And maybe it was. His left foot was a step back like the Spider’s mere presence struck him. Miles could hear the rapid ba-dum of his heart jackrabbiting in his chest. They probably all could, save for Mr. Ohnn. 

Then his eyes flickered over to meet Miles’. 

Oh. That wasn’t horror before. This was. 

“You knew,” Miles said, a statement not a question.

“No, I–” Miguel’s breathing was erratic.  

“Liar,” he hissed. The red light of his gauntlets activating filled the room. He stalked towards Miguel, just as he raised his fist, a web shot out to stop him.

“Don’t!” Miguel shouted. 

The Peter, whose arm was outstretched despite his worn state, pulled Miles to his ass and dragged him away from Miguel. 

Miles sat there for a second, trying to process. “I thought something was up when an in-his-prime Spiderman didn’t recognize you,” he said to Miguel. “So he didn't get an invite because he was vaguely related to me.” He tore the web from his gauntlet. “Everything I touch is shit, huh?”

“No, Miles!” Miguel tried. Both Spiders froze. 

“He gets to be Spiderman.” Miles stepped forward. 

“You could have been Spiderman!” 

“You told me I wasn’t.” Another step. 

“I shouldn’t have said that!” 

“So he gets to keep his Peter but I had to watch mine die.” And another.

The two Spidermen flinch at his words, perhaps getting the picture now. If they were smart, they would run. Not smart enough. Curiosity killed the Spider. But they didn’t matter. That was never his, could never be his. 

He was never meant to be Spiderman. 

“Why?” Miles asked, standing in front of Miguel. 

Miguel’s face strained. He was equal parts miserable and hesitant. He would rather death take him from this moment. But Miles would never let him. Nothing he said would be right. And he knew it. “You know why,” his quiet voice rang in Miles’ ears. 

No, he really didn’t. He could surmise Miguel’s reasoning. These Spiders haven’t been touched by the multiversal issues plaguing the rest of the web, didn’t even seem to think that was a possibility. They were pure, they were still pure. The spider that bit this Miles Morales must have been from this universe. He wasn’t an anomaly. Becoming Spiderman was supposed to this Miles’ future. 

It was not Miles’. Because he was an anomaly. The Anomaly. This one was not. So this one got to be Spiderman, to properly be Spiderman. And Miles did not. “Tell me, Miles,” he addressed his variant. “Is your father still alive?”

The variant stammered, hesitating, unsure of the correct answers to defuse the situation. And like the good boy he was, answered honestly, “Yes.”

Ha. 

His fist connected with Miguel’s cheek, sending the man slamming into the opposite wall. The whip crack sound released the Spiders from their stupor. Both of them charge at him, putting themselves between him and Miguel. How typical, Spiders always chose his side. 

Miles dodged their onslaught, only once they put him at a decent distance away did they stop their pursuit. Was that their soft heart showing? “You’re protecting him?” Miles snarled. “You don’t even know what he’s done to me.”

“I know you raised a hand against a man who so far hasn’t raised one against you,” Peter said. Oh so mature. Oh so stupid. 

Miles retracted his mask, much to the shock of both Spiders. Even if they used context clues to deduce what was going on, the confirmation that there are other universes would surprise anyone. “He killed my dad.” His variant’s knees buckled, but he caught himself. He used the moment of shock to throw a punch.

Peter had the experience to dodge it. The man also had the experience to know not to pull out the spike or risk the potential blood loss, but unfortunately the inexperience to know better against The Anomaly. 

Miles sent another burst of electricity into Peter. His limbs locked. He threw another spike at the man’s heart. It was webbed to the wall before it could hit its target. He stopped his charge to duck under a punch. Peter collapsed to his knees. 

His variant squared up, standing tall and proud in a suit of similar design to his old Spider suit. It brought a sneer of disgust to his face. 

“Don’t be mad because you don’t have my flow,” his variant so foolishly said. It was kind of cute how stupid this version of him was. Stupid like he used to be. 

“Keep it, I was weaker with it.” He slashed at him with his claws, engaging in a close quarters brawl. He punched and his variant managed to dodge, so he opened his hand to slash down, slicing across his chest. 

This version of him was slower, weaker. He would die in that suit, in a meaningless fight over an insignificant theft of a shady mega corp. He stood for a moment charging up the bioelectricity in his arm. Amateur. He threw a punch Miles easily caught. Pathetic. 

Miles drained the electricity from him. “Take notes, maybe they’ll help you in the next life.” The variant couldn’t protect himself from a full frontal punch to the face, sending him into the wall across the room and falling unconscious. 

Miles took only one step before Peter knocked him over. He twisted to land on his feet. 

The spike that was embedded in Peter’s shoulder clattered to the ground. “You don’t have to do this, Miles.”

He grinned. “Is that a Spiderman special? You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. And I’ll tell you exactly what I say every single time, I’m finally doing exactly what I want.” 

“That can’t be true,” Peter continued to fruitlessly try. “The Miles I know– You wouldn’t do this.”

Miles raised his gauntlets to stare at Peter through the fingers of the red holo claws, the blood running down his palms. “I’m not him. I’m nothing like him.” 

“This is wrong, Miles!”

“I know. But if they were right, I’d rather be wrong.” He lowered his hand. “I’m sorry, Peter.” And he felt that genuinely. Maybe this man would have done right by him. Maybe he would have been just the same as the rest of them. “I know you had nothing to do with them or with what happened to me.” His eyes hardened. “But he wants you to live, and I will deny him everything.”

Peter was ready for him to launch himself forward. He was slippery, hard to hit. His hands were quick, fast jabs and smooth diversion of Miles’ heavier hits. But he was holding himself back. That foolish softness was going to kill him. He pulled his punches. Miles was not. 

At least it wasn’t as one sided as Miles’ fight with his variant. Blocking with his claws made Peter’s hits feel more like pats. It did not help that he was worn down by the stab wound and two rounds of electricity. 

Peter Parker was slowing. Even in his prime, that slowness, the softness, that hero in him that wanted to ‘save’ Miles converged together here to have him lose. 

Miles vanished. 

Peter’s head was on a swivel looking out for him. Ready for him. A spark. A tingle. A warning. He snapped to catch– A spike in the wall sparking with a familiar blue. There was an impact against his stomach. He looked down at the puncture and blood flowing down an invisible arm. 

Miles’ invisibility faded. 

Poor Peter. His eyes were so sad, heartbroken. His mouth open, but no words came out. He staggered back. Miles’ claws came free with a wet squelch. He held his hands over the wound but it wouldn’t save him. He fell. Blood pooled under him. 

“Peter!” 

His variant. A window into what could have been. That weakness. That helplessness. That inability to save those he cared for. Disgusting. Miles didn’t miss that. He faced his window. Time to close the curtains. He hadn’t even taken a step when a fist knocked him off course. He was getting tired of this. 

Miguel stood in front of him. Blocking his path to his variant. His face was set in determination, but there was a hint of unease. No words were said. What could he say that Miles hadn’t heard before. Instead, “Get out of here, kid,” he said to the variant. 

“Not without, Peter!” Still trying to be the hero. His variant didn’t realize he was already dead when he chose to speak over run. 

Miguel realized that as well. Any resemblance of hop drained from him. There was nothing he could do. He already used the one element of surprise he had. “Please,” he said, perhaps to one, but applicable to both Miles. 

Miles, every version of him, must have stubbornness built into their foundation. He would try to get his Peter back and by the time he realized he couldn’t, he would die with him.

“You can’t save him,” Miles said. 

“I can try.” Miguel might actually believe those words, believed that he could. 

Miles will show him otherwise. “And you will fail. Now, kneel.”

Miguel was dragged to his knees and the muzzle snapped over his mouth. “Miles!”

Miles dodged a wild electrified right hook from his variant appearing out of thin air at his side. He dodged under it, sweeping a leg out and watching his variant fall. He climbed over him, ripping a spike from his armband and stabbing him once in the chest. Voices rang in his ears, but words did not register. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered besides the Spiderman underneath him fighting back for dear life, struggling in his web. He raised the bloodied spike and plunged it back in his chest. 

The limbs under him flailed. The struggle was futile. Why did he bother? Did he not see? Heroes were weak. Did he see? Death was his only outcome. He plunged his spike into his chest again. Spiderman had a tremor underneath his hands. The hits against him that tried to shove him off weakened. 

Again. 

Miles placed a hand on his masked cheek. It was wet. A fabric mask. How quaint. Little Spider. So Inexperienced. 

Again. 

It was not Spiderman’s destiny to die by his hand, but that didn’t matter. 

Again. 

It was what he wanted. He would take it. 

Again. 

Destiny meant nothing to The Anomaly. 

Again. 

Canon meant nothing to him. 

Again. 

Spiderman was nothing against him.

Again.

Spiderman was nothing to him.

Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. 

A hand laid on his shoulder. He slapped it away. 

“Miles.” Mr. Ohnn stood above him. Inky black ooze bubbled on the scratch his claws left. 

Oh. Perhaps he got a little carried away. 

Miguel refused to look up from the spot on the floor between his cuffed hands. He trembled like a cold kitten. Ha. 

He looked down at the mess he made. 

The window laid beneath him shattered into pieces. Cold to the touch. The red surrounding him was not the glow of his claws. Bits of broken glass strewn around him. Pieces dug into his skin. His hands moved stiffly, a poor attempt to keep them from sinking in further. But that didn’t matter so much. Most importantly, he no longer had to peer through it and see what could have been. 

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #Peter Parker #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 16

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Miguel once adored the thrill of being Spiderman. Miguel O’ Hara was surrounded by hardship and trauma, but Spiderman was free; nothing but the crisp, slightly polluted air of Nueva York and the tug of gravity. Spiderman was a hero, a protector, a symbol. It had been so simple to forget all the struggles of Miguel O’ Hara when he put on that mask. It felt good.

But there was still a man behind that mask. A man who fell folly to what many before him have; trying to live up to expectations. Spiderman was a hero; of course he wanted to make the city a better place. Spiderman was a protector; of course he would defend the Great Web from the anomalies that threatened to destroy it. Spiderman was a symbol; he had to be someone people rallied behind.  

But Miguel O’ Hara was just a man who spread himself too thin. Sleepless nights slaving away in his lab, developing the next tool to either deal with the anomalies or the tears in space they left behind. Skipped meals because there was always something that needed his attention, and when he did get a chance to eat it, they were quick things that were easy to shovel in his mouth. His eyes constantly ached from the orange glow of his monitors and followed him when he closed his eyelids for whatever short nap he managed to sneak in. 

To be Spiderman was an honor, a responsibility few could live up to. 

Being Spiderman ate him alive. 

There was no balance between Spiderman and self. Too many people relied on Spiderman-2099, and Miguel… Well, the people who used to rely on Miguel O’ Hara didn't anymore. 

There was no more ‘thrill’ in being Spiderman, only the arduous weight of sacrifice. He just had hoped it would only be his sacrifice and not the people around him. He should have known better. Things never went the way he wanted. 

It was a cold night in this particular New York. No one and nothing to keep him company at this odd 4 AM in Central Park besides his thoughts. No stars, not in this New York. Not in most. The moon drifted away from him, rapidly approaching the west to set and let the sun rise. 

Funny to think he was finally without work, yet still, very reasonably, sleep did not come easy to him. Miles and the Spot have been dragging him across the multiverse for over a month already. They were anomalies in more ways than one. Miguel couldn’t have imagined that between the two of them, he'd have more of a rapport with the Spot than the sweet kid Peter B used to gush about. Yet here was was, nursing aging wounds from Miles that were tended to by the Spot. 

Miguel never imagined being in this scenario in the first place. He always thought that if one of his nemeses were to get revenge on him, he would face a healthy sprinkle of torture until death, but… but not like this. He expected physical torture and the mental toll would simply be the result of that, but this was almost the opposite. Miles meticulously planned out every collapse of a universe, every murder of a Spider, all for him to watch; the beatings were almost an afterthought. 

Miguel would take any amount of hits if it meant he never had to hear the shrill chorus of death again, if it meant he never had to feel the violent vibrations as the air struggled to hold itself together, never had to watch the sky scream in flashing colors, or the ground shake as it caved to the inevitable. 

Miguel would easily choose to take their place if it meant his Spiders didn’t have to face the cruel end of Miles’ claws, if it meant they had a chance to stand against him, to never see the way their bodies fell after giving their all and still losing, or see the way Miles turned to him with glee in his eyes and their blood splattered against his baby round cheeks, or way the blood ran from their cooling corpses and sunk between the small divots in the concrete, an infection never able to be fully removed because it seeped into every pore and pebble and how could anyone even dream of being rid of it.

IF HE COULD GET THE RED OUT FROM BEHIND HIS EYES. 

If Miguel could just save them, he wouldn’t mind the eternal limbo between life and death. But he didn’t get that choice. 

Pain radiated from his palms. He unclenched his fists and retracted his talons. He exhaled a shaky breath. He sat quietly on the wooden park bench. A lone lightpost a few yards from him gave off a soft glow. It didn’t quite reach him. 

Should Miguel have done nothing? Should he have let be the universal distortion he discovered all those years ago? If he let those first few universes fall, would they be where they were now? Would those sacrifices have lessened the losses they have now? If he never picked up a long dead mantle would all those universes still remain? If George O’ Hara took his beating too far, would the multiverse be better off?

Maybe. 

Or maybe it would have all gone to shit anyway. 

What was Miguel even doing here? There were so many other things he could be doing, but here he was doing absolutely nothing. He looked up at the skyline, just making out the Oscorp building in the distance, a major tech giant in most universes. Maybe. Maybe not. His eyes fell back down to his lap. The blood from his palms stained his sweatpants. He looked back up to the skyline, at the blackened silhouette of the skyscrapers.

“It’s past your curfew.” Miles appeared from out of the shadows on the opposite side of the bench.

“I thought I only had a cage.” Miguel didn’t even turn to look at him. 

“No, you have a leash too and I opted to make it a little longer today.”

Because that was all he was to them; a pet. Even that was a stretch. Miguel was their toy, to push and pull, to beat and drag through the dirt as they pleased. He sighed. “What are you doing here, Miles?” 

“Just wanted to see what our ‘ol mittens got up to.”

“You got a tracker on these things,” he lifted up a cuffed hand. “Could have just stayed at the apartment.”

“Sure, but you could be scheming.”

No, he wasn’t. “And? You can’t cage my mind.”

Miles saw it as a challenge. “Says who?” “Says you. A lobotomy would defeat my purpose here, wouldn’t it?”

The boy scoffed and crossed his arms. “Whatever, man,” he conceded. He leaned against the bench and followed Miguel’s sightline to Oscorps’ logo. “So you have been planning your great escape.”

Miguel tried it many times, put up a fight even more, but these damned cuffs. Even when they gave him a full dose of his serum, he was still at their mercy. Scratch, claw, tear, no matter how beserk Miguel went, Miles would tell the Spot to stay out of it. No matter how battered, bruised, or bloodied Miles got, they fought until either collapsed. The kid was testing himself and he was getting better, but so was Miguel. 

“You can’t keep me here, Miles. It’s only a matter of time.” If they wanted to treat him as a pet, so be it. He was a jaguar pacing its enclosure, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

Miles huffed. “I’ll let you cook.”

Miguel’s nose scrunched. “What?”

The confusion transferred over to Miles, confused at Miguel’s confusion. “What?”

“Cook?”

“Like… you’re cooking?”

“Where– There’s–” Miguel looked around. “We’re not in a kitchen.”

“Like coming up with a plan and doing it well.” Miles sounded confused at his own explanation, or rather that he had to explain at all. 

This only confused Miguel further. “But how does cooking…?”

Miles gave him a strange look of disbelief. “Like getting ingredients and putting it together to make something delicious, I guess. Cook.”

“Oh,” Miguel said, finally nodding in understanding. “Like ‘dev.’”

Miles blinked furiously at him. “Dev?” 

“Like ‘who has the devs’ or ‘you’re dev.’”

“You’ve explained nothing.”

Miguel struggled to come up with an answer. It was like talking to his abuela. How do you explain such a 2099 colloquialism to… someone from the early 2000s. This was why he did his best to keep his language plain and devoid of any slang back at the Society. “It basically means plan. So ‘who came up with the plan’ or ‘you’re in charge’.”

Miles scoffed. “Who comes up with this stuff?”

“Probably the same sort of people who came up with cook.”

Miles snorted. “Was that a joke?” 

“I don't do jokes.”

“That kinda sounded like a joke to me.”

Miguel heaved a sigh. What was the point in arguing with the kid over something so trivial? He spent enough energy actually fighting him. “Do you really need to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Goad me into an argument.” His eyes trailed back to the looming building of Oscorp. 

“Why not?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill me and be done with it? Move on to other things?”

“For you maybe.”

“You don’t think it would be better for your mental health to be rid of me?”

“That would imply I’m not doing exactly what I want to be doing.” So Miles has previously said. Questioning him was like walking in circles. 

Miguel leaned back, chin tilted up towards the black night sky. “I see through your facade, Miles. Trying to play off your playful violence for something it’s not.”

“What’s that?”

“Power. Control.”

Miles was coiled tight standing over him. “Are you saying I have neither?”

“I am.” He closed his eyes and let the chill press against his cheeks. “You have strength but are weak, and call it power. You chain me down and put a collar around my neck and call it control. But it’s not.”

“Then what–”

“Hey,” a distant voice called out, too deep to be the Spot.  

Miguel cracked an eye open. 

Miles snapped to look at the offending figure walking up to them. 

“You guys look like you’re having fun.” His face was obscured in the darkness of the hoodie pulled over his head. 

Miles crossed his arms. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering if you wanted to have some more fun.”

Miles took a step back. His face filled with skepticism and a hint of disgust. “I don’t know man. Sounds kind of weird.”

“No! Nothing weird! I got all sorts of fun things. Anything you need, my man. Amps, tabs, special k, blow, you name it, I got it.” 

“Blow?” Miguel asked incredulously. “What year are we in?”

“Whatever year you want it to be, my friend.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Not interested.”

“What about you, little man?”

“No,” Miguel answered for Miles before he could even think not to. His captor leveled him with a look, but seemed more interested in seeing how this played out. “He’s a minor,” he tacked on rather lamely.

“And that’s what makes drugs not ok?” Miles raised a brow at him.

“No,” Miguel ran a hand over his face. “I just meant that… It’s worse.”

“Oh, you mean it makes it extra illegal.” Miles brightened as the exasperation grew on his face.

“Sure.”

The guy waved them off. “Ah, that’s just what the man tells you. A lot of things that were illegal aren’t illegal now and vice versa.”

Miles tilted his head back at Miguel in a way that meant he was taking none of this seriously. “He’s got a point.” He grinned. A sickeningly familiar mirth. Miguel was just here for his entertainment, his suffering was his entertainment. To struggle was to feed into that. But still…

“He does not,” Miguel deadpanned. “It’s a false equivalency.”

Why was he even trying to protect this kid? Miles didn’t need him to save him from some shady, and quite frankly bad, drug dealer. Hell, given his history and his situation, Miles was the one who should be making sure he didn’t get tempted by the cloying promise of blissful oblivion. 

Now that he thought about it…

No. Never again. 

“I just want to have a little fun,” the dealer said. “First ones free.” Wow, this guy was bad at his job. That was such an old tactic to get people hooked on drugs. It was so obvious. Maybe this guy was being complacent because they hadn’t yet called the police. 

“Ooo,” Miles cooed, drawn in by the promise of free things. Oh, you got to be kidding–

Ah, that was it. He was still just a kid. 

“No,” Miguel said. 

“I mean, it’s free and you never know, maybe we’ll–”

Miguel shot up out of his seat. “No, absolutely not.”

“Aw come on, he’s old enough to make his own decisions,” the pendejo dared to say. 

“He’s a minor!” 

Miles bristled. The playfulness left his features, replaced by a scowl. Miguel didn’t care if he hated being called anything close to a kid; he was. He was a kid and there was no way Miguel was going to let this creep anywhere near him. 

The guy waved it off. “Ah, that doesn’t matter nowadays. How old are you, kid?”

“It’s none of your business,” Miguel stepped forward, shoving Miles behind him. 

“I mean you’re being a bit of a hypocrite. You were blasted out of your mind.”

“I was not.”

“What else would you be doing in a park at 4 in the morning?”

“I’m telling you to back off.”

“Ok, maybe you do need some free samples because you gotta chill, man,” the man so stupidly pressed. 

“I said no!” He loomed over the man. His eyes glowed a dangerous red. His talons peeking out from his skin. His nerves were on edge and his short patience was worn. He bared his fangs and snarled. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

The man tried to shove Miguel away, but he might as well have been a brick wall. “What the fuck?”

Miguel grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “Maybe I do the world a favor, get some drugs off the street and a guy who doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”

“Fucking freak, let go of me!”

“Is that really the language you want to use right now?” He flashed his extended talons in front of the quivering man’s face. 

Fear overtook anger. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll go! I’ll go! Just let me go!” Miguel scoffed and basically dropped him. He hadn’t realized he pulled the man up closer towards him. He tripped, landing hard on his ass before scrambling away from them. 

Both he and Miles watched the man run off the way he came. 

“That was very unfriendly of you,” Miles said. 

“He’s alive, isn’t he?” Miguel sighed and ran a tired hand over his eyes. “Let’s just go back to the apartment.”

Miles shrugged and followed Miguel as they walked towards the exit. The silence between them grew. The Spot wasn’t here to interject with something dumb for them to comment on and Miles’ taunting playfulness evaporated. They passed by a large fountain as they left, from here it would take… far too long to get back. If he had his suit he could just swing back, unfortunately that was practically a dream at this point. He turned to walk towards the subway. 

“I can make my own choices,” Miles said eventually. 

Miguel blinked at him. “That much is very clear.”

“I don’t need you talking for me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You did.” Miles stopped walking. “And we could have taken the freebies! I’m sure Mr. Ohnn could have found a use for them.”

“You know he’s not an actual doctor, right?” If anything, drugs were a little closer to Miguel’s field of study.

“I’m just saying, they were free!”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“I just wanted to get us away from that guy.” 

“It’s not him I was worried about.”

“What? Scared of some pills?”

Miguel sighed. “Not all of them are pills,” was all he could think to say.

“If you were that worried about it, then you should have just killed him!”

Miguel rubbed his temples. “Dealers are the lowest rung in the ladder and are often victims of addiction too. Killing him wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Miles scoffed, annoyed at the lecture. “I just don’t get why you were acting like he had a bomb.”

“Miles, I know what that stuff can do.” Miguel said plainly. “It ruins lives.”

“I know that!” Of course, he did. His dad had been a cop and his mother a nurse. 

“I was an addict.” Not of his own volition, but Miles didn’t need to know the details. “Technically, still am because of the serum.”

“Oh.” Miles fidgeted. Perhaps uncomfortable with the revelation, not that Miguel understood why; Miles knew of his regular serum doses. Perhaps because it boosted his powers it didn’t seem much like an addiction. And it wasn’t like he could really do much with this information in way of torture. 

Miguel shrugged and gestured for Miles to get moving. They still had about an hour commute to get back to the apartment. Joy. “You can go ahead. Trains run really infrequently at this time.”

Miles hummed, acknowledging the suggestion, but still followed behind Miguel until they stood at the entrance to the subway. He activated his gauntlets and stuck a hand out towards the skyline. “No scheming,” he said, playfulness returning to his voice. 

Miguel rolled his eyes. He took one step down before pausing. So did Miles. “Oh,” he said. “And don’t do drugs, not unless you want to become like me.”

“Alone, powerless, and miserable.”

“And about to brave the stench of the New York subway for over an hour.”

That wrung a laugh from Miles’ lips.

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

she has a flower for you!

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 15

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Miguel was used to pain. George O’Hara beat him, his brother, and their mother. Everyone in the house were victims, but Miguel got it worse. His father’s rage against him lasted longer, hits landed harder. He could only pray that by the time George was done with him, he would be too tired to move onto his brother or mother. At some point, bruises became a permanent affixation to his aesthetic. 

Maybe George could see what he could not. That Miguel wasn’t really an O’Hara. 

When his father died, it should have been all sunshine and rainbows. But there were more problems in their lives than just a man that liked to hit the people who were supposed to be his family. 

School was not the problem. He was a smart kid; kept his head down, kept his grades up. His future was secure. That should have been enough for his family, for his mother. Yet she looked at him like he was something else. She said he was selfish and maybe he was. He must have gotten it from her. He hooked up with his brother’s girlfriend because he just couldn’t help himself. But they were young and dumb and so in love that they even got engaged. Down the line, he apologized profusely to Gabriel and begged for his forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it, but Gabe gave it to him anyway. 

And Miguel ultimately ended it with Dana. After all the pain and strife his family put into that relationship, he couldn’t make it last. 

Miguel was selfish, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the only reason his mother looked at him with those eyes, like- like he was other . He was her mistake. He was a mistake. And that was why he could only ever make mistakes.  

Working at Alchemex was a mistake. It should have been the best company to work at, financial security was guaranteed. Certainly one of the most powerful, but that came with corruption running rampant throughout it. And thinking it wouldn’t affect him was another mistake. 

Talking with Tyler Stone was a mistake. Trusting Tyler Stone was a mistake. But what could he say? Miguel was accustomed to abuse at the hands of father figures even if he hadn’t been aware of it at the time.

Now he lived a life of his own self inflicted addiction to his Spider serum, needing regular doses to maintain his genetic structure. Splicing his DNA was rash, but it saved his life. But he wouldn’t have needed to if he had just been careful. It was a mistake. Another one to add to his books. 

Miguel thought that starting the Spider Society and uniting those across the great web could be the one thing he got right. A group there to fix the tears in space-time and help each other when they needed it. It should have been his shining achievement. But it was a mistake just like all the rest. 

If Miguel never started the Spider Society, none of this would have happened. Gwen’s father, Peter B’s MJ, Gabriella, all these universes, all those Spiders, none of it would be gone . Miles would have never known the truth. The universe would have adjusted, might have gone on to make Miles a true Spiderman even though everything that happened was an anomaly. 

There was a running theme here. Every time Miguel tried to make something better, he just made it worse

Mistakes. Mistakes on mistakes. Everything Miguel did was a mistake.

Miles was his mistake. It was in part, if not entirely, his fault that Miles had become more monster than boy. And he had to keep reminding him of that even when sometimes Miles was more boy than monster. Especially at times when–

“I’m so hungry,” Miles complained, holding his stomach while he rolled around on the couch of their newly instated safehouse in this universe they jumped to. 

They were in a seedier part of town where people knew better than to question the strange looking man in a weird white and black spotted costume. They didn’t have to know it was actually skin. 

The apartment matched the area. Dingy and kinda gross, but no one would bother them. All the furniture was stolen and rent was dirt cheap. These were the places that Miguel hated the most. It meant they didn’t intend to stay long, it wasn’t a permanent safehouse. Another universe Miles and the Spot intended to collapse. Another fight where he could do nothing to save anyone. 

Miguel had tried in the last one and Miles had not been joking when he said to put a muzzle on him. The new nanotech chip on the back of his neck replaced his suit and would become a cage muzzle, because a plain mask wasn’t humiliating enough. Stripped of any power and dignity, Miguel was left with his indignation. 

“What do you guys want to eat?” Miles asked.

“I’m good with anything,” the Spot said. 

“Miguel?”

Miguel just glared at him from the loveseat in the corner. His arm still recovering from the beating Miles gave him nearly a week ago, he was not in the mood to humor his playfulness. 

Miles rolled onto his stomach. “Come on, man. You’re not hungry?”

“Forgive me if I’ve lost my appetite,” he ground out. 

“Well, doubt you’ll have it later.” Miles shot to his feet. “Let’s go to the city. See what they have.”

“Have somewhere in mind?” the Spot asked. 

“You sure you don’t have a preference?”

The Spot shook his head. 

“Miguel?”

A low growl was his only response. 

That only seemed to amuse Miles even more. “Maybe, we get chinese? They probably have something easy for your stomach.”

“So Chinatown?”

“Yup. Ready, Miguel?”

He grunted, but still stood. 

“Don’t fall on your face this time,” Miles teased. 

“I never–”

A hole opened up underneath them and Miguel just barely stayed on his feet. Those little– “Seriously?”

Miles laced his fingers behind his head and walked down Canal street. “I thought that was a yes grunt, not a no grunt.” 

“This is why we’ve been telling you to use your words,” the Spot piled on. “But Mr. Grumpy only wants to talk to us through his teeth.”

Miguel reluctantly followed them. “Right, because it’s so unreasonable for me to be taciturn with my captors.”

Miles spun on his heels and grinned at the two of them. “And sarcasm, don’t forget the sarcasm.”

“You expect me to act any differently?”

“I think you're acting exactly as you should.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “You're exactly as irritating as I remember you being.”

That wiped the smug smirk off the brat’s face. “Careful, Miguel. Wouldn’t want to piss me off.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t piss you off anymore than I already do, Miles.”

“Alway room for growth.”

“We can bicker at the dinner table,” the Spot interjected. “Where are we eating?”

Miles fell into pace besides the Spot. “Do we have connection yet?”

“I set it up earlier,” he said, pulling out a phone from one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts. “Yeah, you should have internet access.”

Miles raised a gauntlet to search up ‘Chinatown soup’. “Ooo, soup dumplings.” He tapped on the address and a little map popped up. They walked down the main street, following Miles, who diligently followed the map until a warm sweet aroma wafted through the air. Immediately, he detoured off the path to a metal cart selling sweet bubble waffles. 

“We’re about to eat,” Miguel pointed out.

Miles fished cash out of his bag “And? We have enhanced metabolisms.”

“Not right now I don’t.” It had been a while since they gave him his serum dose. 

“One isn’t going to ruin your appetite.”

“I don’t want one.”

“Well now you’re definitely getting one.”

Miguel put his hands on his hips. “I don’t think reverse psychology is supposed to work in this situation.”

Miles gestured for 3 orders and handed the old man behind the window five dollars. “It’s not about that. It’s about whatever I want, and I want you to eat one.”

Miguel glared at the paper bag he was handed as if the sweet treats inside were his enemy. They smelled delicious and he felt the warmth penetrating through the thin bag. It was tempting. But call him paranoid, he couldn’t help but think this was some sort of mental manipulation. Or petty, because he really didn’t want to listen to Miles. 

As they continued on their way to the restaurant, Miles and the Spot snacked on their waffles. Miguel didn’t understand, the Spot had no mouth, yet tossed bubble after bubble into the void on his face. How did he even eat? Was that actually his mouth or like a portal to his stomach? Well, it wouldn’t be wise to have an open access to his stomach. 

“You going to eat that?” Miles asked.

“What? No.” Miguel tried handing it off.  

“I don’t want it.” Miles bounced back on his heels. 

He then tried handing it to the Spot. 

The Spot shook his head. “Gotta watch the waist line.”

Miguel returned to scowling at the innocent pastries. 

“Don’t waste it,” Miles said. “Your momma didn't raise no food waster.”

 “What do you know about my mother?” he scoffed. But he was right, she didn’t. He ate one. It was still a bit warm. It was soft and pillowy and just the right amount of sweetness. It was delicious.

“You’re going to ruin your appetite,Miguel,” Miles said, scandalized.

 Miguel rolled his eyes and kept eating. Regardless of the childish bait, his mother did not in fact raise a food waster. 

There was a scream up ahead. All heads turned in that direction. They were off the main street, which might explain why the man running towards them felt comfortable enough to snatch the purse of the woman chasing after him. 

Miguel instinctually stepped forward with the intent to stop him, but Miles was further in front. 

“Seriously?” Miles stuck out his foot and tripped the man, causing  him to fall flat on his face. “In broad daylight?” He sat on him as the woman jogged up to them. 

“Thank you,” she said, panting for air. 

Miles handed back her bag. “You're welcome. Wanna file a police report? We can wait with you.”

The woman’s brows creased with uncertainty, her hands coming up, probably about to say no until the man squirming underneath Miles decided to open his stupid mouth. 

“Come on. I didn’t even take anything!”

Then her face morphed into disgust and set in determination. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Bro!” The man started thrashing in earnest, trying to buck Miles off. “What are they feeding you?”

Miles grinned. “Spiders.”

Miguel grimaced at the bad taste in humor.

“Got something to say?”

Miguel crossed his arms. “Just call the cops, ma’am.”

The young lady seemed a bit put off by the use of the title but pulled out her phone regardless. She spoke quietly to the operator.

“Listen, kid. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Miles snapped. 

“Sorry, man! It was a lapse in judgment!” He pleaded. “It won’t happen again!”

Miles hummed. “Sure it won’t.”

“I’m serious! My family needs the money!”

“I bet. But you were just begging to be caught.”

“No! I was desperate!”

“Stupid more like. In broad daylight, in a relatively busy area, running straight at three dudes.” Miles was right, especially when there was potentially a Spiderman swinging around. 

A pair of cops turned the corner. How uncharacteristically quick of them. Well, like Miles said, the man wasn’t really thinking; broad daylight and only down the street from a busy intersection. The thief tossed and thrashed about trying to dislodge Miles, but it was a futile attempt. Miguel could relate. “Fuck off, kid!” Oh, that was a mis–

Miles slammed the man's head into the concrete. 

Miguel could relate to that too. He turned away to watch the woman approach the officers. She spoke with them as they came closer. 

“Miguel,” Miles said, getting up from the cursing thief, who was swiftly placed in handcuffs. “Finish your snack.”

 Miguel looked down at the slightly cooled waffle pieces and frowned. It surely wouldn’t be as good now. Still, he ate without complaint. The Spot stared at him unabashedly. “What?” he asked. 

The Spot shrugged. “Nothing.”

Miguel hated this, hated feeling stuck between them. Miles was manic and volatile. The Spot was awkward and enigmatic. He first thought the Spot would be the heinous one, egging Miles on and whispering dark things in his ear. But it was the opposite. The Spot was the practical one, telling Miles when to take a break or if a plan was too reckless. Sometimes he would just sit there and… watch… silently. It was weird and off putting and Miguel never knew what to think of the villain. And Miles… Miles was a different beast altogether. 

Miguel tried to escape multiple times. Clearly, none of them successful, but every time Miles dished out a cruel form of punishment for trying.  The beatings were the easiest to take. He fought back, he always did, but perhaps they were taking their toll on him mentally, more than he anticipated. He fought back, but it felt almost like an obligation rather than real effort. Escape felt so out of reach. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

Sometimes Miles was crueler. Sometimes he would bring a civilian inches from death and make them beg Miguel for their lives. Other times he would jump to a new universe and bring New York to its knees. He has not yet brought them to another Nueva York. He might be waiting for just the right reason to punish Miguel like that again… 

And then there was the odd punishment of simply seeing Miles. Punishment was perhaps not the right word, but it felt like it. Seeing Miles just be… a kid, seeing the kid Miles could have been– should have been, felt… He should have been a boy rather than a monster, but he wasn’t, and that was in large part Miguel’s fault. And that felt bad . 

It felt wrong. Miguel spent his life fighting monsters. He did his best to protect everyone from them. And yet– What he is now is all you, Miguel .

Miguel sucked his teeth in frustration. 

Miles quirked a brow in his direction. “What’s got your pants in a grump?”

Miguel looked at him incredulously. “Pants in a grump?"

“Grumpy pants, but different.”

“What?”

“Ah, you wouldn’t get it.” He whipped around. “Hey, lady! You good?”

“Yes! Thank you so much” She smiled at him and nodded towards Miguel and the Spot. 

“Sure,” Miles couldn’t help but return the awkward smile. 

More boy than monster. Miles had been a good kid just trying his best. He was left with a great responsibility on his shoulders. He hadn’t been perfect, a little awkward (but not like Miguel could talk), but he was good. He stood with her as the police took her statement. He gave a reassuring thumbs up whenever she would look his way. 

Miguel huffed a small chuckle. “Still that friendly neighborhood Spiderman,” he murmured. 

The Spot’s head snapped to look at him, followed by an incredulous scoff. 

Miles stilled and pinned him with a stare. “Wanna repeat that?”

Shit.

Miles could taste the anxiety rolling off him. “I know it was posed as a question, but that wasn’t a request.”

He licked his lips as his mouth suddenly became dry. “Miles.”

“Miguel.”

“I didn’t mean–”

“No. Go on.”

“I don’t think that’s–”

“You're stalling.”

“I’m not,” he hissed. “I just thought–” He sucked in breath. “For as much as you call yourself a villain, you still have that spark of Spiderman.”

Miles tilted his head. “I never was though, right, Miguel?”

“Miles.” He should have never worded it like that, but he had let his anger and frustration get the better of him. But realizing that now, would not change the course either of them were on. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“But it’s how I want it to be.”  

“Miles,” he growled.

Miles turned back to the woman. “You’re done here, right? You should leave.”

“O-oh.” She looked between them nervously. “Alright.” She asked the officers if she was done giving her statement and once she got the nod of confirmation she thanked them before scurrying out onto the main road. 

“Do you need to take our statements too, officers?” Miles asked.

“Miles, don’t,” Miguel hissed. 

The officers approached them.

“Miles! I’m serious.”

“So am I. Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

“Miles–”

“Correct!”

The officers were blind to Miles' intentions. They see the good natured teen that helped a woman get her purse back from a runaway thief. They do not see the potential he has. They do not see the violence that pumped through his heart. The foolish sheep walked into the maw of the beast. 

Miles' claws activated. They were slow. Basically civilians with a smidge more authority. The first one died in a blink, the head rolling off his shoulders before the other could register what was happening. 

Miguel’s foot was only able to shift its weight before–

“Kneel,” Miles commanded. 

The cuffs dragged Miguel to the ground. 

The officer pulled his firearm and fired. 

Miles dodged the first bullet. The second landed uselessly in his claws. As did the third. And fourth. And fifth. And the rest of them until the officer’s gun was empty and his trembling hand attempted to reload it.

“Call for backup,” Miles offered. 

The man fumbled with his radio. 

“Miles,” Miguel’s voice strained. “I misspoke! You don’t have to do this!”

“No, you didn’t.” Miles waited until the man was halfway through his first sentence on the radio before extending the red holo of his claws to drag the feeble man over to him. The man screamed. 

“Miles!”

“Do you know why we’re here, Miguel?” The man scrabbled uselessly at the ground, trying to delay his death, even if only by a few seconds. “Do you know what universe this is?” He didn’t even wait for Miguel to answer. “This is Earth-18119.”

Miguel’s eyes widened. Spinneret’s universe. 

“What better way to draw out Spiders than to shake their web?” 

Only when the officer finally screamed his voice hoarse, did Miles kill him with a swift strike to the chest. Miguel stared despondent at the two corpses that littered the area that moments before had Miles stopping a thief and comforting the victim. 

“Everyone of your little Spider soldiers are right here.” Miles lifted his left gauntlet, the red screen screaming back at Miguel. The profiles of Spiderman, Spinneret, and Spiderling clear under the word ‘target’. “ Your incessant stalking and need for control really backfired on you, huh?”

Miguel’s heart hammered in his chest. “Miles, you’ve made your point. Please!”

“There’s no point to be made.” Miles turned to him, blood splattered across his cheek. “If anything, I’ve finally seen things your way.”

“This is not what–”

“Spiderman is suffering.”

“Spiderman is sacrifice!”

“Then may their sacrifice bring you great suffering.”

“Miles!” Miguel pleaded. “I’m sorry! You were right! I should have tried! I should have let you try!”

Miles chuckled. It left a small smile behind that grew the more Miguel struggled against his binds. The sounds of thwips overhead were the opening curtains to The Anomaly’s show. The mask engulfed his face. “We love the introspection, but you’re not sorry. Not really. But don’t worry, you will be.”

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 14

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Miles was always supposed to be a hero. His mother was a nurse and his father was a good cop. Spiderman was his hero and, even if Uncle Aaron was a villain, he was a good man, at least he was to Miles, at least until a little bit at the end. Point being, Miles had the foundation of a hero. He had nature and nurture on his side. 

Until he didn’t.

His hero murdered before his very eyes. His uncle dead in his arms. His father killed by a villain he created. His mother crushed in collateral damage. And maybe if he was given a chance to be that hero for his parents, he still would be. 

But he wasn’t. 

And this is not that story. 

Miles tried to be a hero. He really did. Was he the best at it? No. Did he make mistakes? Sure. But he was young and hopeful and ready to save the world and everyone in it. 

And they damned him for it. 

If the universe wanted so badly for him to abandon heroism, who was he to argue? Afterall, nothing was more powerful than the will of the universe. Champion of the canon, Miguel O’ Hara, would agree. 

Miles Morales was not supposed to be Spiderman. He got married to that title at the altar of death; of course it was never going to last. He was the reason Peter Parker was damned. His uncle was damned. His father was damned. His mother. And it was all his fault. The universe punished him for thinking he was above fate, for thinking he was a hero. The universe punished him for believing he had any sort of free will. 

But see, that was the problem. Miles was a free spirit at heart and he didn’t take kindly to being told what he could and could not do. So being a hero was never going to work out anyway. Miguel just helped him realize that sooner and Mr. Ohnn opened his eyes to a multiverse of possibilities. 

Miles Morales would have been a great hero. He will be an even greater villain. 

This universe’s Spiderman was just a teenager. With the data they scraped from Miguel’s computer, they had a list of the most common canon events for all Spiders, but Peter Parkers were absolutely riddled with them; especially teenage ones. Miles could freely pick from the bunch. 

Miles and Mr. Ohnn had stalking Spiders down to a science. Following on foot was the worst because, not only was it more difficult to keep up, Spiders often noticed them and got suspicious, especially with Mr. Ohnn looking the way he does. Too high and Miles would be a break in the normally clean skyline. While Spiders might not immediately notice and, when they did, tended not to jump to conclusions, they did become more wary of others following afterwards. The sweet spot was in the blindspot behind them. Spiders never really saw it coming, unable to comprehend someone else moving exactly as they do. It was too easy. 

Unfortunately, Miles and Mr. Ohnn forgot to take into account that they would need to practically babysit one Miguel O’Hara. He had been digging his heels while they stalked the teen Parker. Now, in theory they could have left him at the little hideout they had in this universe, but that would defeat the purpose of taking him in the first place. Miles wanted him to be there for every step they took to collapse a universe. To be unable to stop them as they ruined his life’s work. To be helpless as they destroyed everything he aimed to protect. 

Miguel would understand what it was like to lose everything. 

Now, if he would just stop acting like a little bit–

Miguel made a little too much noise on one of their stakeouts and caused Peter to notice them. Mr. Ohnn had to take him away before he could ruin anything else. It was a little more annoying than Miles was expecting, but it all worked out. It was never hard to convince a Spider, especially a young one, that they weren’t the only Spider running around, that they weren’t alone. Miles was still a relatively personable guy even if he was a villain now, and he and the teen Peter became fast friends. With Miles prying info from the source and the Spot stalking the local villains, it wasn’t hard to figure out their next steps. 

A canon event was coming up. Captain Stacy was due to die any day now. Peter Parker and Gwen Stacy just started dating, and Doc Ock was setting up his master plan. Miles just had to wait for the right timing. The perfect timing. Too early and it would no longer register the canon event; the universe would reset it for later. Too late and, well, the obvious. 

Now, they were in downtown Manhattan. Miles, Mr. Ohnn, and Miguel stood a good distance away. Well, Miguel was on his knees because he didn’t want to behave, but they watched the chaos from above. Peter was doing his best to fend off Doc Ock while poor Captain Stacy was on crowd control. It was a difficult job especially with the two supers slamming each other into buildings and moving down an avenue nearly every minute. This Spider had yet to learn how to keep property damage to a minimum. 

Miles was getting antsy waiting. He rocked on his feet watching blows being traded, waiting for the finishing move. Both Peter and Doc Ock were getting worn down. Soon. “I got this,” he said to Mr. Ohnn, getting ready to launch off the building. “Make sure he has a good view.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Mr. Ohnn said, waving him off. 

Miles let himself tip over the edge. The wind cold against his skin, the screams filling the air, the reflective glass windows rushing past him, it was just right. A child cried next to a crumbling building. Captain Stacy raced to try and protect her. Peter was too preoccupied to do anything to stop it. Everything was perfect. 

Miles swooped in just in time to save both Captain Stacy and the girl from being crushed under rubble. 

Captain Stacy’s mouth was agape, saved by a masked vigilante he had never seen before. “Thank you,” he said. Once he set his feet on the ground and stood at his full height added, “Aren’t you a little short to be a hero?”

Miles cocked his head at him. “Aren’t you a little fragile to take on a building?”

Captain Stacy placed his hands on his hips as he leveled Miles with a look only a father could achieve. 

A crack signaled Peter landed the final blow on Doc Ock. “Captain Stacy! Anom! He quickly webbed the Doc’s arms down. 

“Anom?” Captain Stacy asked.

“Short for The Anomaly,” Miles responded. 

“Weird name.”

Peter ran over to them, nearly stumbling over himself. “Are you guys alright?”

Captain Stacy threw a thumb towards Miles. “Spiderman, you know this kid?”

Miles crossed his arms. “I just saved your life.”

“Thank you for that, but that doesn’t change the fact that if he's just a kid,” he pointed to Peter. “Then you’re definitely one too.”

“I- I’m sorry, Captain Stacy,” Peter said between pants. “I tried to- but Doc Ock was- and I wasn’t-”

Captain Stacy held a hand up before it got worse. “It’s alright, kid. I’m still standing.”

Peter whipped around to look at Miles. “Thank you, Anom! I don’t know if I could have done it without you!”

Miles waved him off. “You would have been fine.”

Peter grabbed his hands. “I really wouldn't have. Thank you!” He had those bright, wide, lenses that surely hid the awe and relief trained on Miles. He was practically radiating sparkles. 

Miles squirmed under the attention, wanting to pull his hands back, but he had a part to play. “‘S alright.” He shrugged. 

Captain Stacy huffed at the stilted interaction and gave them both a pat on the shoulder. “Alright, you kids get out of here, I’m going to make sure the area is clear,” he insisted. He turned on his heels and ran down the street. He only made it halfway before a buzzing thrummed in the back of the Spiders’ mind.

“Miles!” was Mr. Ohnn’s short warning. 

Both teens reacted. Peter turned to assess if Mr. Ohnn was a threat, taken aback by the stranger. But Miles knew what the warning was for, he darted after Captain Stacy. Mechanical tentacles attacked the Captain. Doc Ock had broken free. Miles tried his best to reach him. Miles tried his best to save him. But there were six arms and Miles only had two web shooters. Maybe, maybe if Peter hadn’t been distracted by Mr. Ohnn. Maybe if he was faster or stronger or if he had been more careful. 

The sharp point of one of Doc Ock’s arms plunged into Captain Stacy’s chest. 

“NO!”

Captain Stacy fell to the ground. 

“Captain!”

Peter Parker ran past him, fending off the Doctor. 

Doc Ock fled while Peter cradled the fallen officer.

Miles walked numbly to them. 

Captain Stacy pawed weakly at his chest. “Peter,” he coughed blood. “It’s alright.” No. No, it was not. 

“Look at me,” Peter tore off his mask. “Stay with me. Helps on the way.” Tears welled in his eyes. 

“You need to be gone when they get here, ‘kay.” The captain hissed in pain. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” his voice wavered. Stop.

“‘S not about you. The city needs you.” His words began to slur together. “You’re going to make enemies. People’re gonna get hurt. People close to you.” His voice grew weak. “Promise me something.” Don’t do it.

Peter leaned forward. 

“Leave Gwen out of it.” He could barely keep his eyes open. “Promise me.”

As Peter cradled George Stacy in his hands, he lied and nodded. Giving a dying man one last semblance of peace and dooming Gwen Stacy. Captain Stacy’s eyes fell shut. His heartbeat slowed until it stopped. Peter sobbed. He wept, forgetting that he was not alone. 

“What happened?” Miles asked Mr. Ohnn, not looking away from the scene. 

Peter stiffened. 

“Miguel– I took my eyes off him for a second. He cut the bindings on Doc Ock.”

Miles' jaw tightened. “His cuffs were locked.”

“With his teeth.”

A laugh bubbled out of him. It was unstoppable. The vision of Miguel on his knees chewing through webbing was hilarious. What a ridiculous– Hah. He lost to a man shackled in cuffs Mr. Ohnn designed, that he placed on him. That was just FUCKING hilarious. 

It was his own fault really. Success was never so easily given, not for him. Miles Morales failed again. Because of Miguel O’ Hara. Always because of Miguel O’Hara. 

His laughter settled down. “Where is he?” Miles asked. Miguel was thrown onto the ground nearby. He didn’t even turn around to look at him. He worried he’d lose control if he set eyes on the bastard. He tapped his gauntlet to lock him to the ground. Peter was looking at them with wide eyes, sweet and innocent. Nothing like Miles. “Bring me the good doctor.” 

Doc Ock fell out of the sky from a portal Mr. Ohnn so graciously provided him. 

“Wha–” 

Miles was on him faster than he could finish the sentence. Doc Ock attempted to fend him off, but he just grabbed the mechanical arms and drained the electricity from them, leaving them limp and the old man weak and defenseless. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done,” he said. He tore off the clawed end of the tentacle still stained with Captain Stacy’s blood. “You’ve just started him down the path of becoming one of the greatest superheros to ever grace this universe and you one of his greatest nemesis.” He turned the sharp metal in one hand and grabbed Doc Ock’s neck with the other. “But more importantly, you’ve pissed me off.” 

“Miles!” Miguel shouted. 

“And for that,” Miles hissed into the old man’s ear. “I will make you both nothing.” 

The claw plunged into Doc Ock’s chest. A wet gasp escaped him. He stared in horror as his own creation maimed him. 

“No!” Peter Parker, ever the hero.

Miles shot a jolt of electricity through the tentacle, extending the forceps through soft flesh and making the Doctor’s life unsalvageable. 

Peter tackled him. “Why did you do that?!” His face was a mess; tears still falling from his chin. “We’re supposed to be better than them! We're heroes!”

Miles twisted, reversing their positions. “No. You’re the hero.” He dodged Peter’s haphazard punch. This Spiderman might be older than him, if barely, but he has defeated and killed older, stronger, faster Spiders than this one. And after such a grueling fight with Doc Ock and heavy loss of Captain Stacy, this Spiderman stood no chance. 

Miles wrapped his claws around Peter’s neck and squeezed. Peter struggled and flailed to no avail. 

“Miles, stop!” Miguel struggled against the cuffs. Uselessly. Fruitlessly. He never really learned. Good. It would be boring if he gave in too easily. Poor pitiful Peter Parker, merely a vehicle to bring him pain. 

Miles turned to him, the pressure around Peter’s thin neck not once letting up. “You did this to him.”

Miguel’s eyes turned from distress to fury. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. 

“He could have had a blissful end; Captain Stacy alive and Doc Ock thwarted! You just had to go and mess everything up!”

Peter scratched at his arms and mask, but it did nothing. Maybe if he had talons. 

“Leave him alone!” Miguel shouted. Not a plea because he was too proud for that. 

Miles laughed. Peter’s eyes were full with horror, desperation and those stupid dumb brown eyes reminded him of another older version and his grip tightened even further. See him. See him in all of his brutal glory. 

“Why?” Miguel screamed. “You’re fighting against something beyond your perception!”

Anger flared. “I am beyond you!” Fighting against it? No. That was not his intention anymore. 

“If you keep this up, the web will unravel!”

“And I can’t wait!” Peter’s neck cracked between his hands. Miles climbed back to his feet, standing over the corpse of another Spider. His eyes trained on Miguel’s. “Let it all crumble.” He stalked forward. “Let it all die.” 

Miles stood in front of Miguel as a failure, again, unable to collapse the universe in the way he deemed fitting. Everything he and Mr. Ohnn put into this operation, all for nought. He cocked his leg back. The crack of Miguel’s jaw against his boot was satisfying. Almost as satisfying as the hateful glare he received back. 

Miguel spit out some blood. His teeth were stained red when he bore them at Miles. “You should seek therapy.”

“That’s rich coming from the king of repressed grief.” Miles grabbed Miguel by the collar of the cheap white t-shirt they stole from a Mart-Wal. 

Funny how they needed to provide Miguel with stuff even though he was technically a prisoner kept for torture. He looked so… civilian with the cheap clothes on, save for the impressively sharp bone structure, but they couldn’t have the man walking around and drawing attention with his super suit. But he would need it now, especially since it’s been a while since they’ve given him his dose of Spider steroids. 

Miles released the locks in Miguel’s cuffs just in time for a kick to the chest to send the man sprawling. It was easy to wrestle the disoriented man to his back. He reared his clawed fist back. 

Miguel managed to block the punch, but Miles refused to let up, punching over and over again. He tried to fight back or kick Miles off, but weakened by the few weeks of captivity he could do nothing but take it. It seemed to be a recurring theme. So he was left to do his best and block the blows. Until his arm cracked under the abuse. His arm was most certainly fractured. 

Miguel grit his teeth. Defiant in much the same way Miles once was. “This won’t fix anything! This won’t bring them back!”

“Fix?” Miles grabbed Miguel’s arm and squeezed. “Bring back?” He twisted until what could have been a fracture was now most certainly broken. Miguel yowled, instinctually turning away and cradling his arm to his chest. “You think I want them to see me like this? You think I want them to see what I've become?” he spat. “No. Let them rest. The multiverse will die in their name, for my satisfaction.”

Miles landed a solid blow to Miguel’s face, knocking his head against the concrete. 

“Hey, watch the teeth!” Mr. Ohnn said, watching the scene while leisurely leaning against a car. “I don’t want to be the one blending up his meals.”

Miles scoffed. He grabbed under Miguel’s jaw, glaring back at the sneer the man shot at him. His eyes fell onto the teeth that ruined everything. “We’re muzzling this mutt.” He tossed Miguel’s head once more into the ground and got up. He dusted himself off and stepped on Miguel’s broken arm, digging his heel in. He relished the scream it tore out of him. “I dare you to pull that shit again.” He rolled his shoulders and walked away, considering their next steps. 

Mr. Ohnn knelt near Miguel inspecting the injury he was automatically in charge of monitoring. “Did you think that poor Peter's sacrifice would save this universe?” he asked quietly to Miguel as the man’s chest heaved. Clearly he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried such a hail mary. “We’ve learned a lot in all this time. There’s more than one way to the end of the universe.” Mr. Ohnn chuckled. He looked over at Miles who stood tall in front of the burning buildings and cooling corpses. “You will bear witness to his greatness, Miguel O’Hara.”

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

It’s them, it’s 100% them your honor

Meme it was inspired by:

#hehe #spiderverse

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 13

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

They dragged Miguel’s unconscious form through the portal. Miles huffed, frustrated that the man was so heavy to him despite now having super strength. It didn’t help that it was impossible to have a good hold on the limp body. Still, the two of them managed. 

“Get him on the table,” Mr. Ohnn said. He ripped open the drawers for the medkit. Miles hefted Miguel over to the metal work table. He had to contort his body to shove and slide the mountain of a man off his shoulders and onto the smooth surface. 

Mr. Ohnn ran around washing his hands and gathered clean water into a metal basin. “Take his shirt off.”

Miles scowled but obeyed. Why did he have to do all this for fucking Miguel O’ Hara? He activated his gauntlet to slice through the thin fabric. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You wanted to keep him, not me.”

“I get it,” he snapped back. Revulsion turned in his gut. The thought of saving the life of the man who ruined his was abhorrent, had his jaw clenched tight and fighting off the desire to just kill the man right here and now. He avoided looking at the beaten and bleeding man on the table and tried not to think of his hands wrapping around his throat. He couldn’t continue Miguel’s misery if he was dead. Focus on the job. 

The wound was still bleeding sluggishly. Miguel was fully unconscious and had no reaction to the two of them flitting around him. 

“Wash your hands and put on some gloves.” Mr Ohnn said, taking out the packaged needle and gauze to set them aside. “And grab a clean towel.”

Miles hurried around the room doing just that. “You didn’t need all this last time,” he grumbled. 

“Yeah, well, ‘last time’ the wound was already closing and all I had to worry about was a little infection. This–” Mr. Ohnn snapped some gloves on. “This doesn’t look so good.”

“He said he was weaker.” Miles gestured to Miguel. “Said he needs his serum that his powers were tied to genetic stability or something.”

“Serum?”

“The green goo.”

“Oh,” Mr. Ohnn opened a portal to gather the vials and injector. “Must be why his healing factor is kind of shit right now.”

Anger flared anew. “He was weakened the whole time,” Miles snarled. The whole time he believed he bested the Miguel O’ Hara, Spiderman of the future, leader of the Spider Society, the man that took everything from him. But he didn’t. He thought he finally did something right, but it was a hollow victory. He was still that weak little kid trapped in the stupid orange box. And who knew how long it had been since his last serum dose. Everything he and Mr. Ohnn had been working on, training for, he still couldn’t beat Miguel on even ground. 

“I would love to reassure you or give you some words of encouragement, Miles, but we’re kind of busy here.”

After drying his hands off, Miles joined Mr. Ohnn at the table. “I didn’t win.”

Mr. Ohnn snapped to him. “Of course you did.” He grabbed an x-ray scanner from the otherside of the table and positioned it over Miguel’s wound. He double checked to see if the scan was running before turning to grab Miles’ shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Listen, we are not gladiators in the colosseum. It doesn’t need to be an honorable 1 v 1. You had an opportunity and took it. Recognizing those moments of opportunity and capitalizing is what separates the winners from the losers. You hear me?” He jostled Miles with a little shake. 

Of all the people that should have been there for him, supported him, the Spot should have been at the bottom of the list. And yet, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Mr. Ohnn was the only one who was there for him, the only one who could understand him. 

Truthfully, Miles didn’t know what he did to have Mr. Ohnn choose to help him, let alone stay with him. He would never be able to express how grateful he was to the man for picking him above all else. 

“I hear you,” Miles said. 

“Good,” Mr. Ohnn squeezed his shoulders before letting go. “Because I’m kind of panicking right now, so if we could save your crisis for later, would love.”

Miles snorted. “Sure.”

Mr. Ohnn looked over the scanner results and let out a sigh of relief. “No internal organ damage, thank whatever for that, because I may have a doctorate, but not that kind of doctor. I do know, however, I gotta replace these,” He pulled the gloves off and put on some clean ones. He picked up the injector and turned it over in his hand. “Clean the wound for me, would you?”

Miles wiped the blood from the surrounding skin, making it easier for Mr. Ohnn to work later. He dunked the bloodied rag into the once pristine water, casting a reddish cloud to the basin. Soon he revealed three distinct slashes. He dabbed away at the wounds, careful not to accidentally undo the work of any clotted blood. He tried not to focus on who was on the receiving end of his diligent care. 

Mr. Ohnn had all he needed laid out on the table nearby. “I’m going to seal the opening, then give him the goo and some antibiotics.” he said. “It’s not exactly sterile, but once his healing factor is back to top form, it’ll take care of any infection for us. You with me?”

Miles snorted. “And you say you’re not a doctor.”

“I just watched a lot of medical dramas when I was in undergrad.” But despite his words, his deft fingers worked quickly on the sutures. Perhaps it was his previous lab work that trained his steady hand; that and all the practice he had on Miles and now Miguel. 

Miles watched as Mr. Ohnn completed stitch after stitch. Miguel had not stirred once, but he was still breathing, which was… a sign. But Miles’ anxiety was ratcheting. If Miguel died here on this table, what was next for them? This was… everything. This was what he worked towards for years. And if he didn’t have this… 

“Hey, Miles, wanna help?” Mr. Ohnn asked. 

“What?” A spike of nervous energy pulled his spine straight.

“If you could help put some stitches in that top laceration, you’d save us a lot of time,” he said. Eyes solely focused on closing up the middle tear which was the longest and deepest cut by far. 

“But I don’t know how–”

“Pull up a video. It’s not that hard.”

“He’s dying,” Miles stressed. 

“You learn best under pressure.” Mr. Ohnn pulled up a projection of a youtube video showing how to make a simple interrupted suture. “Besides, he’s in no condition to complain about bad stitches.” 

His palms started to sweat. “I don’t know–”

Mr. Ohnn handed him a needle and thread. “Experience is the best teacher.”

Miles took it and sighed. Mr. Ohnn wasn’t going to back down from this. Fine. He threaded the needle and watched the video once. When he turned back to look at Miguel, another pair of forceps were in front of him. Well, now or never.

He grabbed a piece of skin with the forceps and pried the wound open a little to get a better view. He slowly pierced the flesh with the needle in his other hand, brows knitting in concentration to keep his hand steady. 

“You’re holding it too tight,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You’re making yourself tremble.” 

“Well, sorry for being nervous,” Miles hissed as he fully pulled the needle out to the otherside. 

“Don’t be. You don’t care about this guy. Who cares if he has a shitty stitch?” 

He was right. Why was Miles trying so hard for this asshole? He wanted to get it right, sure, but the best person to fuck up on was Miguel O’ Hara. The surgeon’s knot seemed easy enough. He wrapped the thread around the forceps three times just like the video and pulled the leftover thread through and tugged. 

“Pull it tighter,” Mr. Ohnn corrected. 

So he did. And did the knot two more times before standing straight and looking up for confirmation. 

“Not bad, kid. Now do it again.”

Miles preened under the praise and got to work. The next one he finished faster and the one after that. Before he realized it, he finished seven stitches and sealed up the top laceration. 

Mr. Ohnn patted him on the shoulder, gloves off and having already finished sealing the other two wounds. “Good job.”

Seeing Mr. Ohnn’s straight and neat stitches next to his more crooked ones, did nothing to deter the smile off his face. Practice was practice. “Thanks.”

“Almost done, just the goo and the antibiotics.” Mr. Ohnn inserted the serum cartridge into the injector and shot it right into the meat of Miguel’s shoulder. 

The rest of it should have been easy. Miguel was unconscious and hadn’t even so much as twitched as they worked on him. So they weren’t expecting it when his eyes snapped open and began thrashing. 

“Oh, that’s not good.” Mr. Ohnn said unhelpfully. His attention focused on the wound. “Hold him down. We don’t want his stitches to tear.” He held Miguel’s legs down or at least tried to. 

Miles went into his gauntlet to lock down Miguel’s wrist, but that didn’t stop him from trying to twist out of them, which was causing blood to seep from the freshly closed wounds. He tried to push down on Miguel’s chest to stop his torso from writhing, but he was still pulling at his stitches. “Miguel, stop!”  

“We’re trying to help you, buddy!”

Miles didn’t even bother to correct Mr. Ohnn. “You’re making this worse for yourself, man!”

“I worked really hard on those sutures!”

Miguel continued to try and buck them off. 

“Maybe shut up, Mr. Ohnn. I think your voice is setting him off.”

“Oh, like yours doesn’t?”

Was this part of ‘genetic maintenance’? If so, Miguel really needed to elaborate more on what that entailed because this was not what he had in mind. His eyes darted around wildly, confused, and  fearful. 

And while Miles wasn’t opposed to that expression on Miguel’s face, it ticked him off that it wasn’t him causing it. He climbed onto the table and straddled the man’s chest. He gripped Miguel’s face between his hands and made him focus. “Hey!”

Miguel’s eyes still tried to look around. “Where am I?”

“So he speaks!” 

“Miles? Wh- what happened?” 

“You got your ass beat by that Scorpion. Remember that?”

A twitch in Miguel’s brow. “I did not lose to the Scorpion,” he snarled. “I lost to you kicking me into a building.”

“Seems coherent enough,” he said over his shoulder to Mr. Ohnn. “Promise not to move around and tear your stitches?”

“Wha– yeah, just get off.” 

Miles hopped off and undid the locks. Miguel immediately tried to sit up. 

“Ah,” Mr. Ohnn said, pushing him back down. “Don’t ruin my hard work.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“When you said genetic maintenance I didn’t think you meant it made you go ballistic!”

“No. No, I didn’t– I just– The fluorescent lights–” He bit his lip. “I thought I was somewhere else.”

Miles raised an unimpressed brow. “So you don’t normally get that violent?” he asked for clarification. 

“No, I don’t.”

“Good, because if that was a regular thing, you definitely weren't going to be getting your weekly steroids.”

“There not–” Miguel did a double take the best he could laying flat on his back. “You’re going to give me my serum doses?”

“You’d die without it, wouldn’t you? And I can’t have that, can I?”

Miguel scowled. This was exactly where he belonged; at Miles’ mercy. Mr. Ohnn was right in a sense, it didn’t matter that they got here with less than fair means. Still it didn’t sit right with him, but now he would amend that. Miguel would never taste freedom again, not even in death. 

Miles snickered, finally disposing of the bloodied gloves. “Didn’t think it was that easy to get away from me, did you?” He patted Miguel’s cheek condescendingly.

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

happy year of the dragon!

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 12

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Miguel trudged after the villainous duo. The Spot jumped them to a new universe a few days ago, said something about replenishing his spots. According to Gwen’s report about the Spot’s initial universal incident, that only spelled doom. He had to stop them. 

It was his top priority, or it would have been had a Scorpion anomaly not appeared in a mass of glowing particles. Confused and agitated, the creature lashed out at anything and anyone that was too close to it. 

People screamed, terrified of the strange man-beast that was not quite their own. The noise only drove it further into a frenzied state. Miguel and Miles deftly dodged a car haphazardly tossed their way, while the Spot yelped and threw himself onto the ground with the grace of a stone boulder. 

Miguel had to take care of the anomaly before it could do anymore damage. He summoned his suit, at least he tried to, but nothing happened. Right. Miles and the Spot disabled his nanosuit. He was left in cheap civis. Still, all these innocent civilians had even less defense against the Scorpion. He stepped up. 

Miles’ hand shot out to stop him. “Still trying to play hero?”

Miguel glared at him. “Someone has to.”

He scoffed. “Be my guest.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” The Spot interjected. He wasn’t wrong. How long had it been since his last dosage of his Spider serum? ‘Too long’ was the correct answer since if he had been any slower, that car would have scalped him. 

“I’d like to see him try,” Miles sneered. 

Miguel turned back to the chaos. He had to play this smart, no suit, no armor, no webs. The Scorpion thrashed his tail wildly, his eyes unfocused and without purpose. More beast than man. He could do this. 

Miguel dashed forward. He tore off a car door. Hm, still have enough power for that. Maybe… He ducked his head inside to put the car in neutral. 

“Hey!” he called out to the Scorpion. It did not at all catch its attention, too much noise around them. Fine, maybe this would. He picked up a stone and chucked it at the back of the Scorpion’s head. 

It snapped in his direction, snarling and drooling. Great. It mindlessly charged straight at him. Perfect.

Miguel kicked the car with enough power to send it careening into the Scorpion. It slammed into the building opposite of him. It didn’t have the oomph he had been looking for. The beast tanked the hit. It scrambled over the car to get to him. 

Incapacitate the tail, the rest would come easy. 

Miguel roared, a challenge the beast didn’t back down from. He rested the car door on the tip of his right foot. He braced himself for contact. Normally he wasn’t worried about an anomaly of this level, but he was weaker now. 

It moved in accordance with its animal instincts. Easy to predict, easy to read its movements. Miguel dodged its first slash and the second, on its third he dodged, leaving his right side open. Movement caught his eye. He kicked up the car door, catching the stinger as it pierced the metal. He hefted the door up and slammed it down, using it to sever the tail. 

The Scorpion howled. It lashed out. Miguel dodged and backed out of its range. He had to contain it. He had to beat it and send it back to HQ for processing and– Wait, he wasn’t– 

A claw tore into his side. Shit. He stumbled back. Focus, O’ Hara. He didn’t have the leeway to be distracted. He extended his talons; not coming as long as usual. Damn it. Was he really going to lose here to this level of anomaly? It was weak, slow, and dumb. And he may be weakened and slower than usual, but that was no excuse. He dodged under a wide swing and slashed upwards across its chest. Blood splattered onto him. The Scorpion yowled and backed away. 

Miguel had to finish it. No containment, no HQ to send it back to. He could not rely on the Society coming to pick it up; what if it got loose and caused more chaos. He had to handle this himself. He had to neutralize this threat. 

A distinct warble sounded overhead. He looked up. The sky split into hexagons. Three Spiders jumped out. This was arguably worse. Unsuspecting and unaware of the danger that awaited them.

“Ooh, a little treat just for me,” Miles said, shoving Miguel back. 

No! Miguel grabbed Miles arm, but was met with a glare. “Miles,” he hissed. 

The Scorpion roared and charged, ignorant of the new alarming situation Miguel found himself in. The Spiders had more important issues at hand than a simply rampaging anomaly and Miguel didn’t have the resources to deal with it for them. And at this point, it wasn’t even a priority in anyone’s books. 

“You’ve had your fun. It’s my turn now.” Miles spun a spike in his hand. The Scorpion paid him no mind, its focus solely on sinking its claws into Miguel. Its wild nature and tunnel vision made it easy for him to get his spike through its jaw and into its brainstem. It never stood a chance. He dropped the body and turned towards the Spiders, giving them a small wave. “Hello!” he greeted. 

The small team nearly fell on their ass when they saw The Anomaly and the Spot where they were expecting a run-of-the-mill anomaly containment. But their assignment was at Miles’ feet and they had a new problem to face. Deal with The Anomaly, either beating him, which was unlikely, or getting away which was still unlikely, but marginally better odds. And then there was the added task of getting Miguel out of his clutches. 

They may be caught off guard and unlikely to win, but it was a rare opportunity, one Miguel intended to take advantage of. All they had to do was portal back to HQ and he just needed to find an opening to tag along. 

But Miles wouldn’t let go of him that easily, wasn’t about to let any of them go. 

Miles cocked his head up challengingly. “Try not to bore me.” His mask materialized and he dispatched his drones. 

The Spiders attacked. 

Miguel stayed back behind the Spot, who was also content to just watch. He wasn’t locked down; Miles probably forgot to and with the Spiders keeping him occupied, it would stay that way until he did something to remind his captors. He would try and avoid that until the right moment. 

Miles ducked and dodged, doing much of the same; waiting for his opportunity. He threw smoke bombs, attempting to obscure the battlefield and get a good sneak attack in, but spidey-sense kept the Spiders out of danger. 

They covered for each other. If one got caught, another seemingly materialized out of thin air to get Miles to back off. They surrounded him, taking shots from his blindspots. Miles was fast, more attuned with his senses, but they were a team. They should have been winning against Miles on his lonesome. 

Maybe it was because Miles’ new lonesome life prepared him better than the occasional team up the Spiders had. Regardless, the fact of the matter was, his Spiders were struggling. And the Spot hadn’t even stepped in yet.

Damn it. Miguel’s opportunity had not yet come, but that didn’t matter. “Move!” he shoved a Spider out of the way of Miles’ claws. He refused to stand idly as they died. The moment where they all managed to escape back to HQ would never be the ‘right’ moment if even one of them died. Even if it was just them– As long as they made it out, that was good enough for him. 

“Portal! Get back to HQ!”

Their hands flew to their watches, typing furiously to get back to base, they smacked the center of the screen waiting for their hexagonal portal to appear, but nothing happened. 

“Looks like you're stuck in my web,” Miles taunted. How–? The Spot finally stepped forward to settle behind the kid. 

Miguel’s eyes widened. He saw them tinkering with one of the containment projectors when they had first taken him. Then the Spot was working on Miles drones for the past week. It might not be a coincidence. 

“Run!” Miguel shouted. “Get out of his range!”

“Mig–” One of the Spiders tried. 

“Forget about me! Go!”

They had a moment of apprehension before obeying and turning tail. Miles darted after them, but Miguel tackled him to the ground. 

“Well, aren't you just a dashing hero,” Miles spat. He elbowed Miguel in the chin and kicked him off. They both rolled back onto their feet and circled each other. “Mr. Ohnn, bring back the strays.” The Spot nodded and portaled away. 

That left Miguel and Miles alone in the open streets of this New York. Pedestrians scattered to the winds, but some remained close, curiosity winning over their instincts to run. They peeked through curtains from high above or in doorways of stores. These people needed to stop being so nosy; they were going to get themselves killed. 

Blood soaked through Miguel’s thin shirt and ran down his leg. He cringed at the uncomfortable feeling of the heavy, sticky, weight of it making his pants cling to his flesh. Oh, and the gaping wound on his side too. Every step was agony, but he powered through it. If he could buy the Spiders any amount of time–

“Don’t worry,” Miles said, flexing his fist. “When I beat your ass, I won’t get a big head about it.” Arrogant little– “Nothing special about putting a wounded old man in his place.”

“Right, cause you can’t take me on otherwise,” Miguel snarled. 

Tension flared in Miles’ shoulders. “And who says you’re not funny.” Miles made the first move, throwing one of his spikes at Miguel. 

Miguel dodged, but twisting at his waist tugged painfully at his skin. He had no mask, Miles must see his discomfort and opted to take advantage, grabbing another spike and engaging in close combat. 

On a baseline, Miles was relatively faster than Miguel, certainly more slippery. The sheer power of Miguel’s muscles was the one thing that propelled him fast enough to keep up, but right now he had none of that. It took all his concentration just to avoid the lick of Miles’ blade. His saving grace was that Miles seemingly wanted to do this the old fashioned way; without his electricity and invisibility. 

But once Miguel looked closer there was more working in his favor than he initially realized. Wide swings, mediocre form; if he weren’t so weakened he could take advantage. Perhaps it was the arrogance of having Miguel dancing to his rhythm, but Miles had too many openings. 

Miguel grabbed Miles' wrists, a poor attempt to restrain him. “Don’t.”

Miles shoved him off. “You’re still not taking me seriously,” he said lowly. 

“Kid–” A hand shot out and smacked him in the face. He landed hard on his side, a strained grunt pushing past his lips. His blood stained the concrete beneath him. 

“Don’t call me that!”

“Miles,” he tried. “Don’t do this.”

“How many times are you going to say that until it gets through your thick skull that it won’t change anything!” Miles opened his arms, accepting of any blow Miguel might try. “You don’t want me to do this? Then make me!”

He physically could not. Even now, he struggled to push himself to his elbows. “Miles, I can’t.”

Miles slammed his foot into Miguel’s shoulder. “Damn right.”

He tried to push Miles’ foot off, but he was too weak. “I haven’t– I meant I haven’t taken my serum,” he hissed. Without it, his healing wouldn't be able to keep up with this wound. 

Miles’ head tilted questioningly. “The injector with the green goo?”

“It’s not goo–”

“You take steroids?”

“It's not steroids,” he hissed. “It’s for genetic maintenance.”

“Maintenance?”

“Think glitching, but instead of the universe rejecting my atoms, my body is rejecting itself. My powers are tied to my genetic stability.” He gripped Miles' ankle right at the most sensitive point of the tendon and squeezed. The kid stumbled enough for him to weasel his way out from under him. 

Miles stared at him standing half bent over with blood dripping down his side. “How often do you need it?”

“Once a week.” If he didn’t want any disruptions to his day to day. 

“I’ve had you for almost two. You're past due.”

Yes, the deterioration right now wasn't so bad that his cells were actively cannibalizing itself, but he could tell his system was on a decline. It would be a slow painful death, especially at the end of the genetic degradation. He wasn’t expecting any of his requirements to be met, maybe only the basics to keep him alive, and even that… He was hoping to figure something out before then, but his prospects were looking grim. “I am.”

“You’re weaker, slower.” An observation, not a question.

“Don’t tell me you thought I was at full power all this time.”

Miles went still. His mind racing. His fists balled at his sides. There was a tremble in his forearms from how tightly he was wound. Rage. And Miguel was about to receive the brunt of it. Faster than Miguel could reasonably react to, Miles kicked him into a brick wall. “Mr. Ohnn,” he spoke into his comm. “Where are my Spiders?” 

The Spot and two Spiders fell from a portal in the sky. “Sorry,” he panted. “One got away."

This very clearly disappointed Miles. “I can see that. Let’s not waste time then.”

Miguel watched horrified as the limp Spiders were dragged over to Miles. No. None of it mattered. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t even find it in him to find solace in the one that managed to get away. How could he when two were still doomed to die at Miles’ hand? 

“Mig–,” One of them mumbled into the ground, her mask was torn, one of her lenses popped out. Her brown eyes strained to stay open. “Miguel.” Her arm stretched out, reaching for him. 

Miguel found the energy to push himself out of the dent he left in the wall, but immediately crumbled to his knees. Fuck, his back. He tried to get back on his feet, but hell, his whole body was a wreck. 

A spike tore through her skull. Her hand laid still on the ground. The light no longer in her eye. 

Fury filled him. “Miles!” He tried to yell, but his battered body made it sound broken even to his own ears. 

Miles turned to the other Spider and Miguel– 

God, he hated that he even thought it, but he took minor comfort in the fact that the other Spider was unconscious when Miles' claws tore through his neck. This was wrong. This was all wrong. 

He fell onto his side, the blood loss finally getting the better of him. The Spot strode over, kneeling by his side. How funny. His life in the hands of a multiversal bending villain. The irony. 

Miles must see it too, because he’s practically giggling over Miguel’s bloodied body. He twirled his finger and spun on his heel. “Onto the next.”

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

Hello!

To anyone who's here to keep updated on my fic The Anomaly, I'm sorry to say I'm going to be breaking my regular update streak and will be delaying chapter 12 by a week two weeks. I'm quite busy at the moment and haven't had the time to go back and edit the next chapter.

I'll try to edit and upload the new chapter when I can.

Happy Lunar New Year to anyone who celebrates it! 🧧🎇

(edit) ok I'm a liar, this week was busier than anticipated so the update will be delayed by another week 😅

#the anomaly #trashtalks

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 11

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Who was he anymore? It was a question he held for a while now. Jonathan Ohnn was an intelligent scientist, an innovator, a king among his peers, and a man abandoned by his friends and family after his disfigurement. 

The Spot learned that what he had become was not a disfigurement, but a gift of power. Space bent to his will, the universe could not contain him. He was almighty, omnipotent, a God, and so very alone. 

The Spot was alone for a long time, even when he had been Jonathan Ohnn, he just hadn’t realized it back then. So caught up in his work and research that he never actually lived his life. It was no wonder the people around him left, he gave them no reason to stay. 

Mr. Ohnn was all of that and a little less alone. If you had told him two years ago he would be traveling the multiverse with the new Spiderman, he would have said, ‘Implausible if not impossible.’ He hated Spiderman. But Miles Morales, not so much. 

Miles Morales had been Spiderman, but he was so much more. He was a smart kid. A good boy that was trampled on by people he trusted. A sweetheart that turned bitter. He was the sort of person who was easy to take advantage of. Or, he should have been. But the kid was resilient above all else. 

Weakened by loss, Spiderman should have been easy prey, but he did not meet Spiderman in the Morales home years ago. Miles Morales stood in the ashes of Spiderman. The rage in Miles’ eyes burned bright. The passion in his voice forced the Spot to listen. The plan crafted from his mind was nothing short of brilliant. 

Jonathan Ohnn thought he was of superior intellect. And maybe he was, but there in that small apartment in Brooklyn, he realized he was standing in the presence of a visionary. Miles Morales would bring the world to its knees, and with the Spot’s help, the multiverse. 

One thing he didn’t expect to be doing, was tempering the kid’s… enthusiasm. 

“Miles,” Ohnn said. “It’s time to go.”

Miles’ chest heaved as he stood over a freshly killed Spiderwoman. She put up a good fight. He insisted that Mr. Ohnn stay out of it, so he did. It made for quite the brutal scene. Typically, they worked together to quickly and efficiently dispatch Spiders, but Miles wanted to test himself. The kid was running himself ragged. He hadn’t slept in nearly 48 hours. 

Miguel’s chest was heaving just as much as Miles’. Rage burned in his eyes, but he could do nothing about it. His hands were bound in front of him stuck to the ground thanks to Ohnn’s specially designed cuffs. The binds controlled its own gravity which was controlled by the person who had the controls, which were in Miles’ gauntlets. 

Once again, Ohnn conquering space.

“I can keep going,” Miles said, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

Ohnn wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Nope, you still haven’t finished all your work, remember?”

Miles groaned. “Come on, Mr. Ohnn. Do I have to?”

“Hey, you were the one who told me–”

“I know! I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “Alright let’s go.”

Miguel’s cuffs released from the floor, just as they all fell through a portal to Earth-90882. He landed hard on his side. Again. Man, the guy really needed to work on that.

They were in an abandoned factory by the docks; one of their many little safehouses. Miles trudged up the stairs to where the office and all their supplies were. Ohnn followed right behind him. He gestured for Miguel to do the same, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. Hm, he didn’t attach cuffs to his ankles. 

Miles glared at Miguel over his shoulder. “Come on, man. Don’t be difficult.”

Miguel growled. 

Oh, very intelligent. 

Miles rolled his eyes. He tapped once on his gauntlet and made a grabbing motion back towards his chest. Miguel was dragged forward, but dug his heels into the concrete. Miles scrubbed his eyes in frustration. “Mr. Ohnn, send him to the room before he gets pneumonia or something.”

“Sure.” A black portal opened underneath the Spider and a loud bang was heard ahead of them. 

Miles sighed. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome.”

Miles trudged down the hall unlocking the door to an office space. It wasn’t large, but it wasn’t small either. It helped that they rearranged the room to suit their needs. The windows were on the left, boarded up with thermal curtains Ohnn put there last time they were here. There was one long metal work table underneath it that he and Miles often shared. The kitchen supplies were in the opposite corner to the right, next to where the queen size tempurpedic bed was. They originally wanted to steal a king size, but it wouldn’t have fit in the room. The Miguel O’Hara laying in a wheezing heap on the floor was a new addition. 

Weird, he wasn’t wheezing before.

Miles detracted his mask and shed his bag and hoodie, throwing it on the back of his chair. “Can you look him over?” he asked. “Imma finish my reading.”

“Yup,” Ohnn gave him a thumbs up. He rolled Miguel onto his back, searching for the hem of his suit. There wasn’t any. Well, “Can you take off your suit?”

Miguel just glared at him. 

“I’m not going to do anything weird. I just–” Ohnn sighed. “Think about it this way, I patch you up, you get a better chance at escaping.”

Miles scoffed. “Don’t give him a false sense of hope.”

“I am just stating factual… facts.”

Miles chuckled. Oh, the kid must be really tired to be laughing at his jokes. 

“Focus on your reading,” Ohnn said. 

“Mhm.” Miles flipped open the thick textbook on the desk and sat himself in his chair. 

Ohnn turned back to Miguel. “So about that suit.”

“No,” Miguel snarled. 

Well, more words than last time. “Well, now you’re just being a brat.” Miguel lunged, but immediately sank back down at the sharp pain radiating from his side. “See,” Ohnn gestured to his curled form. He still glared up at him. “Come on. The sooner I patch you up, the sooner I leave you alone.”

Miguel grumbled, but relented, his suit dematerializing down to his hips. Oh, gross. There was crusted blood over much of his torso, and the wound under his ribs was still a raw red. 

Ohnn stood and grabbed a towel and filled a glass bowl with water. He deposited both by Miguel as he made his way to the drawers under the work table to fetch the medkit. Gah, it was behind some tools. He had to take them out before he could get to it. Ooo, the nanodriver he was looking for. He placed that on the table and put the rest of the tools away before getting back up.

Miles was going through his math book; college level algebra. He was smart. Some might even say gifted. Not every subject interested him and unfortunately, physics was more than just theory, but Ohnn planned out a series of courses so he could learn. And yet he sat there, face scrunched as his eyes scanned over the page. 

“Trouble?” Mr. Ohnn asked. 

“I just don't get why we need a formula to solve a formula.” Miles rolled his eyes. 

“A formula to solve an equation.”

“Same thing.”

Mr. Ohnn pulled over his chair and looked over at the page Miles was on. Quadratic formulas. Relatively simple, especially since Miles would always have the formula on hand, but he had to remember this was college level math and Miles was only 16.

“Well, I don’t see these sorts of equations too often in physics, but I’ve seen it.”

Miles’ groaned. “So I can’t skip it?”

“Everything builds on each other, Miles.”

The kid scrubbed a frustrated hand in his curls and started answering the sample problem on a loose sheet of paper. Mr. Ohnn patted him on the back encouragingly and went to tend to Miguel. 

Miguel was watching them. The originally vicious red eyes, dimmed down to darker maroon. Ohnn wouldn't say that he was weakened, at least, not weakened enough to stop trying. There was still fight in his eyes. Good, Miles would hate if the Miguel O’Hara he had been waiting to dig a knife into crumbled so easily. 

Miguel had already toweled off most of the crusted blood, thank god. Not that he was the religious type. Oh well, it was just a saying. It left little for Ohnn to do except stitch up the wound under his ribs, the smaller scratches Miles gave him would heal on their own. 

Ohnn pulled out his microscope. Hm. There was an infection developing, but it shouldn’t be anything Miguel’s body wouldn’t be able to fight off on its own. 

“You have enhanced healing, right?” Ohnn asked. 

Miguel grunted. 

“I need a yes or no.”

“Yes,” he hissed. 

“See, not so hard.” Ohnn inspected the wound. “Miles,” he called.

The kid jerked in his seat, clearly having fallen asleep. “Huh?”

“Do I let him ride out an infection or take care of it?”

“Will he die?”

“No.” 

“Then I don’t care.”

“Ok. Go shower, you’re starting to stink.”

“Am not,” Miles grumbled, but still got to his feet and walked across the room. He rummaged through the drawer by the bed and pulled out a t-shirt and sweatpants. He took a square toiletry bag with him. The door squealed when he opened it to leave. 

“Can you believe this factory had showers for employees?” Ohnn said, pulling out the needle and thread. “Like just let them go home at a reasonable time, you know?”

Miguel didn’t even flinch when the needle pierced his flesh. “Why?”

“I mean, they probably have families to get back to so–”

“No,” he hissed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Patching you up? Because Miles told–”

“No!” Miguel snapped. “Why are you helping him? You hated him.”

Ohnn was taken aback. “Hate him? Not at all. What gave you that impression?”

“You hated Spiderman.”

The Spot might have hated Spiderman, but the Spider Society killed the hero for him. Left Miles Morales perfectly intact to mold Mr. Ohnn out of the shell that was the Spot and the corpse of Jonathan Ohnn. 

“Miles Morales is not Spiderman. You made sure of that.”

A scowl twisted Miguel’s normally handsome face into something ugly. “I made sure his world didn’t collapse in on itself!”

“By killing his dad.” 

“You killed his dad!”

“He doesn’t see it that way.” He tugged painfully on the thread, forcing a hiss past Miguel’s lips. “I wasn’t the one he begged for release from a strange prison in an alternate universe for days on end.”

“I had to! He was going to ruin everything!” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” 

Ohnn tied the last loop off, giving it one last tug to make sure it was secure. He checked Miguel’s other wounds to make sure there were no other life threatening injuries. He nodded satisfied when he found none. 

“That’s going to get infected and you’re going to feel like shit for a few days,” Ohnn said matter of factly. 

Miguel shifted uncomfortably. He had the intelligence not to ask why. He tried to sit up, but the adrenaline had long since worn off. He cringed and remained flat on the ground. “I just don't understand,” he grumbled. 

“Understand what?” he asked, packing away the medical supplies. 

“What do you get out of this?” Miguel rubbed his tired eyes. “I get Miles… but you?”

Ohnn shrugged. “I made him and he made me.”

Miguel moved his hands from blocking the confused expression on his face. “What?”

“I brought the spider from Earth-42 which gave Miles his powers. And with his new powers, he gifted me with mine.” 

“But that doesn’t explain why you’re helping him.”

“All he has is his revenge. And all I have is him.” Ohnn snapped the medkit shut. In theory he was lonelier than ever before, but he has never felt more known than he did being with Miles. It might have been rocky at the start, awkward and stilted, but they found their rhythm. 

He stared at Miguel. Miguel stared back. He originally didn’t think keeping the man was a good idea, but he could get the appeal. It was nice, seeing all the pain and anger up close, an unspoken beauty in watching Miguel’s expressions shift by his hand. And besides, it was kind of fun; like getting a new pet. He can see why Miles vouched for it. 

The three of them together… What an interesting little group. 

“Make no mistake,” Ohnn said. “I may be credited with his creation, what he is now is all you, Miguel.”

Frustration and bitterness was nothing new on Miguel's face, but watching his expressions shift up close was fascinating. “I didn't make this happen. Even if I hurt him, he made those choices. Don’t put this on me,” he seethed. 

“Do you really think that?” Ohnn stood. “Did you really think imprisoning a child for wanting to save his father and leaving him to the wolves wouldn’t mess with him mentally?”

His brows creased. Ooo, was that a hint of shame Ohnn saw. “I did what I had to.”

“Perhaps.”He stepped away to tuck the medkit away in the drawer. “I must say Miles and I are acutely aware you aren’t necessarily wrong, but the way you handled it,” Ohnn chuckled. “You doomed the kid from the start.”

“It’s not my fault!” Miguel pushed through the pain and sat up. “It is not my fault he can’t accept the responsibility and the consequences of the job he took up! If it weren’t for him–”

The door creaked open. Miles stood in the doorway in his pajamas and a raised brow. The silver glimmer of his cuffs still wrapped around his wrists. He dumped his dirty suit into the laundry basket by the door. They both stared at him as he put his toiletry bag on the nightstand. “Gossiping?” 

“Maybe a little,” Mr. Ohnn said. 

“The water’s cold.” 

“It just takes a while to heat up. Have a little patience.”

Miles yawned. “I just want to sleep.” He kicked his shoes off as he climbed into the bed. 

“Ok, I’ll turn out the lights and be there in a bit,” Mr Ohnn said. Miguel’s head snapped to look at him with suspicion and mild disgust. He waved him off. “Don’t make it weirder than it is. The room’s not that big and there’s only one bed.”

“Yeah, dude,” Miles said, muffled into the pillow. 

“Hey, lock him in before you fall asleep.” He looked at Miguel. “Get comfy, cause that’s how you’re going to be sleeping all night.” Miguel glared at him, but laid back down. 

Miles fumbled with his cuffs, glaring as he forced himself to lift his head from his pillow. With a press of a button, Miguel’s wrists were immovable. Miguel tested them again, but they didn’t budge. As designed. 

Ohnn grabbed the spare blanket and threw it over Miguel.  “So you don’t get pneumonia.” He turned off the lights and turned in for the night.

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

Some good beans in the sauce man, really enjoying The Anomaly atm your writing is pleasantly copacetic and quite a refreshing character study for spider-man.

Thanks! It was an angle of Miles I wanted to see explored, but I didn't see anyone else doing it so I had to make it myself 🥲

#the anomaly #trashtalks

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 10

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Miguel landed hard on his arm, thankfully not the one that might be fractured but unfortunately on the side that was connected to the spike under his ribs. He hissed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His body still ached from the aftershocks, but was regaining motor function in his limbs. 

He tugged on his cuffs again, wondering if by some miracle they’ve come loose. No such luck. 

Something sped towards him. Miguel pushed himself out of the way of a Vulture that almost clipped him with his wings. A Spiderman followed right after, hurling a devastating dropkick right between the wings. Electro and Doc Ock were arguing overhead, only to be interrupted by a different Spiderman knocking their heads together. This was the Sinister Six anomaly he sent a team after. 

"Miguel?" A Spiderwoman landed nearby. "What are you doing here?" She flipped over a goblin bomb. "I thought there was an emergency at HQ."

Claws curled over his shoulder, digging in but not yet drawing blood. He hissed in pain and glared up at Miles. She looked at the two with confusion, clearly not recognizing him. "That would be me."

"Run!" Miguel tried to warn. 

Miles tore the spike out of Miguel's torso, earning a pained yell and the attention of all the Spiders. He threw it and grabbed two more spikes off his armband to follow up. The Spiderwoman flipped over the first one, twisted over the second, but the third landed solidly in her gut. Her pattern was easy to read. All Spiders had the same foundation after all. 

"No, Miles!" Miguel struggled against his binds. 

Miles raised his hand, crackling with electricity. One of the others webbed it, throwing off his aim. Another ran over the Spiderwoman's side. The other two were keeping the Sinister Six at bay.

"Not cool, kid," the Spiderman said, clearly an older one. 

"nOt CoOl, KiD," Miles mocked. He threw a charged punch which the foolish Spider tried to block, flying into a brick wall, crumpling against it. He leisurely strode over and knelt down next to the barely conscious Spider. "You must not be one of the good ones." He grabbed the injured Spider's head between his hands and charged.

The Spiderman tensed, teeth locked as electricity ran through him, but unlike with Miguel, Miles didn't stop. He kept charging and charging until there was visible smoke coming off the body. 

Panic pumped through him. "Stop." Miles didn't. "Stop!" The acrid smell of burning flesh hit his nose. "Miles!"

The Spot shushed him. "Let the kid work."

Miles dropped the charred corpse and moved onto the next Spiderman. This one was even more at a disadvantage as he was guarding the wheezing Spiderwoman. Miles was faster, claws out and going for killshots; Spiderman only barely stayed out of his grasp. He dodged under a punch and disoriented the Spider with an uppercut to the chin. 

Spiderman regained his bearings, dodging another spike. But it landed in the Spiderwoman's chest. She gurgled wetly and pawed uselessly at her chest. 

"No!" Horrified by his mistake, the Spiderman wasn’t able to avoid the electrified punch, knocking him into the Spiderwoman and transferring the electrical charge to her. She convulsed and then… nothing.

This had to be a nightmare. But every ache in Miguel's body told him otherwise. This was all very real. His Spiders died and he could do nothing to stop it. His restrains dug into the thin skin of his wrists as he tugged. 

Miles stalked over to the downed duo. 

"Don't!" Miguel's voice sounded strained, even to him. 

Miles' head snapped to him. "Don't?" He straddled the Spiderman, maintaining eye contact with Miguel. "Don't what?" He pulled out the spike from Spiderwoman's chest with a squelch. He used it to stab it through the neck of the barely conscious Spiderman. "Use your words, Miguel."

Dios mio. What had Miles become?

Miles got up with a grunt of effort, flicking the blood off his weapons. "Mr. Ohnn, help me out?" He held out a hand and a hole appeared and deposited the other spikes he missed. "Thank you."

"No problem," Spot said. "Tired?"

Miles put his weapons away as he walked over. "No, I can keep going."

"You sure? You’re slowing down a bit."

"I said no!" he snapped. He plopped down next to Miguel. His chest heaved but he wasn’t panting. He glared up at the Spot who raised his hands in surrender. 

Miguel looked between the two of them, a frown set on his lips and brows knit in confusion. Miles was short with the Spot, his patience thin; they might not be as tight as once thought. Though it was strange to see the Spot sort of… subservient to Miles. Like Miles was the one in charge here. Maybe he was. 

Miles grabbed the back of Miguel's neck and sent a small pulse of electricity to his suit, fritzing out his tech and breaking down his mask. "You're going to get lines, you keep frowning like that," Miles said, poking the crease of his brow. 

Miguel remained silent. As he kept looking, Miles greeted him with a small tilt of his head. He was just a kid. A gangly teen that should be at home thinking about dating and when they’ll grow taller, not forcing himself to continue fighting, to continue killing for some misguided attempt at revenge.  

This had to be some sort of hallucination, or a sick illusion, or a hellish nightmare. But those brown doe eyes stared back at Miguel resolutely. He was hit with a far off sense of familiarity, dragged back to the day he slammed Miles into that moon-bound train, crunching metal under his small frame. 

Oh, how he saw that moment in the dead of night, thinking about how small the kid was, how thin his limbs were, and cursing himself for the horror that filled those eyes. That was Miles Morales. 

And yet those same brown eyes filled with resolve stared back at him now. The same ones the kid had when he told Miguel he could save both his universe and his father. The same ones that so self-assuredly let go of the train to fall back down to the Spider Society HQ. The same ones that cracked with fear as he tore apart the walls of the Go-Home-Machine. The same ones that died day by day in the cell back at HQ. This was the same kid. This was Miles Morales. 

“You know, you’re very good at your job,” Miles said, turning his attention to the last two Spidermen fighting the Sinister Six. “Soldiers spread thin and you still managed to send just the right amount of Spiders to handle this job.” 

Doc Oct threw a Spider in black and yellow, Spiderman 964, across the street. 

“Five was just the right number if you didn’t want any of them to get too banged up,” Miles continued. “Three would have gotten it done. Two scrapes by.”

The Lizard chased 964 up a building. 

“But one–” The classic red and blue Spiderwoman jumped over Rhino’s head. 

“One is fair game.”

Miles webbed her leg as she arched, throwing her balance off, and leaving her easily within range for Rhino. She screamed as the horn tore through her arm. 

Miguel instinctively got up to help, but Miles held him down. He tried to shake the hand off his shoulder, but couldn’t. This wasn’t happening. Not to his team, not at the hands of this broken kid. “You’re supposed to be a hero, Miles,” an assertion that felt hollow given the situation. 

Miles must have agreed because he laughed. “Not anymore,” he said. “You made sure of that.” He pointed in the direction of the fight and Miguel couldn’t stop his eyes from following the last Spiderman get hounded by the Green Goblin and Doc Ock. “It was hard to figure out what I was going to do with you,” he said. “Gwen and Peter were easy in comparison. They actually have people in their life that they love.” 

An insult, one that stung. Miguel lost Dana a long time ago, not to tragedy but his own mistakes. And Gabriella… 

A tragedy born of his mistakes. 

The Spiderman 964 was thrown right into Vulture’s talons. 

“After I did some digging I realized your life is kind of miserable,” Miles said relaxed, conversationally. 

Electro shot a bolt of lightning, striking down the lone Spiderman. Miguel turned away, unable to help and unable to bear watching another one of his Spider get murdered. 

But Miles wouldn’t allow it. He grabbed the back of Miguel’s head and forced his eyes to follow. “So it was really hard to think about what I could possibly do to make it even worse.”

Miguel watched the Lizard’s claw tear into the 964’s side.

“But I figured it out."

Pumpkin bombs surrounded him as he tried to crawl away. 

“I destroy everything, anything, that might have given you a semblance of pride in being a hero.”

The explosion knocked him into the side of a building. 

“And that starts with your little Society.”

Rhino stomped on the still body. 

The pressure on the back of Miguel's head was no longer there, yet he couldn't tear his eyes from the mangled corpse of Spiderman. One of his Spiders. Another one that he failed. 

“Actually,” Miles was in front of him. He grabbed his hand and undid one of the cuffs, revealing the dimensional watch. “You made that AI yourself, right?” He held Miguel in a bone crushing grip. “Try calling out to her.”

Pinpricks ran up his spine. Fear had him by the throat. No. He made her back when he still worked at Alchemex instead of owning it. Even after everyone in his life had gone, she was there. 

“Lyla?” He stared at his watch. The screens still glowed orange so it was on. Oh no. “Call Jessica.” It dialed. Still no Lyla. Miles let it go through. 

“Miguel?” Jessica answered.

Miles' other hand came up to cover the face of the watch. “He's mine now.” And crushed the metal in his palm. He tore the debris off Miguel's wrist. “Don't worry about the glitching,” he said softly. He slotted the cuff back over his wrist. "This'll stop that from happening."

"What did you do?" Miguel growled. 

"Well, we couldn't delete her entirely, like I said, you're good at your job." Miles looked up at him. "So we reverted her back to her original version."

Miguel's vision narrowed. That was practically the same thing. He built her to learn and grow with him, reverting her… It was the same as killing her. Whatever was left, whatever she would be, could never be the same. She was dead in everything but name. 

There was a sparkle in Miles' eyes. This was exactly what he wanted. Rage flared in his chest. The kid wanted to treat everything like a game. No respect for life. For the universe. Miguel lunged forward, trying to wrap his hands around that thin neck. Before he could even curl his fingers, a hole opened up underneath him. 

Miguel managed to land on his feet this time, though still clumsily falling to his hands and knees. He was still weakened by his earlier duel with Miles, but he has had enough of this. He has been having enough of this. His people were getting killed off. Years of sleepless nights, months of prep added up to nothing. He has had ENOUGH.

He raised his head ready to fight again even if in a strange and far off universe and he was met with with–

Home. 

They were back in Nueva York. He'd recognize this skyline anywhere. And in front of him was his apartment. At least the one he lived in before he practically moved into the Spider Society HQ. Miles and the Spot were already strolling up the stairs. 

Miles turned back and grinned at him. "Come on, slowpoke."

The "Miles" that left him was incoherent, more snarl than actual consonants. He wanted to attack, but the logical part of his brain told him to run. This was his home turf. If he could make it back to HQ…

He bolted. He didn't even make it down the street before the Spot pulled him through another portal. 

"That was kinda lame," the Spot said with a hand on his hip. 

"Be for real, man," Miles said, nudging Miguel with his foot. "Did you really think we went through all that trouble just to let you go?" He stood in the lobby of the apartment building, eyes searching for… "I should punish you for trying." He tapped his chin. "But if I'm honest, I don't really mind." A visceral sort of excitement overtook his face, grinning ear to ear. "I think it would be fun to hunt you down again."

Miguel didn't have a spidey sense, but he didn't need it to know danger lurked behind those eyes. 

"But I guess there needs to be some sort of punishment, yeah?" he looked to the Spot. 

The Spot shrugged. "He's your prisoner."

Miles walked over to the front desk and pounced on the building's receptionist. The man’s scream was cut off and blood splattered the wall behind the desk.

"No!" Miguel stepped forward, but the Spot stopped him from advancing. 

Miles straightened and waved the bloodied spike in Miguel's direction. "Don't try that again," he chastised. 

Miguel was at a loss for words. How did Miles fall so far? He eyed the Spot. It was the only explanation. But to this degree of detachment? It couldn't all be Spot. 

"Come on," Miles said, holding the elevator door. 

The Spot shoved him forward. He trudged along, wary of the duo, but unable to escape them. Yet. 

He limped his way into the elevator. They went up to the 106th floor. Wait, that wasn't right. He was sure his apartment was on the 105th. Didn't matter. They got off and walked down to the right; his was supposed to be on the left. 

The Spot portaled them past the locked door. 

Miguel found himself looking in a mirror. No. Not a mirror. Less bags. No dark circles. There was a slight roundness in those cheeks where it was sunken on his. A variant of himself. 

"Dad?" Came further from his right where typically–

Miguel’s heart stopped. No.

A seat clattered to the ground as his variant rose to his feet in shock. "Who are you people?"

Gabriella stood there in the doorway of what was presumably her room. She was older than he remembered, which made sense given that it had been years since he lost his. No, not his. 

"You see what I'm going for?" Miles asked, looking at Miguel. 

No, not her. Not again. "No!"

Miles grinned. "Yes!" 

Miguel tried to get between them, but the Spot stopped him. Pushing down the ache and pain in his body, he slashed at the villain. The cuffs locked together and anchored to the ground, pulling him down to his knees. He tried to lift them, but they wouldn't budge.  

Miles shook his head. "You better behave, otherwise I'm going to make it worse for her."

He pulled desperately, but in these cuffs he was powerless. "Miles, stop! She has nothing to do with this! She's just a kid!"

Miles’ eyes narrowed, he sneered as he spat, "I was one too." He had been. He still was. But the person standing in front of him was more monster than boy. Stripped of his innocence and burdened by a primal rage that refused to be contained. 

The other Miguel put himself between the strangers and his daughter. "Get out!" his voice was firm, but it mattered very little. This man was no Spider. Miles stepped forward and slapped him across the room. 

Miguel watched in horror as his variant slammed into the dining table. Gabriella screamed. "Miles, it's me you want, leave her out of this! She's innocent!" 

"I know." Miles strolled over to her quaking form. "To be honest, I don't really like hurting civis like this." He grabbed her arm and dragged her back over to Miguel and the Spot. She was screaming, kicking, but Miles was enhanced and he didn't even flinch. 

Miguel was breathing hard, tugging on his restraints as if it would do anything. It didn’t, but he had to try. He had to do something. He had to save her. He could not fail her. Not again. He could not lose her again. 

Miles knelt in front of him, drinking in the pained, desperate expression on his face. For the first time since he appeared back in Miguel’s life, his face was relaxed. No gleeful violence. No hateful fury. "I’m doing this for you, Miguel." He gestured to Miguel's face. "For this."

Cold dread washed over him. 

A chair slammed over the back of Miles’ head. He cursed, but reacted little more than placing a hand on the ground. He glared at the variant Miguel. "Mr. Ohnn," his lips pulled back in a sneer. "Get rid of the extra."

"How dead do you want him?" the Spot asked. 

"Put him in the lobby. I want him to slip on her blood when he comes back."

A hole opened up underneath the other Miguel. He screamed as he fell through.

"Gabri–" 

"Dad!"

Then it shut. 

Silence washed over them, only Gabriella's muffled hiccuped sobs into her sleeve and Miguel's own harsh breathing as he still foolishly tried to free himself from his restraints. She looked to him. Those sweet brown eyes begging him to do something, to save her. The same ones that had once looked up to him as he ran from a wave of disintegration in another world. 

Miles let them sit in it, basking in their fear. They really were father and daughter. She was scared, confused, and trembling almost as bad as Miguel as he strained against the cuffs. He grabbed Gabriella's hair and pulled her head back, relishing in the way both of them screamed. 

Tears streamed down Gabriella’s face. "Dad!" She kicked and fought, but Miles didn't budge. "Dad!"

"Don't! Miles, please!" Miguel said. "She hasn't done anything!"

Miles didn’t react, as if both of them weren’t yelling in his ears. He placed a claw against her neck, digging the tip just enough to draw blood. 

Not again. Miguel struggled anew, thrashing against his cuffs, but they didn't budge. Stray hairs fell in front of his face. With how much force he was putting behind it, he should be ripping the floorboards out. If not the floor, then his shoulder. "Miles!"

The claw dragged through Gabriella's throat like butter. Blood poured from her like a river. 

"NO!" Miguel couldn't move. "GABI!” He needed to help her. But no matter how much he tried to pull his wrists off the floor they refused to move. Gabriella couldn’t draw breath. She gurgled, drowning in her own blood. And he could do nothing. “Pressure– Put pressure on it!”

Gabriella’s hands scrambled at her throat, but there was only so much she could do. Helpless and alone with three strangers, one masquerading as her father. She grew weaker and weaker as blood left her. 

Miguel helplessly watched as he failed her again. “Please! Help her!”

Miles had just the slightest quirk of a smile on his lips. 

Gabriella’s eyes begged. She was so young. So full of life. Draining out of her. Second by second. The light leaving her eyes. 

Miguel could do nothing to hold onto it. “I’m sorry,” his voice wavered. For not being able to stop Miles from slitting her throat. For not being strong enough to break his restraints. For bringing a monster to her doorstep. For not being able to save her. Again. “I’m sorry.”

Her legs stopped kicking. Her hands fell away from her neck. She laid there as the blood soaked into her white nightgown. Her eyes stared past him. Gone. She was gone. Gabriella O’Hara died. Again. And it was his fault. 

Miguel screamed.

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

Hi! No spoilers about my Spiderverse fic, The Anomaly, but I think that some people are getting the wrong impression about where I want to take this story and I don't want to lead people on about what this story is.

When I originally thought up this idea, it was just Miles getting revenge on Miguel, and the dysfynctional relationship that develops between them, but the late stage of this fic didn't work as well without the build up in chapter 3-8 making Miles irredeemable in Gwen and Peter B's eyes.

Yes, you read that right, I did 8 whole ass chapters of build up to properly set up the actual fic I wanted to explore. In my original draft, ch 9 was the first "main" chapter after ch 1 and 2. I originally wanted this to just focus on Miles, Miguel, and the Spot, but because of the set up probably many of you are under the impression that the Spider Society plays a bigger role in this than it does.

From this point forward, the story moves away from the Society and is a little less action oriented. This is not Miles revenge quest across the multiverse, but rather a character study into Miles mental state in the face of ultimate loss.

To be clear, I have the whole fic plotted out already and I don't see myself deviating from what I've planned. I'm sorry to everyone who wanted a revenge fic through and through. I hope you guys will still stay along for the ride even if the rest of the fic isn't exactly the same tone as it these first 8 chapters.

#the anomaly #trashtalks

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 9

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Miguel O’ Hara has failed in many ways throughout his life. Working for someone as crooked as Tyler Stone. Trusting him enough to drink that laced tea even when he knew Tyler needed him to complete his research. Fixing his DNA by splicing it with spider DNA and making himself dependent in a whole different way. Losing Dana was his own fault really. And Gabriella… 

Miles was his fault and everything the boy had done. Gwen and her father… The Parker family… Those were his fault too. 

If he could have done things differently, maybe he wouldn’t have acted so rashly. He gave a damned lecture to a teen who obviously had issues following orders. In what universe did he think telling the kid to let his dad die would work. Stupid. But again, he felt bad, not shame. 

Miguel refused to dwell too much in the headspace of what-ifs or what-could-have-beens because he would get lost in them. He had to focus on the present and protecting the future. And right now, the multiverse needed his protection. Anomalies were popping up all over the Spiderverse (as much as he loathed to admit it, it rolled off the tongue better than Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Multiverse) and he did not have the personnel to handle the sheer volume of it. 

There was an influx of anomalies popping up on multiple earths and given what happened to Peter B last time, Miguel wasn’t taking chances with any of them, especially not the ones that appeared in Hobie’s, Pavitr’s, Peni’s, Noir’s, Ham’s, and Jess’ universes. They all had anomalies running amuck and he sent out multiple teams to safeguard them and their families. It seemed to be working as no one had disappeared… yet. But that didn't include the other anomalies appearing in other less involved universes and the  Spider Society was spread thin. As much as he wanted to jump into the fray, the best way for him to help was to manage the teams from HQ. 

Lyla appeared over his shoulder in all her annoyingly snarky glory. “So we have a problem.”

Miguel ran a tired hand over his face. “More?”

“Yeah.” 

He rubbed his eyes. “Who can we send?”

“No one.”

He growled. “What do you mean ‘no one’?”

“Well, per your protocol, we need a certain number of Spiders here at all times. If we send anyone out we dip below that number.”

Ah yes, the safety protocol he instituted after the initial incident with Miles Morales. Of course the kid would bite him in the ass even when he wasn’t here. “Override it.”

“I would like to remind you that safety protocols are safety protocols for a reason.”

“Just do it,” he snapped. He scanned the report Lyla sent him; a Rhino and a Vulture. “Send a team of three.”

“Mmm, wouldn’t recommend that.” She checked her nails as if she wasn’t just pixels. 

Why did he have to build his AI so annoying? “Lyla, we don’t have time for this!”

“Well, I got an updated report, it looks like it’s a whole Sinister Six anomaly.”

“Say that at the start! Send five, anyone available.”

“You got it, boss.”

He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension building there. It didn’t work. It never did. Then Lyla fizzled back into existence. He could snap his own nose, he was gripping it so hard. “What now?!”

“More.”

“Estas bromeando,” he hissed.

“In this universe.”

“Ay, por favor. How many?”

“Just one. Might be a regular anomaly.”

Ha. Funny phrase that. But a minor anomaly was a welcome relief from the massive ones cropping up. “Do we have anyone?”

“Not unless you really want to disregard your safety protocol.”

Fine. He’d get this done quick and hurry back. He materialized his mask over his face. “I’ll go. Where?”

“Lower levels.”

He sprinted out of the room. “Keep an eye on everyone. Keep me posted.” She gave him a half hearted salute and disappeared. 

As he ran through the facility he was struck by how empty it was. Normally it was a near constant buzz of conversation. Now, only the barest of personnel were around just in case of an emergency. It was odd. 

He took the elevator down to the underbelly of Nueva York. His scan indicated the anomaly was in quadrant 8C. A bit of a swing, but manageable. He just hoped he could stop it before too much damage was done. 

Orange and yellow blurred together as he swung. It worried him how many anomalies were popping up, Miles’ doing or not. What if the barrier between universes were thinning? Could they? He had tests he needed to run. Regardless, it did not bode well. 

And then what was he going to do about Miles Morales? The kid was clearly… unwell. No, that wasn’t fair, not to Gwen and Peter. Even disturbed was a light term for what Miles was now. What he did to George Stacy and MJ was horrific, cruel, and heartless.  

It would be easy to blame everything on the Spot; he kidnapped the kid and did unspeakable things until Miles became… this. But his gut told him that wasn’t right. And if that wasn’t right, and Miles was telling the truth, that meant everything was his fault. He did this to the kid. Which meant that it was on him to… take care of the issue. 

He didn’t want to have to kill Miles, but if there was no salvation… Shit. He was just a kid. He shouldn't be thinking about this like that.

The sound of metal screeched in his ear. He picked up speed. The sooner he dealt with this, the sooner he could return to base and figure this mess out. He dodged a car flung his way. 

The Lizard anomaly roared and bounded towards him. Guess anyone even resembling a Spider was enough to warrant the creature’s wrath. Miguel ducked under a careless swing and landed a heavy punch to its guts, stumbling it.  He shot a web at its chest and pulled it back into another punch, knocking out a sharp tooth. The Lizard collapsed at his feet. 

It took more time to get here. 

Well, at least he didn’t waste any time or resources sending a team. He secured the lizard in a containment field and called Lyla to arrange pick up. She didn’t answer. Now, contrary to what other Spiders might think, Lyla was sort of programmed with that menace personality, but she was still an AI, one that always answered when he called. 

“Lyla,” he tried summoning again to no avail. Something was wrong. He pressed his comm button for his watch. “Spider-Byte.” Nothing. “Margo!” Silence. 

Miguel cursed his stupidity as he hurried back the way he came. He knew things were hectic with the surge of anomalies and likely caused by Miles, so he should have known it was a ploy to get him out of HQ. He should have anticipated something like this. He should have been more conservative in who he sent out. He was severely lacking back, but what choice did he have?

He nearly slammed into the side of the elevator, just barely able to stop his top speed at the door. He had to get to his computer first if possible, assess the situation, rally the Spiders in base, and get Lyla and Spider-Byte back online. As he waited for him to reach HQ, he sent out a web-wide comm. “Spider Society is under attack, any and all available hands are to return to HQ at once.” 

The doors opened. He expected damage, chaos, some sort of fight. What he got was Spiderman of Earth-337 pinned to the wall by a metal rod through his chest and complete silence. Blood stained a river down his chest. There was no chance the Spider was still alive. 

Still, Miguel walked forward and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Damn it all. Spiderman-337 was the one to initially report that it was the Spot who was collapsing universes. He was pinned perfectly in view of the elevator. Perfect for Miguel to see as soon as he got back. This was a message. 

He pulled the rod out and laid the fallen Spider into a more dignified position. They thought they could come into his home, kill his people, and taunt him with their corpses? He’ll tear them to shreds. 

Miguel ran through the base. The silence was off putting, not even the sounds of a brawl, just his hurried footsteps. He did not like the implications. At least Spider-Byte’s safety was guaranteed. His worst fears were realized at the sight of corpses littering the hallway of his lab. Furious was an understatement. But even through the fog of anger, he knew it was foolish to challenge the Spot and Miles on his own. He took a step back; he'd wait for backup. Or he would have if a hole didn’t open up beneath him. 

“– should have sent the Sinister Six here.”

Miguel knew that weedy voice anywhere. “You!” he snarled at the Spot, who was high above at his computer.

The Spot turned on his heel. “Yeah, me.” He pressed a button and the platform began lowering. “How–?” He pressed the button again, which paused the descent. “Wait.” He pressed it again. 

A feather light chuckle bubbled from the other person sitting on his desk. Miles. “It’s really just that slow.” The Spot shrugged and returned to clicking away at the computer. Miles looked at Miguel, joy alight in his eyes. He waved with his fingers. “Hey, Miguel. It’s your turn.”

Miguel scowled. “Miles, you made a mistake coming here.”

“You think?” He leaned forward on his knees. “I mean me and Mr. Ohnn put a lot of thought into–”

“If you think I’m going to play one of your sick little games–”

“No,” Miles pushed himself off the desk. “No games with you.” He sauntered forward. “Did you like the gifts I left for you?”

Miguel’s eyes flashed a dangerous red. His talons extended from his fingers. 

Miles grinned, dropping from the platform. He was still a lanky kid, a year and a half didn’t do much to change the gangly limbs, which meant he still had some growing to do. There was that same determination in his eyes, the same one from over a year ago, but now it was cold where it was once passionate. 

This was not the same kid he locked up. Electricity sparked in Miles boots. 

Miguel saw it coming, but only barely reacted fast enough to block the punch to the face. He was quick to counter, but not quicker than Miles backing out of his range. “Don’t make me do this, kid,” he said, flexing his fists. 

Miles just laughed. “Killed ten Spiders in the last ten minutes and I’m still just a kid.”

“Eleven,” the Spot corrected. 

“Eleven dead Spiders,” Miles said, glee in his eyes. “Wanna make it twelve?”

The nonchalance set Miguel off. Those Spiders were dead. His Spiders were dead. Eleven universes without protectors. Miguel roared and charged. 

“That’s the Spiderman I remember.” A mask engulfed Miles face, the same one with the little devil horns and painted smile, nanotech. He dodged Miguel’s first swipe, but got caught by the second. He didn’t panic, instead mirroring the grip Miguel had on him and sending a surge of electricity through him. 

Miguel screamed as his limbs locked. He fell to one knee after the wave passed, but Miles hadn’t shook him off yet. He gripped the thin arm tighter and lifted Miles in the air to slam him back into the ground. 

Miles gasped, but learning his lesson, kicked Miguel off and flipped onto his feet. They circled each other, waiting for the first move. The mask was the same design as the one Hobie had shattered, but upgraded with nanotech. His gear was evolving. 

“Need assistance?” The Spot asked. 

Miguel froze. Against Miles he could win. Against the Spot he might manage to hold out until backup arrived. But both of them would be a death sentence. 

“Did I ask for any?” Miles straightened and disappeared. 

Shit. Miguel forgot about that. A leg swept under him and Miles appeared above him, electricity powering his fist. He barely got his arms up in time to block, followed by the distinct feeling of his bones creaking in protest. 

Miles might be faster, but not stronger. 

Miguel grabbed his face. He twisted using his momentum to slam Miles into the ground. He thought the kid was out for the count until two feet kicked up and hit him in the chin. 

Damned Spider flexibility. 

Miles backed out of reach, narrowly avoiding stumbling over his own feet. “How are we on the download, Mr. Ohnn?”

Download? What were they downloading off his computer? None of it could be good news. None of this was good. 

The Spot gave a thumbs up. “Plenty of time for you to play with him.”

Miles was just stalling. 

Miguel raised his arm to shoot a web up to the platform, but Miles refused to let him, shooting a web past Miguel and launching himself back into the fight. It was easy to block the first hit, the second punch had him off balance, and the third kick had him actually stumble. Miles rushed to try and get another hit in, but Miguel caught his fist and threw out his own. 

Miles was dazed. Ok, lock the kid down in one of the containment units and –

A sharp pain radiated from his side. Miguel looked down at the black throwing spike stuck just under his ribs. He shoved Miles away and snarled. He let his guard down. Another mistake. 

Miles’ raised a hand in Miguel’s direction. Blue streaks of electricity crackled, moving faster than he could even blink towards the spike stuck in his torso. He screamed, electricity surging through him. He fell to his knees, couldn’t even react to Miles flying at him, fist coated in sparks. 

Miguel slammed into the far wall, crumpling to the ground. His whole body ached, unable to fully control his limbs as the last remnants of electricity coursed through him. He groaned as Miles maneuvered him to sit up right. He wasn't able to resist as Miles snapped cuffs around his wrists. 

Miles’ mask retracted, a triumphant grin plastered on his face as his chest heaved. “I win.” He stretched to loosen his joints. “Almost done?” he asked the Spot.

“Basically.” The Spot turned and looked at the vials and injections next to the desk. “Do we need these?”

Miles shrugged. “Take whatever. We’ll sort through it later.” 

“Smart considering we got a bunch of Spiders incoming.”

He walked over to Miguel. “That’s fine. We have everything we came for.” He dug his boots into the spike in Miguel’s torso, relishing in the scream that tore out of him. 

Miguel struggled against his restraints, but it didn’t even rattle. The hell?

“Made especially for you, big guy,” Miles said, putting more weight into his foot. “Like them?”

“Miles,” Miguel said through gritted teeth. “Stop.”

“Why would I do that? For the first time in a long time, I'm getting exactly what I want.”

“Miles,” he panted, pain radiating throughout his body. “This isn’t you.”

Miles rolled his eyes. He let off, planting both feet in front of Miguel. “Right, because you know me so well.” He stared at him unblinkingly. A predator triumphant over a successful hunt. “Mr. Ohnn, are we ready?”

“Yup.” The Spot held up a hard drive. 

“Great, let’s get out of here.”

“You won’t get far,” Miguel sneered. 

“Far? From you?” Miles patted his head condescendingly. “Never. You’re coming with.”

“Wha–”

A hole opened up underneath them. 

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

[trashheappro]

Commission for @siirknight!

In which the Spot becomes friends with Miles and helps him get to school in time (albeit a bit clumsily).

[trashheappro]

The Anomaly - Ch. 8

No one can be happy here.

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Peter B punched the Lizard in the face, sending the older man skidding along the concrete road of the Brooklyn Bridge. It wasn’t even his Lizard. He dodged a hail of pumpkin bombs thrown his way by the Green Goblin. Not his Green Goblin. And Carnage trying to make his insides his outsides. Also not his. And that was only the bunch he was fighting! 

There were nearly twenty anomalous villains spread throughout the Brooklyn Bridge and lower Manhattan. That didn’t even include his own villains of Earth-616 using the opportunity to take a crack at the native Spiderman. This was a ridiculous amount of anomalies to be in one universe. There were a bunch of other Spiders here to help him out. It was weird, or as Miguel had put it, an unusual phenomenon. He just needed to get these guys out of his universe and he could finally turn in for the night. 

The days have become stressful. First, the whole debacle with the collapsing universes meant that all the Spiders needed to work overtime covering for each other. Then realizing the Spot was back and needing to form a plan to contain him, which didn’t work in the end and caused the Society even more grief. 

Then Miles– 

Oh, Miles… They had to find a way to save him. Peter B had spent so much time tossing and turning trying to figure out what he had to do to save him. He had to separate him from the Spot, but for as many times as they’ve tried, they’ve failed. 

They were just so… in sync. The way they fought, how they covered for each other, it was born of experience. Over a year. Miles had been in the Spot’s clutches for over a year. No one was there to save him. He should have been there for him. But he wasn’t. If he had just eased Miles into the Society better or if he weren’t such a coward and gone to see him after all of it... This was his fault. Everything was his fault. 

When Gwen had pressed the emergency button, when he got that call, he hurried over as fast as he could and– 

Oh, dear god. They could only try to help her pick herself back up. Peter B’s heart cracked as she tried to speak through her sobs, but words didn’t come out coherent. They didn’t figure out what happened until the next day when she managed to speak through the tears streaming down her face. He couldn’t believe his ear when she finally told him what happened. There had to be something more going on with Miles. He wouldn’t– But he did. Peter B held her as she cried herself to sleep that night and every night after. Everything was going wrong. 

It seemed like the only time he got rest was when he was asleep, which was already rare to begin with and now… Even when he managed to fall asleep, it was often interrupted by Mayday. 

He took a whip from the Lizard's tail straight to the gut. He just needed a nap. 

“Focus, Peter!” Miguel yelled, as he darted after a Vulture. 

“I am!” he called back. He just barely dodged the Green Goblin trying to slam into him with his glider. Or maybe not. But could they blame him? His mind was muddled with thoughts of what he could possibly do to fix whatever has happened to Miles. 

“You’re stuck in a complex loop of self doubt and determination,” Pavitr chimed in. 

“What are you even talking about, kid?” He punched Lizard in the snout. 

“Oh nothing! Just that you’re struggling to balance your sense of duty and your own personal feelings about the situation you’re in.”

Peter B blinked at him. “Wow, am I that easy to read?”

Pavitr helped knock the Green Goblin off his glider. “Well, maybe not. I suspect we’re all going through a similar internal struggle about you-know-who.”

“Come off it, mate. He’s not Voldemort.” Hobie helped Pavitr pin the Green Goblin down, knocking him out cold. “But after what he did to Gwendy,” he said uncharacteristically serious, “to all those universes, I reckon he’s worse.”

“Come on, guys. This is Miles we’re talking about.” Peter B desperately attempted to defend the kid that inspired him to have his own, but even he felt a little defeated.

“And he’s off his rocker.”

“He needs help!” Peter B yelled, stunning Pavitr and Hobie for a split second. “We just need to get him some help.”

Hobie stared at him, assessing, a crease in his brow. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But that don’t excuse what he’s done.”

“I know!” 

He was there when they answered Gwen’s emergency call. He was the first one through the portal. He was the first one to hear her screams. The first one to find her cradling the mangled corpse of her father. The first one to see the tears streaming down her face mingling with the blood around her knees. 

“I know, but–” 

Miles was the boy that made him believe in himself. He was the boy with passion in his eyes and defiance in his shoulders. He was the energetic upstart to his jaded cynicism. The boy with honey brown eyes and a smile as luminescent as sunflowers. He was brave and stupid and he made Peter B want to believe in him. Miles Morales was hope. Miles showed him what he could be, rubbed his own forgotten lessons right in his face. Miles showed him a future he finally wanted to chase. 

But he was there when Gwen listlessly told them that Miles did this. That he wanted her to know that he did this, not the Spot. That he was in her home eating food her dad cooked and distracted her while her father hung from the top of the clock tower awaiting the same fate she had met in many other universes. 

But Peter B believed in Miles. He has always believed in Miles. He had to…

Miguel stayed quiet, cuffing the Vulture and tossing him through a portal. It was unnerving, seeing the leader of the Spider Society taking a break from yapping at the rest of the team to do their jobs. He seemed to always grow quiet at the mention of Miles, of what he had become. The recent months have drained him. 

Peter B’s spidey sense made itself known. He jumped over the Lizard’s tail. “Hey, watch it! My mental is turmoiling here!” He punched his snout, knocking loose a few teeth. 

Carnage swooped in, trying to take advantage of the distraction. Miguel slashed through its arm and pinned it to the ground. It screeched as his mask peeled back and his fangs sank deep in its shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Peter B said, dusting himself off.

Miguel grunted in lieu of a response, spitting out the vile taste from his mouth. He tossed Carnage into the portal right behind the Lizard. “Lyla, update?”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder, shading her eyes with her hands and looking around. “Still 7 anomalies running around here somewhere.” 

Peter B groaned. “Making a mess in my universe? My kid goes to school here!”

“Yeah, why are there so many anomalies here anyway?” Hobie asked. 

“And how?”

“That would be me!” They all turned on their heels to stare wide eyed at Miles standing right behind them, the little diablo mask firmly in place. Miguel immediately went to grab him, but his hands phased through a fizzle of pixels. “Woah! Trying to cut the party early? Ever the buzzkill, Miguel.”

“What are you doing here, Miles?” Miguel asked. 

“I’m here to play a game.” 

“The same game you play with, Gwendy?” Hobie snapped. 

The creepy white smile stared them down. “Something like that.” 

“So like, were you just standing there waiting for the perfect time to announce yourself or was that just a coincidence?” Pavitr asking the real questions.

“A bit of both.” Miles shot him a fingergun and a playful tilt of his head. He turned to Peter B and gestured for him to follow. “Come on. We can’t start without you.”

Dread clawed up Peter B’s gut. No, he wouldn’t. “Miles, what did you do?”

“Well, you’re never going to figure it out standing there.” The hologram took off. 

“Wait!” Peter B ran after him. 

“Peter!” 

“Don’t go on your own!”

But their words mattered very little when he very well damned knew that the two loves of his life hung in the balance. They were right behind him anyway to give him back up. They were a team. They would help him save his family. 

The group swung after him, sticking close together as Miles led them uptown. The hologram stalled under the archway of Washington Square park, giving a grand bow for them to enter. The hologram dissipated, leaving behind a small drone to fly off. They didn’t need it anymore as their goal was clear in front of them. MJ stood in a glass cage right in the middle of the fountain. Even from a distance, in the dead of night, with the fountain lights hitting her figure, she was beautiful. 

“MJ!” He surged forward.

“Spiderman!” Her hair fell over her shoulder as her eyes met his. Her hand pressed against the glass, reaching out to him. Perhaps it was the obviously Spider-themed group behind him, but a panicked, “Peter!” flew out of her mouth, filled with desperation and a warble of tears clogging her throat. Someone cleared their throat, causing her to flinch. 

A figure dressed in black sat idly on the rim of the fountain. His mask was off, his cheeks still round with youth. The drone flew right to the real Miles’ open hand, turning into a sleek disk. He tucked it back into the bag across his chest and stood. 

“Miles,” Peter B said. 

The team sank into a fighting stance. Miles chuckled. “Now, before you do anything rash, allow me to explain the rules.”

“Miles, this–”

He held up a finger, pointing to MJ. “See that thing around her neck? It’s a bomb. Now, shut up and let me speak before I accidentally kill your wife.”

Peter B’s jaw snapped shut. 

Miles smiled. “So,” he clapped his hands together. “You have 15 minutes to solve two puzzles, each one freeing either MJ or Mayday.” He gestured to his side where another drone float projecting a videofeed of Mayday similarly stuck in a glass cage. “You solve both, you save both. You solve neither, well, the cages will be filled with water by the end of the fifteen. Now, to make sure there’s no cheating, I have this sensor,” he gestured to the black hexagon strapped over his chest. “That detects my heart rate, if it goes over 80bmp or below 30bmp,” he winked at Miguel, “the bomb explodes. And to doubly make sure,” he pulled a button switch from his pocket. “Once I press down, time will start and if I ever release it without pressing my killswitch, the bomb explodes. Any questions?”

This couldn’t be him. This couldn’t be his Miles. This wasn’t the Miles who demanded, fought, to shut down the collider to send them home. Even with Peter B practically begging to stay, Miles pushed him to go home to MJ, to live his life, to have faith. The Spot had to have done something to him because there was no way in any universe his sweet boy chose to become this. 

“It’s really me, Peter,” Miles read him like an open book. “I know we didn’t get the same talk I had with Gwen, but this is me. Did you hear about it from her?” he asked as if he were a stern parent speaking about their  scolded child and not the person who took the last vestiges of her family from life. 

This was wrong. This had to be wrong. “Miles, please.” 

“I’m sorry, Peter, but I’ve worked very hard to get here and I’m tired of every single one of you giving the credit to someone else.”

His attention flickered over to MJ whose eyes were trained resolutely at the footage of their daughter in a similarly deadly predicament as her. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her breathing stuttered. He hated seeing her like this. He hated this. “Ok, ok! I get it! Can we please talk?!” 

“No.” He pressed down on the button. Explosions erupted in the distance all around them. “Game on, Peter.”

People screamed. Black smoke illuminated by the red flames burned through his city. His city. Was this Miles’ test? Choose between his city or his family? Between his wife and his daughter? “Why?” was Peter B’s strangled question.

Miles leaned forward on his knees. “Because I hate you.” 

He stepped forward. “But I love you like my own!”

“And what did that get me?” Miles scoffed, his eyes were dark, no trace of those honey-browns. “Disappointment. Betrayal. Hurt. I don’t want your love, Peter. Now run, before I take what’s left yours.” He gestured to the glowing podium in front of the fountain. “Your first clue.”

“We’ll handle damage control!” Miguel called out. 

“You better win this, mate!”

“Yeah! You won’t even have to worry about pollution levels when we’re done… much!”

Peter B didn’t even turn around to watch them swing away, his eyes trained on the podium. Damn it. Damn it all. He rushed forward to it. What awaited him were… math equations? Just… simple math equations? Well, simple for him, maybe a highschooler would struggle with this but him? He breezed through them, writing everything down with his finger on the screen. 

But was this really a clue? He had the answers, but what was he supposed to do with them? He stared at the number and letters and– 

Wait. He still needed to figure out where his baby girl was. A location. The numbers and the degree symbol… coordinates! But MJ– He looked up at her and he was met with her determination. In his heart, he knew her answer. He knew both their answers. Save their daughter. 

“I’ll be right back,” Peter B promised. “I’ll get you out of there.”

“Of course you will, Tiger.” Even with water starting to fill the tank, her gaze never wavered. 

So he took off. Figuring out the organization of the coordinates was not hard, all the arrangements except one were way too far to reach within 15 minutes. Two minutes to get there. In the belly of a gutted deli, Mayday sat in a tank slowly filling with water, wailing as she banged her tiny fists against the glass. 

He practically dove to her side. Her pudgy little hands reached for him. “Daddy’s going to get you out of there, sweetheart, just hold on.” He looked around. There was a five digit code lock on the front of the cage. Another screen and this time it was… sudoku? Seven boxes were highlighted and five were outlined in thick lines. Some were filled and some were empty. The right column and bottom row were messily blacked out, making it difficult to discern what the numbers were. But it was still sudoku; a simple puzzle arbitrarily made more difficult by the hidden numbers. Completing it was not difficult, if a little more time consuming than he would have liked. 

Five digit lock and five outlined numbers. Easy. 67151. 67151. 67151. 67151. 67151. The door gave way with a satisfying click and water wetting his knees as he reached in to grab his baby girl. 

He cooed gently as he wiped the tears from her face. “It’s ok, sweetheart, dad’s got you.” He cradled her to his chest and looked over the seven highlighted boxes of the sudoku puzzle one more time. He would almost certainly need it for the next portion of the puzzle. He took a quick picture with his phone and dashed out the door. 

He had taken about three minutes to get the coordinates for Mayday, two minutes to get here, two minutes back, and four minutes on the sudoku. He’d only have about four minutes to get MJ out. His arms strained as he pulled himself into his next swing instead of slowing at the apex of his arch. Mayday, perhaps sensing his urgency, clung to his shoulders while sniffling into his shoulders. 

His last swing arched him perfectly to roll to a stop right in front of the fountain. The water was up to MJ’s neck. She visibly relaxed seeing their daughter safely in his arms. Mayday wailed, reaching out to her mother. 

“You have three minutes and forty seconds left, Peter.” Miles said, lounging on the stairs leading down into the fountain, kicking the water with his toes. It physically made his chest hurt watching someone he cared so much about callously disregard the lives of the people he loved. He loved Miles. But he hated Peter and everything else Peter loved.

Peter B’s heart hurt. He couldn’t focus on that right now. One thing at a time. He could do this. He had to do this. He had to save MJ. 

He set Mayday down and looked at the screen on the podium. There was a chess board with physical chess pieces laying on their sides, captured pieces on the sides, and the text, “Victory is taken, not given,” across the top. Ok, clearly he needed to arrange the pieces for his side to win. The black pieces on his left hand side were a little closer, so he would be playing white.  But all the pieces were knocked over with no indication where they should be. 

“Three minutes left.”

Ok. Peter still had the picture from the abandoned deli. The highlighted space might be his answer. He pulled out his phone. Seven highlighted spaces. He counted the knocked over pieces on the board, careful not to mix them up with the captured pieces. Seven! The blacked out rows made it so the sudoku layout matched a chessboard. 

Ok. Ok. He knew what he had to do, but how was he supposed to organize them? He knew the basic rules, but he wasn’t a chess pro. Ok, well what pieces did he have? Obviously he still had both kings, a white rook, two white pawns, a black knight, and one black pawn. 

“Hey,” Miles said sternly. Mayday was trying to climb over, still reaching for her mother. 

Peter B’s anxiety spiked as he grabbed her. “Miles?”

He waved him off with the hand holding down the switch. Which only worked to raised Peter B’s blood pressure. He trudged through the water towards MJ’s tank. “Focus, Peter.” He raised Mayday up so she could latch onto the box with her Spider stickiness. She climbed along the glass panes, trying to get to her mother. 

It was cute, incredibly so. Peter was tempted to take a picture. But– “Two minutes,” Miles said, staring hard at Mayday. 

Right. Peter B tried to focus back on the puzzle, but his mind couldn’t help but hang on the fear he had with Miles handling Mayday. He knew why it gave him anxiety, but– but it shouldn’t have. Miles was Miles. Miles wouldn’t hurt Mayday. 

But didn’t he already kidnap her and lock her in a tank to die?

He shook the thought from his mind. He quickly ran through the different positions he could place the pieces. There were so many options and different combinations that would leave the black king in a bad way, but how was this supposed to work? He set the pieces up, maybe waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. So he was supposed to win, but nothing was supposed to move… 

He needed a mate in one. Ok. 

“Alright, kid, you had your fun.” Miles webbed Mayday back into his arms. He trudged back to Peter B with a raised brow. “Minute and a half, man. Focus up,” he said, giving Peter B the biggest whiplash. This was the exact image he had in his head for the longest time; Miles holding Mayday so delicately in his arms. Miles caring for Mayday, like— like–

Miles sat her on the rim and webbed her legs to the edge of the fountain. “Stay,” he said, pointing a finger at her. He chuckled when she grabbed at it. “You know, in another life, I could have been like a big brother to you.”

Peter B’s heart ached. This was what he wanted. For him, for her, for them to– to be a family. He wanted Miles to be a part of his family. And maybe– maybe–!

“One minute.”

But Miles had put Mayday and MJ in a Saw like contraption. He strapped a collar bomb to MJ’s neck. He wanted this so bad, but it was too late for them… wasn’t it? He’d messed up so bad that this is what Miles had become. 

No! Focus! Focus! MJ needed him. One thing at a time. One thing at a time. 

He tried different combinations but nothing was turning up to be a mate in one. He glanced up at MJ, who was already on the last inch of air in her tank. Shit!

Miles stood. “Thirty seconds, Peter.”

Damn! He scrambled with the pieces. Nothing was coming together. 

“Twenty seconds, Peter.”

Calm down. When you’re rushed, when you’re panicked, you miss things. What was he missing? 

He blinked and took a half step back. He breathed in deep and exhaled loud. He had the whole board to play with. Don’t tunnel vision. What was he missing? Victory is taken, not given. Taken… The captured pieces! There was one highlighted box all the way on black’s side. He swapped out one of his pawns for a queen and slotted her there. Now to trap the king… The rook would corral him into the queen. The other black pieces would block him from moving away and the other pawn went into the left over space. 

Peter B’s head wrenched up, looking to Miles for confirmation. But he didn’t need it, as the sounds of gears turning and rushing water reached his ears. Miles stepped aside so he had a clear view of MJ heaving deep breaths. 

“MJ!” He bounded towards her, knees splashing in the water as he hurried to reach her. 

She grinned up at him. “I knew you’d do it, Peter.”

He hugged her close, relishing in the strong grip she had on him in return. The sloshing reminded them that Miles was still here. They looked up at him and the little device in his hand. He smirked at them, raising the button so they had a better view of it. Anxiety rocketed through the roof. 

Peter B’s heart was in his throat. 

“Mil–”

He released the button. 

“NO!”

And nothing. 

Miles laughed. “Oh, if you could see your face right now.” He threw the little device over his shoulder, letting it plop into the water. He came closer. He unlatched the bomb from around MJ’s neck, crunching it in his hand. “Was never real in the first place.” He chuckled. 

“I– I don’t understand,” Peter B said. 

“You’re a smart guy, Peter, as soon as you see me in your house, you’d call the Society on me.” It wasn’t a wrong assessment, especially after what happened to… “I needed a way to get you away from your family, and in the same plan to get you here without the extras.”

MJ’s lips are set in a frown. “So the anomalies and the bombs around the city were to keep the Society preoccupied?”

Miles nodded. “And the threat of a collar bomb to guarantee no one helps you.”

MJ brows are creased the same way it did when Mayday first stuck to the side of the cabinet; trepidation. “What’s your goal here, Miles?”

Miles’ lighthearted grin hardened into a cold stare. “Goal?”

She’s turned her whole body towards him. “What do you hope to accomplish from this?”

“For them to suffer.”

“To what end? What are you hoping for at the end of this?”

“It’s not the ending that matters. It’s everything until then.”

“What does that do for you?”

“What does my answer do for you?”

“I want to know what happened to that sweet kid that Peter told me about all those years ago.” Her voice was soft, reminiscing of a different time, in a moment warmer than the one they were in now and hoping to draw them there. 

“Gone.” But Miles rejected her, his eyes like liquid nitrogen to the skin. “I’m all that’s left.”

“You’re more than this,” she pleaded.

Miles’ lips screwed into a thin line. “You’re not mad?”

“I am,” a beat of hesitation. “No, I’m not. I mean- I am, but I understand.” She held out her hand for him. Miles tentatively took it in his own. “I heard everything from Peter.”

“Everything?” He kneeled in the water with her. “Like how he left me in a cage to rot?”

“Yes.” Her hand squeezed his. 

“That he forced me to let my father die?”

“Yes.” There was shame in her eyes. Shame that shouldn’t be there. It was Peter B’s shame. It was his fault. This was his fault. He was the one filled with shame for how everything turned out. 

“Are you going to ask me to forgive him? That it’s in my best interest to?”

“No. No one can dictate that but you.”

Miles' hands squeezed hers back. “You’re a good person, MJ.” There was a sadness mingling in his cold eyes. “You would have been a great mother.”

A bone deep sadness sunk into MJ’s features, bringing her to tears. Blue eyes met brown, there was acceptance in both. In brown, that this would never be his. His real mother was gone, left behind in a different universe, in a grave that will never comfort him. In blue, that this was the end. That this lonely boy in front of her has lost more than she can comprehend and she can do nothing for him. That she will be leaving her daughter in a similar state. And she can do nothing. Her eyes searched for Mayday. If she could see anything in her last moments… Little Mayday sat on the rim of the fountain, kept down by webs, far from the gentle waves that lapped at her mother’s chest. The blackened waters around them glitter with the electricity sparking from Miles' eyes, from his chest. Blue surrounded them, it lit up the night. A lightshow just for the Parker family. 

It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Peter B couldn’t move fast enough, adrenaline worn off. Mentally stunned by a prospect he never imagined could happen. Physically stunned by the billions of volts of electricity rocketing through him. His eyes could see nothing but MJ, stiff, hand locked in Miles’. His ears couldn’t pick up anything except the crackle of electricity. He wanted to scream, but his jaw was locked shut. His nerves were on fire and he wanted it to end. Miles looked over at him, the eyes that once held sadness and frigid stoicism, that once held passion and love now had nothing. 

It all stopped. Peter B fell face first in the water, unable to catch himself. He jolted upright. His senses coming alive, the world coming back to him. Mayday’s cries echoed in his ears. MJ slumped into the water. His hand reached for her, but he hesitated. He was afraid to solidify the truth that occurred. He reached for her anyway and lifted her limp body into his arms. She didn’t react, no limb resistance. He placed his fingers on her neck, at the pulse point. And there was nothing.

“MJ,” he didn’t recognize the weak whisper that escaped his lips. 

A fresh bout of wails from Mayday spurred him into movement. But he splashed back into the water as his limbs failed him, loose like jelly after being forced to hold tension. She reached for them. For him. For her mother. For her mother that was no longer with them. For her mother that he failed. 

Oh god. How do you explain to a four year old that her mother could never come back?

Fat tears roll down Mayday’s face, desperate for her parents. Now, she only had one. 

Miles stood over him, quiet, hands stuffed into his pockets. As if he hadn’t just murdered the love of Peter’s life. As if he hadn’t just made him a single dad. As if he hadn’t just made Mayday without a mother. 

“MJ was never going to live,” Miles admitted. “I just wanted to see your face when you lost her.”

The water was cold. The air was cold. MJ was getting cold. Mayday–

Peter B rose to his feet, cradling his wife to his chest. It was so cold. He took an unsteady step towards Mayday. He had to get her home. He had to get his baby warm. 

“Everytime you look at her,” Miles said, still by the center of the fountain. “Know that you failed her, just like you failed me.”

Peter B would. Because he did.

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