Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A warehouse at night, no signs of life but the usual stirring of occasional traffic in the nearby streets. The entire building is enshrouded in heavy darkness and pitch-black shadows.

Then, the loud whirring of the mechanism that's used to hoist and close one of the giant garage doors leading to the outside fills the air. The whole building seems to tremble and the sound echoes against the concrete floor and metal supports that reach up to the ceiling. Lights are switched on, casting the building in a bright, cold hue.

Life. Noise. Humans... it thinks?

What is thinking?

...How did it even get here?

Sounds come out from these living creatures on this strange planet, sounding a bit like the sounds the four-legged creatures living on Klyntar belt out sometimes, except... different. Their sounds form different shapes in the air, and they communicate with these sounds, an easy back-and-forth as they drive in giant, loud machines on wheels into the cavernous space. They hop out and unload dufflebags and crates from the back of the machines, making even more noise and more vibrations as they hoist these heavy packages and slam them down onto the ground.

Packages are unpacked, crates opened, humans pass around weirdly shaped objects and head off in different directions with their prizes in tow. Eventually more humans show up, the voices become even more numerous and now there are flat objects on four legs being set up, even pieces of papers exchanging hands.

Strange creatures... very loud too...

The container in which it was clinging onto and disguising itself against is then grabbed roughly by scarred hands. The fabric is weighty and jostles against a warm human side as it's carried off to a cold, hard surface.

A tall human wearing some sort of mask to conceal the lower half of his face (Face, face... face. Where has it heard this concept from before...?) saunters casually up to the table with his hands in his coat pockets. The coat is dark with the collar turned up, and then he removes a wad of green paper from within a fold concealed inside of it.

The humans interact, speaking in sounds that tasted like music, the way the rhythms and flow were so easy to follow. It felt out the vibrations of this interaction as it snuggled tightly into a pocket of the fabric container, waiting patiently.

It couldn't strike. Not now. There weren't any elevated heart rates or loud sharp sounds aside from the occasional slamming of a machine door or drop of a crate. So... best to just lay low and latch onto this new host when the coast was clear and less humans were milling around. Easier that way.

This symbiote never claimed to be the brave kind of Klyntar anyways...

The tall human finally ends the conversation with a quick clasp of skin on skin, a few more casual words of goodbye before hoisting the container over one shoulder and turning to leave.

Thank goodness... it was getting very loud in that echo chamber, and it was making it harder and harder to keep up the mimicry of the fabric of the bag with every minute. The tall human steps outside into the brisk night air and sets the bag on top of another machine on wheels. This machine, however, was much smaller and slimmer, with less wheels and no doors at all. Okay... good. No slamming doors. An improvement!

The human throws a leg over a seat and hops on, pulling a hard head covering of some sort over his own head and adjusting the bag behind him with one more casual pat of his hand. This human seemed... calm. Confident, even. Controlled.

Good.

The symbiote stretched one single tendril out, ready to make a quick leap, hoping that this host was even a bit biologically compatible with it.

Then... the machine roared.

Lights switched on in the front, as if this foul beast had awoken from some deep slumber and was now ready to race through the dark streets of this planet on its two wheels. The symbiote squealed and clung even harder to the fabric. It didn't really even care that it probably let its mimicry slip, the night enshrouded everything that wasn't touched by lights coming from tall poles scattered throughout the streets anyways. Plus... the human had its back to the bag regardless, paying attention to the road ahead and maneuvering the machine back home.

The vibrations from this awful machine had the poor symbiote nearly paralyzed as it stuck on like glue. It held on to the bag for dear life.

It was a miserable, miserable ride all the way back...

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Then... the machine stopped.

They were in a dirty, pitch-black alleyway between two buildings, close to a chain link fence that separated the outside world from this private little pocket of the world. The tall human lifts his body off of the accursed machine and hoists the bag back onto his shoulder, quickly tucking his hard head covering back under a middle panel in the machine that he then shuts.

Ahhhh... peace and quiet at last! The symbiote hesitates, though. This human was climbing a few steps in a dank, dilapidated looking building, shoes hitting the metal steps with certainty. This place is familiar to him then... perhaps it was his abode. Then... perhaps it should wait until the human's guard is totally down. Maybe while he sleeps... yes. It's easier to bond that way.

They step through sliding doors into a small metal box that then rises slowly and steadily, shuddering and clanking with much effort. The human has a flat square device in his hand, quickly tapping the screen with his thumbs as they make their trip up. Once they reach their destination, the metal doors groan and shudder open again.

This tall human walks out into a small hallway and unlocks a big wooden door, stepping through. Another smaller human steps out from behind a giant sack hanging from the ceiling, sporting the same skin color as this tall human. Humans seem to have a few varying shades of skin colors... matching ones must mean they are from the same clan. Perhaps this smaller human is the tall one's offspring?

As the two humans clasp hands in the same way as the tall one did with another human in the other building, they fall into an easy rhythm of sounds. The smaller human seemed more... invigorated, more energetic. He takes the bag from the tall human and bounds over to a large flat table off to the side.

Oh. This human felt good. Wiry muscles under skin, an electric spark in every single movement of joints, rough hands wrapped in bandages of some kind moving confidently and decisively amongst the items concealed inside of the bag the symbiote was currently still hiding in. Hmmmm...

His energy levels indicated he was younger than the tall human, and faster. Not to mention the broiling frustration and anger badly hidden underneath a layer of nonchalance and detachment within that brain of his. Anger that the symbiote could... use. Cortisol tasted bitter, not very appetizing to symbiotes at all, but anger sometimes led to bursts of energy which then led to a flooding of good delicious chemicals like adrenaline, dopamine, and endorphins. And then of course there was that mouth-watering phenethylamine... the symbiote had to mentally slap itself to keep focus.

Soon...

The decision was made, then.

This one was going to be its new host.

"...And so I was thinkin' since I didn't do too bad on the last one, I'm all good to go for-- oh. Oh... gross. What the--?"

Miles pulls his hand back quickly after touching something cold, squishy and... wet. Yuck. He looked at his hand, covered in some strange black substance and moved over to the stack of fast-food napkins his uncle kept tucked between two college-level textbooks on engineering and physics.

Aaron glances up from his laptop he's now opened and booted up, curious to see what could have possibly interrupted Miles' excited train of thought.

"... Huh? What happened?"

Miles shakes his head, wiping his hand with thin napkins, tossing them onto the floor to sweep up later. "I dunno where your guy got this new tech from but, uh... it's nasty as hell. It's all dirty!"

Aaron quirks an eyebrow. "Dirty?"

Miles lifts up a brand new gallium nitride battery pack from the pile in the dufflebag, holding it up for his uncle to see. "It's covered in this... I dunno, this black stuff."

"What, grease?"

"Nah, not grease. I dunno, it doesn't feel like oil, either. I dunno what it is but it looks like we have to wash this stuff down before we use it."

"Make sure it ain't toxic, too. Check your hand for any reactions and lemme know if you notice anything, any pain or itching or whatever."

Miles nods once and strolls over to his side of the workspace, pulling his chemical testing kit from a small plastic box and popping open the lid. He pulls some gloves on and gets to work.

The testing kit brought up absolutely zero quantitative results, aside from the fact that the black ooze was slightly acidic... but that was about it.

Miles' hand yielded no reactions whatsoever, and aside from a strange but quick flash of heat across his nerves, Miles felt... nothing. Nothing at all. No rash, burning, itching, nothing. So Aaron gathered the tech back up in the dufflebag and promised his nephew that the next time they scored a job, all of it would be washed down and ready to go.

It was getting late anyways, and his mom would be home from her double shift pretty soon... Miles checked the time on his phone and started to unwind the boxing wraps from his arms, washing his hands in the bathroom and throwing on his jacket when he got to the living room.

Aaron eyed him warily, hands in his pockets as he stands next to the door. "You... uh, you gonna walk home, or...?"

Miles chuckled easily, pulling on his sneakers and purposefully leaving the laces hanging free like he always did. "Why? You wanna drive me back home?"

Aaron puffs out a breath, rubbing his bald head. "Well, I'm askin' 'cause I just got a text from Reggie from down a couple blocks, y'know. Might link up with him right now since he said--"

"Then forget it," Miles stands up from the stool he was sitting on, popping his collar and grabbing his backpack from the floor.

"Well, no-- I mean I'm sayin' it's on the way to your house most likely, so..." Aaron squares his shoulders, feigning nonchalance as he pushes himself off of the door frame, following his nephew across the apartment floor.

Miles shakes his head, tapping the small removable node on the back of his head and watching as his mask encases his head, face, his vision coming online once it forms across his eyes. He blinks and switches over to Travel Mode.

"Yeah, nah. Thanks for the offer but I think I'm just gonna swing home. Mami's almost there, so I have to be there quick."

Aaron deflates slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Right, cool cool cool. Get home safe, then, bro. I'm serious."

Miles laughs, swaggering on over to the giant studio windows of his uncle's apartment and cracking one open. "Yeah, I promise I won't die, unc. I'll text you when I get there."

They shoot off their salutes and Miles free-falls backwards into the night, shooting a line of rope over to a neighboring building and swinging away. He flipped and careened his body through the air, strategically avoiding buzzing drones floating to and from various streets.

There was something different about this trip, though... something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He felt much more energized, every pull and leap and flip feeling much easier and lighter on his muscles than before...

Shrugging it off, he launched himself off of rooftop after rooftop and swung all the way home.

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Miles hoisted his backpack through his own room's open window and leaped inside, landing on his feet as lightly as he could manage. He got into the usual rhythm of undressing and deactivating his mask at the same time, moving quickly and quietly through his dark room, using the light of the nearby streetlamp to help him see what he was doing.

The streetlamp must've gotten new bulbs installed, because Miles' room was way brighter than he ever remembered it being before...

Chalking it up to the full moon's light helping as well, he pulled on a hoodie and slipped into his favorite pajama pants.

Then he made his way over to the bathroom where he took a quick leak and casually tied on a purple durag, checking it in the mirror. His mother wasn't home yet so he decided it was his turn to start dinner again this week, and sauntered on over to the kitchen.

The night was overall very uneventful, since Rio came home practically dragging her feet over the wooden floor.

Miles kissed her hello on the cheek and brought over her bowl of rice and leftover sancocho once it was ready.

She almost fell asleep right there on the couch, nose practically dipping into the bowl, but she still tried her hardest to keep her eyes open as she asked her son how his day went.

Miles felt a deep, profound sadness in his heart as he observed the increasing number of grey hairs on his mom's head start to collect around her temples and hairline. She tried so hard to be a good mother to him, be attentive and present, while working nearly 80-hour weeks just to put food on the table and keep the lights on.

Miles ate quietly and avoided any upsetting pieces of information as he gave her his usual run-down of his day, his assignments, omitting his quick visit to his uncle's place. She didn't need to know that he spent the majority of his nights over there with grease under his fingernails and scarred-over callouses on his knuckles and fingers. It just wasn't really necessary to tell her any of that.

Instead, he told her a funny story that his physics teacher told the class that morning, and that put a small smile on her face.

A victory. A small one, but he'd take it.

"Mijo..." she started, putting her half-finished bowl down, "you've been up since six this morning. Go to bed. I'll... I'll clean up tonight, ok? You got school in the morning, y no te quiero ver tan cansado en la mañana."

Miles started to object. "Ma, c'mon. You look like you're gonna pass out. Let me, it's fine..." he grabbed her bowl, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Like, I mean it's cool if you wanna sleep on the couch tonight, but I'm washing the dishes. Got it?"

"Well, well. Look who's feeling bossy today!" Rio grins at her son and reclines back on the couch, turning the television on.

Miles beams at her. "I am the man of the house, after all. You said! So."

Rio smiles sleepily and cushions her head on a throw pillow, keeping the tv volume low. "Pues gracias entonces, mi amor. Don't stay up too late, me oíste?"

"Si mami, te oí!  I'll be done soon, promise."

Miles bids her goodnight since he knows that by the time he shuts the water off and dries his hands, she'll be out like a light.

This is their usual song and dance, almost every night. The only times he seems to be able to speak to his mother is on her days off, when she's actually available mentally and emotionally. It sucks... but better than having no mom at all.

Count your blessings, Aaron's voice played in his mind as he scrubbed at the dishes. There are folks out there gettin' shittier ends of sticks.

Miles silently agreed, and then immersed himself in his usual violent daydreams of personally filleting one of the Sinister Six Cartel members alive with his own claws.

Ooh, if he ever got anywhere close to one of those evil bastards...

CRACK!

He gasped as he dropped a shattered mug, small ceramic pieces slipping past his wet fingers as if the cup had exploded right there in his palm.

... Did it? Explode!?  What the hell was going on tonight...?

Miles' furrowed expression turned into one of shock when his mom's voice sounds out from behind him.

"...Miles?  What was that? Did you drop a plate or something?"

She still sounded half-asleep, so Miles shook his hands of excess water and leaned out of the doorway.

"Uhhh yeah, i-it's nothin', ma! Just... accidentally broke a glass. Kinda tired tonight, so... sorry?"

Rio sighs and sinks back down into the couch cushions. "Be careful, Miles! Don't cut yourself!"

"Y-yeah I'm... I'm good! I'll, uh... I'll buy you a new one soon, I promise."

Rio mumbles something out of earshot about not caring that a cup was broken as long as Miles was okay, but it was drowned out by the running water.

Miles quickly returned back to the sink, staring down at the shattered pieces sitting on the metal surface amongst the soapy foam and abandoned sponge. He hurriedly gathered the ceramic with careful fingers and piled it onto a paper towel on the counter, making sure none were left in the sponge that could possibly cut his mother's own hands. He finished washing up, then threw the paper towel bundle out as quietly as he could.

He then slipped into his own room, shutting off every light on the way there and flicked on his own desk's lamp, drawing his curtains shut.

He sat on his bed and stared at his hands for a very long time, running over every strange feeling he's had ever since leaving his uncle's apartment about an hour ago. That black goo in the dufflebag jumps to mind, but the theory is quickly discarded.

Mysterious black substances don't give people the ability to blow up ceramic mugs with their minds... or their hands.

It just didn't make any sense, though...

With question marks filling his mind, Miles decides to just sleep on it. He didn't feel sick, wasn't in any pain... maybe it was nothing. Maybe all that training in uncle Aaron's apartment was paying off and he was just getting stronger. Yeah... maybe that was it?

He shut his lamp off and pulled off his hoodie, diving under the covers.

He decided it was a problem for Future Miles, whenever that would come up. Meh. If he was sick from that black goo after all, then that just happened to be a day off from school and that was that.

He drifted off, dreaming of swirling galaxies and neurons connecting with alien tendrils...

Chapter Text

A week passes after that very ordinary but extraordinary night. The incident is soon forgotten.

Life goes on as usual for Miles; he goes to school and does his assignments, sometimes linking up with his girlfriend at the library after school to finish homework together and spend time with each other. Then at night, he meets up with his uncle to either pummel their shared punching bag and train up his muscles, or to finally suit up and head out to collect some tech and take down Cartel Goons. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happens as far as Miles can tell, aside from his newfound bottomless reserve of energy that he's gotten out of nowhere. Nothing harmful, though.

Nothing to worry about.

But then it finally happened. 

One night during the weekend, Miles finishes up a relatively quick gaming session with Margo and logs off, sliding his gaming headset off of his head. He yawns and collects his dishware from his desk, shuffling through the apartment to drop them off in the sink.

His mom is in her bedroom arguing loudly on the phone with some poor insurance agent, and he catches pieces of sentences like "how come the monthly rate went up so damn much?" and "this is ridiculous..."  through the closed door.

He cringes and sighs, dumping his dirty dishes off and heading to the bathroom for a late night shower. 

After getting out, he finds his mom is agonizing over the bills yet again, shuffling papers on the dinner table over and over as if something might magically appear in ink on those sheets, some divine intervention pointing to the answers that'll solve all of their problems. 

Miles' soul wilts a little.

Rio jumps once he moves into her peripheral vision. She's chewing on a nail, a bad habit she kicked years ago. But it's returned with a vengeance and Miles feels all that much worse about it when she hides her hand behind her back.

"Ah, Miles... u-uhm..." she stammers.

"Yeah, I heard... I heard some of it. Through the door. About the insurance." He shrugs apologetically, as if that would make her feel better about anything. 

Rio sags and runs her fingers through her greying hair. "I'm... Miles. I'm sorry. Is it possible that maybe we could... hmmm, maybe we can keep the lights off more often in the house...?" She shrugs apologetically back, mirroring her son.

The dismayed expression plastered on her face, making her look much older than she actually was... Miles wished he could wipe it off and give her everything she needed in the world.

God. God. This just wasn't fucking fair...

Pushing down the overwhelming rage and feeling of helplessness building up in his chest, Miles purses his lips and nods. "Y-yeah. Yeah. I can tell Margo we can't have gaming sessions anymore if you w--"

Rio holds her hands up. "Nonono!  Not... no, Miles, you deserve video games, por lo' menos, por dios! You deserve to have a little something every now and then, okay? Just... just maybe come study here in the living room instead of your room sometimes, papi!"  She smiled sheepishly, her body language screaming my god, I'm so sorry I can't provide more for us I know I'm a terrible mother please forgive me...

Miles can't stand it anymore. He sighs explosively and envelops his mother in a tight hug, squeezing her shoulders once they part. Rio looks at him with tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Miles," is all she says. 

It's all she can ever seem to say lately. 

Miles wants to scream. He wants to dive out of the window and swing over to a corporate office, break bones, break glass, break anything. 

Instead, he nods at his mother, insisting she shouldn't apologize for things that she can't help. They both stood next to the table holding each other as Rio silently weeps into his shoulder, then they part. She bids him a goodnight with a pat on the back and they make their way to their own bedrooms. 

Miles' eyes are burning, but not with the threat of tears. He goes a couple rounds with his speedbag, getting into the rhythm of seeing the inflatable punching bag bounce off of his fists and he begins to envision Scorpion's scowling, smug mug there instead. 

Then it happens.

He thrusts his fist forward for one last hurrah before finally finishing for the night, when his speedbag literally flies into the wall and bounces down onto the floor like a deflated football. 

He blinks in shock, gaping at the metal bracket and bag laying on the ground, then looking back up to the deep holes that the nails attaching them to wall left in the drywall.

There was a speedbag-sized crater in the wall underneath those holes.

What the hell...

Again! 

Does Miles have superpowers now...? He looks at his hands, then glances back down, thoughts running a mile a second as he contemplates one possibility after another.

One time while daydreaming about murdering rich bourgeois assholes and washing a breakable cup was all fine and well. But now he just literally punched his speedbag off of the wall with a single fist, metal bracket tearing off of the drywall with so much force that powder rained through the air. 

Miles held his breath, feeling the world stand completely still as he waited to hear his mother's concerned call through the apartment. 

... Silence. 

The world let out a sigh.

Stooping over to collect his poor speedbag, he suddenly stopped and glanced back over to his bed, an idea forming in his head.

With one hand, he tried to lift his bed up from the ground by clutching the side and heaving. 

No dice. It just wobbles slightly off the ground.

So... what gives? He grabs his desk chair and hoists that up with both hands, feeling the weight of it and shaking it around. The wheels jiggle and clack. 

Yep, still the same ol' chair from yesterday and today. Same weight.

Does Miles have anger-activated superpowers, then? He started pacing and grabbed his phone to look up mysterious anger-fueled bursts of superhuman strength. His only results end up being articles of adrenaline-fueled mothers heaving entire cars off of their kids with their bare hands, so he closes out his browser and plunks down into his chair, thinking.

He didn't end up thinking for very long, because just then, a mysterious black tendril slithered out from his... forearm? And then it playfully wriggled around his wrist as a strange sort of handshake hello.

Miles yelped and fell over backwards, crashing onto the floor and sending various science projects and papers flying into the air. They scattered all around him.

That ends up attracting the attention of his mother right then. She makes her way over to his door and knocks on it hesitantly, asking him if he's alright. 

Miles clears his throat and scrambles to pick up the pieces of his forever-unfinished robot project he started back in 8th grade. "Y-yep! Yeah, ma I'm good, I'm good. Just. I-I just, uh, tripped over something... but I'm fine now!"

He hears the concern in his mother's voice but is eternally grateful that she respects his boundaries and doesn't open the door. She dawdles uncertainly on the other side, telling him she's always there for him whenever he needs.

Miles exhales, collecting his hand-drawn schematics and pencils. "I know, mami. Thank you, I know. Just, uh, just go back to bed, okay? We're good  here."

It's this tone of finality that has Rio clutching her arms, hesitating by the door. "Okay, Miles... I'll be here, just knock on my door if you need anything..."

Miles hears her shuffle away, and sighs in relief. 

Then, he just realizes what he said. We're good here...? 

Who the hell is we?

Us! A cheerful little whisper flits across his greymatter, and he whips himself into a fighting stance, fists held out in front of his face. He looks around his room frantically, scanning the ceiling, taking in every single item not disturbed by his panicked reaction moments earlier and memorizing them. 

Oh nononononono, did the government somehow manage to slip mind-control chips into some food he ate earlier? Why was there this evil little voice in his head now, possibly controlling him, taking in and recording every single thing that happens before his very eyes, locking in his DNA--?

No such thing. 

The voice sounds... well, it doesn't sound like anything exactly because there are no sounds coming out of anywhere, but... but it still felt like Miles was hearing something speak into his brain and he hated it.

"Who's there?" He asked aloud, stupidly. He swung around, head turning this way and that, scanning for anything that moved.

Symbiote! Klyntar!

Miles gawps at nothing, slowly lowering his fists and looking at his own hands. On cue, a tiny little tendril materializes out of his pores... shyly? And then it wiggles at him.

Miles' heart plummets as he realizes why this black goopy tentacle looks... familiar. 

Shit.

His mind flashes back over to the black ooze his hand came into contact with when pawing through the new tech Aaron had brought from the underground black market meetup that one fateful night. He picks up and rights his desk chair again, sinking down into it and rubbing at his face.

What... the hell.

"W-whaddya mean Klyntar. What the hell is that?" Miles asks quietly, knowing now that he was very much speaking with a creature living inside of him and trying very very hard not to freak out about it. 

His mother was already plenty worried about him, no need to alert her to any more weirdness.

No more voices pipe up inside of Miles' head. Instead, he sits back and sucks in a breath as his brain is flooded with... pictures... no, movies. 

No... emotions. 

Feelings. 

Memories. 

A half-remembered dream floats up from the inky black depths of Miles' subconscious and he vaguely remembers swirling cosmic entities amongst the stars, various black goop creatures just like the one he touched. 

He dreams of-- no, he sees before his very eyes, slimy eggs hatching from a collective. Then, he watches as a particular goopy individual stumbles and slithers out from the egg pile, and slowly goes through the motions of survival on an alien planet.

He sees a single comet with a massive hoard of these creatures, writhing and pulsating, roiling around together like some disgusting sentient pile of black slime molds.

Affronted, the creature interrupts Miles' inner dialogue. Not disgusting. Family!

Oh geez, sorry man, Miles thinks back, and then slaps a hand over his mouth in utter shock over having communicated with this... this thing entirely non-verbally!

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah, bro what the actual hell,"  Miles mutters, rubbing his face in distress yet again and he swipes his braids over his shoulders. "What in the actual fuck is this. You an actual, real ass alien invading my body right now? Playin' with my brain?"

Sensing the cortisol levels rising in his new host's body, the symbiote metaphorically shuffles a bit, clearly uncomfortable. Yes, alien. Alien needs host!

Then, Miles is treated to more images beaming directly from his brain back into his brain. He sees himself lifting up cars with his bare hands like those stories he just searched up on his phone. 

He sees himself going invisible, camouflaging perfectly with his surroundings as he sneaks around dark buildings and offices. He sees himself swinging through the air with perfect strength, moving with agility never seen before from a human being.

He sees himself... he sees himself tearing an executive apart with his bare hands, fingernails sharpened to dangerous points... covered in blood...

"Okay, stop." Miles squeezes his eyes shut and the images melt away.

This seemed to encourage the alien taking residence in his body, because it then launched itself into a nearly incoherent ramble.

New powers! Superpowers! Here, a flash of the comic books Miles keeps stashed under his bed flitted across his mind's eye. The heroes Miles secretly longed to be real flipped through his brain like the pages of a book. 

Strength, sneaky powers, much better... better hero... need host... survive... longing... symbiosis!

Miles was overwhelmed by the insane amount of emotions he was feeling at this moment, lurching forward and groaning. "O-kay, yo. Quit that. Man, that is so fuckin' weird... stoppit! That feels so damn weird. Is that you or me...?" Then, he quickly added, "nevermind actually, don't answer that. I don't think I wanna know..."

But really, he did want to know. He stayed up all night quietly whispering to this alien as he sat in his chair by his desk, asking a million questions.

Was it super weird that an alien... parasite thing happened to be living inside of his... his body? Hell yes. Very, very weird. 

Aliens' existence were already proven in this dimension but Miles did not think that he'd ever find one inside of his home (unless the government decided to use them as weapons and found out about him and his uncle Aaron...), much less inside of his very own flesh and blood.

But he would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit curious, especially when this alien didn't seem to be employed by the totalitarian regime that the Sinister Six set up in New York City... well, not that he could tell, anyways. 

They spent many hours deep into the early morning exchanging ideas and thoughts and feelings and memories. 

Finally, with the sun's early rays peeking up over the horizon, Miles made a decision.

Okay, Miles thought-- because by now they had figured out brain-to-brain communication-- So. You need a host in order to survive, huh.

Yes! The symbiote wiggled happily against Miles' blood vessels.

Stop doing that. That's weird. 

The symbiote stops.

Anyway... I dunno. This is weird to me, okay? This whole concept... it leaves me anxious, kinda.

The symbiote takes this feeling gently inside of its inky tendrils and feels it over like a shiny new rock, turning it over and over and murmuring anxious, anxious, anxious...

Miles suppresses a giggle. He could literally feel  his emotions being balled up and played with like an actual physical object. God, that was... that was just nuts! He pushed down the wondrous new glee for a moment and continued.

Okay, yeah. That. That's anxiety. And you wanna know why I feel like that? In this world... I dunno how the government works on your planet, but on ours... we have a whole entire dictatorship being run by six massive chodes. I'm talkin' like really really awful assholes, ya feel me? There aren't... many opportunities for New Yorkers to exercise freedoms. My autonomy is literally all I've got right now, man.

The symbiote doesn't respond, but Miles knows it's listening because it strums every single word he's thinking like the strings of a guitar, feeling the vibrations and the weight of meanings behind them.

So... Miles continues, I... I mean...

He hesitates.

Is there like any way you could, uh, not watch me while I... yanno. Do some business?

The symbiote produces a bubble of confusion and then sneakily digs behind the words to find quick flashes of images of Miles sitting down onto a white porcelain seat in a small room, a girl with neat, long braids on her head and then the images of Miles putting on big metal gloves with sharp claws.

It turned these images over and over like a flipbook in its tendrils, contemplating them and the feelings associated with them.

Claws? Superpowers? Hero? It asked. 

Somehow, Miles knew exactly what it meant.

Miles grumbled and turned over under the covers as he laid restlessly in his bed. "I don't need powers like that. I'm good on my own, bro."

Then he switched back to thoughtspeak. I'll agree to host you only on two conditions, okay? I'll host you, feed you if you need it, or whatever. But you play by my rules.

The symbiote wriggled in excitement again.

And! Miles continued, not forever. I don't want no alien slime thing invading my thoughts and memories like that all the time. This planet's got like billions of other organisms and shit that you can latch onto. Okay? We find one you can, uh... achieve symbiosis with, and then you amscray. Got it? 

The symbiote wilted a bit, a literal image of a wilting flower flashing for a second before it goes away. Then, it "smiled".

Okay, Miles. Temporary.

Miles was a bit taken aback at how easily it agreed to his terms. What, you ain't got no other conditions for me? You're a surprisingly friendly alien.

Casper the Friendly Ghost and other assorted cartoon characters pop up behind Miles' eyes. 

Friendly. Friendly creature.

Miles smiled. He understood what it was trying to say perfectly. Boy, was that weird.

Understanding people and emotions really wasn't his strong suit, but it felt like he's already known this alien practically his whole life.

With the deal settled (Miles and the symbiote mentally shook hands on it, even), Miles became the alien goop creature's first ever human host. 

Temporarily, of course. But anyways.

Miles finally drifted off to sleep once the sun was halfway over the skyline, beaming rays of light against his tightly shut curtains. 

Hopefully his uncle wouldn't text him for a sudden job in the morning, that would suck. He's already made up his mind that he would spend a lazy Sunday sleeping in and eating, mostly. So with that idea in mind, he slumbers peacefully. 

Behind Miles' eyes, the symbiote secretly conspires. It's a cerebral creature, so it knows how to filter certain thoughts from their shared mental link.

It thinks long and hard about what it's gathered from Miles' brain, watching his life from behind his eyeballs and feeling pencils, spoons, soaps, the caring hand of a loved one, the weight of heavy metal gauntlets against skin. Telenovelas flit in and out, conversations filled with laughter. Heavy thumping music coming from strange machines in the tall human's abode as metal tools are passed back and forth. 

It takes all of this into account and makes its own decision.

It stretches out like a cat, feeling every single dip of a joint, bump of a rib, knot of a muscle and luxuriates as if it's sunbathing.

Miles is going to be its permanent host, actually.

The symbiote knows very little about the world, especially this strange one, but it knows one thing very well: love.

And the symbiote loves Miles. Loves Rio. Loves this apartment, loves Miles' hormone receptors being flooded with every single stimuli that provokes his brain. It loves Miles' natural chemicals, his adrenaline as he maneuvers his body through the air on bungee cords, his dopamine as he kisses Margo, his serotonin as he scrolls through his social media feed or gets a compliment from his uncle.

Yes... yes this was a fine host indeed. This bond was not going to be temporary for very long, it decides.

It snuggles down into the folds of Miles' brain and rests along with him, counting melatonin like sheep as they float out from his pineal gland.

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Miles wakes up groggily. He lies in his bed for about an hour, regretting his super late-night conversation trying to get to know everything about this weird creature that now inhabited his... brain? Blood vessels? Everything? His body. Yeah...

Eventually he checks his text messages, mostly to see if Aaron sent him anything, but sees a quick morning text from his mother letting him know that she decided to take a quick last-minute shift instead. 

Miles blinked slowly and sleepily, processing the words on his screen. Then, he shut his phone off, rolled over, and slept for another hour or two.

It was well past noon when Miles fully woke again, and he leapt out of bed to get some chores done before his mother got back home again. She didn't say how long the shift would last but he wasn't going to twiddle his thumbs and wait to find out.

After a simple breakfast of some instant oatmeal mixed with protein powder, he turned on his bluetooth speaker to play some music from his phone and got to work.

It was a Sunday, not the usual morning routine of getting stuff done like every week before, but a Sunday nonetheless.

As Miles dusted and swept and organized, fluffing pillows and putting things away, he chatted with the symbiote.

It was kinda nice to have some company while going through the mundane tasks of putting the apartment back into order. He explained what he was doing and why, although he felt that with their mental link already well established, it was kinda pointless. The symbiote already knew everything he knew, and collected every memory he ever had.

But he talked to it anyways.

It was weird, he didn't realize how lonely he was until he had someone to share everything with. Like, truly everything.

Lonely?  The symbiote asked.

Miles spoke aloud since he was alone. "Well... yeah. Like, of course I've got my family and my girlfriend and stuff but... you already know I don't really have, uh, anyone to really share everything with. Like, yeah, I talk to Aaron about a lot of stuff but he doesn't know everything, y'know? My girlfriend doesn't, either. My mom definitely doesn't. It's nice having someone with me all the time like this... knowing stuff. I guess."

Miles wasn't really explaining the exact feeling he always felt when living his life everyday, but that was okay.

The symbiote knew. It knew everything. 

Still, though. It was definitely creepy and also annoying to know that there was a living creature always sitting behind Miles' eyeballs, watching everything he was doing, feeling what he felt.

When he eventually had to go pee, he ordered the symbiote to stop watching.

"I don't know how, but you're gonna have to like... I dunno, just close your damn eyes or something. Do you even have eyes? Nevermind, don't answer that."

Amused by this, the symbiote promised it wouldn't look.

It didn't tell Miles that it was slowly working its own DNA into his host's-- a naturally occurring process neither of them could really stop anyhow-- and that eventually, it couldn't stop "looking" even if it wanted to. Miles and the symbiote were intertwining, becoming one. Whatever he did, it did, too.

Afterwards, Miles also took the time to plaster a poster he kept rolled up in his closet on top of the giant caved-in spot he accidentally made last night, chastising his new "roommate" for not being able to control their combined strengths.

Maybe later he'd stop by a hardware store somewhere, get some spackling to swipe over the holes the nails left, sand it all down and paint it over. Maybe Aaron had some of the things he needed in the garage, actually...

Rio came home to a sparkling apartment later that evening and rejoiced. She stopped by the corner bodega down the street and got Miles a few treats just as consolation for the previous night but was happier when she realized she was also rewarding him for a job well done today.

Miles dug through the plastic bags and found a king-sized Hershey's chocolate bar among other assorted snacks. Nice!

But he tucked it back into the bag regardless. Save that for later, savor it.

They didn't get to have so many treats like this often due to the absolutely cruel inflation hitting New York recently. Best to save these little bits of relief for when the going really got tough, as a little break from their otherwise dark and bleak existence. One could never know when chocolate bars would end up being like $20 in this miserable economy...

The symbiote's curiosity was peaked. Chocolate? Why important?

Miles shook his head as he followed his mom into the kitchen to help her start dinner. Nah, dummy. Chocolates aren't important. It's food in general, the execs up in those expensive-ass buildings figured food was a good way to keep us roaches in line, so they hike the prices up on everything in the supermarkets and restaurants. It's... man, what's your government on your planet like?

The symbiote did a mental shrug. No government. No... culture. Klyntar different.

Yeah, I bet, Miles mused, cutting and peeling green plantains. No government, huh... interesting. What's that like?

He was treated to images of an alien planet filled to the brim with flying creatures, dark, swirling plants, and a mostly dark and cold atmosphere. They were interspersed into his mundane activity of cooking and prep, and then once the food was done both him and Rio carried plates into the living room to catch up on the latest episode of their current favorite telenovela. 

Miles ate, kept up with a dramatic and shocking plot twist playing on the tv, learned about Klyntar history and chatted amicably with his mother all at the same time.

It felt like his brain was truly unlocked and it was just firing on all cylinders! He felt... good. Amazing. His mother was engaged and happy, asking him all about his week and whatever else she might have missed from being exhausted doing doubles all week long.

Seeing her smile, truly happy as they filled themselves up with a hearty meal made something bloom in Miles' chest.

And the symbiote discreetly lapped it up, savoring the sweet taste. Oh yes...

The day was over soon enough, which was kinda disappointing, but Rio kissed Miles on the cheek and beamed at him before heading back to her own room so it was kinda okay, actually. 

Miles got out of the shower and checked his phone again, seeing a missed text from Aaron but swiping the message app closed once he saw it was just a quick check-in from him and not instructions on a last-minute heist or anything. He'd answer that later...

Right now, he was snuggled deeply under the covers and conversing back and forth through the mental link he and his symbiote had now.

That whole spiel you told me earlier was kinda crazy, Miles chuckled to himself. Like, actually. Klyntar looks like a dope ass planet to live in, actually. I mean, it looks kinda scary but... not that different from this planet at night, to be completely honest.

Klyntar, cage. But home, the symbiote confirmed.

Sooo, why're you here then? Like... how'd you get all the way here on planet Earth?

Miles then watched a reel as if he himself were experiencing it, seeing a slimy oozing tendril connect with his body and pull him up, up into some strange object that kinda looked like a mix between a small asteroid and a space pod.

The pod was encased in black ooze, then it quickly crusted over and formed into a real honest-to-god chunk of rock which then took off past the planet's atmosphere soon after. The trip through the galaxy seemed uneventful aside from narrowly-missed comets and other space debris hitting their little makeshift spacecraft.

Then... black. Well, kinda. It was like a television station experiencing technical difficulties, static overtaking a program and distorting the pictures. Then, cut to black. 

Then... a dark warehouse slowly being filled with life.

Miles pursed his lips. Uhhh how come you just passed out right there? A good chunk of your memory's missing there, buddy.

The alien nodded internally. Strange. Disconnect. Can't hear Hive now.

Hive?!  Miles wondered in shock.

Hivemind. All Klyntar connect to Hivemind.

Miles laid there for a good long while before flicking his bedside lamp off and pulling the covers over his shoulders. He thought for a minute.

Hivemind... and you're disconnected completely? So... that means you're a real long ways away from your planet then, homie. Shit... you must feel pretty lonely, huh. Just like me. 

The symbiote seemed to hesitate, taking this "loneliness" that Miles feels sometimes and turning it over in a tendril, pondering it. No, that didn't really feel anything like how the symbiote felt, honestly. 

Not lonely, it told Miles. Then, have you.

Miles scoffed, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Well, he couldn't even if he wanted to.

Yeahhh, sure. For now. You got me for now. Not tryin' to be a dick or anything but you can't forget about the deal, man.

Right, Miles.

Miles yawned, satisfied. He tossed and turned a couple of times before settling on a position and finally starting to fall asleep, mentally poking around in his brain to see if he could "feel" the symbiote so he could give it an awkward pat goodnight.

A single black tendril slithered up his back, but it didn't feel uncomfortable. In a strange way, it... it felt natural, like Miles was born with these tentacles being able to sprout out of anywhere on his body. 

It gave his durag a pat back and Miles smiled.

Chapter Text

In the morning, he texted his girlfriend a good morning message, sent one to his mother as well and wished her an easy shift, then headed off to school. He attended his classes, came home, checked for Aaron's texts and got started on his homework.

The week went by much in this same manner, the usual monotony of his everyday life as usual. Except he had a buddy sitting there in his brain, tingling neurons as it raced down his spine and helped him memorize formulas, giving him nearly photographic memory, chatting with him as he plowed through his English assignment and then his AP Calculus sheets.

Miles didn't want superpowers-- didn't need them-- but also didn't really want to use this weird alien creature as a power crutch, either. It would bond them together way too much, too quickly.

The fact that it knew everything Miles knew, collected every new memory he made still gave him a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know if he and this alien could be separated, but if they could, he didn't want to go craving this thing like a drug once they parted, either.

He learned a long time ago that relying on anyone or anything else but himself was... a mistake. One that he wasn't exactly eager to make anytime soon. 
But he'd be lying if he said it wasn't super cool to have the symbiote around giving him a helping... tentacle? Gross. 

Still.

Miles took a break from his assignment, accepting a video call from his girlfriend and chatting with her about nothing as he got a snack from the kitchen. He remembered his king-sized chocolate bar and fished it out from his own personal basket placed aside just for him.

He made his way back to his room and eventually the conversation dwindled down to comfortable silence as they both talked about their shared class's assignment for that night, swapping answers.

Miles didn't consider it cheating to share what they both came up with for the questions, since it wasn't a test. Just homework.

The call ended shortly after a loud door slamming closed was heard in the background of Margo's call, though. She apologized and blew him a goodnight kiss, promising to go over his house that weekend and have another sleepover.

He kissed her farewell, too, and started unwrapping his chocolate bar as he took a swig from his soda can.

The feeling he experienced from breaking off a piece of the chocolate bar and swallowing it was... indescribable.

Truly, truly indescribable. It was euphoria hitting him so hard, it made him feel kinda light-headed. He giggled out loud, gasping, clutching the desk he sat at to keep himself steady as he basked in the glow of a kind of happiness and relief he hadn't felt in a long, long time. 

It reminded him of bright summer days, the smell of fresh grass in a field, leaves swaying in the breeze. His mother's laughter, the taste of cotton candy, the swooping feeling his stomach got on carnival rides... his father's smile--

"Ohhhmygod  what the hell is this?!" Miles choked out, swallowing the last of his chocolate and coughing.

Phenethylamine, the symbiote swooned like a Victorian lover caught in the arms of the handsomest man at a ball. Phenethylamine!! Good chemical!

Miles scratched his head, then grabbed his phone. He quickly looked up the molecule, misspelling it at first but still being able to find what he was looking for and scanning the Wikipedia page on it.

"Uhhh, this? This chemical's what you like so much? ... Why?"

The symbiote shrugged. Good chemical. Tasty. Klyntar delicacy.

Miles nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. "Huh. Okay. Well, y'want some more?"

The symbiote practically threw an entire rave party, dancing through every single cell in Miles' body as he bit off more of the giant chocolate bar and chewed.

Miles laughed and laughed, basking in the euphoria he was experiencing while simply sitting there eating a plain old bar of chocolate, feeling a sort of feedback loop as he ate and knew exactly what the symbiote was feeling, who then in turn funneled that feeling right back through his brain.

It was the weirdest but most intoxicating feeling Miles has ever experienced in his entire life. Was eating chocolate going to feel like this all the time? Because if so, forget superpowers.

If eating chocolate anything made him feel like this all the time, he'd happily keep the alien along for a permanent joyride.

Wait, no... no, god, what was he thinking? That was basically like forfeiting his autonomy, pretty much the only thing he had in this lonely, miserable world.

Nevermind, forget it. Still, this feeling was nice. He enjoyed it while it lasted.

He sat there, finished up the last piece of chocolate and clapped his hands off of any crumbs on his fingers.

Yeah, it was nice that chocolate could make him feel like what he imagined tripping on shrooms felt like, a nice little side effect. Still not really fully convincing him he needs to keep this creature inside of him forever or anything.

Rio eventually texts him that it would be a late night shift at the hospital and that there were leftovers to reheat in the fridge, so Miles moved to stand up, put his homework away and start his usual nighttime routine.

Then, another text buzzed on his desk, but when he lifted it to check if his mother had anything else to add, he saw Aaron's name instead.

It read, You home cuz? Not too late for work is it?

Miles grinned, knowing it was finally go-time on Prowler business again. Finally!

He sent back: never. omw.

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He meets up with Aaron at some location sent to him via their encrypted messaging app they coded together years ago.

Miles was suited up as usual, vaulting over rooftops and scaling the sides of buildings, swinging whenever he could.

The night was dark and quiet, almost black, but the drones were out in full force with their awful blinking lights just like any other night.

Fires raged a couple blocks down away from their location.

It was some kind of exfiltration mission, from what Miles could gather out of the quick debriefing he received via text. There was a specific hard drive located in some office building nestled among other factories near the Brooklyn Bridge.

The water could be heard lapping up against the embankment nearby, and in the distance, the bridge loomed up into the night sky forebodingly.

Seemed to be a simple enough mission, nothing they haven't handled before.

Miles figured he'd ask what was on the hard drive later on, but sometimes even Aaron didn't know what he was getting them both into. His uncle usually concerned himself with the plans and safety nets when it came to exfiltration missions, not whatever it is that they were hired to steal.

In the end, they were both pointed towards the rewards like a compass pointing true north. Whatever information or tech they managed to get their hands on was none of their business as long as they were paid.

Miles reached the top of the building and crouched down in the shadows, watching a drone hover by. Eventually, an Aaron-shaped shadow detached itself from a far wall near the rooftop entrance, stalking its way over to Miles and hiding in the shadows with him.

Aaron was also suited up in his usual gear, talking low and quickly.

"Security in this place is a vice, yo," he whispers. "Round-the-clock cameras 'cause they've got a couple security rooms manned 24/7."

"Well, shit," Miles breaths, annoyed. "So... down the side into the windows and take 'em out then, huh?"

The deep, dark shadows and mask hid Aaron's face, but Miles could still hear the smile in his voice past his voice changer. "Yep. Sorry, kid. We're both scaling separately tonight. Try not to get yourself killed."

Miles huffed a laugh, his own mask distorting the sound. "I'm not a l'il kid anymore, unc. Geez. I got this!"

Miles felt his uncle's hand on his shoulder. "Good. Let's go."

They moved quickly, gracefully.

They had both uploaded blueprints and maps into their masks, and Miles displayed his own right up on his mask to overlay it over his view. Like this, he could tell which floor he was on from the outside.

He hooked his bungee rope tightly and securely on the lip of the roof, making sure his bombs were right where he usually kept them, and then threw himself over the side.

Shit! Wrong move.

He forgot to check for any wayward drones before doing so, and then a blinking red beam fixed itself onto him, instantaneously alerting the security in the building they were currently trying to rob.

"Damnit, Miles!" Aaron growled into their private comms. He was already halfway down to the security room's windows on one side of the building, boots fixed firmly onto the brick wall.

Miles panicked without meaning to, and then he was getting shot at by the drone.

Several other drones quickly whizzed to their current location, acting as backup for this lone one chasing Miles down as he plummeted.

He released the rope as quickly as he could with his claws, freefalling down the side and hoping against hope itself that he could get another rope out in time to catch him from splattering down onto the concrete below.

He got a rope out against the side of the neighboring building, feeling it attach itself firmly, and then he twisted his body mid-air, trying to use his anti-gravity sneakers to gain some leverage so he could push himself off into the direction he wanted to go.

But he fell too far, his sneakers unable to touch the brick surface of the wall. He was swinging down, down, down way too quickly to catch himself with nothing but his own bungee cord.

His brain was working into overdrive trying to figure a way to fall so that as little of his bones would break as possible, all while trying to dodge the hail of bullets he fell under.

Then, an explosion of pain crashed into his left leg once it connected to concrete, rippling through his body in kaleidoscope-bright shards. Miles yelped, choking on his own saliva.

But he couldn't stop now.

The drones were still gaining on him, buzzing threateningly overhead, searching for him with red beams scanning the ground. He barely heard what Aaron was asking in his ear right now.

He quickly unclipped his now-useless rope and hauled himself up with both arms, swallowing back bile as he hobbled his way across the alleyway between the two buildings.

He found a truck, but it was stationed behind a chain link fence. He threw himself up against it, clumsily clawing his way up the side of it.

Once on top, he hoisted his broken leg over and threw his body down, landing on his good leg. It still hurt like a bitch to feel the impact jostle his broken one, though.

Without meaning to, he cried out and immediately scolded himself for it. 

Aaron must have heard it over the comms, because his voice kicked up an octave as he yelled for a status update into Miles' ear once again.

Damnit, damnit not now, Aaron! Miles wanted to scream back, his whole body alight with panic and anger and pain. He knew he couldn't make any noise with these damn drones right behind him!

He dove under the truck, rolling to cling back up into the undercarriage and pressing himself close to the metal. He had to hold his bad leg up this entire time, gritting his teeth as the broken bones grinded into each other as he did so.

God, god... this fucking  pain, it was the worst Miles has experienced in his life yet.

It felt like his tibia was shattered into a million pieces, and his knee wasn't faring any better, either.

He felt blood soaking into his pants and socks, warmth radiating out from his injury. Sweat dripped from his forehead back into his hairline at this angle.

But he couldn't move, he was too scared to even breathe. He lowered the brightness on his mask and held on for dear life, mind going blank with terror once he heard the drones whirring by listlessly, this way and that, searching. 

He prayed to whichever god was out there right now, if there even was one at all.

Then suddenly... his prayers were answered.

His bones suddenly started mending themselves, as if some smooth, slick bandage wound its way in between them, knitting them together. Damaged muscle and joints repaired themselves instantaneously, and the pain melted away shortly after.

Miles let out a breath in total shock, completely blown away.

Aaron was still chattering away in his comms, and since the pain wasn't dulling Miles' other senses anymore, his voice slowly sharpened back into focus.

"--iles. Miles. Come on, Miles, talk to me! You okay? If you can't talk, double tap that mask of yours on the side, ping me. Lemme know you're alive, at least. Miles!"

His uncle was speaking in a harsh whisper, which meant he was in a secure location at the very least. But it wasn't a safe location, not while these drones and security inside the building were on high alert for any intruders.

After a few seconds of hesitation, watching for any nearby drones hovering just a little too close to the truck, Miles eventually detached one claw off the undercarriage and used his legs to bear the majority of his weight as he double tapped his mask right around his temple, sending that ping on over to his uncle. 

Aaron sighed in relief. "God. Okay. Okay, hold on. I'm heading over to you right now, don't move. I gotta get out of this building right now, do not move. Do. Not. Move."

Oh no no no no no, not his location! Shit. That was probably even more dangerous than Miles heading back over to him.

He double tapped his mask again and then disconnected his linked tracking device. He wouldn't be able to locate Aaron, sure... but Aaron wouldn't be able to find him either.

It seemed like his uncle got the hint, at least, because he sighed again on the other line.

"Okay, okay fine. Get to a secure location right now and then hit me up again when you can. Not a moment sooner. Forget the mission-- shit."

A few tense seconds passed, and from the background of Aaron's comms he could hear heavy boots thudding as they marched right past him.

"... Forget the mission. Abort." Aaron spoke again once the coast was clear. "Find a safe place."

Aye, aye captain, Miles thought, and held his breath again as the drones did one more thorough sweep of the area before whirring away, leaving nothing but the sounds of the wind and the riverside right over the back walls of this area.

Miles wasn't dumb, though. This wasn't his first rodeo.

He waited a couple more minutes, making sure to really check for drones this time before unlatching himself from the bottom of the truck and carefully crawling out. 

Nothing around. His head was on a swivel as he hugged the side of the building, using his mask to scan literally anything that moved. He silently snuck his way to the other side, away from the alleyway he was in, putting more distance between him and their targeted building.

He shot a rope over to the side of a building across the street, making sure no drones would intercept his path, and zip-lined over using the anti-gravity tech on his gloves.

Then he lied in wait, re-engaging his tracking again and opening up a line in his comms to Aaron. 

"Made it," he said confidently, the grin on his face apparent in his voice. "I'll send you my location right now if you want."

He was pinged once, so that meant Aaron was also sneaking around silently, unable to speak at the moment. Fine. He was still alive, so Miles patiently waited in the shadows for him and sent his location anyhow. 

Once they reunited after an agonizing hour-and-a-half wait, Aaron practically lifted Miles up by the shoulders and shook him like a doll.

The drones were still around, though, so he said nothing.

He just squeezed Miles' shoulders and led the both of them down the street, rounding several corners as they hugged the buildings they were sneaking around, all the way back to Aaron's motorcycle.

Once safe, Aaron unveiled his hidden ride, hopping on. Miles threw himself on, too, and they rode through the city late at night, roaring past several traffic lights. No one bothered to pay attention to those anymore anyways.

They reached a location near Aaron's apartment where he cut a deal with a neighbor to use an underground garage for a fee and a couple favors every now and then. It was their backup plan in case they suspected they were ever being followed from a mission.

One can never be too careful in this city after all...

They parked, hopped off, started methodically shedding gear and pieces of their suits. 

Miles tucked his tall collar into his jacket and zipped it up to conceal his Prowler insignia. Aaron pulled his cape off and bundled it up, shoving it into his motorcycle helmet in the compartment at the front. Tucked deeper inside was his backup trench coat and backpack that he fished out. Miles pulled his claws off, handing them to his uncle to stash in the bag.

They both pulled off and deactivated masks, making their way to the stairs that led outside. If they weren't caught by drones again, they'd be able to make a clean getaway and not have to worry about making up any excuses as to why they were both outside at night way past the state-mandated curfew.

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"So. You wanna tell me what the hell that was all about back there?" Aaron finally confronted Miles once they were back in the safety of his apartment.

He sounded angry, but... not disappointed. Okay. Miles might be able to work with that.

"I... I mean, it was just one stupid little mistake, I forgot about the drones when I pulled the ma--"

"Not that," Aaron snapped. He wrenched open the fridge and grabbed a couple of water bottles, handing one to his nephew. He ran his hand under the cold water of his kitchen sink, wiping at his face and neck. "I'm talkin' about that-- that goddamn scream I heard in my ears, man. The screams."

Miles gaped at his uncle for a second, before shaking his head. "W-wait, we didn't compromise the mission? At all? Did you get the hard drive, then?"

Aaron spreads his arms open in a blatant show of wonder and confusion. "The hard drive?!  You yelled like you were bein' speared open by bullets and you're talkin' about the hard drive?"

Miles sneered. "Yes. Isn't that the entire reason why we were out there in the first place? What'd I almost die for, then?"

"You are the most infuriating--" Aaron runs his hands over his scalp and blows out a breath, turning around and pacing the floor. "Unbelievable, unbelievable. Yeah I got the hard drive, in case you were wondering. I got it..." Then he mumbled something under his breath about this fucking kid, man, gonna give me even more grey hairs.

"So then, what. I don't get it. We completed the mission didn't we? What're you so mad for? We did the whole-- I-I mean it was mostly you, and I'm sorry for fucking up accidentally but...?"

Aaron rounded on Miles suddenly, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Look me in the eye, right now."

Miles straightened his spine and did as he was told.

"... I-If you... if something happened to you, you gotta tell me now. I am not sending you back home to your mama until you tell me every detail of what happened out there when I heard you screaming."

Miles' mouth opened, and then closed. He didn't know what to say, he had never seen his cool uncle so ruffled before.

This was weird, and kinda scary.

Aaron had a desperate look in his eyes right now that Miles wanted to get away from. He pulled away, pushing Aaron's hands away from him.

He couldn't really meet his eyes when Aaron looked like this.

"N-nothin' happened. Nothing. I... I fell. But I just ended up with a scrape, okay?"

"A scrape," Aaron repeated.

"I'm fine," Miles replied.

Aaron threw his hands up, taking off his coat. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. That's the only thing you know how to say, huh?"

Miles bristled, clenching his fists, the plastic of the water bottle crunching in one hand. "Yeah, I do. Don't believe me? You wanna give me a full body check right now? Be my guest."

"Did you get shot?"

"No."

"A scrape from a fall like that... Miles, that building was seven stories tall,"

"Guess I'm just built different, then."

"Yeah, you got jokes. You got jokes, huh. My heart stopped, when I heard you on the comms, Miles. Did you know that?"

Miles' upper lip curled. "I'm fine. I'm alive. God, can you just stop nagging me for once?"

"Why'd you scream?"

The bottle exploded in Miles' fist, and Aaron eyed it warily as it spilled all over the floor.

"Because," Miles said through clenched teeth, "because I fell. And then I was scared when I saw the drone followin' me to the other side when I escaped. Okay? I didn't break anything. I landed on my claws."

Sensing something much more tense than just a typical argument brewing in the air, Aaron stared long and hard at his nephew, and for a long while neither of them said anything.

Miles was drawn tight like the string of a bow, still clutching the plastic of the destroyed water bottle as if he didn't even realize he clenched it so hard it blew up right by his side.

Then, slowly, Aaron backed up a bit. "... Fine," he says, cool and unfeeling mask slipping right back onto his face again. "Clean that up."

"Clean...?" Miles started, and then realized the bottle in his hand again.

He looked down and seemed genuinely surprised at the plastic dripping water in his hand. He stepped away from the puddle and tossed it into the trash, stomping off to fetch the mop.

He seethed a bit as he mopped up the water.

Aaron had disappeared somewhere, probably making sure the hard drive was secure.

Angry? Why, Miles?

Miles huffed out a breath. Almost forgot about his roommate in his head amidst all the excitement.

Man, shuddup. I'll talk to you when we get home.

The symbiote seemed a bit insulted, but quieted down anyways and sank right back into Miles' cells.

Miles finished up, checked his phone and untucked his collar from his jacket. He grabbed Aaron's backpack, emptied it, and slipped his gloves on. No need for goodbyes then, he guessed. Mess was clean and the payload was as good as secured, so.

He leaped out of the window without so much as a glance backwards.

Chapter Text

When he got back home, Rio was already there in the dining room going over discharge papers. He undressed as he always did hundreds of times before, plucking the node from the back of his head and popping it into his pencil case.

When he emerged from his room, she looked up.

"Miles? Mi amor, donde estabas?  You were not in that room when I checked less than an hour ago..."

Miles blew out a breath and feigned nonchalance. "Uh, y'know. I did sneak out... but it was to see Margo. Her parents were fighting pretty bad tonight so-- I know, I know. But she was cryin' and stuff, so..."

Miles felt a bit scummy using his girlfriend and her domestic problems as an excuse, but what was he supposed to say? That he went off to some sketchy building somewhere near the Brooklyn Bridge and almost died from bullets and a broken leg? Yeah, as if that was ever likely.

Rio chewed on her cheek, and they both knew Miles was lying in that moment. But Rio has tried to push Miles to open up to her for what seemed like an eternity at this point. He unfortunately happened to inherit his father's stubbornness, though. His will was iron-clad once he decided on something... and it seemed like Miles was dead set on never uttering a single word to her about anything, ever.

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "Okay. Miles. You know there's the new curfew..."

"Yeah, yeah, ma, I know. Forreal, I do. But I didn't get caught 'cause I snuck around the shadows, and I took a shortcut through an alleyway, so."

"And you're okay? Really?"

Miles felt as if he was missing something behind those words, the real meaning of her question. But he shrugged anyways, shoving his hands into his pajama pants pockets. "Yeah, yeah. I'm cool."

Rio nodded then, returning to her work. "Dinner's in the microwave, then. And you know tonight is a school night, mijo. Look at the time!"

Miles dipped his head, biting back a smile. "Yes, mami! Thanks, voy directamente pa' la cama después de esto, okay?"

Rio hummed in response.

Miles carried his steaming bowl over to the couch, where he scrolled mindlessly through social media for a little while as he ate. Then he gave his mother a kiss goodnight and went straight back into his room.

Once he was under his sheets, he laid on his side, slowly reaching down to clutch onto his leg.

The very same leg that not even two hours ago was fractured probably beyond repair, shattered to pieces... he prodded and kneaded the skin and hairs against his bone and muscle, and found not even a single bump of a scar anywhere.

He let out a breath.

So... he started hesitantly, mentally knocking on the door of his brain and silently asking to be let in.

The symbiote slowly opens the "door", giving Miles a wary once-over before stepping back to let him in.

Once "inside", Miles scuffs the metaphorical floor of his inner mind with his metaphorical sneakers shyly.

Sorry for snappin' at you earlier. I, uh... it was kind of a heated moment back there, to be honest.

Cortisol level high. The symbiote responded. Images of worry, sadness, and hesitation flitted through Miles' brain like fast little pieces of paper scattering and swirling in the wind, here one second but gone the next.

Yeaaah. That happens. It was pretty scary, what we did back there. Like. At the office building. And Aaron was all up on me out of nowhere, just like buggin' out afterwards! I dunno what that was all about, since we got out just fine. I dunno.

Concern. The symbiote provided feelings of paternal care, a baby being held in big strong arms.

Aaron's deep voice rumbling through little Miles' chest as he got lifted up to sit on his uncle's shoulders, feeling a million feet tall and on top of the world... they're both laughing--

Miles waved all of that away. I dunno about all that, but anyways-- we got the mission done regardless. And uh... and I didn't really thank you for healing me up so fast out of nowhere.

The symbiote curled up like a cat. It waited.

In the real world, Miles crossed his arms over his stomach after turning over onto his back.

S-so, he continued, that was super cool of you, man. Thanks.

The symbiote grinned. Welcome, Miles.

It's your welcome. Anyways. Uhhhh...

They both "looked" at each other.

The symbiote kept grinning.

Miles sighed and plowed forward. Soooo... I was thinking. I was thinking about those things you said earlier. When we, uh, first "met". About superpowers and stuff, abilities that'll make me better. Faster. That healing was pretty sick, that could really come in handy in the future, honestly.

The symbiote flashed images of Miles' favorite comic heroes, doing dastardly stunts and achieving near-impossible feats of heroism.

Miles licked his lips. Yep. Yeah, exactly that. All of that, he thought hungrily.

Listen, you're not a bad roommate exactly, but. If you do wanna stick around and use my body as a house forever, I'm gonna need to know my end of the deal, ya feel me? I have to have a pretty good cut of a deal for someone else to be sharing my skin and bones.

Miles then felt himself stand up more than he actually willed himself into doing it. The covers slid off of him as he felt his body being puppeteered for a second, and panic bubbled up into his chest for a moment before he realized what was happening.

While he slowly stood up, black tendrils materialized out of his skin, wrapping themselves around his pajamas and somehow replacing the material. Before long, he was covered head-to-toe, a soft mask oozing itself over his face and closing. He felt his cells shifting, moving, muscles sliding over each other, his vision sharpening even more in the darkness of his room.

There, in the middle of his room, stood the Prowler. But... not the Prowler.

This  Prowler was slightly taller, more muscular, and hungry. Very hungry.

Miles opened his jaw like a snake, unhinging the cartilage and feeling the air slip past his sharp teeth. He had rows and rows of them, like a crocodile. His signature collar had teeth, his claws were organic and razor-sharp.

He felt like a powerful predator, at the top of the food chain in the merciless jungle that was the Sinister Six's Brooklyn.

The rest of his outfit kicked so much ass, and to top it all off, when he looked down at his sneakers, he realized he was wearing custom Air Jordans. 10 Venom. The very same ones Miles has had in his wishlist for a hot minute now. The shoes had a purple and black colorway instead of its usual green, which Miles thought was a major improvement.

This was mind-blowingly sick!

Venom. Hmm... that's a pretty good name, actually. Miles flexed an arm, clenching and unclenching his sharp claws, admiring himself and his new outfit.

"This is... this is nuts..." he breathed, growling slightly. His voice was deeper, rougher, but it wasn't anything like the mechanic overlay his own Prowler mask gave his voice. This was guttural, natural. Nothing like Miles had ever heard before.

He gasped when he saw something writhe out of the corner of his eye, and reached a claw up to touch his braids... that were now not braids anymore, but two snake-like appendages with teeth.

Images of the Giger-inspired monster from Alien came to mind, and instead of being disturbed by the idea, Miles found he actually loved it. His hair being turned into two mini-weapons right there on his head? This night could literally not get any more awesome.

Feeling inspired by this brand new makeover, he quickly moves over to his bedroom window and opens it.

"So," Miles whispers, "whaddya think of the name 'Venom' for yourself? You're sticking around, right? I have to call you something eventually."

The symbiote-- Venom-- collected that name up and seemed pleased as it weighed it. Good name. Strong. Deadly.

Miles leered at the night sky, watching drones hover about mechanically against the moon's light.

"Perfect," he hissed, running a very, very long tongue over his hundreds of sharp teeth. "Exactly what we can be, if we train hard enough."

Yesssss, Venom lovingly caresses the creases of Miles' brain, running itself over his muscles and curling over his bones.

"Let's roll."

It was overall a shitty night turned incredible thanks to Miles' new best friend. He spent countless hours whipping around the night air, vaulting like an olympic gymnast and moving at mind-numbing speeds.

He parkoured over buildings as if he was floating over them, and descended upon flying drones like a hawk swooping in for the kill.

He crushed and bashed dozens of the hated things, scattering bits of metal and plastic over the streets like confetti.

Some curtains rustled in the windows of buildings nearby whenever he appeared, curious about the ruckus he was making. Faces peered out of dark or dim windows, looking at him in wonder as he made quick work out of the government's authoritarian means of keeping citizens in line.

Miles preened, flipping through the air, showing off.

He was on fire, energy coursing through his veins and strength coursing through his muscles of the likes that no one has ever seen before.

He was like a snake, striking decisively and fast.

But eventually, the sun was starting to rise and Miles looked up at the sky as it lightened.

"Shit," he lamented, while doing a quick celebratory hand-stand on a roof tank somewhere near downtown Brooklyn. "School's starting in like... a couple hours. Damnit. But I'm not tired at all!  That's crazy, yo."

Energy... energy plenty, Venom assured him. Need some more fuel. More food.

"Fuel? Wait, you mean you can just keep me goin' like this forever if I just feed you?"

Venom nodded internally.

"Well shiiiit, that's all you really needed to say! What's on the menu?"

Phenethylamine, Venom growled hungrily, and Miles felt his kidneys and lungs vibrate slightly from the sheer desire his symbiote exhibited.

Miles laughed, launching himself into the air and shooting a goopy line of rope straight out of his wrist. "Say less!"

Miles strutted into Visions a couple hours later, one of the first students in the hallways that very morning. He swaggered confidently over to his first class, not bothering to remove his headphones until he reached the room. 

He greeted his girlfriend who walked in minutes later with a sudden dip and kiss, practically carrying her as he set her down in her seat.

"W-whoa there, Casanova! Hahaha, whoa what's-- ahem, what's up with you today?" Margo giggled, gazing up at her boyfriend with a quirked brow.

Miles shrugged, throwing his backpack onto his desk and sitting back with all of the confidence in the world. "Guess I just woke up in a good mood today, that's all!"

Margo placed her chin in her hand. "A good mood doesn't usually make you so strong that you're salsa-dipping me at 7 in the morning,"

Miles scoffed. "You callin' me weak?"

Margo laughed. "No, not weak. Just... you're a zombie in the mornings, usually. That's all."

"Maybe a guy just wants to turn over a new leaf, y'ever thought of that? Maybe I'm... maybe I'm just sick of being sad and tired all the time for once. Maybe things'll be different now...?"

Margo sobers up and leans back, a fond look on her face. "Well... that's great! That's great, Miles. I'm happy for you, then."

They smile at each other and then the bell rings. Everyone finishes filing into the room, and the teacher closes the door to start the lesson of the day.

Miles raises his hand the most in the class, knocking every single question out of the ballpark and plowing through his assignment for the day like a pro. Even Margo has to express how impressed she is. 

This fuckin' rules, Miles tells his best friend as he turns in his assignment and packs up to leave once the bell finally rings again.

He escorts his girlfriend out into the hallways and takes her right over to her next class with an arm over her shoulders. They laugh and chatter and joke around, and Margo genuinely looks the happiest she's been around Miles in a long while. 

Venom dances across Miles' lymph nodes and muscles and fat, celebrating as it scoops up molecule after molecule of serotonin and dopamine and swirling them around like a fine wine, drinking it all up. Yes, yes, yes. Does "fuckin' rules", Miles! 

Miles is all smiles the entire day. He even smiles at some of his fellow classmates, earning their attention for what seems to be like the first time in his life since he first stepped into these halls a year and a half ago. Teachers comment on how engaged and attentive he is, and all of his jokes and quips he shares in classes seem to be a hit. 

Oh yeah. If this was what having a symbiote was like, then fuck it. They were bonded for life.

Venom and Miles secretly fist-bumped when he ducked into the bathroom shortly before lunch, celebrating the great changes they were both experiencing, both inwards and out. 

The day was over before long, and Miles lowkey found himself balking at the clock during his last period. He wanted this day to last forever. He wanted this feeling to last forever. He could keep going forever, honestly. 

But all good things must come to an end eventually. Once the bell rang, he headed out and waited by the usual spot near the entrance for his girlfriend, sending her a quick text to let her know he was there. 

They met up and took the train home as usual. 

Margo leaned on Miles as they sat side-by-side. The noisy train was rhythmically rumbling, screeching, and speeding along like it always did, snapshots of cityscapes and neighborhoods flying by as they were framed by dirty and scratched up windows; the car they sat in was pleasantly empty for the day aside from the usual commuters that sat a ways away from the young couple. Margo and Miles both had their noses to their phone screens for a bit, quietly trading memes and funny anecdotes.

Then, Margo leaned on Miles' shoulder."Y'knowww, I'm heading to your house tomorrow night and I got me a new game for my Switch. You want me to bring it over so you can try it, too?" 

Miles smirked. "You're letting me play a game before you finish it? Wow." 

"What can I say... I've been inspired  lately," she smiles coyly. 

"... Okay, I'll bite. Inspired?" 

"Yeah, inspired to turn over a new leaf," she finishes with a self-satisfied nod. 

Miles laughs, shoulders shaking. "I hate you sometimes, I do." 

Margo giggles back, stealing a hand from Miles and intertwining their fingers together. "But you love me, actually. I think you mean to say you love me." 

Miles places a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Yeah, you're right actually," he agrees easily. "I really do..."

--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--

Days go by in this manner.

Miles eventually has to resort to robbing supermarkets and local bodegas of their precious chocolates in order to keep a greedy, ever-hungry Venom satiated.

Every single taste of chocolate is met with demands for more, until Miles doesn't even get to eat the damn things anymore. Whenever he gets his claws on any chocolate bars, big black tentacles shoot out from wherever they please to swipe up the sweets and absorb them back into the host body.

Aside from that... kind of minor annoyance, though, Venom more than makes up for its greed by fueling Miles through late-night study sessions and workout routines. He still gets his assignments done on time and correctly, bringing home plenty of A's that always earn him a smile and a high-five from his mom.

He keeps the house clean, impresses his girlfriend with his newfound confidence and elite gaming skills, impresses his teachers.

He trains hard in his room and in alleyways next to his spray paint cans, doing countless push-ups and ab crunches whenever he can, getting stronger.

He experiments with the shape-shifting aspect of his new powers, abusing Venom's ability to make any article of clothing or pair of sneakers magically appear on his body. This earns him many compliments from students and family members alike, more fuel for the symbiote.

He... kind of avoids Aaron. Kind of.

Okay, he's not avoiding his uncle, per se. That last argument they had was weird and Aaron went ahead and apologized (in his own way) via texts anyways, so they were kind of cool?

But then he went ahead and left him out of a couple smaller jobs this past week, so Miles is still pretty mad.

So if anything, they were both sort of avoiding each other.

Still... Miles' fists missed the feeling of his knuckles bashing the giant punching bag that hung in his uncle's apartment, and he also really wanted to get a head start on modifying those gloves of his again, install shock-absorbing tech he formulated during history class a couple of days ago.

Sure, he didn't really need the tech since he had his own natural claws that formed over his skin at any given moment. Still no excuse to let his tech go outdated, no excuse to lean on his symbiote buddy too much, right?

Miles' leg jiggled-- a nervous habit he's always had since he could remember-- as he sat on his living room couch one evening with his phone in hand. He was writing, erasing, then writing a text to Aaron over and over again. The symbiote sat near Miles' femur, "watching" his muscles move rhythmically for a little while.

Nervous? Anxious? It asked curiously. Venom was pretty smart, but sometimes some weird intricate social stuff would trip it up and then Miles would usually take the time to explain them from his point of view. Right now, it was confused as to why Miles' trusted associate who he worked with often was making its host so nervous. It was just a text, right?

Miles sighed deeply. "Uhh, yeah. I mean... I dunno. He didn't really explain why he just flipped out on me last time so I don't even know if he's gonna be... normal. When I go visit him. But most of my tools are over at his place so I mean--"

Go anyways, Venom grinned mischievously.

Miles laughed, leaning back into the cushions. "That's an invasion of his privacy, V. That's weird. He'd be pissed if I just showed up without lettin' him know."

Then send text.

Miles rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm-- yep, I'm getting to that, buddy. Thanks."

A question mark floated up in Miles' brain when he wrote out another sentence and then erased it. He groaned, frustrated.

"Stop judgin' me, V. I can feel you judging me right now."

Send text, Venom urged again, confused. What gives, was Aaron himself going to leap out of the shadows and eat his nephew alive if he sent a badly-worded message or something?

Miles understood the confusion. "It's just that... I've never had a fight with him like this, that lasted this long. He straight up told me about some jobs he took before, without me. Like? What the hell, bro. Maybe... maybe...? No. No..."

Venom saw a small bubble of a thought form in the dark corners of Miles' brain, an insecure one.

"Does he... does he think he doesn't need me anymore, since I screwed up so colossally the last time...?" Miles asked this mostly to himself, a dark but quiet idea springing up and taking form in his mind the more that he thought about it. He tapped his fingertips on his chin, pondering.

Prove strength. Miles strong!  Venom egged him on, giving Miles metaphorical pushes towards his phone again.

Angry at this possibility, Miles found renewed confidence to write out a new text, keeping the message short and to the point.

He hit send, and then leaned back on the couch again to wait patiently, leg bouncing all the while.

hey you home? we need to talk

A few minutes pass before Miles' phone buzzes with a reply.

There in 10. We can link up soon

Miles nods to himself, standing up. "Guess we'll be there in 10, too, then. Or at least nearby, I can't just sit here today and do nothin', honestly. I need to get some energy out."

Together, Miles and Venom swung through the cool night air in the apartment's direction, flying through the air like a black blur. They wrecked a couple more drones on the way, since they had all the time in the world.

Miles ended up balancing on the ledge of a roof like a gargoyle, using his dark suit to disguise himself amongst the shadows. He perched silently, watching Aaron's street below, listening out for any motorcycle engines revving.

One of the perks of having a symbiote for a "roommate" also meant enhanced senses as well as enhanced strength and speed, and Miles found it to be equally as annoying as it was helpful.

Sounds were sharper, he could see in the dark like a cat, and his senses of smell and touch were also boosted by a lot.

It took him some time to finally get used to it once he tapped into Venom's endless power supply. It meant he was listening to music on a lower volume and eating less seasoned food these days, but those were the breaks, he guessed.

It would be worth it when it definitely came in handy to be able to sense when a drone was nearby, or whenever he needed to track something else down, so the sacrifices were dealt with regardless.

For example... he tuned in to a particular rumbling vibration quickly making its way down the streets a few blocks away, and before long, his own uncle's motorcycle rounded a corner and sped past a couple of cars as it headed to the apartment building he resided in.

Miles cocked his head to one side. He watched Aaron like a hawk as he ducked into an alleyway around the back and parked his motorcycle by the chain link fence, where he always did whenever he was out and about as a civvie.

Miles then flew across rooftops until he was on top of his uncle's own building and quietly waited there.

His phone buzzed from somewhere inside of his symbiotic suit, but he didn't even need to check it to see what the message said.

Aaron feels more than he hears the doors to the building's ancient elevator shudder open, and he automatically steps out just as he did millions of times before.

But what happens as he gets close to his own apartment door is something that has never happened before.

It swings open, and standing right there in the flesh is his own nephew wearing... well, wearing a suit, sure... but the usual purples he always sported were nowhere to be found.

Aaron freezes, giving Miles a good once-over in the hallway before glancing over his shoulder and then making his way inside.

"You good, cuz? How'd you make it into my place before me?" Aaron asked, voice low.

His eyes were sweeping back and forth throughout his apartment, watching for any signs of intruders or any danger. This was unusual, and not like Miles to just show up out of nowhere uninvited. Sure, he sent a heads-up text, but...

Miles shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to a stool by his workbench. "You were takin' too long, so I let myself in through the window. Hope you don't mind."

Aaron huffs out a laugh, shrugging his coat off. "Right, takin' too long... what's the rush anyways? I don't have a job for you tonight, do I?"

Miles said nothing, just sitting there with a casual elbow on his table, leaning back and staring.

Come to think of it... Aaron focuses on his nephew again now that there didn't seem to be any immediate danger.

He was suited up head-to-toe, wearing a mask he'd never seen before. The whites of the eyes were bigger and reached up to the top, almost overlapping Miles' braids on his head, the purple around the eyes less prominent.

(Miles had opted to tone down the wilder aspects of his new 'fit since he knew his uncle would go ballistic at seeing teeth on his collar and a giant gaping maw filled with more of those same jagged teeth. He currently slimmed his look down to something more... ordinary-looking, hiding his monstrous mouth and hair-snakes.)

Miles' claws were just as pitch black as the rest of his outfit, his Prowler insignia taking on a more jagged look, a bright white on his chest instead of the bright purple he took the liberty of spray painting on before.

His silhouette was less boxy and utilitarian, with small white accents breaking up the monotony of all the black. His collar was sharper, and on his feet were...

Aaron paused. "Ayo, are those... are those the 10 Venoms?"

Miles inclined his head, his voice much deeper and more guttural than Aaron remembered it sounding, even considering the quality of the old voice changer.

"Yeah."

"In purple?" Aaron squinted.

"Customs. Venom purple." Miles confirmed.

Aaron whistled low, clearly impressed. "Well, shit. With what money, then? I don't remember you gettin' any payouts lately," he laughed, dumping his bag on his own workbench across from Miles'.

"Yeah, about that," Miles growled, facing Aaron as he took his position by his own table, his uncle leaning on the edge and crossing his arms over his chest. "You sure are leaving me out of one too many jobs lately, aren't you?"

"Miles, it's just been two little jobs this past week and a half, alright?"

"Two too many," he snapped, challenging Aaron. His giant white eyes narrowed.

Aaron's entire body language changed upon realizing this was most likely going to devolve into yet another argument.

He sighed, defeated, hanging his head before looking up again. "Miles. I don't wanna argue with you tonight--"

"Me neither." Miles stands up, squaring his shoulders. Aaron realizes belatedly that his shoulders were wider, the padding in his new jacket giving him a fuller, more muscular look. "I'm in for the next job, don't care how small it is. Even if we're in and out, we can do it faster with me."

Aaron chews on his cheek for a second, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Miles," he manages evenly, "You gettin' a cool new 'fit isn't gonna convince me that this is gonna keep you out of danger. I'm not leaving you out of jobs because I hate you, bro. I don't want anything happening to you like last time, okay? I'm doing it to keep you safe until--"

"Until when?" Miles bites back, and it sounds a bit harsher than he intended it to. "Until I graduate high school? We need the money now."

"Ah. So it's about the money, then. Got it." Aaron nods, sniffing. "You could text me that you need help payin' for stuff every once in a while, you know. Won't kill you to ask for help sometimes."

Miles thanks the heavens above that he decided to wear his mask when confronting his uncle, because he's sure his expression underneath was downright murderous.

"I don't need help. I need work. Don't make me take it from you."

They stare at each other for a few tense seconds before Aaron scoffs, and then laughs incredulously. "Miles. Jesus. What the hell's gotten into you? You're acting fuckin' terribly lately."

"Am I?" Miles shoots back. "Mom's struggling with the bills at home and I'm acting terrible. Sure."

Aaron deflates a bit. "N-now, that's... c'mon, I'm not-- I didn't mean to--"

Miles then turns abruptly, marching over to the windows. "Remember what I said. Next job, I'm on. Don't worry about takin' care of me, I got it handled."

Aaron looks on, slightly dismayed and mostly annoyed. "... Yeah, sure thing, boss. Christ..."

He doesn't get another word in because Miles is flying away from the window, not even bothering to shoot a rope to get himself from one building to another, just bouncing off of walls and flipping over poles and signs, disappearing into the night.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, rolling his tense shoulders.

"...What in the hell?"

Chapter Text

Next job turned out to be a go literally the very next night, and Miles saw a text come in on the encrypted app with maps, blueprints, instructions, security schedules. He scanned them quickly, committing everything to memory in an instant.

It was near the end of a school day on a Friday and every student was anxious for the weekend already, milling around during the last period of the day, watching the clock. They'd all finished the lesson of the day earlier than usual so they were enjoying a few precious minutes of free time to socialize before having to head back home or back to their dorm rooms.

Miles had become a bit more popular lately due to his new energy and swagger, but was having a hard time keeping up the pretenses nowadays.

Venom was always so snappy, always hungry. It affected Miles' mood as well, and he often found himself experiencing irritation and anger unlike anything he's ever felt before. It was as if he was hangry but like... all  the time. Someone bumped into him by accident in the hallways a couple of days ago, and without even thinking, Miles had sent the kid sprawling onto the ground with a simple shove.

Watch where you're going, Miles remembered growling at the poor guy who was frantically collecting his books up, fixing his glasses. He had never seen anyone so scared of him before! It was... thrilling.

But it also made his gut churn.

Miles cringed inwardly at the memory and then moved over to the corner of the room by the windows, phone in hand, away from the crowd of kids by the door.

He needed to keep people away so he could prevent them from talking to him. He needed to have a mini-meeting with his roommate.

V, we need to have a chat, Miles beamed into his mind, hoping his symbiotic friend hadn't been bored into a coma by AP physics.

Venom bounded up from his subconscious and responded to his call.

Oh good, good. Seriously though, man. What's gotten into you lately? Why are we so damn hungry and angry all the time?

Need more phenethylamine, Venom pouted.

Miles sighed, scrolling mindlessly through social media. More?! My god, how much do you  need? Are you sure this stuff's food and not, like... crack cocaine?! With the way you're always cravin' it so damn much...

Not addiction. Need food!

Miles rubbed at his forehead with a hand, glancing out the window. How am I gonna get more chocolate? I've been stealing like a metric fuckton ever since you first suggested we should. At this point, these stores are gonna start puttin' the damn candies behind glass. Behind a  bank vault, even.

A wicked grin formed across Miles' mind's eye. Venom spoke low, lower than ever before, if that was possible.

Brains... brains source of phenethylamine too, it leered lecherously.

Miles swallowed, feeling sweat bead up on his temples. Uhhhh, brains? Like, human brains?

Venom confirmed his suspicions.

Miles looked up from his phone to see if anyone was watching him before clearing his throat and scratching his ear. A-are you kidding me? What are we, zombies? I am not eating no human organs, much less a brain. Hell no. That's a hard no.

Venom pouted, crossing tentacles like arms and beaming anger right into Miles' bloodstream. Hungry!

Miles rolled his eyes, sighing.

God. Was this what having a kid was like? He kept his nose glued to his screen until the bell finally rang and everyone spilled out into the hallways and the sidewalk, the halls filling up with chatter from every direction.

School was officially out for the weekend!

Miles found the noise coming from every which way to be a bit hard to handle, so he slipped his headphones out from his bag and placed them on his head as he made his way past the throng of students.

Who cared if some teacher called him out on it? School was out, and he was overwhelmed with the vibrations assaulting his senses. They could deal.

He slipped out into the fresh outside air and found Margo patiently waiting for him by the main entrance, on her own phone. They reunited and headed over to the train station, where they took their usual trip back home.

The train was unusually full for this time of day so they were left hanging onto a pole and riding the train standing up. Miles honestly didn't mind, he was feeling restless today and probably wouldn't have opted to sit down anyways.

Margo hung onto his arm as she leaned in and tapped his headphones. She thought he couldn't hear her, even though he wasn't listening to music, but he slid it off his ears anyways.

"Is... is this weekend a good time to come over. Y'know, to stay?" She asked, smiling coquettishly.

Miles sighed a bit, scratching his jaw. "Uhh, when exactly?"

Margo frowned. "Like... tonight? And I leave Sunday afternoon, like we usually do before?"

Miles cringed a bit. "Ah! Tonight. Hmmm."

Margo sighed. "Oookay  then. Nah, it's cool. You can say no, Miles, it's fine."

Miles genuinely felt a bit sorry that he couldn't really provide his girlfriend a safe space this time, but this mission was important to him. It was going to be the one where he finally proved to Aaron that he wasn't some scatter-brained screw-up. He was going to succeed and impress his uncle and bring home some dough for his mother!

But...

He slung an arm over his girl's shoulder and drew her close. "Listen, Mar. I'm gonna make it up to you. I have, uh, a job for tonight. But if it goes well and Aaron gets that good payout, we can go on another date soon, I promise. Okay?"

Margo nods, leaning her head on his. "Miles, it's cool, seriously. You don't have to make anything up to me, okay? Just... do what you have to do! Text me, though. If anything changes, I guess."

Miles hums. "Maybe you can stay over Saturday night instead. I'll keep you updated."

Margo looks up at him with determination in her eyes. "Stay safe, got it?"

Miles didn't know why she said this, but agreed anyways. "Always."

That night, they met up at Aaron's place, making sure their gear was all set and the plan was air-tight. Well, mostly Aaron, anyways.

When he reached out to hand Miles his own pack, Miles actually refused.

"What, you don't need rope alluva sudden?" Aaron laughs.

Miles stares back at him for a while, unblinking.

"I got rope," he answers eventually, refusing to elaborate further.

"And the upgrades I put in it? More space for bombs and a better battery for the rope reel? C'mon, Miles, you're killin'  me here."

"Don't need it," Miles growls. "Let's go. Security at this place shuts down in about 30 minutes, but I wanna get there early and take care of any drones this time."

Aaron quirks a brow in his direction. "I'm sorry, take care of the drones? You seem real preoccupied about those things lately, man. But this joint's low-budget, not so air-tight with the security like the last time. I promise we got this one in the bag."

"Oh yeah, we do. We definitely do. If you're not coming with, then I'll go first. I'll send you my location when I'm there."

Aaron looks taken aback, and holds his hands up. "Whoa whoa whoa... Miles. Look at me. You are not going out there by yourself before me. That's not happening. Shit hit the fan last time 'cause we separated, we're sticking together for this one."

Miles bristled, literally. Aaron watched with shock etched into the lines in his face as Miles' hair seemed to come to life for a split second, his entire being arching up like a frightened cat before quickly smoothing out. It was a quick, almost imperceptible moment that passed by in a flash.

Aaron blinked a few times, wondering if it even happened at all.

"I got  this. Trust me. Keep your comms on."

Aaron didn't have any time to argue, because Miles then launched himself out of the window with a single graceful leap, freefalling and shooting a rope out to swing around the corner and disappear. His uncle watched on, mouth agape.

Then, he quickly finished suiting up and ran out of the door to the elevators.

By the time Aaron pulled up on his motorcycle-- tires screeching and kicking up a plume of dust and fumes-- Miles was standing outside of the gates casually, just hanging out. He was leaned against the security booth outside of the facility, legs crossed and waiting.

Aaron hopped off of his bike and barely managed to engage the kickstand as he ran over to his nephew, immediately checking him over for any signs of injuries.

"Miles!" Aaron sounds a bit out of breath, eyes flashing even in the darkness of the night.

"Aaron. Aaron, stop. The hell are you doin'?" Miles batted his hands away, annoyed.

"W-what happened? What're you out here for, there are cameras everywhere! What'd I tell you about letting me know if anything went wr--"

"It's done."

Aaron gaped back at his nephew. "W-what?"

"I'm not standing here 'cause something went wrong. It's done. I destroyed the cameras, drones... I handled the security. I got it."

Miles reached inside of his jacket through his collar and produced a single small metal box with some codes on a piece of paper taped to the side.

Aaron goggled at it like he discovered the city of Atlantis, taking it into his hands, turning it over.

"... It took me like 30 minutes to drive over here." He finally said, suspiciously.

Miles shrugged. "And it took me  like 20 to get over here and make quick work of those stupid security guys. Like you said, we had it in the bag. Easy." He checked his nails casually.

Aaron blew out a breath, looking into the security booth and seeing that the monitor inside was covered in black squares, all cameras in the perimeter completely offline and the security officer manning the booth nowhere to be found.

He leaned against the open door, contemplating the object they were sent to retrieve, a case of some highly-potent chemicals in small test tubes, with a code to crack open the metal box used to house them that was nearly impossible to find.

... But there it was, the small numbers scribbled in Miles' handwriting on a paper stuck to the side with a piece of scotch tape.

He clicked the numbers in, cracking the lid open and looking at the brightly colored fluid swishing around in glass. The tubes glittered like gems even under the stale, harsh lighting of the security booth. A million thoughts were running through his head, but he decided it was best to cut right through to the heart of the matter and skip all of the extra nonsense.

He turned around and faced his nephew again. "How'd you solve the code?"

Miles stood a million feet tall with his hands on his hips, shoulders squared, chin raised. "You gonna stand there and interrogate me or are we gonna go get our payout?"

Of course, Aaron thought as he shook his head. "Watch your mouth,"  he snapped, "I've been lettin' your little attitude slide lately, but you're pushing your luck now."

"What matters is that we got the thing, didn't we? Now let's go. We don't have all night--"

Miles nearly leaps onto the booth when a hard, rough hand falls onto his shoulder and squeezes. The dark expression he sees on his uncle's face shuts him right up.

"You  go home. I  will deliver these to our guys and then we're gonna have a nice, long chat about you and the future of this l'il arrangement we got goin' on."

Miles wanted to protest, but the sharp tone in his uncle's voice was cautioning him against it. He sulked, hands in pockets, kicking a rock on the ground.

"Then we'll link up at yours, then. I guess." Miles grumbled.

"Yeah. See ya later."

Miles turned to go, and suddenly heard his uncle call out behind him, "I got fries in the microwave. Don't touch those, or you're dead."

Aaron then heads over to his bike after watching his nephew swing away, slipping the box into the compartment and revving his engine up again.

As he peels out and roars away, several men in security uniforms wriggle and try to yell for help against the black, oozing restraints holding them up in the air, to no avail. Some are stuck to the side of the building with black "webbing", mouths shut tight with the same substance. Some are suspended in the air, hanging upside-down from fences and poles and unable to move or speak as the black ooze slowly but surely crawls over their airways...

Aaron eventually gets back to his apartment with a visibly full backpack hanging off one shoulder. He looks around his dark apartment, flicking lamps and lights on, head on a swivel as he searches for his nephew.

"Miles," he calls out, and then nearly having a heart attack as his nephew drops down from right in front of him, landing on his feet.

"Christ alive, Miles. You tryna kill me? Where the hell were you hidin' anyways?" Aaron exhales as he shakes his head, tugging the zipper of the backpack open after placing it on his workbench.

"On the ceiling," Miles responds, as if that's a totally normal thing to do.

"Your anti-grav sneakers ain't for stupid stunts like that, man. They can't hold your weight up that long, be careful!"

"I've... upgraded them. Don't worry," Miles responded coolly, shooting a line up to the ceiling of Aaron's spacious studio apartment and rocketing up with one smooth pull. Mid-air, Miles flipped his body so that his feet landed on the ceiling with a resounding thud. Then, he crossed his arms and looked up-- or, down-- at his uncle, who returned his stare.

"Miles... y'know what, nevermind. Good job, that's real cool. Now come on back down from there, alright? Gonna make me go into cardiac arrest, for godsakes..."

Miles drops, as if he willed his sneakers to just let go of the metal on command, falling head-first through the air.

Then, he landed on his claws, pushing off of the floor to do a front handspring vault into a side flip, sailing through the air as fluidly as if any Olympic gymnast had done it.

Once back on his feet, he saunters back over to his uncle, barely hiding his smugness.

Confidence radiated out of him from every angle, a dark aura surrounding him and sucking out the air in the living room.

Confidence was usually portrayed in movies and books like a beacon of light, a feather floating delicately through the air, the freedom of wind blowing back through hair. It was exhilarating, all-encompassing, triumphant... usually.

But this confidence was like the ever-smothering smoke of a raging fire, choking out any signs of life and threatening anything that got near it.

Aaron couldn't help but remember a bad house fire that he witnessed as a child, a Brooklyn brownstone that eventually took down three others around it as the flames raged on and destroyed everything it touched. It didn't happen in his neighborhood, thank goodness. But the sinking feeling he got as he watched firefighters and ambulances frantically fight to save lives as the buildings were engulfed in flames that licked at bricks and split open wooden frames would always haunt him.

It was a spectacle, alright. A spectacle akin to a trainwreck rather than a big shining star, though.

Aaron gapes at him for a second.

"What... what has gotten into  you lately, man? Seriously, Miles. We need to sit down and talk, forreal. This is just..."

"Crazy? Nuts? Insane? Bonkers? C'mon, unc. Say it. I really impressed you tonight, huh." Miles folded his arms over his chest triumphantly, but his mask stayed firmly in place, so Aaron couldn't really see the giant grin on his nephew's face so much as he could hear it.

"Uh. Yeah... yeah, I'm real  impressed. What's goin' on? Like, really. Like actually."

Miles shrugged. "After that last time, I figured I really screwed the pooch pretty bad. So I stayed doing push-ups, training, getting strong. I practiced vaulting and parkour on buildings and stuff. I... I just got better. That's all."

"Yeah but like... within 2 weeks? That's... yeah, that is nuts, man."

"What, a guy can't turn over a new leaf all of a sudden?"

Aaron sighed, scratching his neck around his beard as he looked down at his shoes. "Miles... I been meaning to talk to you for a while now. About your mom--"

Miles startled. "What? What about her?"

Aaron held his hands up, pulling a stool over and leaning on it. "Miles, no. Nothing's happening with her, but I mean. Come on, man. You've been workin' like a dog lately for her and bringing home A's and everything which is great, don't get me wrong. You need to stay in school, obviously. But... just..."

Miles fidgeted a bit, twitching. "But what?"

"Well with all of this--" here, Aaron waves his hands around, gesturing vaguely "--I don't want this  to get in the way of all of that. You work hard every single day to take care of your moms, which is great. But, Miles... you are a kid. You're supposed to be worryin' about homework and video games, not making money for your mom and wrecking drones every night." Then, an ominous pause. "Yeah, I've been watching the news, by the way. I can put two and two together."

Not liking where this was going, Miles took a threatening step towards his uncle. "So what if I am? Why can't I do all those things?"

Aaron meets his eyes. "Because you're a human being. You are a kid."

Miles juts his chin out defiantly. "I can be a kid and take care of my mom. I can do both."

Aaron holds his hands up again placatingly, although the rest of his body language was taut, rigid. Like a panther ready to strike. "You shouldn't have to--"

Miles clenches his fists. "So spit it out, then! Say you don't want to be teaming up with me anymore. Is that it?"

Aaron stands up and squares his shoulders, his own jaw set. "Miles, I'm doing this because I care about you. You need to take care of yourself better. When I heard those screams on the comms--"

Here, Aaron swallowed hard, exhaling. He rubbed his eyes and continued, "I just thought... when I heard you screaming and I didn't know where you were, or if you were alive for that one moment... man. If I had to bring your dead body back to Rio, what the hell was I gonna do? Y'ever thought of that?"

Miles clenched and unclenched his fists over and over again, pondering Aaron's words.

He really, really  wanted to say it, wanted to just come out and confess and reveal that he was currently permanently bonded to a space alien that granted him abilities beyond anyone's wildest dreams. He didn't want his uncle to be so scared for him that he would just up and abandon him and go off on these missions all by himself! Well, if vaulting like a pro and completing the mission in record-breaking time wasn't enough for his uncle to see that he was capable of handling his own life just fine... then...

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Wordlessly, Miles marched over to one of Aaron's katanas hanging on the wall near the entrance, grabbing one and unsheathing it.

Aaron watched with wide eyes, moving to follow his nephew, reaching a hand out. "Wh- wait. Wait wait wait waitwaitwaitwait, Miles what're you--?"

Miles plunged the long steel into his stomach with one determined movement, pushing the hilt in and grunting. Aaron watched with a horrified expression as he saw the sword erupt through his torso, and slide out through his back.

It sounded like an alarm  was wailing the way Aaron screamed, grabbing Miles by the shoulders, grabbing the handle of the katana, panicking, pupils blown wide.

Then, Miles shoved him off and pulled the sword out just as quickly as he pushed it in, blood splattering onto the ground in front of them with a sickening splash. It painted a curved arc in front of Miles at his feet, staining the wood.

Aaron's jaw was on the floor.

It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the open-concept apartment for a split second.

Then, Miles pointed to his torso, right where the wound was, and Aaron watched dumbfounded as it magically knitted together right before his very eyes. Aaron was panting, sweat condensing on his bald head. He put his face in both hands from utter shock, shaking with every inhale.

"So... don't freak out. But. Maybe I got my hands on some pretty cool alien tech." Miles finally said after a beat. "I didn't want to tell you in case you'd flip out about alien suits. But... yeah."

Aaron breathed for a couple more seconds, finally lifting his face from his hands, looking utterly wrecked.

"What... where... Miles."

"Yeah. Maybe we did  need to talk. Sorry for overreacting earlier," Miles replied sheepishly. His mask finally, finally slid out from around his face, and he stared right back at his uncle with determination in his eyes. "But I'm not giving up Prowler missions. I'm not. I am  the Prowler. I can answer any question you got for me, but you have to promise me that I'm not gonna get to stop being the Prowler!"

Aaron sagged back against the entrance wall, rubbing his temples. "...Y-yeah. Yeah, Miles. Christ in heaven above, yeah... you can get to keep being the Prowler,"

Miles grinned, and Aaron didn't miss the way that some of his teeth looked a bit... sharper. His eyes, darker.

"Sweet,  thanks uncle Aaron!"

They had a very very  late night chat and Miles half-lied and told half-truths about his new "suit". Aaron ducked out at some point to pick up some shitty late-night takeout, and instructed Miles to let his mother know that he would most likely be spending the night there.

Once Aaron returned with plastic bags, they sat back down again.

"So lemme get this straight," Aaron starts, popping open styrofoam containers and passing Miles his chocolate shake (his adamant request, which Aaron conceded to). "You found that tech and swiped it from my bag without tellin' me anything?"

Miles happily accepted a container filled with crunchy fries and a greasy triple bacon burger. "I took it by accident, unc. Honest! It slipped into my hoodie pocket, I think. I-I dunno, it just kinda... clung onto me I guess. I think that was what that black oil stuff was, the suit just made that on its own. I dunno, you know alien stuff is weird sometimes, right?"

Aaron shakes his head as he turns his own burger over and over in his hands, contemplating it. "There are too many holes in your story, Miles. I always told you you're a bad liar," he says gravely, strategically probing him for an opening.

But Miles was resolute, huffing around a mouthful and swallowing. "I'm not  lying. I just... didn't really know I even had this weird bio-alien tech on me until I got home that night."

"So then why didn't you tell me anything? That was weeks  ago, Miles. C'mon."

"Aaron," Miles says emphatically, glowering at his uncle, "I already told you. You always get weird when talkin' about mutants and aliens. I knew you'd freak, so I trained with it in secret 'cause I didn't want anyone flipping out. Okay?"

Aaron decides to put his untouched burger down, all appetite lost. He wipes his fingers on napkins before proceeding. "Keeping it a secret isn't gonna make me freak out less. Do you even know what you're wearing? If it's siphoning out any energy outta you? You don't know what you're getting yourself into,"

"I've been wearing this for a while now. I feel fine. Better than I have in a long, long time now, actually."

They met eyes, dark brown versus dark green.

Aaron gazes deep into his beloved family member's eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty, any hesitation.

He couldn't find any.

If Miles was lying to him at all, he was doing a great job of concealing any signs of it.

Plus, there was that spark in his eye, a dangerous glint that Aaron himself got sometimes when he was determined to get something, to attain success. But Miles sounded absolutely sure of himself when he confirmed he was better than he had ever been in a long time.

Aaron knew it, Miles knew it.

Jefferson's death rocked the Morales and Davis families like a massive tidal wave slamming into a boat when it happened years ago. It certainly affected little Miles, who was freshly 12 and heading right into his last year of junior high. That was the worst time for everyone involved, including his teachers. Miles barely graduated, opting to miss out on a bunch of classes and struggling to complete assignments due to his all-encompassing grief.

How could he focus on schoolwork, when one of his main supports just buckled out from under him at such a crucial age? It was hard work just peeling his frizzy head off of his pillows during those dark, bleak days, nevermind going to school.

Aaron remembered many awkward outings after Jeff's funeral, taking Miles by the hand and dragging this grief-stricken boy around town, shortly before the oligarchy got really bad. Before the streets were emptied of civilians and replaced by corporate goons, high-tech drones, and criminals.

They'd visit cafes, record shops, restaurants, arcades, comic shops, anything to get Miles to crack a smile and goof off with him like they used to do all the time.

Miles eventually seemed to come back to himself slowly but surely as time went by, but even Aaron-- who would never claim to be any sort of emotionally intelligent person even with a gun pointed at his head-- knew Miles would never be the same.

Nothing was the same.

Mirroring their crumbling life all around them, the city of New York also eventually fell to ruin under the Sinister Six Cartel.

Rio had the hardest time of it out of all of them, newly widowed and struggling to keep raising a son while also juggling new responsibilities thrust onto her both at work and at home. Aaron would cringe and tip-toe around the Morales apartment, hovering awkwardly around and offering a hesitant hand on a shoulder as Rio broke down in the kitchen over bills, Miles, groceries, funeral fees, and oh god how was she going to do all of this by herself now?

Aaron knew personally, deep in his soul, that when Miles finally admitted to his face that he was feeling better than he had in a long time... yeah, he couldn't ignore the weight of that.

They both knew what that sentence really meant-- all of the tears, the bereaved silences and heavy grief soaking into every corner of their lives, the darkness that settled over the family and never truly going away.

It was all behind that very statement.

Pondering this, Aaron sighed deeply, allowing himself to really feel his ribs expand and contract for a moment.

Then he rubbed his eyes. "Yeah?" He eventually asked. "New suit got you feelin' brand new, huh?"

"With this tech, I can finally help mom out better than before. I've been floating through classes, through my workouts... just feeling good, uncle Aaron. I can't  let this go. I just can't."

Aaron nodded, pursing his lips.

Hating himself for it, he says, "mmkay... alright. Then you sold me, I guess. You can keep the suit."

Miles grins wider than Aaron's ever seen in years, making his stomach do a somersault. It nearly lights up the entire dim apartment the way he was positively beaming.

"Aaron, you are the man!"  Miles crows, pumping a fist into the air. "Oh, uh, and one more thing," he quickly adds, "you cannot  tell mom a single word about this, okay?"

Aaron cringes inwardly, feeling his heart squeeze a bit. He grunts in assent, and then turns his eyes downward to stare long and hard into his container of fries.

Chapter Text

Miles stays the night happily on the couch, and pulls the symbiote out again into the caverns of his inner mind to have another meeting.

He sets the alien straight, revealing his plans (which Venom most likely already knew anyways, but it was good to... think aloud sometimes).

Running his tongue over his sharp canines, Miles reclined back with his hands behind his head. So, obviously I didn't tell uncle Aaron the whole truth.

Venom nodded sagely. Gooddd...

Miles mentally nodded back. Yeah, I'm glad to know we're on the same page. Who knows what else he might wanna do if he found out you were an actual alien instead of just alien tech... but we have to be careful now. He knows... just not the whole picture. Miles pauses, then adds, hopefully he'll never find out...

Careful, Venom flashes its understanding of Aaron, and projects plans into its host's head.

Miles agrees, and thinks up of backup plans for their plans. He knew that getting away with his new symbiotic sidekick would add another layer of complications to his already-fractured life.

He had things to hide from his mom, she knew only of the depressed but dutiful and loving son, the diligent student. Margo only knew of the nerdy, goofy, overprotective and pensive boyfriend, her main academic rival. Aaron knew all of these sides, and he also knew the darker parts of his psyche, having bore witness to the birth of Miles' own take on the Davis family lineage: the Prowler.

But even he  didn't have the whole picture now.

Now, Miles found an even deeper, smaller chest within him and reached into it to tuck his darker, but more real side that no one ever sees except for him.

And it.

And them, together.

He tucks Venom away. He rolls over and falls asleep.

He doesn't dream.

 --✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--

Weeks go by. Miles gets up, goes to school, works out. Sometimes he hangs out with his girlfriend.

Most days, he doesn't.

Rio is confused but still tentatively hanging onto optimism when Miles continues to help out around the house and brag about academic accomplishments. But now, when he brings home A's, the emptiness in his eyes is hard to miss.

Aaron is so impressed with Miles' enhanced abilities that he eventually has to take a seat after his nephew mows down the opposition one time in a particularly difficult exfiltration mission.

Literally.

He becomes Miles' Guy In The Chair, acting as his support, usually hanging around the area as discreetly as he can manage, doubling as Miles' Getaway Driver.

They rake in so much money, they end up on the news. More of Miles' drone destruction rampages also pop up on the news. The Sinister Six finally take notice and the streets are flooded with even more evil cops.

Sometimes... sometimes, things happen that Miles doesn't remember happening.

Sometimes people come up to him and tell him about something he did or told them, pieces of memories not quite slotting into Miles' brain correctly.

Some of them not at all.

A bubble of suspicion pops up in his thoughts then, when he's left scratching his head as he mentally tries to rifle through his own personal filing cabinets.

Venom reassures him that perhaps they're just poor confused little humans misremembering something, quietly slipping a manila folder back into its host's mental filing cabinets while Miles "looks" away.

Not only that, but Miles' appetite doesn't... get any better. At all.

Miles steals and steals and steals chocolate. As per his prediction, candies eventually start to get locked up behind thick plexiglass and metal locks. Getting that phenethylamine fix becomes harder and harder to do every night, and eventually Miles resigns himself to holding his nose and just... getting it over and done with.

It took a couple of nights of having panic attacks and having several moral quandaries, but the poor boy was too attached now to his other half that he was desperate. He'd achieved everything he ever wanted in life, it almost filled the hole in his heart; he was succeeding at work and in school, impressing everyone, he had it in the bag!

If he gave up now, everything he worked so hard for would be lost... his whole world would crumble.

So, with a heavy heart, he slid his window open in his bedroom one night and... took off.

He did it. He immediately felt better afterwards.

He tried not to think about it.

Things were great, though. Things were going so unbelievably amazingly perfect  that it was hard to believe.

Miles floated through his life as if in a trance. His body automatically moved with perfect gracefulness, slipping from classroom to classroom, flying past building after building at night, hauling back bags of cash, knocking down goons and criminals, taking his girlfriend out on more expensive dates, slipping around his apartment while cleaning or cooking.

He was a well-oiled machine, on the very tip top of his game.

He was now at his uncle Aaron's apartment, dancing around the giant punching bag and pummeling it over and over. Lately, even Aaron has to comment on how much he's been walloping the poor thing recently, chain clanking loudly with every blow.

Aaron was sitting a little ways off near his workbench, putting together a comprehensive plan for their next job, which involved a high-security team and state-of-the-art tech inside of a museum.

This wasn't going to be an art heist, of course, it was always much more complicated than that. There was a secret hidden vault somewhere deep inside of the complex, which happened to be their target.

Maybe Aaron knew what was inside of it. Maybe he'd tell Miles. Maybe Miles would just break in and collect whatever the hell was inside of it, getting the job done as quickly as possible.

After a long while of listening to his nephew pummeling that big punching bag, Aaron leaned back away from his documents and laptop and looked at him.

Miles was barely breaking a sweat despite having been at this for an hour now, clad in only the black under-suit of his alien outfit and his boxing wraps, practically tangoing circles all around as he dealt blow after blow. He was focused, and there was that usual dark look in his eyes as he worked out, no spark or light anywhere to be found like before.

"Ayo, Miles," Aaron finally called out to him.

Miles gave the bag one last sharp jab before steadying the thing with one hand and glancing over at his uncle. "Yuh," he breathed.

"Almost done with the plans. This one's a tough one, honestly. There's a couple parts in the building that're gonna be a little hard to get through but I'm sure you can manage it. Wanna look what I got done though, give it a check over?"

Miles grins and saunters over casually, leaning down to look over the papers on Aaron's desk.

"...Y'know," Miles starts, after shuffling over the blueprints a bit, "you never let me look at your plans before a heist. Not usually."

"No," Aaron agrees easily. "I don't."

Miles gives him a sidelong glance and smirks. "Guess I'm movin' on up now then, getting pretty good,"

Aaron sighs and rubs his neck. "Oh yeah, no doubt about that one, man. You have been destroying  the opposition lately Miles. You already know this!"

Miles bobs his head, content. "Good, good. Just checkin' to see that you  know that, Aaron. Y'know... pretty soon, I'm  gonna be the one runnin' this joint and you'll be getting the smaller percentage of the c--"

Miles yelps as Aaron punches his arm, hard.

He leaps back and they glare at each other for a second.

Then Miles laughs, shaking his head. Aaron chuckles a bit, too.

"You play too much, kid. But you're funny, though. Anyways, how's it lookin'?" Aaron is smiling but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Miles shrugs, looking over the laptop screen one more time. "Yeah, good. Thorough. I might have to freestyle that gate in the basement level with all the cameras once I get there, but you already know I can go invisible. So... I got it--"

"You got it handled," Aaron interrupts, "yeah I know. I already know that,"

"Yes," Miles flashes his razor-sharp teeth for a second, preening. "You do."

"This kid, man..." Aaron mutters as he shakes his head.

He changes the subject. "How's your l'il girlfriend doin' by the way? And your mom?"

Miles is slightly thrown off by the sudden quick change in topic. He takes a second to think of an answer, fixing his wraps around his knuckles self-consciously. "Whaddya mean? Why're we talking about them  all of a sudden?"

Aaron's gaze is laser-hot. "Your mom hasn't really been in contact with me much lately and I was just wondering. Y'know, since your life's so great out of nowhere I figured maybe I'd hear more about it, especially from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what that's supposed to mean, Miles. All we ever talk about when you come here is missions, missions, and missions. All we're doin' lately is just working."

"Yeah, 'cause work is good. What, you want me to lay around like a dog? Money's comin' in and everyone's happy now. I intend to keep it that way," Miles finished his sentence with the jut of his chin.

Aaron sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can talk to me and keep working, you know. You do  know that, right?"

Miles narrows his eyes. "Just spit it out, Aaron. What's actually bothering you?"

Aaron leans back in his seat, his dilapidated old computer chair squeaking as he did so. "Lately, you've been acting... weird. And coupled with the fact that your mom isn't texting me as much nowadays... yeah, can I say I'm concerned without you flippin' your shit out on me? 'Cause I am. I'm getting concerned lately." He stroked his beard a bit, continuing, "I, uh... you usually talk to me about stuff. Girlfriend stuff, mission stuff, family stuff. Homework, school. Now? You're clammin' up on me again like back when your d--"

"Yes." Miles said loudly, very suddenly. Aaron cut his eyes over to his tense nephew.

Miles continued. "Yeah, I have  been kinda keepin' to myself lately. That's true. And what about it? Maybe... maybe I'm still getting used to things being different. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm on top of the world. Why's everyone movin' different now that I finally feel good about myself again? You ever consider that maybe mom's not texting you much because there's not much to say?"

Aaron shook his head. "You don't get it. This... this kid--" here, he leans forward to tap Miles on the chest "--this is... different. Not quite  my nephew. Like someone walking around in a Miles Costume. Wearing your skin. You talk different... walk different. And you can't blame me for being weirded out by it especially after this sudden transformation out of the blue. This isn't my usual Miles, bro. This is... I dunno."

"This is what?"  Miles sighs loudly, throwing his hands up. "I knew you were bad at communicating your feelings but Christ on a bike, Aaron, this is hard to listen to!"

"Miles."  Aaron warns.

Miles was too worked up to hear him, hands flying as he ranted. "Nah, seriously. Men your age seriously need to learn how to talk about your feelings better, because this is just painful! You see that I'm doing good, I'm doin' good in school, at home, at work. Maybe I don't have time and energy after managing my shitty life and making the best of it to chat to you about Margo. What do I even have to say? D'ya ever think about that?"

With deadly calm, Aaron leans his elbows on his knees and interlocks his fingers, staring directly into Miles' eyes. "Then why was your girlfriend callin' me up asking about you?"

Miles freezes, hands held in mid-air. "Huh?"

"Huh?" Aaron mocks derisively. He leans back. "Margo hasn't seen not hide nor tail of you all week, l'il cuz. What's up with that? Where've ya been?"

Miles racks his brain for any memory that might explain that irrational behavior. "M-Margo... that doesn't make any sense. We go to school together."

Aaron nods, steepling his fingers. "Yeah. Aside from that, though, doesn't seem like you're doing too good in the 'being a good boyfriend' department. Before, she'd tell me how you were always kinda depressed or whatever, which is fine. Understandable. Now, she thinks you're a completely different person."

Miles narrows his eyes again. "... How so?"

"You don't talk to her about nothing, either. You're not answering her texts and calls. At all."

Here, Miles fumbles for his phone, pulling it out of a pocket to try and prove to his uncle that he was wrong.

He was talking to his girlfriend. He called her all the time! He... didn't really remember his last call with her at all, but that's only because his memory has been so spotty lately. Miles has chalked it up to being overworked, but that once he settled into his new groove more, it wouldn't be a problem anymore.

He just had to...

Miles gaped at his phone.

Over 10 missed calls and countless concerned texts from Margo went unread as he scrolled over them, massaging his scalp while he read every one of them.

But there were no notifications... how could he--? No, this didn't make sense. He never ignored a call or text from Margo. Was his phone on the fritz after letting it fall once in the bathroom a few days ago?

He rubbed his chin and then looked up at his uncle.

"This doesn't make any sense," he told Aaron.

Aaron seemed to see something in Miles that he wasn't saying, so he asked his nephew, "what's going on?"

"It must be my phone or something, I--"

"No, Miles. You know what I mean. I mean... what's going on with you?"

"What, has mom said anything? She hasn't, huh, so I'm good. I-I'm fine."

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine," Aaron echoes, but it's sad and remorseful, not in a mocking tone at all. "Miles, you're not  fine. You're not."

Miles backs up, bristling. "I can handle this. It's personal business anyways, none of your business okay? I got this handled. Stop  talking to my girlfriend."

Aaron raised both of his hands placatingly. "She reached out to me. Not the other way around."

Miles scoffed. "Whatever,"

"And why are you so offended about a family member checkin' in with you anyways? Acting like I'm prosecuting you, it's not  like that."

Miles didn't know what to say to that, his nose practically against the phone screen as he quickly typed up an apology to his partner. He opted to say nothing.

"'Boys your age should learn how to communicate their feelings better,' right? Just like you said before," Aaron is standing up now, hands in his jeans pockets, poking and prodding at the bear.

"I've got my life together. If you'd just hop off my ass about it for a sec, maybe you'd see  that," Miles spat over his shoulder, his back to his uncle now.

"Do  you?" Aaron shot back. "Do  you have your life together? You are a fifteen year old boy, Miles. Fifteen. Kid, look..." Aaron sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. "When I was your age, my life was a total mess. I didn't even get nowhere near  the perfect grades you get lately. You've got way too much on your shoulders right now, way too much on your plate, it's okay to not--"

Miles holds up a finger, eyes still on his phone. "If you tell me I have to take a break from Prowler stuff, I'm stealing your job."

Aaron pauses. Then, "... Who are you trying to impress?"

Miles sends his text and turns his screen off. "Me."

He says it with such ferocity that it echoes all around the walls of Aaron's big apartment.

They stood a little ways away from each other, now finally facing each other.

Aaron looks down at his nephew. Miles looks up at his uncle. Once again, dark brown meets dark green and they glare each other down for what seems like an eternity.

Then, Aaron exhales, tired. "You are giving me more grey hairs, son. You are killing  your uncle. You know that?"

Miles scoffs, haughtily. "Stressin' for absolutely no reason. Nothing is gonna happen to me, and my problems are my own. I can handle 'em. Leave me alone, and you'll know peace, too."

"Too," Aaron comments grimly. "Like I'm lookin' at the most peaceful person standing in front of me, right?"

"I've never breathed easier," Miles threw back. "Sleeping real  serene."

Aaron shakes his head again, deeply disappointed. "Keep shutting people out of your life like that, you're not going to be sleeping as serenely pretty soon. Ask me how I know,"

Aaron watched as the cold, impersonal mask-- that he himself recognized very well-- grew and solidified over his nephew's face. It crystallizes.

"Thanks, but I'm not in the mood for lectures right now. Let's stay focused. We all set for tomorrow night, right?"

It's a quick but casual change in topic that has Aaron kicking himself mentally for unknowingly teaching it to his own nephew. It was like looking in a mirror, and he found that he hated  what he was seeing.

Conceding for now, Aaron bobs his head. "...Mnyeah, we all set. Might finalize some more tonight. But. Well, you already know I'll keep in touch."

"Yeah, good," Miles says as his alien suit slowly forms and solidifies around him. "I gotta head out now, so. Bye."

Aaron says nothing, simply throwing Miles a quick salute before taking his seat back in his computer chair and turning back to his laptop.

Miles didn't know why, but he was feeling hurt, empty, betrayed, confused... all of these strange mix of emotions were weighing heavily on him as he leaped out of the giant windows of Aaron's apartment and hurtled into the night air.

He didn't actually have anywhere to be for at least another half hour, so he took the time to let out some nervous energy.

That stand-off between him and his uncle back there... it was getting to him, mentally. He replayed everything his uncle told him over and over in his head, looking for any hidden meanings.

V,  Miles called to his roommate, sternly. What's been going on with my memory, like  actually? What's... happening to me?

The symbiote shrugs sheepishly and lightly twangs some axons innocently. Don't know... need more food?

Miles balks, doing a barrel flip and swinging around a corner. More food?  More?! I've... I've done what you asked, I killed that guy, okay? Do I have to keep doing it?

Maybe, maybe more food. Better memory... Venom also projects memories of Miles pulling multiple all-nighters in order to get essays done, skipping meals in the morning and overworking his body during nighttime Prowler heists.

Miles groans, and starts swinging in the direction of his home. Damnit. I hate to admit it, buddy, but you might be right. I thought you'd be able to take care of all of my needs but obviously that's not fair to you. Miles sighed. Fine, he continues, we'll take a break tonight. Lazy day tomorrow, aside from school. Cool?

Venom wiggles happily. Okay, Miles.

And I still need to figure out my whole girlfriend problem, ugh. I just  know Mar's gonna be pissed at me when she sends me a response back.

Miles was not  looking forward to landing back by his bedroom window and slipping inside, but the Morales family never ran from anything. He'd just have to apologize with flowers, maybe another restaurant date soon and hope Margo would eventually forgive him.

If anything, he could just use the excuse that he was working overtime at Aaron's body shop and was too tired to get back to her.

... For several days. Yeah, maybe she'd buy it?

At least his mother wasn't concerned about him. That would be mortifying, having to focus on keeping her son's head straight while also working overtime at her own job. Ugh.

Miles' resolve was hardened back to steel. He was slipping a little bit, but that's okay. A couple of mistakes here and there were fine and perfectly normal. As long as he was taking care of his own, getting through school and getting shit done, he'd accept a few missed calls and a spotty memory every now and then.

It's fine. He just has to stay focused.

He's fine.

He's fine.

Everything's fine.

I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, Miles chants over and over in his head. It's what he says to his concerned mother, his disappointed uncle, his confused girlfriend.

We're fine, we're fine, we're fine, Venom chants over and over in its host's head, quickly replacing lost memories and swapping some out for others. It pilots Miles' body around when Miles' conscious brain logs out for a moment.

Then it starts to pilot Mile's unconscious  body. It's hungry... it needs to feed.

And even though Miles stresses the importance of not stooping down to the level of the Sinister Six, not just taking lives indiscriminately, Venom figures eating the heads off of crooked low-life criminals scurrying about in the city's underworld would be fine. After all, they were carrying out violent acts against innocent people, and... maybe they really wouldn't be missed by anyone after all.

As far as the symbiote was concerned, there were the good and the bad. It didn't quite understand things like moral quandaries and boundaries, because on Klyntar there were none.

It was slowly but surely progressing on total symbiosis with its host and eventually, Miles would see things its way.

So, it puppeteered Miles' sleeping body around in the dead of night. The body got its rest and Miles was none the wiser. The symbiote got its meal.

No big deal.

Everything was fine.

 --✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--

Now it was date night, but not really.

These past few days left Margo apprehensive and quiet, quieter than she usually was, especially around her own boyfriend.

They were seated in a tiny little cafe in the evening, somewhere in Manhattan.

The streets were dark as usual, fully lined on either side with cars and motorbikes, but devoid of people. Sirens blared in the distance occasionally, and a stray rat or two would scamper out from milk crates or piles of garbage bags near alleyways.

It was one of the few "neutral" areas in all of New York, a fact most likely made a reality due to the long fingers of the Cartel dipping into the commercial power of Lower Manhattan.

Various little stores, shops, and cafes of all sorts lined the streets and narrow alleyways and conducted business as usual under the protection of the Cartel goons. Whoever could afford a little shopping trip or a cafe visit enjoyed this small reprieve from the chaos that otherwise seemed to engulf the rest of the city.

Miles was determined to make up for his strange and sudden absence in Margo's life, and ended up handing her various different boxes and bags through the weekend filled with jewelry, knick-knacks, snacks, accessories, whatever else that would normally put a smile on her face.

But she wasn't smiling now.

She sat next to him, fiddling with a silver bracelet he bought her not too long ago and glancing at him every now and then in an almost furtive way. She ate slowly and contemplatively.

Miles was picking at his food, giant chocolate milkshake ever-present by his arm and getting more attention from him than his tray. He was dressed well, an impressive and expensive-looking leather jacket squaring his frame, making him look... intimidating.

Although it wasn't really his usual style, this wardrobe decision didn't surprise her. Margo understood her boyfriend, probably better than most people.

He was protective of her, mostly because he had the glint in his eye of someone who... knew  things. Knew the real danger lurking behind certain building corners and in dark alleyways, underneath innocuous-looking warehouses and past abandoned bridges probably.

She wasn't entirely sure of why or how. She always knew her boyfriend held secrets that he refused to let her in on, she wasn't stupid. But...

Well, sometimes there were questions she held close to the chest that she both hated keeping and also felt relieved by not receiving any answers to.

But right now, this was something she was determined to get answers to. This... this sudden cold change in Miles that she wasn't entirely sure about.

"Miles..." Margo started, after a long stretch of awkward silence between them. "I, uh,"

Miles looked at her expectantly, shake in one hand, his chin in his other palm. His dark eyes fixated on her face, searching.

"I, uhm. I wanted to come here to talk," she stated plaintively, hesitating. Miles didn't move. "I mean, like, about us. Lately. God, I'm not doing a good job talking right now, but... you know what I mean, right?"

Miles exhaled, nodding with his eyes closed.

In this moment, he looked much older than his years, the fluorescent lights of the cafe casting shadows under his eyes and sculpting his cheekbones, chiseling his youthful face into one of dark sophistication. His hair had been redone lately and his usual twin braids sat tight and neat on his scalp, longer than the last time Margo remembered seeing them. The beads that usually ended his braids were black this time, though, the bright colors that he usually opted for nowhere to be found.

She wasn't sure why, but this small detail made Margo's heart clench a bit.

"Yeah," Miles replied. "Yeah, I know. I been really dropping the ball lately with us, huh?" He smiled ruefully. "I can't really tell you why I haven't been answering texts and calls and stuff, though. I've just been--"

"Very busy, I know. At the shop." Margo interrupted with a shake of her head.

"Babe," Miles set his glass back down and took one of Margo's hands into both of his scarred ones, running his thumb over the back of her knuckles soothingly. "Look. I know all the stuff I got you this weekend was whatever, I'm not dumb, buying gifts isn't gonna fix us. But you have to patient with me right now, because when I tell you shit's finally lookin' up for me now? You have got to believe me. I just uh,"

Here, they pause together.

Margo's brown eyes play over every single one of Miles' features, his crease over his brow as he sat pensively, his lips, his freckles under his right eye, the thickness of his brows.

"... I've just gotta get into the rhythm of this new schedule Aaron's got me on right now. That's all." He flashes her his pearly whites for a split second. "But the money is so, so so so damn good, Mar. Do you believe me? When I say life's finally lookin' up for me now?"

Margo hesitated, furrowing a brow. "What changed? Be honest with me, please, Miles. You've been acting... weird  lately."

Miles lets go of her hands, leaning back in the booth they sat in and tilting his head back as he chuckles languidly. "God, it's... I dunno what to say honestly! It's like I woke up one day and I felt like I had all the powers in the world. I guess maybe I'm not depressed anymore. I've moved on,"

"That's... that's good to hear," Margo replies, and she really means it.

But it didn't seem to come out that way, because Miles frowns and crosses his arms.

He shoots lasers in her face with the severity of his glare. "What?  What is it?"

Why was everyone tiptoeing around him lately, acting as if he was going to bite their heads off or something? He could put up with his uncle and mother sneaking around him and handling him with kid gloves but his girlfriend?  This was getting ridiculous.

"... Did  you really, though? Move on, I mean? To me, this just looks like another coping mechanism if I'm gonna be completely honest."

"What is that  supposed to mean?"

Margo sighed, and scooted a bit away from Miles to gesture to his body. "I mean, like... Miles I'm not a dumbass, dude. I mean like this outfit. The attitude, the way you act lately. The gifts, and you lovebombing me but then disappearing on me for days at a time and not talkin' to me about anything. That's what I mean. You're hiding something from me, and I don't know what it is, but I just wanna let you know that--"

"Save it," Miles shuts her up sourly. "I thought this was a date, y'know like how we used to do before? I didn't realize I was gonna get told off here by my girlfriend, of all people."

Margo scoffed, clearly insulted. "I didn't call you just to lecture you, you know. I... I was just concerned for you, that's all. But Miles..." she places a gentle hand on his arm here, squeezing as they meet eyes, "you... you're... like, your eyebags and how you act like a total asshole at school sometimes? Word's getting out in school and people are deadass coming up to me and asking about you. Everyone's concerned. I'm just trying to figure out what's happening with you so I can see if I can help you."

Miles did his best impression of an urchin, sliding even further away from Margo. The atmosphere turned cold, nearly freezing as the tension solidified further.

"I'm fine," Miles says, almost through clenched teeth. "I don't appreciate you talkin' about me behind my back with other people, by the way."

Inside of his chest, the symbiote roils around like a bowl of spaghetti, uneasy.

Margo also takes this time to slide her own metaphorical armor on, as thick and impenetrable as dealing with a tumultuous home life can make it. "I don't believe you about your life getting better, by the way. Maybe your job is, but you're still a mess. I don't wanna be a dick because I know you're going through... stuff. I really hope you get through it. But if this is how you're gonna act when I just wanna help you..."

"How?!"  Miles shot back, clearly agitated. "Help me how, with what?  Forget this, Mar. I'm keeping you away from so much stuff, protecting you from shit you don't even wanna know about-- agh! God, yeah maybe I do wanna tell you, just so you'd stop botherin' me about this already!"

"Then go ahead! Tell me!"  Margo's voice is raised, and now the cashier and cooks in the back have taken notice to the argument that seemed to be escalating in their own shop, heads poking from around display cases and double-doors.

The other customers who had been picking up their orders had already left, so the only two who were occupying the dining area were these two kids.

Miles slid out of the booth to stand up, fingertips on the table, his chest was heaving with angry breaths that filled and emptied and filled his lungs again. He was angry now, much angrier than he had ever been at someone he cared about.

He didn't want to say or do anything he might regret later, so he put some distance between them before speaking.

His voice was low, filled with venom. "Margo. Drop it. Now."

Margo startled at her boyfriend using her proper name for the first time in ages, and she frowned. "W-why?"

"Forget about 'why'. I'm fine, that's all  you need to know. I'm workin' hard, that's why I'm... snappy kinda. That's all. I'm just tired. But mom's payin' her bills on time again for the first time in forever and I'm doing just fine." Miles glowered at her darkly, daring her to speak up against him with just one look.

He was so angry, body drawn tight like the string of a bow, ready to really snap at any second. It scared him a bit, to feel like what seemed to be unfiltered rage coursing through his veins like this. He felt like the control he usually had over his emotions was slowly but surely slipping away.

Margo sensed that very same simmering rage boiling away at his blood, because she seemed to strategically retreat, hiding a bit behind a braid that slipped out from behind her ear.

"Fine. I'll drop it. For now," she muttered, clearly pissed, slipping into her usual coping mechanism of distancing herself from this situation. It was the same defense mechanism she used in order to escape her parents.

Damnit.

Miles really dropped the ball here.

His anger trickled out like water out of a hole in a bucket. He sighed loudly, hanging his head before sliding back into his previous position in the booth, and clasping his hands on the table in front of him.

"Look..." he started, but didn't get far. "I-I uh, MJ, I get that y--"

She exhaled, clearly annoyed, throwing down a napkin and moving to stand up.

"Wait, Mar, what's--" Miles looked up at her with wide eyes as she made her way over to the cash register, pulling out her wallet.

"This date's over," she announces over her shoulder, refusing to turn to look at him. "Talk to me when you've cooled down again. You have my number."

She quickly pays for their meals, ignoring Miles' own hemming and hawing over her doing so, and finally whirls around to leave.

"Babe, c'mon! I'm trying here, I really am," Miles despairs, hot on her heels. "I'll do better... I-I'll call you later!"

"Whatever,"  Margo's icy tone is like an arrow shot directly into Miles' chest, and she pulls open the door to exit.

But before she does, she finally turns to meet Miles' eyes with her own, anger still burning in the chocolate hues of her irises. "I hope you get over this, soon. Whatever it is. Bye."

And then she leaves, the bell above the closing door jingling as if it were laughing at Miles' current plight, yet another audience member attending the fucked up play that was his life.

Fuck.

Did he mess up that  bad? All he did was tell her to back up off of him, not to worry about him. Everyone around him seemed to be doggedly determined to push their worries onto him and it seemed like nothing he did was ever good enough.

God damn it! When was the world going to give him his break? Would he have to work his hands down to the bone until people finally tossed him his flowers?

He succeeded at his missions quickly and efficiently, and Aaron's only response is quiet but wary disapproval. He seemed like he wanted to retire Miles, even. What the fuck.

Now his girlfriend was annoyed with him, which, okay fine yeah, that was warranted considering he kinda dropped the ball this past week but it seemed like whenever he took 5 steps forward with her, he was forced to eventually take 10 steps back.

One dumb mistake and they were snapping at each other, building icy walls up right after.

Miles groaned in frustration, dumping their leftover food into the trash receptacles and stacking the trays right on top.

He cast one burning glance over to the cashier, who was quietly watching the entire situation go down behind the display of brightly-colored donuts and other pastries.

Phone in hand as well, like that  would help him.

Then he left, a dark cloud hanging over his head as the door shut with a jingle behind him.

Chapter Text

Miles tossed and turned and thrashed in the throes of a never-ending nightmare. He was turning corners, running away from something unseen that chased him down endless corridors, the night sky twinkling above with stars that looked down on his struggles coldly. Uncaring.

Those stars twinkled and twinkled, swirling into a familiar shape, forming a vague silhouette that he found he could reach out to for help. But he was falling now, falling and falling and falling.

The silhouette moved, shifting, formless but there, so solid Miles could swear it would hear him if he shouted out, if he asked it for help.

But he had no mouth.

He was tumbling, legs pumping uselessly in the night air, no ropes or grappling hooks or anything to shoot out and hang onto.

He had no lifeline.

He was alone.

Chapter Text

Miles gasped and tore his way back into the land of living from what seemed like the deepest sleep he's ever had in his life.

He almost fell off of the beam across Aaron's ceiling in the process; the perch that Miles enjoyed being on when he needed time to be alone, time to listen to music and think.

Feeling some resistance on his arms and back, Miles looks down at himself and realizes he's fully suited up without his mask covering his face. He twists around and swipes at the back of his arms and catches long, stringy black webs holding him up against the support that connects the floor to the ceiling. He gets to freeing himself up, tossing off massive amounts of goo from his claws, shaking it all off.

He's breathing heavily, and notices that his black claws seem to be covered in some... dried liquid of some kind.

It was strange, but it seemed... familiar.

Miles then hopped off of the beam and landed on all fours, scrambling off of the floor to duck into the bathroom.

It was pitch black inside of the apartment and also pitch black outside, which made Miles nervous. He had no clue how he'd even gotten to Aaron's apartment, his memory was simply just one giant black hole. It could be midnight or 8pm or even 4am  and Miles wouldn't know until he got to a clock of some sort to see for himself.

He got to the bathroom and shut the door as quietly as he could, in case it was  4am and Aaron was in his room sleeping.

He turned on the light, whipped around to face the sink and immediately froze in pure and utter shock once he caught sight of his own reflection.

With cold horror seeping into his veins, Miles slowly approached his reflection and gaped at it, jaw almost on the floor.

Splashed across his face was dark, dried blood, congealing and flaking off of his jaw and the corner of his mouth. He looked down at his claws, feeling the dried blood on his shaking fingers as the black ooze thinned out and disappeared into his skin. His gaze traveled down to his Prowler insignia on his chest, also covered in splashes of blood that looked even redder against the white.

Miles felt sick. He wanted to throw up. He dry-heaved over the toilet bowl but nothing came out.

Sick, Miles?  The symbiote jittered nervously around his spine. No food.

"If I have no food in my body then why  do I have this awful fuckin' taste in my mouth, huh?" Miles moaned, leaning on the toilet tank for support.

Venom didn't answer, it just dithered nervously amongst all of Miles' nerves and cells, so Miles had to steel himself.

He spit into the toilet and wrenched the door open, stalking over to Aaron's gigantic stereo set.

He remembered that the symbiotes hated two things in the entire known universe, their two biggest weaknesses: fire, and loud sounds. It was what he tried to avoid like the plague for the months that he's been attached to this symbiote, bonded on a cellular level.

Days of slipping on his headphones just to muffle the loud sounds of construction he would have to pass on his way back home, days of asking his girlfriend to turn down her music as they hung out in his room, days of being extra careful around the open flames of his kitchen stove as he cooked meals for him and his mother, those moments all danced around his head like marbles in a plastic container as he reached the stereo set, powering it on and selecting a hardcore rap CD from Aaron's vast collection.

Upon learning Miles' plan, Venom quickly and painfully wrenched Miles' hand away from the "play" button, shooting a web off from the back of his hand to anchor it to the floor. Miles toppled over to the floor with a yell.

"Hey! You asshole! What the hell,  man, lemme go!" Miles shouted, struggling against the black substance, feeling his other limbs also firmly become glued to the wooden floor as well.

No loud sounds!!  Venom screeches. Then, it manifests itself outside of its host body, a giant black gooey head forming as it sprouted out from Miles' torso. It had big white eyes and rows of giant sharp teeth similar to Miles' own when he chooses to split his jaw open and intimidate his foes with a gaping maw.

They stare at each other in shock for a split second before Miles finally speaks up.

"Y-you... you're gonna explain what the hell all of this is and what's been going on with me, right now. No bullshit, cut right to the chase. What the hell is going on?! Why  am I covered in blood?!"

Now that the symbiote had manifested itself as its own being with teeth and a tongue, Miles heard its deep, guttural voice for the first time. "Milessss," it hissed, "do not fret. We needed to eaaaat, needed to feeeed,"

Miles' insides heated up-- expanding the way one would feel right before a big sneeze-- and he blew up, not caring if Aaron was sleeping in his bed or not.

"You used my unconscious body to eat someone?!"

Miles pulled and pulled  on his gooey restraints, cursing himself for not training up his strength enough to snap these things with one tug. They were his  gooey web-things, why was he having such a hard time with them right now?

Then, cold horror sunk into his veins once again as he realized that the symbiote that hitched itself onto his body and sunk deep into his brain was most likely controlling his muscles as well.

It was a realization that hit him so hard it forced him onto his back, and he laid there on the ground for a moment, panting hard.

"... You... you used  me!" Miles exclaimed, deeply ashamed of the tears heating up his eyes and threatening to spill out. "You fucking-- you took my body around the block on a joyride and used  me!"

The symbiotic head sunk back down into Miles' body and proceeded to flood his brain with pictures, sounds, memories of heroic deeds that Miles had done, all of the strength he had in his possession once Venom started to permanently bond with him. It whispered sweet nothings into the folds of his brain, his amygdala, his hippocampus, trying to calm him down.

Miles, we... us... very powerful. Much better than evil criminals... Venom tried to argue, flashing images of Cartel goons and big powerful guns used to kill people, instill fear.

Miles wasn't buying it.

He bared his teeth as he spat, "Those are human beings, Venom, you massive chode! What the fuck! That's people  we're killing and eating! And why the hell did you use my sleeping body to do it anyways, if it ain't so bad after all?! Huh?! Why couldn't you just let me know?!"

Miles wrenched and fought as hard as he could, struggling against the floor as his restraints became tighter.

Then, his uncle's voice floated up from deep in his subconscious, a memory even Venom didn't seem to know about.

"Don't keep fighting when you're tired. Remember... you got only so much energy to use, so use it wisely."

Aaron was standing next to a younger Miles, teaching him how to wrap the bandages around his hands for the first time.

Aaron used to be a professional kickboxer back when he was younger, and knew the best advice to pass down to his nephew as Miles tried to learn the best moves for both offense and defense for the first time. It was months after Jeff's passing and Miles was now stubbornly stuck on becoming strong, knowing how to fight back against a world filled with cruelty and injustice. Aaron took it upon himself to offer just that little bit of relief to his grieving nephew.

So they got to work.

Miles was slack against the floor now, muscles relaxed as he breathed deeply and focused his mind.

Mentally, he built up walls inside of his head to trap the symbiote. He didn't know if it would really work of course, but at least it would help him keep his thoughts contained for the next minute or so.

And he needed  those few precious moments.

Venom was restless inside of Miles' body, flitting to and fro from limb to limb, wondering why its host was all of a sudden so relaxed in the middle of their argument.

It beamed more images of the power it has given its host, promising to keep giving him the best life it could, but Miles wasn't responding.

None of him was, not even his neurons or his heartbeat.

Miles laid there for a while, thinking but not thinking.

He couldn't risk the symbiote figuring out his plan. He then wondered about all of the cool enhanced abilities he was given thanks to this symbiote, and had just one more moral quandary to think through...

Was he willing to give up the new life he'd carved out for himself these past couple months through hard work and determination?

He floated on by through his classes with the ease that he'd never recognized before. He blasted through missions his uncle gave him in record-breaking time. Word was spreading on the streets and criminals were just now starting to speak the Prowler's name, like for real.

But...

But sometimes his girlfriend looked at him with apprehension and concern in her eyes. As did his mother. Those spots in Miles' memory... did that have anything to do with it?

Who knows  how many other times this godforsaken alien piloted his body like a puppet when he wasn't conscious? Was he really  willing to throw away his autonomy-- the only thing he ever really bothered calling his own in this hellscape that is this world-- for a cool suit and a cooler set of powers?

He ruminated on that for a second.

Miles, Venom spoke in his mind again, agitated. Miles, please.

"How many times?" Miles asked, calmly.

Venom hesitated, actually cringing into itself a bit. How many times...?

"How many times have you done this, huh? Use my body like a skin suit?"

Not skin suit, the symbiote urged, Miles special. Love Miles!

Miles' brow twitched. "So if you love me, then why'd you just use me?"

Didn't know, didn't know, Venom placated with urgency, trying to sooth the volcanic anger that was slowly boiling up from deep within Miles' stomach.

Miles nodded. With his mental block still up, Venom didn't know that a decision was made.

Suddenly, Miles heaved against his restraints with all of his might after finding it within himself to renew his own strength.

He snapped his teeth onto the gooey webs holding his right hand down and ripped them off, spitting black substances from his mouth.

He scrambled up and immediately threw himself onto the stereo again, slamming his forehead into the play button and then feeling his legs completely give out from under him.

Hardcore beats and an earth-shaking bass blasted out from the speakers, and Venom shrieked.

It was scary fighting yourself, and that's something no one ever really thinks about. What would it be like to fight your worst enemy, when your worst enemy was literally inside of you, able to control your muscles and joints? When your worst enemy was you?

Terror built up into Miles' mind as his arms were seized and his fists were walloping into his own face, his temple, his jaw. He couldn't control them but he got feeling back into his legs again all of a sudden, so he barked and yelled and exclaimed as he tried to slam his knees into his forearms, tucking himself into a ball and protecting his face with his thighs.

He and Venom struggled against each other, using parts of one body to wage war against each other.

"You. Are not. Welcome. Into my body. Anymore!!"  Miles growled.

He dug deep into his side and collected what remained of his suit as it tried to contract itself into his body again. He pulled and pulled and pulled, smacking and swatting at the other tentacles sprouting out from other parts of his body.

The vibrations from the music thumping in the background seemed to weaken the symbiote, so Miles took advantage of this by quickly unraveling yards of black inky goo from his body like some clown's fucked up never-ending scarf trick.

Some of the goo congealed and solidified into mini Venom heads, teeth snapping out at Miles from all angles.

Miles kicked, clawed, bit his way around the evil things snaking out from his body, and he scrambled back up onto his feet to crash right back up into the stereo again. With shaking fingers, he fumbled on the volume dial and managed to turn it all the way up.

Now the music was deafening, and they were both in agony. Miles could feel the harsh vibrations twanging into every nucleus of every cell in his body, rattling his teeth.

Miles growled, screamed, thrashed around as he was hauled by tentacles shooting out from his back and dragging his body around the apartment aimlessly.

He was slammed against tables, chairs, frantically knocked around walls and furniture. Papers, plates, books, various metal pieces; they all went flying in every direction.

It was total chaos now, and all bets were off. Now it was a fight for survival, which both alien and human host were desperate to win.

Need host!  Venom wailed inside of Miles' brain, but it sounded fainter, much quieter than before. That built Miles' confidence back up.

"Fuck. Off!"  Miles shouted back, slamming his fists against his own skull to shut the accursed creature up.

He held onto the kitchen counter for dear life when the tentacles all over his body shot up into the ceiling and tried lifting him up. His fingers were slipping on the edge, and he thrashed around even more, sending pots and pans and various utensils falling from their own hooks with loud clatters and bangs.

The sharp metallic ringing all around them caused Venom to yelp and weaken even more, which sent Miles face-first onto the ground.

He recovered quickly and kept frantically pulling the endless black goo out from his body, slapping away tentacles that tried to wrap themselves around his hands.

"Screw you! This was supposed to be temporary!  You know  how I felt about you being in my damn body, nevermind draggin' it around like your own personal meat suit,  you bastard!"

They fought like a couple of feral cats.

Miles tried running right back over to the speakers to place himself right in the trajectory of the sonic blasts, and Venom desperately tried to keep him from doing that.

Curse these humans and their damned stamina. The alien was weakening the longer the CD played and the longer the human was using all of his might to pull it out of his body.

Miles was getting bruised up the longer the fight went on. He was slammed against corners of tables and desks, thrown against walls and cut up with various tools that were scattered all over the place.

At some point, a big 1/2" socket wrench still connected to its heavy 9" extension whacked Miles on the temple.

Then suddenly, a giant tentacle whipped out and sent Miles sailing across the floor, farther away from the speakers over to Aaron's bedroom door.

Miles kicked off of the door and parkoured over desks, boxes, stools, right back on over to Aaron's stove. He turned a burner on while Venom was still recovering from the mighty heave it just made, and slammed his hand over the flame.

Miles and Venom screamed,  twin voices joining in mutual agony.

With a stinging hand, Miles balled both fists into the black goo still hanging out of him and yanked out more of it with all of his strength, sweat droplets running down his temple and past his hairline.

He slammed the black alien bits onto the flames, holding them down and it all writhed together like big slippery eels, jolting Miles' body around.

"Die, die, die!  God, why can't you just die  already?!" Miles gritted out, voice hoarse from all of the screaming he was doing, body drenched in sweat.

He often changed into and out of his pajamas straight from bed into Prowler work and vice versa, but with the symbiote taking care of all of that, Miles recently found himself wearing just his PJs more often. Without the suit fully formed on his body, he noticed his pajama pant leg on his left side was torn to shreds.

He sure was glad he slept in a tank top instead of a hoodie, though! His whole body was alight, and not just with pain. He was genuinely dying of heat, panting like a dog from the long and arduous fight he was involved in now, the fight of his life.

The symbiote slid out of his body even more, weakening against the booming bass and fast percussions of whatever song was blasting out of the speakers, now having to fight against flames as well.

Miles let go of the black mass being cooked between his fingers and violently plucked and pulled at the other pieces of alien still inside of his body, wrenching black tendrils from his hair, his mouth, his neck, digging fingers into his ears and throwing pieces of symbiote out and away from his body.

The symbiote squealed in pain all the while, but Miles didn't care. He was past the point of caring now that the taste of someone else's blood was embedded deep into his taste buds and his mind.

The idea that he ate someone's brain... maybe their whole body...

Miles fought back another wave of nausea as he pummeled his fists angrily into whatever was left of the charred symbiote, and grabbed it with both hands.

The lifeless pile of goo slapped against the metal sides of Aaron's kitchen sink like a wet t-shirt. He frantically shoved it into the garbage disposal and flicked the switch on, flinching as the symbiote gave one last sharp, gurgling screech.

Panting, bleeding, sweating, Miles stepped back and watched black tendrils vibrate and shake as they slipped down deeper into the disposal, fruitlessly grabbing onto slick metal sides like disgusting wet spider legs.

Then, nothing but the whirring of the blades sounded out against the booming bass coming from the speakers.

Miles swallowed and then started to approach the sink hesitantly. He grabbed a butcher's knife from the floor and peered into the sink.

Nothing.

No black tendrils anywhere to be seen, just the vibrations of the garbage disposal as it kept running.

Knife in hand, Miles leaned over to reach the switch, never taking his eyes off of the kitchen drain. He turned it off and turned on the kitchen faucet, letting the water run.

Then he stood there and stared, catching his breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Suddenly, the apartment's front door flew open.

It was uncle Aaron!

Aaron had a gun in one hand as he used his other to flick on the main switch, flooding the entire area in light.

Miles blinked, realizing that now that he didn't have the symbiote inside of him anymore, he couldn't see in the dark like he used to. He was using the light of the full moon shining from the outside of Aaron's huge windows to fight off the alien this whole time. The sudden flooding of brightness made him squint.

Aaron shouted something at him but was drowned out by the thumping music still playing.

He advanced, moving all over the apartment in one direction, making a sweep over with his gun in both hands now. Then, he made his way over to the stereo and shut the damn thing off.

"Miles! What the hell is goi-- oof!"  Aaron didn't get to finish his sentence, because Miles launched his whole body weight onto him to sweep his uncle into a bone-crushing hug.

Without meaning to, Miles feels tears well up in his eyes, tears of relief.

Finally!  It was over.

They stayed like that for a while, rocking back and forth in a tight hug. Aaron still looked around his apartment in dismay, which was completely trashed. All of his stuff was everywhere, tables and chairs turned over, papers scattered all over the wood flooring.

Eventually, Aaron pushed his nephew off of him and holstered his gun.

"Miles, what the hell is this? Did someone come in and attack you?" Then, Aaron jumped slightly, running a hesitant thumb over Miles' face. "Is... is this blood yours? What the hell is going on? Who did this to you?"

Miles swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffled. He realized he was still holding onto his knife in his other hand and looked at it in shock, balancing it on his palm.

"I--I uh... Aaron... uncle Aaron. I-I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," Miles spoke thickly, adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he shook all over. "I'm sorry about everything, everything you were sayin' before when I was acting like a whole dumbass, just--!"

Aaron suddenly pulled his nephew into another hug, exhaling and taking the knife from him. The knife clattered onto the ground and they both breathed together as Aaron held Miles against his chest.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Miles... Miles, stop. Listen to me. You don't gotta apologize. If it was self defense, you don't have to--"

Miles pushed away from him, shaking his head. "No, no! You don't understand! I have to... I have to sit down for a minute,"

Miles panted, chest still heaving. He righted a fallen stool over by Aaron's workbench and took a seat, still jittering nervously. He placed his head in his hands as he recovered.

Aaron took this time to secure the other rooms in his apartment, pushing open doors with his gun and asking Miles if the intruders were all gone.

Miles didn't answer, so Aaron re-holstered his gun again and fetched a water bottle from the fridge. He quickly shut the faucet off. Then, he lifted up a stool that rolled off into a corner and made his way back over to his shaken up nephew with both items in hand.

They sat side-by-side as Miles took the water with slightly steadier hands and downed half the bottle in one gulp. Water splashed down from the corner of his mouth and soaked the front of his tank top.

He looked the worse for wear, the worst Aaron has ever seen him. He still had blood drying on his face, hands, even his arms, newer blood trickling down on one side of his head from his temple. He was bruised and battered, hair in a messy frizz on his head and pajama pants ripped on one leg.

It looked like Miles put up the fight of his life, honestly.

And Aaron wanted to know who in the hell  would try to attack a teenage boy alone in his apartment.

Actually... come to think of it... how in the world did Miles even get into his home in the first place? Aaron ducked out a couple of hours ago on secret business, stuff he didn't tell Miles about at all. His nephew was definitely not in the apartment when he left, otherwise he'd remember.

Aaron voices as much to Miles, wondering when he was finally going to get the whole story.

Miles exhales and inhales a couple of times before sitting back up and steeling himself. When he turned his green eyes onto Aaron's face, his uncle was struck by how worn down and tired he looked.

"Uncle Aaron... I'm sorry. Really, I'm so so so so  damn sorry..."

"Okay. Okay, Miles. I forgive you. I really do. But you gotta tell me everything, otherwise I won't be able to help you," Aaron spoke solemnly.

Miles shook his head sadly. "No. No, it's over. But I mean... I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you. You're probably gonna be pissed."

Aaron held back a deep sigh and encouraged Miles to continue.

So it all came out. Everything. Back to when Miles stuck his hand into the dufflebag Aaron brought home that fateful night months ago, and touched the black alien goo creature from Hell. Miles explained that it was from the planet Klyntar, a planet filled with symbiotes who latch onto hosts and use their bodies as houses, granting the host incredible powers... for a price.

Miles explained his enhanced abilities, his new suit that he could shape-shift into any other article of clothing at will. He was able to go invisible not because of fancy alien tech, but because of an alien. An alien that housed itself in Miles' brain and embedded itself into his cells, watching his life from behind his own eyes.

Aaron cringed. "Miles... if what you're tellin' me is the truth right now--"

"It is," Miles insisted.

"If what you're telling me is true... you'd give up your own basic privacy for superpowers?"

Miles hung his head, ashamed. He turned his water bottle over and over in his hands. "Y-yes? No! I wouldn't. I... I dunno what I was thinking, honestly. I guess I felt bad for the damn thing, so I thought carryin' it around temporarily would be harmless. I didn't know!"

Aaron exhaled, closing his eyes for a second. "Yeah, you didn't  know, Miles. You had no clue  what the hell was going into your body! Man!" Aaron leaned back, stroking his beard as he gazes off into the distance. "You let an alien creature live all up inside of you, man. What if it decided to just shut your brain off completely and puppeteer your body, then?"

Miles shuddered at the thought, grateful for how lucky he was to be able to escape the clutches of a creature who could control his body at will. "I guess I just got lucky there. Can you believe it? I thought the fuckin' thing was my friend."

Aaron raised a brow. "It spoke  to you?"

Miles nodded solemnly. "All the time."

"Jesus,"  Aaron breathed. "So that's why you were acting up that way, this whole time..."

"Which... I'm sorry for. I bet it read me while I was asleep, poking into my subconscious. 'Cause... well, it knew all my insecurities. And then it told me it could... take care of 'em."

"Take care  of your insecurities...?"

Shit. This was the difficult part.

Miles swallowed a couple of times and stared hard at his water bottle. It was now or never, really.

"I-I wanted to be... better." Miles started solemnly, "I wanted to be the kid who had his life together. I wanted to impress you, more than anything. And stuff was getting tough at home, with bills and shit. I wanted to make mom happy. I guess... I guess I just always felt like I was never good enough. So... i-it sensed all of that and--"

Aaron groans, shaking his head. "Stop. Miles, stop  that. My god. You are  good enough. For anybody. Anyone who tells you you're not? Forget 'em." Then, he pauses and continues. "You do not ever, ever  have to impress me. You're the strongest person I know. Just by bein' alive, kid, you're amazing. You're the best out of all of us, Miles."

Miles stares deeply into his uncle's eyes, pupils wavering. "...Thank you, uncle Aaron," he whispers, meaning every single word.

Aaron hooks his arm over Miles' shoulders and draws him in for another brief hug.

"Look..." Aaron says after a few more seconds of silence. "I, uh... that's real tough, unlatching yourself from an alien thing that gives you cool new powers. But believe me when I say you don't need 'em, okay? What you need right now is rest, brother. Forreal. You need to lay down and then we'll figure this all out from there when you wake up tomorrow."

Miles groaned, hand over his face. "I-I've got school tomorrow, though... ugh. Shit,"

"No. No you don't. You're gonna take a much-needed break for the first time in a long  time and you're gonna sleep.  I'm calling the school first thing in the morning."

"B-but what about mom, though? Shit, I don't even remember when was the last time I was home!"

Aaron looked concerned. "Your memory still spotty even after gettin' that alien out of you? You gonna be... okay? Y'know, like. Long term...?"

Miles sighed, shaking his head. "I... honestly, I don't know. Fuck. God, I'm so duuumb,"  he moaned in despair, yanking his braids with both hands. "What if I'm messed up forever because of this? What if I can never remember stuff from my past ever again?!"

Aaron placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Kid, stop. Look at me. We're gonna figure it out together, okay? Just sleep on it right now. Stop spiralin', that won't do anyone any good."

"... And you don't need me to help you clean up?" Miles looked remorsefully around at the giant mess he caused in his struggle to free himself from the symbiote's clutches.

"Nah, you're gonna help me put stuff back in order. But... not tonight. It's gettin' late. Let me just get some blankets while you get the couch ready."

Miles nodded, immediately feeling his adrenaline crash deep inside of his bones once his uncle mentioned sleep. They get up and move off in their separate ways while they prepare for the night.

Miles still tries to put some stuff into order before Aaron exits his room with blankets and pillows in hand, picking things up off of the floor and righting toppled tables and chairs.

Finally, Aaron makes sure windows are locked and doors are bolted before making his way over to his nephew who was snuggled deep under the covers on the couch.

"TV on or off?" He asks, placing a glass of water by the side table near Miles' head.

"I... yeah, I think it'd be a good idea to have it on, actually. Anything but the news, though."

Aaron chuckled a bit as he powered the screen on. "Oh yeah,"  he says, "no doubt about that. I'm puttin' on the history channel, cool?"

Miles agrees, and lays his head back down onto his pillow with a yawn.

"Uncle Aaron?" He calls, before his uncle has the chance to turn around to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Love you," Miles says with a small smile. "Sweet dreams."

Aaron chuckles warmly, ruffling up Miles' already-frizzy braids. There was no saving those things now, he'd have to take them out in the morning and redo them at home.

"Yeah," Aaron replies, "you too. Don't dream about no aliens tonight."

Miles hums absentmindedly. "I'll try,"

Miraculously, he doesn't.

 --✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--✦✧✦✧--

Life returns back to normal, eventually... somehow.

After Miles' near-death experience with an alien, he's less interested in outer space and scifi stories. He never tells his mother or his girlfriend about his harrowing tale, opting to make something up about being sick from something someone brought into Aaron's shop and taking a break from work for a while.

"Ay, 'dito,"  Rio says once Miles sits her down one weekend evening to give her his fabricated story of recent events. "You've been working too hard lately, Miles. I know you wanted to help me out with bills, but I already told you it's nothing you have to worry about. Let me handle the money, mijo. Okay?"

Miles bobs his head sadly. "The money was real good for a little while there, though, wasn't it?"

Rio purses her lips. "Yeah, but you know what's better?"

"Spending time with your loved ones?" Miles guesses, fondly exasperated.

"Yes, bingo! You got it. Así que, vamos pa' la cocina y después a ver un episodio juntos!  Or... or a movie! Doesn't have to be a telenovela!" Rio smiles.

Miles nods. "Mmnyeah, and maybe later on-- not today, but y'know... maybe we can hit up the mall one day and hang out? Like the good old days..."

Rio grins and cups Miles' cheeks in her hands. "Now  you're talking. I know after this week I'm gonna be able to have a little extra left over from the paycheck I'm gonna get. So let's do it next weekend?"

Miles grins back. "Perfect."

Margo gets a giant plushie as an apology soon after.

Miles shows up on her doorstep with it one afternoon and smothers her in kisses once the front door swings open.

"Miles, Miles, oh my god,"  Margo giggles, pushing her boyfriend off of her. "Seriously, what is with  you lately? You are just so  weird!"

Miles sighed. "I've been a real dickhead lately, MJ. Seriously. I gotta make it up to you. You gotta  let me make it up to you."

Margo shrugs as she collects her plush into her arms. "I mean, yeah you've been... distant lately. And snappy. We haven't been talking all that much. I just thought maybe stuff was going on at home that you didn't want to talk about... so... I waited."

Miles shoves his hands into his pockets, wagging his head. "I meannn, kinda? But that's no excuse for abandoning the best girlfriend in the world and being a major asshat. I can explain some if... if you'd invite me into your room?"

Margo laughs. "Slick with it, huh."

Miles grins sheepishly, shoulders coming up to his ears. "Aw, we're just gonna talk, nothing  else! Promise."

Margo leans over Miles' shoulder to shut the front door behind him and hooks her fingers into the collar of his shirt. "Talk? Oh, is that  all? While my parents aren't home right now? Not if I  can help it," she smirks coyly as she drags her boyfriend right back into her bedroom and closes the door.

Life returns back to normal.

Cops are still flooding the streets and oppressing the citizens even harder than ever, but Miles has a better, more optimistic outlook in life nonetheless.

He maintains his good grades, though everyone at school immediately notices how he seems to shrink right back into his quiet, aloof persona. Well, as long as he wasn't being so damn mean  anymore, they could handle it.

Margo is just happy to have her goofy, dorky boyfriend back again, back to playing video games together and hanging out at the library when they can. He doesn't take her out on restaurant dates anymore but she doesn't care much when she's able to lay back on his chest in her room as they watch a movie and pass bags of chips back and forth again. The comfort and familiar warmth more than made up for the lack of fancy gifts.

Rio has her doting son back, the one with life back in his eyes, and she couldn't be happier.

Aaron gives Miles the longest break he's ever had from Prowling business, but eventually, it's time to get back to work.

Suiting back up in the old suit and mask feels weird at first, but once Aaron tosses Miles his gauntlets, slipping back into them felt like falling back into the arms of an old lover.

"Missed you guys..."  Miles mumbled quietly to himself as he flexed his claws once more, feeling the grounding weight of the metal gloves on his arms again.

"Nice. Purple's a good look on you," Aaron comments, flashing perfect teeth in Miles' direction.

He's fixing the collar of his own coat in the hallway mirror, getting ready to transport the both of them over to their much easier, more manageable heist this time; just a routine takedown of a Cartel supply truck that carried medical equipment and other aid, something Rio's hospital has been sorely needing for a very long time now.

Miles jumped on the opportunity to accept this mission this time, eager to help his mother out and get the Cartel's hoard of life-saving medical devices and medicine out of their evil claws and back into a hospital that could save lives.

Plus, he had to put the Prowler's mask back on eventually. That was a piece of him that he'd never be able to abandon for very long anyhow.

Miles wasn't Venom. The black just didn't suit him, as good as it felt. He belonged in his girlfriend's arms, on his uncle's motorcycle, by his mother's side. Not encased in a gooey black suit.

Miles was the Prowler. The proof was in the countless hours he put into tweaking, fixing and upgrading every piece of tech he wore, every bead of sweat and blood he put into completing his job.

When he swung into the night air while chasing after crooks and armored trucks, his muscles strained a little more to keep his body airborne, but boy  did the workout feel good. He wasn't as strong or as fast as before but everything around him finally felt real. It felt good. Natural.

Miles whooped in the air as he flipped over to the side of a truck, taking out the driver while hanging onto a rope hooked to the top. He flew off as the runaway truck crashed into a telephone pole, carrying the driver along with him over his shoulder.

Oh yeah, Miles thought as he tazed the man unconscious and left him in an alleyway, returning back to the truck just as Aaron pulls up in his motorcycle, this is it. This is what the Prowler's supposed to be all about.

They eventually get the back truck doors wrenched open, making quick work of gathering up all of the supplies they can bring back with them and speeding off. They left nothing but a plume of exhaust smoke in their wake.

In the alleyway where the driver is left unconscious, a single black tendril pokes and then slithers out from a smoky manhole.

More tendrils emerge from the other holes in the metal, converging together into one black mass that quickly slithers over in the cover of the darkness surrounding them. It comes up on the man's leg and pauses, pondering.

Then, it leaps.