Power of any kind couldn't stand against terror for life; in the natural order, Chaos was all that could be counted on to remain...Ben supposed that if he'd learned these, among all his other painful lessons, early on, that he wouldn't be facing death now; he wouldn't be here, in a completely different sphere of reality, caught in a cat-and-mouse game against a foe he could not best.

Still, he wouldn't back down. It wasn't in his nature. Retreat had never been his thing—something Professor Trainer and Desiree had been so keen to point out to him.

Ben gripped the thick line of webbing tighter as he thought of the two people from his home who had loved him when no one else had. He was farther from them now as it was super-humanly possible to be.

And he would never see them again, because he was going to die here.

They're safe, he told himself as he swung through a dank and dark alleyway. they're safe and that's all that matters...Still, a part of him felt unbearable pain worse than any that blistered his body. His life had been turmoil from the word "go": orphaned and homeless as a baby; abused by every foster home he'd gone to; crime of nearly every description in his teens, and then, when he'd reached the threshold of no return, the serum had come into his life.

As he swung through the dark streets of this cleaner, less developed New York City, Ben knew why it was imperative to save this world. His Big Apple was one of danger at every corner. It was a place where hope was only a word for fairy tales. Technology and biology had formed a twisted marriage; law enforcement had had no choice but to adapt. Animal DNA spliced with human DNA had made the world rife with men and women of all description. Ben hadn't been one to join the conscripted special ops dedicated to fighting crime. He'd been hired to steal a new serum, one spliced with the DNA of a spider—something that had been prohibited since the advent of super soldier enhancements. He'd been prepared to do whatever it had taken—and then he'd seen Professor Trainer's terrified face; had heard the desperation in the man's voice and seen the fear in his young son's eyes.

Ben laughed bitterly as he perched against the side of an office building. In the face of goodness, his own selfishness and thoughtlessness had disappeared. One thing had lead to another, and Ben had imbued himself with the experimental serum. He and Professor Trainer had taken a stance against the very forces that they'd both worked for. Ben had donned a mask and become the Scarlet Spider.

And now you're going to bite it. Ben laughed mirthlessly. His shoulder throbbed; his entire side burned; his enhanced senses were going haywire. It seemed as if the thing that had pursued him from his own world was everywhere in this calmer, safer New York City.

Ben wasn't afraid of it anymore. He'd resigned himself to the fact that it would best him. It was ravenous, far more than the threats he'd faced back home. What hurt the most was knowing that nobody here would help him. Desiree was safe back in their world; she couldn't patch him up or berate him for his recklessness. She wouldn't hold him when the weight of it all got too difficult.

Something like a sob choked Ben's throat. He lifted his mask. Air crisp with the hint of oncoming autumn soothed the terrible heat. He blinked away his blurring vision. He'd rarely cried in his life, and never over something as petty as himself.

You chose this, numbnuts, he thought. You live as something like a hero, you gotta accept dying like one.

When he'd thought about his death—which had been plenty and often since he'd become the Scarlet Spider—it had involved something close to noble. Professor Trainer and Desiree had been crouched by him, clutching him as life ebbed from his body. Here, though, he'd be just a corpse on the pavement. That, he figured, made this New York City closer to the one he'd come from.

The air pulsed. He felt the familiar prickle of adrenaline—because it wasn't fear; Ben didn't feel fear anymore. A sound like a swarm of hornets reached his ears. Narrowing his eyes, Ben pulled his mask back down over his face. He clutched at his side where his contingency plan still rested, webbed against his skin.

Get ready to die, he told himself.

He leapt from his vantage point. Below a conference hall spread among green grass—again, a sight uncommon to his New York City.

He twisted in mid-air, preparing for another futile fight. The nightmare surfaced from behind an adjacent building. It was feminine in appearance and sound, but not even the most heinous of mutated creatures Ben had fought against looked anything like this. Black as pitch save for two blue glowing eyes in its face. Immense wings beat a mile a minute from behind it; it's legs tapered off in points like needles.

It's eyes narrowed as it caught sight of Ben.

"Little spider," it said in an acid voice. "Running away. Found you now. Going to eat you up."

"Come and get me, bitch," Ben spat. Not the most progressive turn of phrase, but he loathed the thing for more than just being what would kill him. He, after all, was just another meal for her and the thing that had created her—quite literally. Others like Ben had fallen from across worlds; now she was here, and he wasn't going to let her devour anyone else who wore the mantle of the spider.

"Shathra's prey is so mouthy." She flew towards him, her immense fingers outstretched. Ben met her head on, knowing it was futile. As they clashed, he thought again of his home. He knew that taking the fight to this world was a risk; he knew that he'd been one of a few remaining heroes to stand against Shathra and her master; hell, he'd long accepted that he wouldn't win.

But as pain exploded through him for the umpteenth time, he wondered why: why it had to happen in his world, why it had to happen to him; and why there wasn't anyone else around to help him.

"Don't lie to me. How many people told you that you fudged up your Spider-Man costume?"

Miles smirked beneath his mask. Billy had no way of noticing, of course. That was one reason Miles had kept the get-up on after they'd all left the convention center.

"How many people were packed in there?" Miles asked.

Billy shrugged. Teddy, walking hand in hand with his slender, dark haired boyfriend, piped up at once. "About two thousand including the exhibitors and guests. Why?"

Big as an ox as he was, blonde, blue-eyds Teddy wasn't dumb at all. It was a shame that he didn't seem to think that.

"About three quarters of that," Miles replied.

Ganke, taking up the rear of the group, snorted. "God, that is such bullshit. Half the people there go running around in skintight cosplay—not that I'm complaining—and yet you get singled out for doing something different."

"Not everyone." Kammy, walking in blissful stride beside Miles, glowered at Ganke. She had been one among the few who'd elected to play it demure. Her Captain Marvel costume was certainly more PG than anything most of the others in costume at the comic's expo had been wearing. For her efforts, Kammy had been rewarded third place in the costume contest.

"Sorry," Ganke said. "That was the Twitter warrior in me coming out."

"You're coming out?" Billy said with a grin. "Oh Ganke. All my dreams are blossoming into beautiful truth."

Ganke rolled his eyes but took the high road and said nothing.

Beneath his mask, Miles smiled. Nearly a month into his junior year of high school, and he felt on top of the world. Things had turned around at home; his mother had finally been handed ownership of Below Decks, and turned the place from seedy hole-in-the-wall to a lively cafe and diner. His grades were better than ever, thanks to the influence of one Peter Parker; and above all else, he'd found his people. Ganke had been his friend since childhood, of course. But Billy Kaplan and Teddy Altman had waltzed in with their blatant ownership of themselves and completely melded with the relationship Miles and Ganke had had for years. Kammy, swept up in the budding romance between Billy and Teddy, had followed suit. Miles wouldn't have had it any other way. Sure they weren't popular, but popularity was something Miles had never cared dick for in his life.

The five of them walked as only teenagers who'd grown up in The Big Apple could walk through the night: confident and wise to the potential dangers of the street.

"Miles, seriously," Teddy said. "Are you going to keep that on all the way home?"

"Sure am. It took three months to see this thing. I wanna enjoy it for longer than three sweaty hours in the Nerd Ocean."

Miles felt immensely proud of his Spider-Man costume. Not just because he'd devoted such time and care to it, but because it was different from any of the other outfits of the web slinger he'd seen at the expo. Eschewing the red and blue of his personal hero, he'd gone for black with red webbing, and sewn in larger eyes.

"I'm amazed they even let me in," Miles said as they crossed the street. "It still looks a little too much like that psychopathic alien."

"That was a year ago," Billy said. "The only reason people bring that up now is for Twitter hashtags and MSNBC specials."

Miles hadn't told anyone—not even Ganke—about his own brush with the abomination out of space. He'd gone through months of counseling—at his mother's suggestion—to simply be able to sleep at night. After the attack, most of the Eastern seaboard had barely been the same. Even though New York City had rebuilt, Miles still felt the stain of the nightmarish night. It had taken worse toll on Peter, Mary Jane and Eddie Brock.

But they, like everyone else, had found ways to move on. In Eddie's case quite literally, and in Peter and MJ's…well, the reason Miles had decided to leave the expo on time rather than loitering was due to the wedding taking place the next day.

Thinking of the ceremony, Miles said, "Man, I am so damn glad that Pete and MJ didn't decide to get married in the summer. It's hot enough in this thing; wearing a penguin suit would have killed me."

"Why don't you just wear that under your tuxedo?" Kammy suggested. "Then when you get to the dance floor you can bust a move as the world's most unique Spider-Man cosplayer."

"What part of sweating doesn't register with you?" Miles said with a cheeky grin.

"You could always ditch," Teddy suggested. "Give me and Billy your invite. We'll totally gay up the place."

It was on the tip of Miles' tongue to say that Peter had them beat in that department—at least fifty per cent when it came to one now absent blonde, beefed up ex-journalist. But he himself didn't even understand the subtleties behind the weird consensual love triangle that had possibly existed between Peter, MJ and Eddie.

"Nah, that's okay. I'm one of the groomsmen. Can't disappoint my public. Besides, knowing you two, you'd start making out before the vows."

Kammy hummed in delight. "Maybe you should consider the offer, Miles. I could sneak in and do some sketching…"

"As if you haven't done enough of that as it is," Ganke muttered.

"Hey," Kammy said sharply, "my fan art makes me bank on . Where are you getting your supplemental income from?"

"My mommy and daddy," Ganke replied. "And I don't know if it counts as fan art if you draw pictures of two really real people. Could you imagine how Captain America and Iron Man would feel if they saw some of the things you drew?"

Kammy tossed her glossy, dark hair in dignified silence.

Miles accompanied his friends as far as the nearest subway entrance. The cab money his mother had forced him to take to the expo would cover his route back to Queens. Even though it wasn't yet ten-thirty at night, Rio Morales knew far more about the streets than Miles gave her credit for. In any case, Miles himself didn't feel entirely comfortable being out in darkness. It brought back too many memories of the dark, basement cafeteria of a hospital, one where something crimson and bloodthirsty lurked.

"Text me when you get home," Miles said to all of his friends at once.

"Likewise," Billy said. "Let us know how the party goes tomorrow, yeah? As much as I'm over the moon for Instagram model superstar, Mary Jane Watson's nuptials, it might get too boring with all those old people around—

"Twenty-five year olds are not old, baby," Teddy interjected.

"—so let us know if it gets too dead and we'll come and rescue you."

"Oh swoon," Miles sighed dramatically. He waved his friends off as they descended into the subway. Then, once they'd gone out of sight, he turned his attention to the street. It wasn't an entirely busy night in the Big Apple; he'd be able to get a cab without much trouble. Picturing the expression on the face of whomever he hired, Miles haled a passing taxi.

The driver looked him up and down, shook his head, but opened the door nonetheless.

"You're a bit tall for Spider-Man," the cabby said.

Miles had, indeed, sprouted up considerably over the last year. At this point, he was a good four inches above Peter's height.

"You should see me in heels," Miles said.

"I'll pass. Where you headed?"

"Queens."

"Alright. It'll be about twenty minutes. Hope you don't mind if I keep the radio on classic rock. Some of the shit you young people listen to drives me up the wall."

"Cool cool." Miles sat back, and looked out the window.

Less than nine months prior, he'd have considered a ride home from Manhattan a luxury. Hell, the idea of getting supplies to make the costume he'd worn had been nothing but a pipe dream. His mother worked hard for what they had, and in turn, Miles had put his nose to the grindstone. He hadn't gotten into a single altercation at school since January, despite having ample reason in the form of the many dickwads roaming the halls.

And yet he still didn't feel as if he were doing enough. Sure, he could get a part-time job; yet his mother didn't want that for him, either.

"Focus on school," she'd said. "You don't need extra cash right now, baby. We're doing fine."

It was almost as if she didn't want to go back to the hand-and-mouth of the old days. She hadn't even started dating, despite the fact that she had a string of pretty decent guys in her orbit. Miles had insisted that it was fine by him—and he honestly wanted to see her happy before he went off to college—and yet, still, she hadn't capitulated to anything. Sure, she wanted him to pursue post-secondary; but at the same time, Miles couldn't reconcile the fact that she was fine with him going after independence in this way, yet not allowing him to do so when it came to contributing to money.

Looking back at his masked reflection, Miles shook his head.

One little step at a time.

That was what his therapist had told him. A few little leaps would eventually lead to the top; jumping too high would only plummet him to the pavement.

"What the hell is that?" The cabbie peered through the windshield. Miles' attention turned from the nearby sight of the Queensboro Bridge to a point between a cluster of apartments.

Miles frowned, and strained to see through the darkness.

"Is that...Spider-Man?" The cabbie said.

Whether or not it was Spider-Man, neither Miles nor the cabbie had any time to discern. Something big, black and hideous seized the red and blue-garbed figure and flung it through the air. The man tumbled earthwards with the force of a bullet train towards the cab.

Miles yelped and had just enough sense to duck before the front windshield caved in.

Miles had taken enough time in both therapy and online self-defense courses to know that it behooved him to think quickly. While the cabbie shrieked in the seat next to him, at a complete loss for what to do, Miles slowed his thinking down—again, something he'd learned in therapy.

He was afraid, but he didn't have to freeze. He had his limbs and his wits, and there was still a great chance for action in that event. So he unbuckled his seat belt and slid from the passenger side, hoping that the big lug dressed as Spider-Man wasn't dead.

The man wasn't dead; he wasn't even dressed completely as Spider-Man. Though a majority of his costume was red as blood, the blue portion appeared to be nothing more than some kind of hoodie with a black spider emblazoned on it.

And I thought my cosplay was original, Miles thought. He tentatively approached the figure. The man jerked and righted himself into a defensive crouch. Miles' eyes widened as he saw blood pouring from a wound in the man's side.

"Holy shit." Panic started to insinuate itself in his mind.

"Who…are…you?" The man's voice was rough, like gravel and bullet casings. Miles didn't even have it in him to answer. He had to get the poor dude to the hospital, regardless of the now panicking cabbie, the shattered windshield, or his own growing fear.

Miles took a few steps forward, and held out a hand despite the man's calm poise. "Come on," he said. "We've gotta get you to a hospital. I think Cedars is around here somewhere, if you just—

Something whirred above Miles' head—something separate from the darkness of the September night. He caught a glimpse of rapidly slicing wings, and narrowed white eyes.

Then the impostor Spider-Man leapt from the hood of the car. He seized Miles around the waist. Propulsion sent them both hurtling through the air. Miles braced himself for impact.

Opening his eyes, he realized that he was airborne. The hooded Spider-Man was swinging webs left and right, taking them both across an empty stretch of field.

"Can you swing?" The man yelled; it sounded as if he were gritting his teeth.

"No!" Miles yelped. "I—I'm just wearing costume! Who are you?"

"Goddamn it," the man spat. "Gotta get you outta here before—

The Spider-Man holding Miles swerved suddenly. The immense, winged, black form nearly collided with them. It was as his rescuer swooped towards a nearby warehouse that Miles got a good look at the obsidian creature. It looked almost like the alien that had nearly killed both he and his mother last May. Only it had wings like a wasp, immensely sharp fingers and what appeared to be stingers for feet. He could practically feel the disregard for life emanating from it.

Or maybe it was that he'd seen the blood on the things claws and put two-and-two together in conjunction with the blood seeping from the scarlet Spider-Man's ribs.

Keep calm, he thought. Just keep calm. Even if you won't be okay, you're okay right now.

The hovering wasp monster darted forward. Miles yelled a warning, but the bleeding Spider-Man had already foreseen the attack. As deftly as he could given his wound, he feinted left, and then arched. Miles held tight, burying his face in the hero's shoulder as a wave of nausea hit him. He didn't see what happened next, but he felt the impact of something heavy. Whoever the Spider-Man was, his grasp on the web faltered. The next moment, Miles tumbled through darkness.

He hit cold, hard concrete, and saw stars behind his eyes.

His entire body burning with pain, Miles nonetheless managed to get shakily to his feet. He'd landed in the loading dock of the warehouse. All around him, silent piles of freight towered nearly to the ceiling. A low buzzing filled the air, and Miles knew that it was coming from the wings of the creature that had tackled the strange, new Spider-Man.

Hands shaking as if he were in an earthquake, Miles reached into the pocket of his costume. Fortunately his phone hadn't been broken. It occurred to him to contact someone—anyone—other than the police. His mother, for sure; Peter, or MJ, even though they'd be busy getting ready for the wedding tomorrow. He wanted to call his friends, just to hear their voices or, if it came to it, say goodbye.

But Miles Morales had already had a brush with death, and survived, more than a year ago. He wasn't a little kid anymore, no matter how much he still felt as if he were too young to have faced his own mortality twice now. He hit the emergency button on his lock screen, and focused all his energy on moving.

As he dragged himself towards the gaping hole in the side of the warehouse window, he thought about the imposter Spider-Man. The emergency responders would arrive any second now, of that much he was certain. He had to get to the man who'd rescued him, had to make sure he was okay. Already the blood that had been pouring from the stranger was drying sticky against the outside of Miles' own cosplay.

Miles looked back. All that faced him was the endless darkness and maze of pallets stacked with freight. He couldn't see the hooded Spider-Man; he couldn't feel anything aside from a chill creeping up the back of his neck. To turn and face what he knew hovered behind him would appease the morbid sense of needing to see what it would be that eventually killed him. But he wasn't stupid. He waited, the buzzing getting louder and louder as the thing drew closer. He snaked a hand into the other pocket of his costume…

He could feel some strange kind of electricity pulsing from the beast. He heard the air vibrate as it raised either a clawed hand or one of its stingers.

With a scream, Miles turned round. The monster was less than six feet from him. He lunged at it, his taser held forward. It connected with the creature's middle—the part of it that he could only think of as its thorax. White sparks flew as Miles jabbed his taser again and again into the thing's body. It shrieked in a most inhuman way, and Miles nearly passed out at the sound, but held his turf. The beast soared backwards, its body twitching as electricity rolled around it.

At first, Miles felt a swell of pride. He'd emerged victorious against the thing…a moment later, though, his heart turned to ice. The hovering creature shook the final sparks of electricity from its body. It flexed its fingers, and glared angrily at Miles.

"Stupid bug." It's voice sounded like a nest of angry hornets. "Doesn't smell like the other spiders. Shathra is still going to eat you nice and slow."

"Better pieces of shit than you have tried," Miles spat. He didn't feel particularly brave at the moment. But he wasn't going to let the thing kill him while he cowered like a little kid.

The monster snarled. It tore through the air, and Miles waited for the inevitable. But again, an external force saved him. The hooded Spider-Man burst, seemingly from nowhere, and shoved Miles out of the way again. Miles staggered to his feet just in time to see the strange hero leap to meet the wasp-like monster strength for strength. His fist connected with its face, but it was a losing blow.

"NO!" Miles screamed a moment too late. The stinger at the end of the monster's body impaled through the body of the fighting, bleeding hero.

Red and blue lights danced. Blood spurted onto the concrete floor and splattered against the freight piles. The wasp monster's eyes widened in something encompassing a smile of victory. Then it flung the dying Spider-Man across the floor.

Miles heard the shouting of a police officer speaking on a megaphone, but the noise didn't register. He saw the wasp monster start, spooked by the sound, and flit towards the dark ceiling.

He didn't care that it was possibly still watching—didn't care that help had come. He walked on shaking legs towards the bleeding form. By the time he reached the man, all the strength had disappeared from his legs.

The Spider-Man on the ground rolled over as Miles neared. Miles did his utmost not to look at the gaping wound in the man's chest. This wasn't his Spider-Man, but that didn't matter because he was still clearly a Spider-Man, and that was all that mattered. That the man had been heroic, had gone out of his way to rescue somebody that he hadn't even known…

"It's fine." Miles hands shook as he cradled the man's head, needing to do something to keep him alive. "You're…you're gonna be okay, Spider-Man…there's help outside now and—

A soft laugh escaped the man's lips. "N-not…Spider-Man…"

"Okay…Not Spider-Man, you're going to be okay now…"

But he only shook his head in response. He pawed at his mask, and Miles realized that the man didn't have the strength to lift even the slight fabric. Miles removed his own mask, and then carefully peeled the hero's off his face.

Their eyes met. The man looked as if he'd lived a hard life. His nose had been broken several times, and he had the heavy countenance of someone who'd seen death, fought battles he'd lost more often than not. And yet, as life ebbed from him, he didn't look nearly as rough as he could have.

"You're brave," the man whispered. His body shuddered, but he barely acknowledged the pain. "Braver than…most kids where I come from…"

"Y-you're obviously not a New Yorker." Miles had to keep talking, had to keep the man conscious until the police and EMT's arrived—because that was what they were supposed to do: help. Stop death in its tracks…

A small smile graced the man's face. God, but he looked like he was only a few years older than Peter and Mary Jane. The man's hands reached inside of his costume. He pulled out a glass phial, stoppered with a syringe in one end. A deep purple liquid swirled within the glass confines of the casing.

"T-take this," he rasped. "Gotta…save yourself now…I couldn't."

"I…" Miles took the syringe, not knowing what to say. He'd never been this close to death before. Even though he didn't know this man, he knew that he was good—that he didn't deserve to die this way. "Wh-what is it?"

"P-power…like mine…"

Miles swallowed, and curled his fingers around the glass.

"Brave kid," the man repeated. His eyes fluttered close. Another spasm ripped through his powerful body. Something like a whimper escaped his lips. "Wanna go home," he gasped. "Pl-please…I wanna go home…"

Miles sobbed. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He clutched the strange hero to him, comfort being all he had now. "No," he whispered. "Don't…"

The man's body stilled.

He was gone.

Miles screamed, the noise echoing around the almost deserted warehouse. Why hadn't help arrived? Why hadn't he been faster, or stronger, or smarter? Why the hell hadn't his Spider-Man arrived to put a stop to this? Why did there have to be death, when it came to that?

A droning buzz began to sound. The thing was coming back, swooping from the darkness after tasting its horrible victory. Miles gritted his teeth, and pulled his mask over his face. He didn't care that he was outmatched by the murderous being—he wanted it dead, and he wanted to be the one to kill it.

Just as he made to lunge at the creature, the air in front of him rippled. A pale, green spider's web made of light split the space in front of him as if it had been cracked like a pane of glass. A woman stepped from the center of the web. Dressed in a black and white karategi, she stared down the hovering wasp monster, her body bristling with either fear or rage, Miles couldn't tell.

The woman tossed her strawberry blonder hair behind her shoulder, and held her hands out before her, thumb, pinky and index fingers pointed upwards. Yellow lights like web lines shot from her wrists and hit the creature at several points on its body. The monster shrieked. A moment later, the mysterious woman flung the beast through the web that had cracked what seemed to be the very surface of reality. The black body of the murderous creature disappeared, leaving Miles and the newcomer alone with the body.

The woman whirled around, and a strangled cry escaped her throat.

"Ben! Ben, no!" She fell to her knees, looking at the fallen hero's face. Her shoulders heaved as she held the man called Ben to her.

"I tried," Miles whimpered. "I didn't…I don't know what to do…"

The woman looked at Miles. Despite the tears filling her eyes, she managed to get herself under control enough to rise to a half-kneeling position near Ben's body.

"You're not one of them," she whispered.

"O-one of wh-who?"

She sighed, and cast a sorrowful look at Ben. "Not of this plane, at least. But you know the spider totem, don't you? The warrior who uses the spider as his power?"

Miles shook his head. "No. I…I don't know Spider-Man. I'm just…I'm just a kid…" He felt the weight of the syringe that Ben had given him heavy against his palm. Not knowing why, he stowed it as secretly as he could in the pocket of his costume.

The woman sighed. "Just a child. You don't deserve to be present for this…"

"Did you know him?"

The woman nodded, and this time she wasn't so good at keeping herself composed. "Not well," she said. "But enough." She placed a kiss on Ben's forehead. Then, with surprising ease given Ben's weight and her slender form, she stood, holding his body to her own. "You need to leave here. You'll be safe for now. You're not the totem of this world, but Shathra won't be gone for long."

Miles blinked. The woman held her hand aloft, and a moment later another green spider's web splintered the air before her. Footsteps were now thundering around them—the police had arrived at last, and Miles was too wise in the potential danger of being a young black man at a crime scene to want to stick around. But still, he didn't understand.

"What's going on?"

The woman sighed, close to the light of the spider's web. "For your sake, I hope you never find out." And with that, she stepped through the web with Ben's body, and both disappeared.

In a zombie state, Miles turned and hurried for the shattered window. Just as he heard the police officers yell "freeze!" he took a deep breath, and jumped towards the nearest tree. Somehow he managed to catch the nearest branch. His wrists screamed; his body ached, and his mind felt as if it had been thrown asunder by a tornado.

He still had Ben's blood drying on his costume. He needed to get himself clean, needed to go somewhere familiar. As he ran for all he was worth away from the warehouse, ignoring the lights of the cop cars and ambulances, he forced himself to think of his mother; of his friends—Ganke and Kammy would probably be home by now. Billy and Teddy lived on the East Side, and were likely snuggled together on the subway…

And the wedding. The wedding was tomorrow. His mother would be up there, next to her best friend, dressed to the nines for two people who deserved not only to be with each other, but to not have their special day blighted by something this…impossible.

Home, Miles thought as he got to his feet. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he should be falling to pieces—it had all happened so fast and be so bloody and unexplainable. At the very least he should be seeing pink elephants dancing across West 39th.

But if there was one thing Miles had learned—not just since nearly being eaten by an alien, but throughout his entire turbulent life—it was that willpower was the one thing that couldn't be taken away from him. He'd be damned if this would break him, at least until after the cleanup tomorrow.

He headed to the nearest subway. People wouldn't ask questions of a young dude dressed up as a red and black Spider-Man, least of all one covered in blood.

As he made down the sidewalk, he forgot entirely about the syringe still weighing down the pocket of his costume.